Snapshot: A second honeymoon and a trip back in time
It is 1955. I am 20, living in south London, a dental nurse, with my wedding in view to David, 22, fresh out of university. We had met when I was 16. He was shy and kind, dark and good-looking.
I see a tiny advertisement. “Two weeks in Spain, Portbou by train, full board – £29.” Package deal holidays have just started. Inspiration … our honeymoon is just possible.
I ring Thomas Cook’s to check. “Portbou? There’s nothing there, just a border railway station on the coast.”
Newly married – I had hired my wedding dress, shoes and veil – we are en route for Spain. It’s a long journey and I sleep lying across David’s lap. We arrive early morning. We descend endless steps to the sleepy little town. It’s April, sunny but rather chilly. Ahead, the sea glitters.
We find our small family-run hotel and are shown our whitewashed room with handbasin and cold water. Food is brought by Isidro, the fresh-faced, handsome 17-year-old son of the house. We realise we’re a novelty. He tentatively tries out his few English phrases.
My shorts cause some consternation in the police station opposite. We remember that this is Franco’s Spain. I have no idea of local conventions. Sunbathing on the rocky beach, we get to meet three local lads, students. We try French, mime and laugh together. Whenever we go off on the train, they seem to reappear on our return.
Sixty years later, David amazes me. “How about retracing our honeymoon to Spain? We could do it all by train again.” Wow, do you think we could meet up with Isidro?”
A week later, I’ve made inquiries and, yes, Isidro should be around.
We decide to stop off in Paris and Barcelona, and plans are made.
April comes and we arrive in Portbou, which is hardly changed. Our hotel has a note for us from Isidro. He will come to meet us at 6pm.
At last, in comes a dapper man, with a head of silver hair. Yes, he has clear memories of us. We take him for a meal and talk endlessly. At 20, he had studied art in Paris, and acted. Later, I find him in some amateur films on YouTube. He has great presence.
We give him enlarged photos we took 60 years ago of him with his parents outside the hotel. The saplings lining the street at that time are now 20ft high and luxuriant. David and I have eight adult grandchildren.
Dorothea Conti
Playlist: Wonderful memories of Mum and the King
Love Me Tender by Elvis Presley
“Love me tender, love me sweet / Never let me go / You have made my life complete / And I love you so”
Elvis singing Love Me Tender on the radio while I was driving into work recently brought back wonderful memories of my childhood. My mum was and still is a massive fan of the King, still in possession of virtually all of his albums, plus books and pictures.
Our house was in mourning when, on the radio, they announced his death in 1977. My mum was silently sobbing over the sink, pretending to wash up, as I stood in the doorway not fully understanding the enormity of it all.
In the late 1970s she went to the Astoria Theatre in London to see Elvis, the Musical, which starred Shakin’ Stevens and PJ Proby. She came home in the early hours, still high from the atmosphere, chirping on about how the audience was dancing in the aisles.
Mum’s late partner even met Elvis while he was serving in the army, a story he had to tell and retell to an extremely happy Mum.
I will never forget her playing her favourite songs, Love Me Tender being one of them, while my brother and I walked around the house with pillows over our ears to block out the sound. Desperately hiding our embarrassment when our friends came over. I secretly noticed the look of sadness when, at the end of one particular album, the compere announced that “Elvis has now left the building”.
These are happy memories that will stay with me for ever.
Andrea Hewitt
We love to eat: Bachelor Pasta from the cupboard
Ingredients
Bacon
An onion
Garlic
Pasta (not spaghetti)
The first rule of bachelor pasta is that the key ingredients have to be in the cupboard already. If you have to shop, then it will not be bachelor pasta.
Cut up the bacon into small pieces. Buying “lardons” in the supermarket invalidates the recipe. Chop the onion and crush the garlic with lots of salt. A tin of sweetcorn is often called the “fourth ingredient” but this is unofficial. I do use one sometimes, but again only if already in the house. Fry all the ingredients together until they begin to burn. The slightly burnt taste is key to the enjoyment of bachelor pasta.
Cook the pasta. Spaghetti never feels right to me – too fiddly and sophisticated – but any other kind will do. A recent bachelor pasta rule change has meant that rice can sometimes be used instead, but as it takes longer to cook, it’s not in the true spirit of bachelor pasta, which has to be made as quickly as possible.
When the pasta is cooked, pour it into the frying pan with the other ingredients, mix it all together and serve. At this point, it is permissible to add some cheese but only cut from an old piece that has been at the back of the fridge for a while.
Bachelor pasta is traditionally eaten alone. I once moved into a small flat in Basildon and went to the Electricity Board to buy an oven. I explained my circumstances to the shop assistant, who showed me what they called “the bachelor model”. As soon as it arrived I made bachelor pasta on my bachelor oven. It was perfect.
I haven’t been a bachelor for many years, but still make the dish now and again. A little controversially, I occasionally make it for my family. It goes down well but my wife always describes it as too dry. Which misses the point, I think. My son, however, now works away from home and lives alone – and I am delighted to hear that he sometimes makes bachelor pasta. I hope he follows the correct recipe.
Andrew Colley
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