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We decided to let Penny have a little of her own way: she could stay at home, under the watchful eye of her grandparents, who lived not two minutes down the road. Happily, she didn’t abuse the privilege and the arrangement worked well enough. Each time we traveled we were guaranteed a warm welcome on our return, and she seemed to miss us almost as much as we did her. In fact, our chief regret turned out to be her absence from the holiday photo album. You see, turning those pages was like a cinematic record of a child growing up in sunshine and smiles. Then, when those adolescent spots appeared, the smiles became fewer and less certain. Finally, she disappeared from the page altogether. Which left just the two of us - the camera on a timer - looking strangely incomplete.
Naturally, there were advantages. Our travels became more adventurous. We didn’t have to consider the gentler sensibilities of a young mind. Naturism was an interest we could approach more boldly than before. And those challenging treks through hills and vales no longer meant moans, lengthy intermissions in cafeteria queues and a snail’s pace in between; they meant many miles and worn-out shoes.
Being our only child though, I have to say we were in no hurry for Penny to grow up at all. Of life’s injustices one must observe that childhood is too brief an affair. It is a similar nonsense that has one branded ‘over the hill’ at 40, when so many of us are in our prime. Our family resolve then was not to be cheated the full measure; we would be old only when our bones told us so - not as defined by clock, calender, birth certificate, or the beat of another man’s drum. And for our daughter we found an institution that seemed positively dedicated to the preservation of her childhood; it’s called ‘university’. They taught her other things as well but once at home - and she was close enough to return most weekends - Penny began to regale us with tales of such silliness and youthful exuberance that we seriously doubted this child would ever come to terms with adulthood.
Then, out of the blue, came something quite unexpected and delightful. Near the end of her second year, when perusing photographs of our recent trip to Ibiza, she tentatively suggested that it would be nice if all three of us went on holiday in the summer break. Well, her mother thought she had misheard and nearly scorched the ironing while looking at me for confirmation. I manage only the odd croaking sound fathers sometimes make when lost for words. “Er, yes, well . . .that’s something to think about,” I eventually pronounced. I was horrified. Did I feel a nervous twitch coming on? I couldn’t help my reservations, but we couldn’t deny her another chance either - that was the curse of parenthood. Besides which, I was slightly pleased.
The following day, unbeknown to me, Carol lurked with intent outside a travel shop. I, one the other hand, fired up my computer, firmly resolved to do some work, but found myself instead surfing the Internet’s holiday sites (to date, I would confess to those technological skeptics, I have found nothing cheaper on the Net than on the High Street. Indeed, much of it is more expensive and offers less choice. Doubtless this will change. Meanwhile I’m sure H&E would be delighted to hear of any readers’ discoveries to the contrary).
Carol returned from her ‘shopping expedition’ having realised that holiday bargains more often catered for two people than three. Our ‘baby’ could no longer make do with a crib in an inn somewhere - being bigger than her mother! It seemed prudent therefore, to put all plans on hold, before things got too complicated, and until we knew Penny hadn’t just spoken on a whim.
She hadn’t. Before returning to university for the last week of her semester, she talked excitedly about the forthcoming holiday. She even bought a hat to keep the sun of her face - under the clear guidance of daytime television’s anti-sunbathing, skin aging campaign.
The nightlife of Ibiza Town would guarantee a laugh if everything else went horribly wrong, so returning to Ibiza was our first choice, but only Mallorca came up at such short notice, and the resort of Porto Colom. Nonetheless, it was difficult to contain our enthusiasm and preserve the nonchalant attitude to travel for which we are rightly famous. Yet I thought it necessary to deliver a timely sermon to the collective womenfolk of the household. I reminded Carol and Penny that naturist areas were a regular feature of the holiday itinerary (as if Carol needed any reminding!) and this wasn’t going to change; it wasn’t compulsory to participate, and there would be plenty of time allocated to other interests. My command of the situation went unchallenged and, I’m pleased to say, not a dissenting voice was heard.
Whereas nudity has never been a problem at home (surely only mad people dress to go from bedroom to bathroom?) I suspect Penny has always judged it her duty to be the prude of the family - thereby providing some necessary balance to our ‘waywardness’. She wouldn’t even go topless on a beach and we wouldn’t think of suggesting it to her. So before collapsing in the sand I scanned the area for a suitable camp, somewhere under the welcome shade of a tree. Here, she could pull her hat down over her ears, snooze a while, or count the minutes until the dubious spectacle of her parent’s public nudity was at an end - and she could manage another of those very nice Mallorcan ice creams!
You can imagine my surprise then, at the events that actually transpired. She calmly took off her splendid hat, wriggled out of her T-shirt, snapped the fastening on her bra, kicked off her trainers, removed her shorts and the rest, and placed them all in a very neat pile on the shore. Her mother matched this unexpected performance, disrobing item for item, but, looking as dumbstruck as I felt, somehow lacked the poise. Yet moments later, all doubts disappeared. Giggling and holding hands like schoolgirls, they ran into the sea.
I resolved to join them as soon as possible but for some minutes could only sit there pondering what I had seen. Penny looked happier than she had in years, Carol too. I didn’t think we had just witnessed the baptism of another ardent naturist and nor did I care. We don’t much subscribe to labels. Even the beach had no signs to denote where nudity commences or clothing begins. Like life it is simply a question of knowing what is right for you and when.
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