As a member of Sunnyside Working Men's Club and paying regularly into the "tote draw" my dad was allowed to take his children on the "club trip"
Every year the commitee would choose two coastal resorts for the annual coach pilgimage. We always prayed we could go to one of the more "cosmopolitan" resorts such as Scarbrough (Scabby) or Bridlington (Brid) rather than the old favourite of Cleethorpes (Cleggy) We were once treated to Blackpool but it was deemed too expensive for a return visit!

The date and loactions were posted on the notice board and your dad, usually after much pushing from the kids, would choose one. It was important to go to the same place as all your mates.

Some mornings, I still stand outside when up early and recalled "club trip day" Marked by getting up early, the smell of egg and salad cream sandwiches, and mum threatening my dad to keep an eye on us. She never came with us, I think she enjoyed the peace while we were gone.

I used to stand on the doorstep, waiting until you could see the coaches drive past the bottom of the main road, yelling to dad to hurry up, or the coaches would be gone. Every coach was numbered and as you walked up the road, checking the numbers, you prayed you got a decent coach and not an old banger. Getting overtaken enroute was just not cool!

My best friend M, always came on the trip with us, despite her dad not being a member of the club. My dad used to put her down as one of his kids, and as his mate was the committee member in charge of out coach he got away with it. Plus he had so many kids another one wouldn't go a miss

By 8am we were all on the coach, the front seat loaded up with pop and crisps for the journey, and eager to set off. You could guarentee that we would be delayed. One or more of the men were late on the coach, usually because they'd been "to the back" (toilet) to shake hands with the old man this had all the kids in fits of giggles. I still think the bar in the club was open, and they'd all been grabbing a crafty pint!

I always remember a joke my dad told at club trip time.

Little Johnny & Peter were on the club trip and were paddling in the sea at Cleggy. Bloody hell Johnny, says Peter. Your feet are scruffy (dirty) Oh! Says Johnny, that's cos we didn't come last year!