At a writing class we were asked to write about something that came to memory from a prompt that was shared around the class. That day it was a seashell......

This seashell brings me back memories of my childhood seaside holidays. Nothing very exotic but to me as a child in the 1960s and early 70s Skerries was paradise.

These days Skerries is about fifty minutes drive from Rathgar what with motorways etc. But back then it felt very far away. The car would be packed up with everything imaginable and off we'd head. The hope always was that the car would make it that far! I vividly remember the drive to Skerries, Mammy singing “We're all going on a summer holiday” by Cliff Richard.

Driving along the tree lined roads with the car full to capacity. Mostly I remember the red VW beetle. It didn't make it up hills very well with all of the weight so it was a bit hit and miss. When I drive to Skerries these days I wonder where those hills are, maybe they were just in my childhood imagination but they felt very real at the time.

This type of seaside holiday was very popular up to the early 1970s. Then the package holidays became a thing and people started to go to Spain for their summer break. I remember being there one summer while my eldest sister had gone on a package holiday with a group of girlfiends so that was probably the start of things changing.

We went for two weeks every summer for a number of years. I remember it always being sunny. I really think it was. I had the sunburn to prove it!

We always went with at least one other family. Friends of my parents, neighbours or relatives. So I always had company on those holidays. Some years I was even allowed to bring a friend.

Other people we knew often came to Skerries to join us as well so I have lots of memories. We stayed in various mobile homes, chalets and cottages over the years. We even stayed in a bedroom – literally in someones house. I presume it was on a bed and breakfast basis but it was a tiny little house. Cullens was their name from memory and the house is still there. Airbnb before their time.

My favourite house that we stayed in was 17 Balbriggan Street, a thatched cottage with a red front door. We were with my Aunt Uncle and some cousins. A search on Google maps shows it's still there but the thatch has gone. Back then I never imagined that in later years I'd end up living just 16Km from that house. It had an open fireplace with a range. I have a vivid recolletion of my Uncle Mick finding a mouse and putting it into my mothers slipper, which she had left in front of the fire, in order to frighten her, which it did of course. We thought it was hilarious.

There were greenhouses at the back of that house and we used to be sent to buy tomatoes. They were so sweet, we ate them like apples on the way home.

Days were spent on the beach, pinics for lunch, you know the usual – sand in your sandwiches and the flasks of tea. Messing around in the water with a plastic swimming ring or armbands and collecting shells. My Dad used to take us out on the rocks down near Red Island to collect periwinkles. He would pick them out of their shells with a straight pin that he kept in the lapel of his suit jacket. Yes, even when he was clambering over the rocks he was still in his suit with his shoes and socks off and his trousers rolled up to his knees.

Some days we walked down to the harbour and bought fish from the trawlers. I used to love to watch the fishing boats coming in. The colours, sounds and smells have stayed with me forever. I know that I never ate the fish, though. Seeing the heads being cut off and the fish gutted put me off. Smoked cod from the chipper on the corner near Joe May's pub, though, that was a different matter altogether!

As kids we loved the freedom. In the evening times we would walk down the lane beside the town monument, towards the beach and head to the carnival. Lots of tacky amusements. Swinging boats, bumper cars, a candy floss stall, wheel of fortune etc. It always brought a sense of wonder and excitement regardless of it's gaudiness. It was very much of its time and was a world apart from the tranquility of Highfield Grove.

I would have a small amount of spending money that I had spent months saving in anticipation of our summer holidays. This was spent on the slots in the arcade. I particulary liked the one that was like the TV programme Tipping Point.. Every time I see it it reminds me of my days in the amusements in Skerries.

Buying tickets for the wheel of fortune in the hope of winning a doll or maybe a tea set to surprise my Mam. Some of the money was spent in one of the many little souvenir shops that were there at the time. I particularly remember the one around the corner from The Bus Bar.

Buying pink and white sticks of rock for friends with 'Present from Skerries' printed on the wrapper and through the bar. I always bought a present for Mam which she kept in her China cabinet. Usually a tacky ornament with 'Souvenir from Skerries' written on it. As though Skerries was some far flung land! 

There was always entertainment in the local pubs in the evenings. Sometimes we would be allowed to go. I remember a lot of them. The Bus Bar, Stoop Your Head. Joe Mays, The Gladstone Inn, Fingals Cave to name but a few.

Red Island was a holiday camp in Skerries back then. It was a large camp with over 200 rooms that had been built by the Quinn family. People from Northern Ireland and England stayed there and to us they were 'old and foreign'.

On the Sunday lunchtime session in the Bus Bar they were always there. I remember them going around the pub conga style blowing plastic bazukas. In later years (probably the last time I went there on holidays) we stayed in Red Island for a long weekend. I was about 15 or 16 and was allowed to bring my boyfriend at the time. I suppose that was an easier decision for Mam and Dad to make than leaving me 'home alone'.

A few years ago we went there for an afternoon. The funfair was closed up as it was off season. I did however spend a bit of time in 'the slots' and sat by the beach with a bag of chips for oldtime sake.

I had a mantra every time we went through the arched railway bridge. I would shout 'we're on our holidays'. It felt that once we went through that archway we were entering into a different world. And really we were.