Summer then and now

When I was a child on my summer holidays in Arran - eight weeks of another life altogether - we were always very sure of who were the people who lived there ("locals") and People Like Us, usually Glaswegians or natives of some Ayrshire town who returned year in, year out, to the same holiday cottage which the owners vacated for the season, moving to, in our case at least, a succession of outhouses built onto the rear of the property. We knew our landlady's family (ours had 12 children, of whom the youngest had a nephew who was older than him, a fact that always fascinated me) but never socialised with them. My parents may have visited a couple who ran the newspaper/book/haberdashery/ironmonger in the village, but they were an exception; we children knew our place and stuck to it. We never stopped to wonder what the Brodick children thought of us, of our taking over their lives, as it were, for the whole of the summer.

I was reminded of this situation this afternoon. Today was mostly spent in doing the things that don't get done when we pretend we're on holiday and go off swimming, things like a washing, birthday card sending, business phone calls, hymn recording in the church. I felt decidedly less than energetic, though I think it was partly some hay fever-type reaction to whatever is out just now that made my nose run and my voice feel scratchy. However, after a seat under the shade with my book, and a slightly precarious sleep, I felt up to a late afternoon wander and off we went.

We haven't been to Ardentinny since last September. It's not a place I like to visit in winter, as the sun really doesn't penetrate its north-east facing bay on Loch Long, and during lockdown it became distinctly unfriendly, with, I believe, road blocks and off-putting signs on the road. But it used to be a favourite spot for us; we took our children there to swim on hot days, we once had a memorable wedding anniversary barbecue there on a warm evening, when two dear friends turned up to surprise us with all the necessary food and equipment. There were always family groups, and it was always busier in August because of English school holidays and visitors. 

The blip is of the view of the beach from the hillside just north of the bay. it was about 6pm when I took it, so the beach is less busy than it would have been earlier, but if you look carefully you will see the camper vans, caravans, cars and tents under the trees all along the back of the sand. There are now signs saying to park in the bays and not on the grass, and others saying "no fires", but there are vehicles parked everywhere and the air is full of smoke and the smell of sausages cooking. And even up here where I was standing there was the sound of several competing radios and a cacophony of pop.

And now I know, all these years later, what the locals on Arran may have felt about us, the invaders who took over their special places during the best of the summer months ...