Rhyl.

When I was a kid, Rhyl was one of the places you went to as a bit of a treat. Either as a whole week's holiday (Wow!) if you were lucky, or for a day trip.

Rhyl was almost on a par with its big brother, Blackpool. I say almost, because it was never quite as cool as Blackpool. Blackpool had the Tower and three Piers, which in kids calculations, put it higher in the TOP-TRUMP rankings that you played out your life to.

Rhyl had plenty going for it though. The Fun-Fair, Beach, A Pier, Promenade Sweetie Shops, a Replica Sydney Harbour Bridge over the Estuary, Fun-Fair, erm.......... , Fun-Fair....... well, I guess our expectations were lower then.

It was enough for us though. The very mention of the name Rhyl had you all begging at your parents knees.... “Can we go? Pleeeeeeze? Pleeeeeeeeeze? Can we? Can we go Pleeeeze?”

We had great times there.

My junior school, Locarno Road, in Tipton, took us on a school outing there once. We went by train. It was a great adventure and would never, ever be allowed, in these modern times where health and safety squeezes the bejesus out of life.

Can you imagine the scene? Two school teachers in charge of thirty or so nine-year-olds, marching from the school to Tipton, Owen Street Train Station. One teacher leading the way, the other at the back, making sure everyone kept up. We were all Duffle-Coated, Scarfed and Hatted. The teachers made us all hold hands as we crossed the roads. It was excellent. The train was one of those with the corridor running along the one side and individual compartments for 6 or 8 passengers. We had a brilliant time.

I remember a trip my family took in the late summer of 1977. There are reasons why I know precisely that it was 1977, but I don't wanna go into that too much here, for fear of digging up ghosts, but to paint a little picture – here's the scenario:-

In the Summer of 1977 (Jubilee Year) my Mom & Dad had an acrimonious split-up that resulted in my Dad burning the house down. Unbelievably, and for reasons she can never explain, my Mom accepted my Dad back.

My Dad's parents took us (the whole family) to Rhyl in a maniac attempt to patch a leaking dyke with sticking plasters.

We “holidayed” in a tiny “Chalet” (more like a garden shed) on the holiday park (“Sunny-Dale” or something like that) to the East of the town, on the way to Towyn, just over the replica Sydney Harbour Bridge.

None of them (The Grown-Ups) had any money. The “Chalet” was powered by an electric metre which swallowed 50p's at an alarming rate. This meant blackout for the majority of the time.

My Grandfather wasn't beyond turning his hand to a bit of dishonest work to pay his way, so the idea was hatched set up a little business venture for the week. I became an early morning cockle-picker. Bright and early every morning, I was awoken and sent to help the old bastard clear the beach of any cockles left washed-up by the receding tide. This amounted to quite a few, actually. I remember struggling to drag the great big bags of cockles back to the “Chalet” which was now turned into a cockle processing factory.

Memory fails to tell me exactly how the cockles were disposed of, but I imagine the old turd going from pub to pub, doing the rounds. Selling his cockles for a shilling a bag.

The funny thing is, my memory of that holiday remains quite a fond one. Its a little like an old film that captures a certain time and place that can never be again.

Anyway. The point is, Rhyl was a great place to go. Accessible, clean and fun.

As young adults, Austen, Too-Tall-Tony, Phil The-Fluter and me went to Rhyl for a jolly-boys weekend.

I say young adults. Austen and I were about 20ish. Tony and Phil were a good ten years older than us, but supposedly “up for the crack”.

They weren’t up for anything at all, as it turned out, but Austen and I were of an even more mischievous nature than we are today. We went out on the piss and took Tony and Phil with us.

At about 1am, they called time and we all went back to our digs.

After wrecking their beds and making enough noise to raise Satan, let alone the rest of the hotel, Austen and I decided to go back out.

More drink. More girls. More fun. That, at least, was the plan.

We exploded from the hotel onto the promenade to find that Rhyl had gone to bed.

Now. I don't know whether you've ever been to Rhyl yourself, but along the promenade, on the beach side, there were a series of water features. In my mind's eye, it was like a long, snaking, paddling pool that weaved its way from one of the major amusement buildings to the roadway on the promenade. A couple of hundred yards in length. It may not have been anything like that of course, as I was smashed out of my skull. It may well have been two or three separate features. I really don't know.***

We decided to go for a midnight swim. Skinny dipping.

So, we folded up our clothes (in a heap) on a bench and took to the waters.

