Here is another of the amazing runner’s up entries to the Bedruthan Stories competition – a story of the summer of 1995 by one of our staff members.
This was not meant to be a holiday. My broken hearted 19 year old self found myself at Bedruthan as a live in waitress, escaping the trauma of lost love.
It was boiling hot. Everywhere. The summer of 1995 was legendary, the sun shone everyday, the kitchens full of steam as we took out the meals for guests, my little room handily above the extractors so it felt like an actual sauna in there. But I didn’t care. I’d found my own little bit of heaven.
Every morning before breakfast we would go and sit overlooking the beautiful beach of Mawgan Porth, feeling so lucky we’d found this place. People from all over the globe worked here that summer. The South Africans tried to teach me to surf. The Aussie girl who became a lifelong friend, took me for my first drive in the car park behind Betty’s. French, Spanish, Irish, Northern, Southern.. we all worked and lived in the background of this beautiful hotel.
Not a paying guest but as we ate the same food provided for guests, I lunched like a queen. And on our days off, we’d explore the gorgeous coastline, spend hours lazing on the warm sand and swimming in the beautiful sea
Mawgan Porth was very different back then, with a garage, Betty’s, and two pubs. But it was enough. That derelict old pub you go past as you drive down into the village was our social hub as staff, and while the guests were enjoying the hotel we were dancing the nights away across the valley.
I’d always wondered what it would feel to be an actual guest in the hotel. Last summer I took my two children there, watched them playing in the gardens where I’d sat between my shifts, watched them splashing in the pools I’d always longed to have a swim in. The layout of the hotel is totally different now but the feel is the same. The little block where we all lived still sits in the same place. I hope they have as much fun there as we did that summer.
I got chatting to the restaurant manager, and it turned out he had worked there that summer too. And as I chatted to the lady who made me a coffee in the shop which has replaced the garage, turns out she is married to one of the South Africans who desperately tried to get me standing on a surfboard. I guess I’m not the only one who felt that pull back to Bedruthan.
It wasn’t a holiday, but it was better. Because I got to stay all summer.