The Summer of 75

[mickd1961]

I was 21 on on hols with mates in Newquay.

Not all good though. Top 3 singles of that year

Bay City Rollers-Bye Bye-Baby
Rod Stewart -Sailing
Don Estelle and Windsor Davies-Whispering Grass

I heard Going to Barbados on the radio this week. Made me smile. David Es*** Hold Me Close brings back happy memories of my dad singing along to it and getting the words hopelessly wrong.
Queen 10cc and Bowie all had perhaps their biggest hits.

Happy happy days.

We may have passed each other that summer 923.......where did you stay?

[baggieal]

All the same memories as me Des although I was 6 years younger than you.

79......”Are Friends Electric” Tubeway Army!

What a fantastic song.

It was either 79 or 80.....80 I think where “Oops Upside Your Head” dominated the charts and my summer in Newquay.

Sat on the dance floor with the bird I targeted sat behind me with her fanny grinding against my a r s e!

I still didn’t get a s h a g :-((

Should have asked the DJ to have played Tavares - it only takes a minute Girl - then quickly whipped her outside and blown your load before the song had finished😭

[Q165]

That summer I travelled down through Europe and ended up on a Kibbutz. When I got home in October I was told that Rod Stewart's Sailing had been a big hit. I am so glad I missed that.

I was in Newquay in '71 camping with some Geordie mates. Had a really great time and was very surprised at how small it was.

[TipperaryBaggie]

That summer I travelled down through Europe and ended up on a Kibbutz. When I got home in October I was told that Rod Stewart's Sailing had been a big hit. I am so glad I missed that.

I was in Newquay in '71 camping with some Geordie mates. Had a really great time and was very surprised at how small it was.

Don't worry Q, there is medical surgery these days that can remedy that!

[Dubbag]

That summer I travelled down through Europe and ended up on a Kibbutz.

I worked on a Kibbuts in tail end of 83/84.
Was near the Lebanon border up North....great time..

[Q165]

I worked on a Kibbuts in tail end of 83/84.
Was near the Lebanon border up North....great time..

Which one? I went to Amir right under the Golan Heights (for a day) but moved straight on to Mizra in Galilee...great time.

[9goals2hattricks3pen]

We may have passed each other that summer 923.......where did you stay?

Went to Newquay every year from 73 to 79 with the same bunch of mates. Stayed on a caravan site which unusually allowed all male groups. Been to Cornwall a few times since but never back to Newquay. Would I consider it much changed?

40 years later and despite the 180 miles between us we still are mates.

[Albionic68]

No.......not the long hot summer of 76 but the year before. I was 13 and shortly to be 14 in the October. It was the first time my mum and dad had been able to afford to take us away for a weeks holiday at a hotel and we stayed at The Edgcumbe Hotel on the front in Newquay. Gosh I thought I was in heaven.............

Hello Mick, I hope all's well with you and yours.

First time in a hotel was for two weeks with my girlfriend (now long suffering wife) in Lloret De Mar in 1988 aged twenty. We were there during Bobby Robson’s disastrous Euro Championship campaign when Gullit and Van Basten inspired the Dutch to victory. We’d had plenty of weekends together before and I’d been away with the lads but these were in BnBs or under canvas.

I’ve touched on this previously but family holidays in the mid-seventies (’75-’77) were spent in a small static caravan on a farmer’s field over Stourport way. It had no fridge or shower and the toilet was a glorified bucket in a small storage shed next to the caravan. This was emptied daily by the farmer when he dropped fresh milk and eggs off first thing in the morning. If it needed emptying again I’d carry the slops across the field to a toilet outside the farmer’s cottage and flush them away. The smell of disinfectant in the shed was a little over powering at times during those long hot summers, the caravan itself had a gas cooker but water was taken from an outside stand pipe.

The first year we caught a Midland Red bus to Stourport and walked the last couple of miles or so down country lanes to the field. The following year my uncle gave us a lift and the year after we went in our new (third of fourth hand) car using it’s battery to power the portable TV we eventually took with us. There were no electric sockets while lighting was taken from match lit gas fittings which gave off a whiff, definitely a couple of issues regarding elf n safety.

