Chapter Text
My earliest and happiest childhood memories are of summers staying with my Nan and time spent with cousins, Aunts and of course my wonderful Mam. Money was tight growing up, so school holidays were mostly spent with relatives around Aberystwyth, while Mam went to work. However every year we were able to get away for one week. We would stay in a caravan that was owned by a distant family member, only an hour away from Aber, down the coast near Cardigan, but it seemed like a world away.
My Mam whilst there was a different person to at home, free from the ties of work, away from the phone and calls at all hours. Once we arrived and everything was set up, clothes and food packed away, she would make us both a mug of hot sweet tea and we’d sit outside, the wind on our faces and through our hair, and drink our tea. By the last sip of her tea my Mam would look younger and happier than I had seen her since we were there the previous summer.
The view across the field, over the sand dunes and towards the sea to the west, made for some fantastic sunsets. Colourful displays from the disappearing sun, no two days are the same. Every day we would walk down to the beach whatever the weather, August in Wales is never predictable, and often changeable. Basking under an azure blue sky, laid on towels in the sand, watching the tide slowly rise and fall. Exploring the rock pools and paddling in the shallows. Behind us dark clouds often would be forming, bringing a light shower, a heavy downpour or even hailstones. Alternatively the clouds could miss our part of the world completely, or just skim the edge of it so that cloud shadows move menacingly across the sand.
Summer thunderstorms were great to watch, especially impressive at night, reflecting in the sea. Impossible to sleep through when your home is a tin box in a field, so Mam and I would cuddle up under an orange blanket, outside if there was no rain, to watch the lightning strike, counting until we heard the thunder clap, gauging how far away the storm was. If the rains came we would scurry inside to listen to the pounding on the roof, while we made hot chocolate to drink, because there was no point in trying to sleep until it had passed. Mam has always loved a good storm, which she says is why I am named after the Welsh for thunder. I always tease her that she could have spelt it correctly though.
I can still remember waking up every morning to the sounds that I only ever heard during that one week a year. The large metallic kettle being filled from the water container by the sink. The pitch got higher the fuller it became. The soft hiss of the gas as it came out of the jets on the hob, the loud clicking sound of the piezo lighter, and the satisfying sound as the gas ignited. I would listen with my eyes shut while my Mam busied herself, preparing the mugs and bowls for our breakfast while the water in the kettle hissed, the bubbles growing before reaching a crescendo as boiling point is reached and the steam causing the whistle to sound, not dissimilar to a single note on a harmonica.
Mam would join in with the kettle, humming her own tune as she started to pour the boiled water into the mugs and milk onto the coco pops, a treat only allowed whilst on holiday. This was always my cue to rush from my sleeping bag, and place the mats and spoons on the table. Breakfast was always accompanied with laughter and optimism for the day ahead. The old tinny radio would hiss and crackle and never really settle on any station, so we would make our own music, singing Motown, Bowie, Elton, songs from musicals and the occasional Disney track thrown in. Happy times I would not change for anything.
Is it any wonder then that I jumped at the chance to buy a campervan when it was suggested to me a while ago? Having a caravan while living in London is not practical, but a campervan affords me the opportunity to get away whenever possible. Travelling distances practical for the time allotted for each trip means a variety of destinations are available, choosing small sites that only allow a maximum of five caravans or campervans, and avoiding school holiday times usually allows for anonymity too. There have only been a couple of times where my simple disguise of casual clothes and a baseball cap has not fooled my fellow campers. Luckily the sort of people that frequent those places are friendly and understanding of my desire to stay under the radar.
A rare gap in my normally hectic schedule has allowed me the opportunity to go further for this trip, so I am taking advantage by visiting places, many of which I have not been to since my childhood. Having arrived on Anglesey, the small island off North Wales where I went to primary school, I have parked up the campervan facing west where I can see a small amount of sea in the distance. The large flat field has one caravan in the far corner, in the adjacent field several sheep are watching me intently as I finish the outside jobs. Electricity cable, water containers and gas bottle all connected, I place my chair in a sunny spot before going back inside. The fridge switched from battery to electric power, I rummage in the cupboard. I could use a low powered electric kettle, but prefer to reminisce every time I want a cuppa, insisting that gas heated water is somehow better. I managed to find one as close as I could to that which Mam and I used all those years ago, in a junk shop in Sussex. It has polished-up well, and does the job, however it’s whistle is half an octave out.
While the water is boiling I return to the cupboard above the worktop to get all the items needed for my tea. Whilst driving down winding country lanes the contents have all shifted, they will need a proper sort out but for now I have only one task on my mind. The humm of the kettle is the exact note at the beginning of Crocodile Rock, why had I not noticed that before? Naturally I start singing along, pouring water into the teabag in my mug. The spoon stirring joins me in the lalalas, bag removed, splash of milk, finally the indulgence of a spoon of sugar. One final stir before I grab my mug and step outside to enjoy the last of the afternoon sun.
