We got our first real camera in 1972 it was a Kodak Box Brownie with 127 film, it cost a fortune and the film was so expensive. We weren’t allowed to take many pictures and those we did take were often blurred, a collection of knees and occasionally one you could day “that’s not too bad” - we weren’t what you call professionals - but we were keen and enthusiastic.

Before this cameras were the exclusive domain of the adults with flat fold out contraptions with black bellows. With this new generation of “holiday” cameras anyone could join in the fun.

We don’t have many pictures from the 1960’s and 1970’s and most were weddings and birthdays, and but a precious few holiday ones exist, and one day we will get around to digitising them.

One day my dad came home with the new fangled Polaroid camera, it was like something out of a James Bond film, modern - sleek and it developed the film instantly, well almost instantly.

Ours was a black and white version and we have a few snaps we took of the local carnival floats, they are tiny in size. I seem remember you would open up the body and put in a pack and it would make a strange noise as it loaded the first film. When you pressed the button the picture would shoot out the front and you had to shake it - presumably to spread the chemical, hence “shake it like a polaroid picture.” You’d then separate the two parts and hey presto a picture - it was a miracle

It wasn’t until the late 1970’s maybe even early 80’s that we got into photography and out first real camera was an SLR (Single Lens Reflex) a Minolta - all in black - it was a special camera for us back then and cost a small fortune. It was a 35mm and the jump in quality was amazing, we mainly shot Kodak 100 and 200 colour film and Ilford FP4 and HP5 which was a grainy 400 asa film. This is the perfect medium for evocative black and white shots - we wish we had shot more of it.

But we weren’t wedded to our cameras and phones, tablets and the like hadn’t been invented yet. Maybe because we experienced things rather than just recording them the memories of events are stronger? Just remember to look up from the smart phone or camera once in a while - there is a whole world out there.

“Flew into Miami Beach BOAC, man I had a dreadful flight” or so the Beatles song went, except we flew BOAC to Jamaica on account of my dad selling more trucks than anyone else, and the star prize for winning was a family trip to these exotic isles.

I think it was on a Tri-Star jet and these were quick - faster than many modern aircraft, but real gas guzzlers. We stoped to refuel at the Bahamas and I remember the hut which was the airport and a giant sailfish which sat above the counter - I’d never seen such a fish.

Jamaica was an alien world for us kids and oh so hot! Giant land crabs which dragged one claw along the ground, butter that melted before it got to the table., and tuneful steel bands and reggae music. Humming birds that flew standing still, exotic flowers, and giant insects. The local people would climb the coconut palms to pick huge green fruits and with a bush machete chop of the top for a cool drink of coconut milk. Greg the barman would serve fruit cocktails which my mum loved called “Planters Punch” which soon become “pwlatwers plunch” after just one of them, possibly on account of the Mount Gays 140 proof rum they used to make them with.

The Blue Mountains and Dunn River Falls were stand outs as was the Beach at Montego Bay. Even the crocodiles which lived in the river didn’t put us off the raft ride on bamboo rafts, but what an adventure.

Jamaica was pretty violent back then, which was a surprise, as the people were so welcoming, warm and friendly, but it was a dangerous place to go out at night, and on the one occasion we did venture out we had to take two armed guards with pistols and machetes, at the insistence of the hotel. The following day the local press reported that the Police had shot dead a group of armed robbers, but also they shot the bank teller and manager. We stayed in at night after this.

One day we decided to walk into town to buy a camera, but we had no idea about the sun or sunburn, I got so badly burnt I spent the next two days in darkened room, the skin puffing up on my arms. Talk about mad dogs and Englishmen. But we just didn’t know - there was no internet back then to find things out. I now have freckles as a result - sun kissed we called it - a gift from Jamaica.

I guess that was one of the differences - it was all a learning curve - people didn’t normally travel to places like this so why would you know?

Footnote We have a few souvenirs from this period in our artefacts collection, including a wooden letter opener and a wooden ash tray.

Even now it seems crazy 11 countries in 14 days - a self drive “Cosmos” tour across Europe, The trip went something like - (My dad must have been exhausted by the end of it).

Oostende - Bruges- Antwerp - Belgium

Eindhoven - Holland

Monchengladbach - Cologne - Bonn - Koblenz -Baden Baden - West Germany

Basel - Lucerne - Switzerland

Vaduz - Lichtenstein

Innsbruck - Austria

Verona - Rimini - Turin - Italy

San Marino City - San Marino

Lyon - Dijon - Nancy - France

Monoco - Monoco

Luxembourg City - Luxembourg

Oostende - Belgium - Home

I always remember a kind German lady who came out with a glass of water after my brother puked up everywhere, he got travel sick, and she took him into the house to clean him up. Thank you, or perhaps we should say Danke.

A few years ago I found a postcard we had sent from Switzerland dated 1970. This was trip of some many firsts, and so many different languages and currencies, - first duvet - what an invention that was - but it would take another decade or so before they made it over to the UK, first French fries - and wow were they delicious. Enormous castles with huge trout swimming in the moat, vertical rain and sheet lightening like I’d never seen before - lighting up the whole sky (good job they had invented duvets to hide under). It was one hell of an adventure and a road trip I would like to recreate at some point - but maybe not in 14 days.

We met up with “crazy” dutch firemen, who even one evening carried rather drunkenly my mother up the stairs - they would knock back the snaps and shout “Proost” and smoothing like “Bon Savior!” we had no idea what it meant - but we shouted it too.

Footnote For the savy amongst you you will have noticed that the number plate is 72-73 but we went in 1970. This is just a period correct stock photo., but we had clothes just like this, in matching shades of brown, and ours was just a van - not a camper.

£20 in the Golden Egg - me and my mum could’t believe it - how could you spend £20 - I think our meals were way less than a 10th of that, but then in the Golden Egg in Jersey you could buy Champagne.! The Golden Egg was like the Wimpy Bar of its day or I guess Burger King / McDonalds, but you could also get cocktails and wine.. I loved The Golden Egg Restaurants - what happened to them?

The flight over was probably one of the most dramatic I have ever experienced - a propeller aircraft a De-Haviland Heron I think, it was like out of bad 1950’s movie, Rain flying past the windows and fork lighting strikes in the sky as the plane bucked and plummeted in turbulence, it was both fun and scary at the same time, my mum looked like she was about to throw up.

Jersey was a great escape for me, my parents had just split up and me and mum had taken a break. I read Sven Hassle war books and played in the wartime gun emplacements, scratching the face of my first watch when I got stuck inside a pillbox. It’s funny what you remember.

We saw funny colour cows which made butter and milk from heaven and ate tiny potatoes which were a delight. They were all new experiences.

We went on a Hydrofoil; ships that rose out of sea on big skis, and went at breakneck speeds to the surround islands and Saint Malo in France, and every evening we ate at the Golden Egg - my new found favourite and on one occasion dodged bottle throwing drunks on the promenade. Mum lost a contact lens on the Hydrofoil and everyone on the boat chipped in to find it - we did.

I traveled on mums passport and it wouldn’t be until 1981 that I could get my first passport of my own.

Footnote We have nothing from this era save a single Sven Hassle novel, the rather charmingly named “Liquidate Paris” Its from 1974, so I guess this is roughly when we went.