Somebody once said that nostalgia is not what it used to be.
Actually, it might have been me.
I mention this because this is the first week of July and my thoughts have wandered back to my childhood.
More specifically, to the end of term and the start of what seemed like an endless stretch of lazy summer days with nothing to do, and all day to do it.
The school holidays always began the same way. A fortnight away during the Edinburgh Trades spent in the East Neuk of Fife. There was, at least in my memory, a reassuring sameness to every holiday.
We would pack the car on the Saturday morning, then my mum, dad, brother and sister would pile in, the three kids fighting over who sat where and control over the tartan travelling rug, which every car had back then.
The trip across the Forth – once by ferry, but then by the marvel of the Forth Road Bridge – and then a meander on the back roads of Fife to our holiday cottage in Upper Largo.
Every day, bar one, was the same. To the beach underneath the Largo Sailing Club, erecting the windbreak, laying out the rugs, and meeting the same familiar families who were there every year for the same fortnight.
Playing French cricket, digging canals when the tide was out or playing submarines on our lilos. Going for a “shivery bite” in the Marina Cafe to warm up after a cold dip in the sea. Our father sitting in his nylon striped picnic seat, in khaki shorts with a bronzed bald bounce. Thanks for the inheritance, Dad.
Our mother dispensing the sandwiches from the battered wicker picnic basket. Always the same. Always welcome. Always too much sand….
Flying kites which inevitably broke loose and took off in the wind and swept eastwards towards Shell Bay, never to be seen again. And the treat of a sail in Bill Reekie’s Enterprise class dinghy.
Tennis at the local courts with its saggy nets – in these pre Andy Murray days always empty except for us with our bald tennis balls, loose stringed rackets and me always beating my sister.
In later years, learning to play golf at Lundin Ladies 9 hole course with a motley collection of clubs but in every round a putt to win the Open at the last.
The sun, of course, always shone. It never rained. Only on one day was it even overcast – that was the day we took off for the gentile delights of St. Andrews. To spend my holiday money in the toy shop, usually on something which broke after a few hours continuous play.
The treats of a poke of chips from Granny Forte’s and playing prize bingo and drinking a frothy coffee in Forte’s cafe in Lower Largo. (Cafe latte hadn’t been invented then.) Winning coupons for all four corners, a straight line or calling House. Sometimes a trip to Johnnie’s Amusements in Leven, the penny falls and the one armed bandits.
Fishing from the pier outside the Crusoe Hotel and never catching a single thing. Bar lunches – scampi in a basket, the height of sophistication – in the Upper Largo Hotel. And a beer shandy. When I was old enough. At least 10 or 11……
Halcyon, wonderful, days. A gentler kind of holiday. No mobiles. No TV. No worries.
Nostalgic? You betcha.
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More great news for the fishing communities of the North East and, indeed, all around the UK.
The UK Government has announced that we will leave the London Convention which is a deal pre-dating our joining the EU and allows access to our waters between 6 and 12 miles to some boats from a few of our neighbours.
This, coupled with leaving the Common Fisheries Policy as a result of Brexit, means that the Sea of Opportunity identified by the Scottish Fishermen’s Federation is fast becoming a reality.
Our vessels, our fishing folk, will now have the first call on quota not just in these inshore waters but out as far as 200 miles.
Our stocks can be nurtured and sustained for the long term benefit of our coastal communities. We can decide who fishes for what, and when, and on what terms.
From the deep sea fishermen to the fishmongers, via the processors and the hauliers, this is a major boon to an iconic industry.
Great news indeed. And even greater days ahead.
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Talking about seaside holidays and and trawling on the high seas, more good seafaring news.
I had occasion to travel by train from Aberdeen to Edinburgh last week. As I did, I gazed out of the window as we trundled across the Forth Rail Bridge, itself a monument to Scottish excellence in engineering.
To my right, sitting behind the road bridges, sat the good ship Queen Elizabeth which had just slipped her berth and taken to sea from Rosyth. This magnificent Carrier, the latest jewel in the Royal Navy’s Crown, will soon be joined by her sister ship.
And, what’s more, orders for the Clyde have been confirmed for the new class of T23 frigates to be built.
Scotland is, once again, at the heart of the UK’s defence spending.
Clyde Built, and indeed Forth Built still stand for excellence.
Britannia might not quite rule the waves as in centuries past, but Scotland and our shipbuilders still stand tall.
To those who built her – we applaud you.