From infancy, all my childhood holidays were in Cornwall, the first I can remember would have been in the early to mid 70s. We were a large family so my sister and I had to travel in the boot of my Dad’s Ford Cortina Mk1 Estate, wedged either side of the camping equipment, any discomfort nullified by the exitement of going on a week’s summer holiday. Every holiday began the same way, in order to avoid the heaviest traffic we would always set out Friday evening just as it was getting dark and drive from Kings Heath, past Longbridge and the Bostin’ Austin to the M5. Then a long, long night time drive down the seemingly endless (every journey beyond 20 minutes is endless when you're little) motorway, the soporific drone of the engine enough perhaps to send mum and my sister off to sleep but not me. I’ve frequently driven that journey myself in well under four hours as an adult but back then it must’ve taken at least double that. Eventually we’d arrive to what seemed like a different country to me with the rolling sea, heather covered cliffs, big skies and the smell of fresh air.
Those summer holidays provided me with my happiest childhood memories and as soon as I had children of my own, I did the same thing with them. Now they’re grown they’ve travelled all over the world but still go down to Cornwall every year.
this of course was back in the day before seat belts were a necessity!