The caravan was old and cramped but it was a cracking little base camp for the adventures ahead. It sat in a good sized field with a hill beside a wood with a stream running into the River Severn. From memory there were only ever two other caravans with us at any one time. These were privately owned and better equipped than ours but I didn’t care because to me ours was just perfect.

I remember the smell of flowers and wild garlic in the air during the warm summer days and afternoons as I played in the shade of those woods. Sometimes with the farmer’s grandkids and at others on my own, exploring, running and running across country as the Bionic Man (with sound effects) or pretending to be Brendan Foster in his pomp. Magical times spent chasing rabbits, dodging dragon flies, jumping over drowned sheep, playing football, soldiers and even cricket in the glorious sunshine. The field and those woods were an exclusive adventure playground/assault course; food and drink to young kids with boundless energy and active imaginations.

Occasionally my older brother, sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles popped over for a Saturday or Sunday afternoon in the sun. We’d walk into Stourport along the banks of the Severn just chatting and laughing. Mom and dad would relax with a couple of tots and I’d have a Vimto or beer shandy before going on the big bumpy slide at the fair. We’d go on the river too and once the others had gone home we’d walk to a local pub off the beaten track. Coming back of a night me and mom would stop off in the fields for spuds and ears of corn for supper and the next evening’s dinner as dad kept watch and bats fluttered blindly overhead.

Those holidays were probably only about seven to ten days each and reading back they’re from another era, one of boy’s own adventures without a care in the world. When I was on leave from Germany during the early 90’s me and the Mrs went to Stourport for the day and walked the same route hand in hand along the Severn back to the cottage and field. Although the farmer’s long gone it was like I’d never been away as the sun shone down. Those three summers were times of great innocence and joy before some very harsh realities took hold soon after. They provided some of the happiest times of my life, thank you mom and dad. If I could go back in time just for one day, feel the sun on my face and hear your laughter again I’d do it in a heart beat. Miss you both.

[WBA1955]

Sounds a similar childhood to mine Danny. In the late 50's and early 60's we all had summer Sundays in the country. About four or five car loads of us , Parents, Grandparents, Uncles, Aunts and Cousins would go to places like Stourport, Kinver Edge, Worcester, Sutton Park, Drayton Manor etc and have tea on the grass by the cars.
On the way home the adults would want to stop for a pint, and chose a pub with a garden.
The one we went to most and the one i always loved is now my local. I can see it from where i live.

[mickd1961]

Hello Mick, I hope all's well with you and yours.

First time in a hotel was for two weeks with my girlfriend (now long suffering wife) in Lloret De Mar in 1988 aged twenty. We were there during Bobby Robson’s disastrous Euro Championship campaign when Gullit and Van Basten inspired the Dutch to victory. We’d had plenty of weekends together before and I’d been away with the lads but these were in BnBs or under canvas.

I’ve touched on this previously but family holidays in the mid-seventies (’75-’77) were spent in a small static caravan on a farmer’s field over Stourport way. It had no fridge or shower and the toilet was a glorified bucket in a small storage shed next to the caravan. This was emptied daily by the farmer when he dropped fresh milk and eggs off first thing in the morning. If it needed emptying again I’d carry the slops across the field to a toilet outside the farmer’s cottage and flush them away. The smell of disinfectant in the shed was a little over powering at times during those long hot summers, the caravan itself had a gas cooker but water was taken from an outside stand pipe.

The first year we caught a Midland Red bus to Stourport and walked the last couple of miles or so down country lanes to the field. The following year my uncle gave us a lift and the year after we went in our new (third of fourth hand) car using it’s battery to power the portable TV we eventually took with us. There were no electric sockets while lighting was taken from match lit gas fittings which gave off a whiff, definitely a couple of issues regarding elf n safety.