With shadows lengthening, the whispiness of the clouds are promising to make for a spectacular sunset in an hour or so. I lean back in my chair, wrap my hands around my mug of hot sweet tea, suddenly I’m 8 again with my Mam in Cardigan at the start of our yearly week long adventure. It’s only now I realise that I have picked out my ‘Keep Calm and Love Colin Firth’ mug. I had been wondering where this got to, having not seen it at home for several months. I smile to myself remembering when Colin gave me this, and all the great times we had making both Kingsman films. Eggsy and Harry get to finish their story soon, while I’ll be sad to say goodbye to them both I can’t wait to start back. Eggsy will always be special to me, and I will be proud to play him one last time.
As I take the last mouthful of my tea, extra sweet from the sugar that did not quite dissolve, my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. Guessing who is calling I answer without looking at the screen.
“Prynhawn da Boyo” a gruff Scouse accent comes down the phone. Despite living in Wales on and off for 25 years only the most basic of Welsh phrases have stuck with my father. And mostly only to tease me with.
“Prynhawn da Dad” I answer cheerfully.”I’m all set up and about to watch a magnificent sunset.” The sun is getting close to the horizon and the clouds are a beautiful shade of pink. “When are you getting here?”
“I’m crawling in roadworks at the moment, but the sat nav says 35 minutes.” Dad is always running late, so for years I’ve made adjustments to allow for this. Mam admitted she always did this too, for his weekly visit, adding 30 minutes to the time he said he would arrive before telling me.
“That’s OK dad, See you soon” I end the call, realising that I got distracted from setting up the BBQ by the sky, that now has turned a shade of fuschia that reminds me of Elton. I grab a beer from the fridge inside, and return to my chair to watch the sun finally dip below the horizon.
Dad pulls up alongside the campervan as I connect the gas bottle to the BBQ. The last of the light in the sky is fading, so I turn on the exterior light. I grab a couple of beers, the meat from the fridge and shut the campervan door to minimise bugs entering.
I’m met with a powerful cwtch from my Dad and his hand ruffling my hair, just like he did when I was a kid. I laugh, commenting that he’s only jealous because he has so little hair nowadays. I pass him an opened beer and chink mine, exchanging “Iechyd da” as we stand by the BBQ while I light it. Once up to temperature I place the steaks on the grill while Dad gets the salad, plates and cutlery from inside. We chat about events in our lives since we last saw each other a couple of months ago, along with our upcoming schedules.
“So Son, what did you want to see tomorrow?” Dad asks as he tucks into his juicy steak, cooked to perfection indicated by the sudden ‘chef’s kiss’ I’m blessed with across the table.
Smiling, and thanking Jamie Oliver in my head, I respond with “Fucking spectacular steak, huh!” My heart swells as my Dad nods, a look of bliss on his face. Steak was never on the menu growing up, our only treat was a decent cut of lamb twice a year from a farmer friend of the family. “Oh tomorrow, it’s been so long since I’ve visited the island. I'd like to see what I can remember.”
“Righty-o I can work with that” plate clear, he mops up any remaining juices with a slice of bread. Dad leans back in his chair, pats his belly and stretches, a sure sign he’s full, and judging by the grin on his face, satisfied too. He drains his beer, “One more of these while we clear up, then I’ll be ready to hit the sack.”
Suddenly tired too, the 5 hour drive took more out of me than I thought, I slap my thighs and rise from my chair. Clearing and washing up doesn’t take long, and we retire inside as a dampness is settling on all surfaces, the cloudless sky expelling any residual heat from the day. As the exterior light turns off I stare up to admire the abundance of stars only afforded to locations free of light pollution.
Sleeping arrangements are that Dad has the fixed double bed at the back of the campervan, while I take the more challenging bed above the cab, which because of limited headroom is usually reserved for storage, or on the very odd occasion that my sisters stay with me. Lights out I settle down and check my social media for the first time since this morning and realised I have missed a selfie Richard has posted on his Instagram, showing off his toned and tanned body that I can’t resist commenting on with three fire emojis. As there is no immediate response from him I put down my phone and adjust my pillows to settle down to sleep. I can hear heavy breathing from the other bed, and assume Dad is already asleep. Just as I am dropping off my phone screen lights up with a notification of a message from Richard.
“Go to sleep Taron!” A voice in the darkness calls sleepily, and I feel like a teenager again, hiding my phone under the covers to minimise the light it’s omitting so I can continue my conversation.
Hello campers! How’s it going mate? How’s Dave?
Dave is grumpy so need to keep this short! How come parents retain the knack of making you feel 14 with one sentence?
Oh, tell me about it, Ma can make me feel like I’ve been caught wanking in ma room with just a look.
To be fair Dickie, she probably has just caught you wanking! Or stealing her best whisky.
“Taron! Sleep!” Is he sleep talking? I’m fucking 30, and this is my campervan!
GTG Dickie, I’ll call you once I’ve dumped the grump. Nice selfie BTW, looking hot.
Oh nooo, you canny even wank, will rock the ‘van too much. Tough luck T.
I put my phone down, bloody Madden, all this talk of wanking, but he’s right, especially on this high bed, the slightest movement is magnified. I try to put everything but sleep out of my mind.
Blodwyn! Good time to call?
Fuck it’s Elton, do I dare air him? Pretend I’m asleep? A call is definitely out of the question, will have to wait until morning. Where the hell is he now, what time zone?
Sorry Sharon, fucking knackered! Give me a shout tomorrow.
I turn the phone off. Sleep takes me and I dream of being on the Rocketmans set, kissing in cupboards in kimonos.