Now turning my attention to a week when core memories were made at Haggerston Castle. It was my first time being away for my birthday in July 1988. I was turning eight.
First core memory: leaving for that holiday with £12 spending money and coming home with £20. Birthday money - obviously! And not only that, I’d spent quite a bit while I was there as well, so in my mind I was basically a financial genius and decided I would become an accountant when I grew up.
Things I spent my money on included a Now 12 double cassette, which I listened to for the entire holiday and absolutely loved. I still go back to it now. Some albums just stay with you.
And orange Choc Dips. Do you remember those? Short little breadsticks with a chocolate dip that had never been anywhere near actual cocoa. And for a brief moment in time, there was an orange version.
Absolutely incredible.
Gone now, along with salt and vinegar Quavers and Mint Feasts. A whole era of snacks just… vanished.
Haggerston Castle should have been about a three-hour drive from Ayrshire to near Berwick-upon-Tweed. But for some reason, it took all damn day. We left on a Saturday and came back on a Saturday and I know traffic’s busier at the weekend, but this felt like something else. Like maybe my dad got lost?
That was the first time it occurred to me that maybe my dad didn’t actually know everything. I think everyone has that moment.
As for my mum, she was miserable the entire week. She hated caravans. Still does to be fair. And she didn’t try to hide it. So while it didn’t ruin the holiday for me at eight years old, there was this constant undercurrent of “things will be better when we get home.”
Looking back, I recognise that feeling. I think I probably give off that same energy sometimes with my own son. Anxiety is no fun.
The caravan itself was decent but 1980s decent, not 2026 Haven-with-decking-and-double-doors decent. Two bedrooms with me and my sister in a tiny one with barely any space, but we each had a bed, so after Lairg when we were both squeezed into one bed, head to feet, that felt like luxury.
That holiday we became obsessed with Impulse body spray. My can was purple. I have no idea what it smelled like. Something synthetic probably that had never been within fifty miles of a real flower. My sister had a white one. These cans were £1.50 each. We thought we were the height of sophistication.
We also had what we called a ghetto blaster. That term might be offensive now? It was a long, thin, red radio cassette player that belonged to my sister. Mine was smaller and yellow with one tape deck while hers had two. So clearly, she was doing better in life than I was.
We played that Now 12 cassette constantly.Derek B, Sabrina, Wet Wet Wet, Hothouse Flowers, and then Iron Maiden’s Can I Play With Madness. Iron Maiden were not really my thing as a wee girl but we made it work. At the end of the song, my sister would say, “I’m sorry son, he’s not in,” like Madness was a child being asked to come out to play. My unsophisticated eight year old sense of humour found this absolutely hilarious.
To be fair, it’s still mildly amusing at forty-five.
Another core memory: the trampolines. Huge contraptions. Absolutely massive. Felt like they were too big for me. Or at least they felt that way because I was tiny? I’d love to go back and see if they’re actually as big as I remember.
We had a day out in Berwick-upon-Tweed and tried to use a Scottish pound note. And the reaction was like we’d just arrived from another planet. Even then, England had moved on to pound coins, and we were still using the wee green notes. I remember feeling genuinely nervous handing it over, not sure if it would even be accepted. What did I think was going to happen? At worst they would make me use a coin instead. That feeling has never really left me. To this day, I still make sure I’ve got Bank of England notes before I cross the border.
My birthday itself was a bit flat. I remember telling my mum I felt homesick and she told me I couldn’t be homesick because my family were with me. Which isn’t really how that works?
We also had a day out at Bamburgh Castle. I remember it being cold and windy. I also remember looking out across the sea, seeing Lindisfarne in the distance and thinking it looked magical. Like anything could be happening over there. Only years later did I learn about the history of Lindisfarne and feel like I might have been onto something.
I also remember using an old Choc Dip cup to take some sand from the beach. I know. It’s a minor crime but I was eight and encouraged by parents who were not particularly environmentally conscious. That cup of sand sat on top of the kitchen cupboards for years afterwards, right up until the late 90s.
And then there’s the last day. One of those memories that isn’t at all funny now, but at the time felt like the height of comedy.
A woman outside the caravan, scratching her bum. Me and my sister watching through the window. My sister saying loudly “Are yer breeks bothering you, hen?”
We thought we were safe and invisible inside the caravan.
We were not.
The single glazed windows were thin and she heard. She gave us an icy glare we completely deserved. We hit the floor, absolutely howling with laughter, trying to hide.
A lot of core memories were made that week along with a lot of giggles. Does it mean anything that I still remember the caravan number? Woodside 152. Or has my brain simply decided that for some reason, I should remember the number of a caravan I stayed in for a short week nearly 40 years ago?
Haggerston Castle was not just a place for me. It was a week of memorable moments, the end of a childhood era and the beginning of the “tween” era when memories get stronger and feelings get more complex. It was full of strange wee realisations, snacks that no longer exist, and the first time I was due to blow out birthday candles somewhere that wasn’t home.
Except… I didn’t even have a cake or candles. Nobody bothered to get me a cake. And so another realisation formed… and a hang-up around birthdays and ideas about my worth that survived to this day began.
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