This holiday in Juan-les-Pins was my first taste of travel outside the UK and my first time on a plane. I was coming up to eight years old and remember little about it in truth.
One of my few abiding memories of the holiday is connected with the headline photograph – I do remember learning to swim under the tutelage of the swimming instructor depicted. The picture illustrates the physical element of his method, which was combined with the constant repetition of his sole word of English – “swim” – stated in a baritone French accent, part entreaty, part hypnotism I imagine.
Suffice it to say, the fellow’s method must have worked on me – I did eventually learn to swim. I think my neck might be a bit longer than it otherwise would have been too.
My other abiding memory was meeting & befriending the Schambill family. Jean-Michel was bit older than me, but well “within range” and our respective parents seemed pleased for us to become pals.
A rummage through old photographs has uncovered a few pictures from that holiday that I probably hadn’t seen since the time, including the picture below, with me and Monsieur Schambill on a pedalo, with Madame Schambill doing the hard work by the looks of it.
We got so friendly with the Schambill family that we ended up holidaying with them again the following year, in Port Leucate.
Meanwhile, in Juan-les-Pins, we stayed in the Hotel De France, as depicted in the picture below.
Looks quite posh. I don’t think it is there now – at least not under that name.
There is a decent stretch of 8mm cine from that holiday – the first 13’10” of the reel below. You can see “Monsieur Swim” at work. You can also see Bill Ruffler – of Ruffler & Walker fame, having a go at water-skiing. I do remember mum and dad going on about the coincidence of running into the Rufflers in Juan – Bill’s business premises were a few doors down from dad’s shop in Battersea.
The photos above and a few more are all in a Flickr album – click here or below:
Not many detailed memories from that age and stage, but my impressionistic recollection is that I had a wonderful time and found the whole “going abroad” thing quite thrilling.