Starting at the one end, we paddled and swam and ran through the water, climbing over the obstructions that separated the pools every thirty or so yards. Laughing our heads off, freezing our tits off and making a right bloody row.

We were having the time of our lives when the police turned up.

A young shy policeman and a very confident young WPC shouted to us that we should get out of the water.

We did and went straight over to them, still in our nakedness.

First they made us fetch our clothes and then, just as I was expecting to get arrested, they sent us to our hotel room with a stern warning.

We went quietly. Until we reached our room that is. As soon as we got in the room, it was time to wreck Tony and Phil's beds again.

We had a wonderful time. Tony has since passed away (God bless him) and I haven't seen Phil for donkey's years but I bet Austen remembers our adventure. How could he forget?

*** I have since looked, without success on Google, Google Images and Google Maps to see if I can work out what this water feature thing was. It certainly wasn't recognisable on my later visit with Chanel. I have no idea other than I recall it being between our promenade Hotel and the sea wall. I have a feint memory of us going behind the sun centre building, onto the sea wall to have a piss into the sea but even that is a very poor, dull memory.

Many years passed and I forgot all about Rhyl. I started a family and even had a brief career. Rhyl was never mentioned and never thought about.

And then one day I bought something off Ebay which I had agreed to collect (it was an Ice-Making Machine for the pub). The address was Betws-y-coed which ain't very far away from Rhyl.

I had the splendid idea of collecting my Ebay purchase on a Sunday, which was a day when I would not be needed at the pub until evening. I usually took Chanel (my daughter, who was then about 10/12 years old) out on a Sunday, and this looked like a great opportunity to take her to see Rhyl for the first time.

So. That's what we did. We set out for Rhyl, via Llangollen (to see the “Horseshoe Pass”) and Betws-y-coed. On the journey I told Chanel all about the many times I had been to Rhyl. About the Cockle-Picking, The School Trip, The Skinny Dippers and explained how I had always seen Rhyl as Blackpool's little brother. She was very excited about the fun-fair and I must admit to a feeling of excitement myself, for seeing the place again.

The route I had taken, had thrown me beyond Rhyl and so I came upon the town from the west, heading eastwards, first through Towyn and then on to Rhyl.

The first of many memories came bouncing into my conscious as I saw first of all, the caravan park, “Sunny Vale”, ah yes. That was it's name. “Sunny Vale”. Hmm.

And there was the little club-house belonging to the caravan park, where we used to share a bag of crisps and a “jubblie-pop”.

I looked, but couldn't see, the sand-dunes, beyond which I had Cockle-Picked.

And then came the Estuary bridge. Oh.... I took a double take at what I saw.

It had two Arches, in the Sydney Harbour Bridge style not one. Hmmm.

Funny how the memory paints it differently. I remembered my brother, Paul, catching a small, flat, fish from off the bridge. Our Grandfather claimed this, the only catch of the day thus far, and promptly cut it into 4 pieces. The catch had now become bait, with which we proceeded to catch a couple of eels, which became that evening's meal.

I drove on past the funfair which wasn't there. It wasn't a funfair any more. It was a development site. I looked at where the motorised go-carts once entertained us. Not there.

The no-longer-there Log Flume which towered above the far side of the no-longer-there funfair, failed to catch my eye.

I found somewhere to park the car and we had a little wander around. We were both devastated. Chanel was broken-hearted that there wasn't the funfair that I had promised. In fact. There wasn't anything. Rhyl had become a ghost.

I had the uncontrollable urge to get away. I couldn't bear to see the place in such ruin.

Every other building, along that once proud promenade, was boarded up. The whole town ached with decay.

On the way home, we stopped for something to eat and I apologised to Chanel for wasting her time.

“It's okay Dad” she said, “It's not your fault – you should've bought an Ice-Maker Machine from Blackpool, shouldn't ya Dad?”

I understand that the towns committee for Rhyl has eventually woken up and things are being done to restore some basic tourism to Rhyl. Too late though, I think. Far too late. And yet Rhyl has a lot to offer, the beaches are great. The surrounding area is steeped in history, just around the corner is Rhuddlan, a magnificent castle, built by Edward 1^st (Longshanks) in the 12^th Century, to control the Welsh. There's plenty to see with the many seaside resorts, one after another along the coast. Prestatyn, Towyn, Colwyn Bay and the spectacularly frozen-in-time Llandudno.

I'm gonna make a promise to myself that I'll visit the area again, probably next summer. Spend a few days there and capture whatever memories are left over before its too late.