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‘I didn’t think much of a quiet, empty place’
In early 1969, my parents arranged a week’s holiday in Belfast and a week’s bed and breakfast in Dublin. When we arrived at our destination in Belfast, The Elsinore Hotel, there was not a single car in the parking lot and the hotel was empty except for an elderly man and woman. Since I was 12 years old, I didn’t think much at that time about the quiet, empty place but the owner invited the whole family to the dining room every evening and we enjoyed a delicious meal. Many pictures of JFK and the pope decorated many walls of the hotel and being a Catholic family ourselves, the owners made us a big argument.
A few days after we returned home, my father and I were sitting in front of the TV having dinner when the BBC newsreader started broadcasting and announced that a bomb had exploded that morning in Belfast and had badly damaged The Elsinore Hotel – the headquarters of the IRA. My father dropped his dinner on the floor when he got up from his chair and shouted “Good God!” Imagine a lone car with an English number plate in the car park that IRA leaders visit every day? I think we survived because we were a family of red-headed Catholics even though we were English. Marcus Graham, Florida, USA
Our wedding ceremony in 2008 was like a Laurel and Hardy movie, as everything was done in silence. We don’t talk to each other after my new husband got so drunk at the wedding that we missed the first dance. Then everything else seemed to go wrong. On our way to the airport, our car broke down so we had to hire a car. When we arrived at the resort, we were told that our accommodation was two kilometers from the town and there was no public transport or taxis as it was a religious holiday.
We walked uphill in the hot sun and one of the wheels fell off my suitcase on the way. My husband went barefoot because of the blisters. When we arrived, the restaurant was closed for the day so we had to have a cold pizza at the shop. My husband said we could have had a pizza box and it would probably have tasted better. However, we are still married 18 years later. Fiona Irwin, 52, Hull, England
‘The water was red because of my blood’
About 20 years ago, I went to Fiji. I can’t swim, and I’m afraid to go deeper than my knees. But my friend, a skilled swimmer, really enjoyed this part of our trip. The weather was so hot that getting in the water seemed sensible and since it was a degree or two cooler than the air, I started to like it. Then my friend (and I) rented a kayak. We went to the beach, staying close to shore, and I had my life jacket, goggles and snorkel. It was really fun.
My friend got excited about something called “reef break” and wanted to check it out. The water started to decrease. It was difficult to control my kayak. My friend was going far away. I yelled at my friend. At first I didn’t hear his answer, which scared me. Then I heard him say, “Ride the wave!” I saw him rise above the great water and brought him back to land. I turned to see a wave above my head and, once again, I was underwater, no kayak, no life jacket, no snorkel. I was kicking my legs and waving my arms. My foot made contact with something that felt hard, but painful – coral. I pushed up, cutting my foot, but I raised my head above the water and was able to breathe again. Confused, I looked around and the water was red from the blood on my feet. That’s when the shark fins appeared, and I thought… I don’t know how many there were – it could have been three, four, 10 or a million.
Then there was a noise and something hit my back – a swimming pool. A hand pulled me to the board. I lay there exhausted and the swimmer paddled back to shore where my friend was waiting, terrified. The guy who saved me was from the island who saw me in trouble. My friend told him something about sharks, and he laughed and said “they can’t kill you, they can bite you or swallow you”. We walked back to our lake cabin, strapped my foot in and went for a few more beers. Tim Halliday, 47, Madrid, Spain
‘I photographed a missile approaching the coast’
Our first day in Ka’anapali was spent at Canoe Beach, swimming. The next morning in the hotel lobby, I pulled up two chairs at the table, and put my friend Alison’s bag beside me. Our phones rang together. My words were: “Emergency Alert. BALLISTIC MISSILES FIRED IN HAWAII. GET HELP HELP. THIS IS NOT A LIE.” A cold nausea swept through my body. I showed Alison and her face went pale.
When I asked the barista if the hotel had a bomb shelter, he pointed to a sign near the stairs, a picture of people dancing. An ashen-faced woman with a walking stick hurried past. All over, people stared at their phones, stunned and seemingly numb. We thought that gathering in the ballroom would just scare us. As soon as she reached the concierge desk, Alison passed out. I carried her to a chair, and the woman behind the counter agreed to call 911. When Alison regained consciousness, I grabbed her arm and asked her what to do. Take me to the beach, I want to be near the water.
We settled on chases to watch the waves and sky. I watched the missile approach the beach, made of all the childhood cartoons and horrifying images of nuclear weapons I’d ever seen. We called several people on land but no one answered. I started thinking about myself.
A few minutes later, the second text came out: “Danger Alert. I looked at my toes in the sand and watched the water shining on the beach, scattering small stones and broken shells, and removed the footprints. 38 minutes of my vacation had been stolen, but my memory was an eternal image. Benjamin Malay, 56, Seattle, Washington, US
