Forty Years On
It was July 1967, the Summer of Love. Hippies. Flower Power.
“If you’re going to San Francisco
Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.
If you’re going to San Francisco
Summertime will be a love-in there”
I didn’t have flowers in my hair. I was wearing sensible shoes, and my new purple trews with the strap that went under my feet, and my wonderful new camera, the Instamatic 100, slung round my neck. I was on a week-long school trip to the village of Ingleton, in the Yorkshire Dales.
Here I am, ten-nearly-eleven, on the right of the photo, next to Avril Thompkinson in the skirt (she was very girly) and the tall, clever Pat Tompkins on the other side of me. Zooming in, I can see that I had yet to grow into my front teeth, that I was wearing the hated glasses: but I look happy, in that slightly daydreamy way I had then.
Mr Storey, our class teacher, made a film of the whole week’s stay, interspersed with shots of me looking vaguely round as a running gag, “Here’s Daphne looking for fairies”, “Here’s Daphne again, still looking for the fairies” - -
Of course, I was really looking for good places to take photographs – and there were plenty.
That week we went to Ingleborough Cave, Janet’s Foss near Gordale Scar, church on Sunday, (a first for me - you did things proper on school trips in those days), Malham and the Ingleton Waterfalls Walk amongst other places. On the Tuesday afternoon our parents came to join us and we spent a happy afternoon in an open-air swimming pool, whilst some people played Jolly Team Games on an adjacent field but not me, no thank you, I stayed in the pool until I turned blue.
On Wednesday we set off to climb Ingleborough, but it was so misty we had to turn back. On Friday morning we were offered the chance to either try it again, or go shopping for souvenirs – I chose Ingleborough and a few of us, led by the indomitable Mr Storey, went up it rather quickly as we were short of time.
Such a lot I remember of one short week of ten-nearly-eleven. The school had done that trip annually for years – but ours was the last, the teachers were approaching retirement and the following year the primary-school-leavers got a weekend in London instead. No contest, as far as I was concerned – I loved the Dales.
Loved the Dales, and the Lakes, and have been to both many, many times since. And loved Ingleton too, and resolved to go back as soon as possible – but somehow, never managed it.
And this weekend, very nearly forty years later, I did. Yippee!
“If you’re going to San Francisco
Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.
If you’re going to San Francisco
Summertime will be a love-in there”
I didn’t have flowers in my hair. I was wearing sensible shoes, and my new purple trews with the strap that went under my feet, and my wonderful new camera, the Instamatic 100, slung round my neck. I was on a week-long school trip to the village of Ingleton, in the Yorkshire Dales.
Here I am, ten-nearly-eleven, on the right of the photo, next to Avril Thompkinson in the skirt (she was very girly) and the tall, clever Pat Tompkins on the other side of me. Zooming in, I can see that I had yet to grow into my front teeth, that I was wearing the hated glasses: but I look happy, in that slightly daydreamy way I had then.
Mr Storey, our class teacher, made a film of the whole week’s stay, interspersed with shots of me looking vaguely round as a running gag, “Here’s Daphne looking for fairies”, “Here’s Daphne again, still looking for the fairies” - -
Of course, I was really looking for good places to take photographs – and there were plenty.
That week we went to Ingleborough Cave, Janet’s Foss near Gordale Scar, church on Sunday, (a first for me - you did things proper on school trips in those days), Malham and the Ingleton Waterfalls Walk amongst other places. On the Tuesday afternoon our parents came to join us and we spent a happy afternoon in an open-air swimming pool, whilst some people played Jolly Team Games on an adjacent field but not me, no thank you, I stayed in the pool until I turned blue.
On Wednesday we set off to climb Ingleborough, but it was so misty we had to turn back. On Friday morning we were offered the chance to either try it again, or go shopping for souvenirs – I chose Ingleborough and a few of us, led by the indomitable Mr Storey, went up it rather quickly as we were short of time.
Such a lot I remember of one short week of ten-nearly-eleven. The school had done that trip annually for years – but ours was the last, the teachers were approaching retirement and the following year the primary-school-leavers got a weekend in London instead. No contest, as far as I was concerned – I loved the Dales.
Loved the Dales, and the Lakes, and have been to both many, many times since. And loved Ingleton too, and resolved to go back as soon as possible – but somehow, never managed it.
And this weekend, very nearly forty years later, I did. Yippee!
posted by Daphne at 8:51 pm
1 Comments:
Was hoping the photo would enlarge so I could see those 'Daphne Teeth' but sadly it was not to be.
I can't remember events from last week never mind 1967. It was my favourite year music wise though and I think I've downloaded just about every chart song from 66/67.
Ahhhhh simple pleasures. You the Dales and me The Flowerpot Men.
We're hopeless.
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