The annual ‘club trip’ was a highlight of our year. Six coaches packed with excited

children (and equally excited adults) waited at the bottom of our street for the

signal to leave, taking many for the only day out they would have all year.

For my mum and dad (both passed away many years ago), it was an incredibly

busy day as my dad was chairman of the children’s committee of the working

men’s club and was responsible for the whole event and mum, his indispensable

assistant. The organising began the day after the last club trip when funds had to

be raised through raffles, small auctions and so on. The fee, in that way, was kept

to a minimum and each child was provided with lunch and dinner (or dinner and

tea if you prefer) and given pocket money.

My brother and I could always choose who travelled with us on bus one – our

sisters were much older and already had families so of course they came with us,

then it was our best friends, their parents and so on. We felt very privileged as our

coach always led the way so got to the seaside first.

This particular year seemed just the same as usual. Dad and Mum had checked

numbers, written lists, allocated unaccompanied children to appropriate adults. I

had checked that each sick bucket had a damp flannel in a polythene bag and that

the huge packs of boiled sweets were shared equally for each coach.

Mum always looked resplendent on the day, paying particular attention to what

she was wearing (often bought from Millie’s, a second hand stall in Leeds

Market). She had lost her teeth, as so many people had in the sixties, believing

this would help general health. She hated her dentures but would not be seen at

the club without them. This particular day, I remember so clearly, she wore a

white linen dress with a huge flower embroidered from neck to hem. She looked

gorgeous.

I was sitting near the front of the coach and everyone was in place. We were

anxious to get going. Mum, last to arrive, climbed aboard but instead of greeting

the driver, as was normal, she suddenly burst out, ‘Oh no, I’ve forgotten my b----y

teeth!’ The coach was in uproar but she simply sprinted up the street, our house

being very close, retrieved the dentures and her dignity, returned to the coach,

acknowledged the applause with a courtesy and we were off for what proved to be

yet another wonderful day. I was, and have remained, so full of love, pride and

admiration for her and my dad.