The caravan was old and cramped but it was a cracking little base camp for the adventures ahead. It sat in a good sized field with a hill beside a wood with a stream running into the River Severn. From memory there were only ever two other caravans with us at any one time. These were privately owned and better equipped than ours but I didn’t care because to me ours was just perfect.

I remember the smell of flowers and wild garlic in the air during the warm summer days and afternoons as I played in the shade of those woods. Sometimes with the farmer’s grandkids and at others on my own, exploring, running and running across country as the Bionic Man (with sound effects) or pretending to be Brendan Foster in his pomp. Magical times spent chasing rabbits, dodging dragon flies, jumping over drowned sheep, playing football, soldiers and even cricket in the glorious sunshine. The field and those woods were an exclusive adventure playground/assault course; food and drink to young kids with boundless energy and active imaginations.

Occasionally my older brother, sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles popped over for a Saturday or Sunday afternoon in the sun. We’d walk into Stourport along the banks of the Severn just chatting and laughing. Mom and dad would relax with a couple of tots and I’d have a Vimto or beer shandy before going on the big bumpy slide at the fair. We’d go on the river too and once the others had gone home we’d walk to a local pub off the beaten track. Coming back of a night me and mom would stop off in the fields for spuds and ears of corn for supper and the next evening’s dinner as dad kept watch and bats fluttered blindly overhead.

Those holidays were probably only about seven to ten days each and reading back they’re from another era, one of boy’s own adventures without a care in the world. When I was on leave from Germany during the early 90’s me and the Mrs went to Stourport for the day and walked the same route hand in hand along the Severn back to the cottage and field. Although the farmer’s long gone it was like I’d never been away as the sun shone down. Those three summers were times of great innocence and joy before some very harsh realities took hold soon after. They provided some of the happiest times of my life, thank you mom and dad. If I could go back in time just for one day, feel the sun on my face and hear your laughter again I’d do it in a heart beat. Miss you both.

I felt I was there with you 68.....I could feel every memory.

Coming from Yorkshire most holidays from 67 ( when we moved to Stourbridge) through until 78 were spent back in Harrogate visiting my grandparents and other family.

Trips out to Plompton Rocks to picnic....sandwiches courtesy of my Nan Ethel who was a wonderful cook.

My grandad on my dad’s side was a bus driver and drove National Coaches during the summer so we’d load the car an travel to Bridlington,Scarborough,Whitby or Filey,whichever destination grandad Cyril was visiting and we’d spend the day with him.

He’d roll up the uniform trousers and put on the knotted hanky and relax.

The journeys home were special as me and my brother would go back on the coach and have the sing a long with all the paying customers....,I’ll bet they don’t sing these days!!

By the time I was 13 I was choosing to spend most of my summer at my Nan Nellie’s house in Harrogate.

Her and my other grandparents only lived a 1/4 mile from each other but she had spare bedrooms and a later curfew time :-))

The street was a cul de sac with large playing field at the bottom so 9.00am in the morning until late evening was constant football,cricket,hide and seek and general f king around on local hillocks next to the railway.

As term time approached I’d sadly catch a National Coach back to the Midlands and my dad would collect me from Digbeth coach station........what a dump that place was!

On my first journey back in 74 I sat next to a girl from Aldridge called Anne- Marie Palmer,I spent the whole trip with a hard on!

We swopped addresses etc and kept in touch for a couple of years but I was batting out of my league,she was the same age as me but more worldly ( at that stage! )

Anyway....she started going out with future world speedway champion Hans Nielsen for a while when she was about 16-17 which really peed me off!

I spent Xmas 77 with her in Harrogate though which Hans probably is still oblivious to :-))

I’d hate to be young now.......although into the last third of my life ( or less! ) I wouldn’t change my era for anything.

60’s with the Beatles etc.....Glam Rock,Punk,New Wave,New Romantic.....Rene and Renate......Jo Dolce....who’d trade all that.

With our grandchildren we try to replicate the simple pleasures of the 60’s and 70’s so things like houses and tree houses in the garden and farm visits etc are the order of the day whilst they’re young.