ABSTRACT
As a very young child towards the end of the Second World War, I was often taken for summer holidays to Llandudno, a staid ‘watering place’, as such resorts were then commonly known, to distinguish them from the more-raunchy holiday venues like Blackpool. On the ‘Welsh Riviera’ – yet another euphemism? – Llandudno was noted for healthy and bracing air, which meant that it was often cold, wet and windy, and for its imposing Victorian hotels with palm courts where the orchestra played while you partook of genteel afternoon tea. Forbiddingly large, impassive and unwelcoming landladies ruled the cheaper end of town, with boarding establishments boasting inappropriately optimistic nameplates such as Costa Bella, Mira Mar, Ozone House and of course Sea View. Redolent with the ubiquitous stale smells of overcooked meat and the obligatory three veg, they were almost an enticement in a period of general wartime privation.
