Class of ‘68
So everyone is going on about 1968. I was born in 1961, so my revolutionary moment came at the age of seven. But I remember it well. We were driving down to the coast to get the ferry to France to drive to Spain for our annual family holiday. It took three days to drive in those days, with no motorways, no aircon and no AA recovery. Our parents were hard. We kids were harder. No seatbelts, no nothing.
That year, we were on the road to Southampton (or Portsmouth) when my father, listening to the radio news, suddenly pulled over, looking pale. “We might have to go back.” he said. Why? He’d just heard about the Russian invasion of Hungary and maybe for a moment believed the third world war was about to break out.
Anyway, we moved on. We went to Spain. War didn’t break out. Maybe he thought it if did, we’d be better off on the south coast of Spain than within 30 miles of London. Who knows. That is my only memory of 1968.
Filed under: apcp
