My very first holiday was to a place just a few miles from my parents’ house. I was born in Birkenhead, on the banks of the Mersey, and we used to go to Hoylake. The sands were wonderful, and when you’re a child, that’s all you need — sandcastles and a paddle in the sea.Later on, Dad got a bit more adventurous and we drove over the Welsh border. We spent eight consecutive years at a boarding house in Aberystwyth. Back then, boarding houses were delightful. So clean and full of character. It was just opposite the side entrance to the very grand Queen’s Hotel, and I always pretended we were actually staying there.
I still have a great affection for Aberystwyth. It has hardly changed. Sadly, it took a battering in the storms earlier this year, but I think it has always been at the mercy of the high seas. I remember gazing over the seafront as a child and being in awe of the power of nature.
It was well after the war before I left these shores — probably around 1952. I fancied a taste of continental glamour, so I flew from Northolt aerodrome, in west London, to Dinard, on the north coast of France. I would disappear for hours, cycling along the coast. I will never forget coming across the beautiful Ile de Bréhat, which seemed to be covered in flowers. Later that evening, I ended up joining the local postman for a night of French poetry in the town. Wine, cheese and me trying to read French poetry!
I ended up joining the local postman for a night of French poetry. Wine, cheese and me trying to read French poetry! In the 1960s, I was lucky enough to go to America. New York just hits you. You see it in films and suddenly there it is, larger than life.
Over the years, I kept returning, and each time there was a journey that seemed to take my breath away: driving up the Pacific Coast Highway; the lush landscapes of Florida; Leadville, high in the Rocky Mountains.
There was an old salt ranch we stayed in near Leadville. During the 19th century, pioneers heading west would stop off there and pick up salt for preserving food. I felt I was touching history.
And the silence. It really was golden. We’re all so busy making a racket, we’ve forgotten how to be quiet and enjoy the moment.
I enjoy a bit of history on my holidays. Cruises aren’t everyone’s cup of tea, but I like the fact that you get lectures and guides — you learn as you relax. The fjords of Norway were so dramatic; the north coast of Africa was littered with the remains of past civilisations; and the Baltic coast and St Petersburg gave me a taste of Russia that I’d craved for years.
The Iron Curtain had come down by the time I travelled there, but it wasn’t hard to imagine what life had been like during the years of communism. What stayed with me, though, was the sense of pride wherever we went ashore. It was as if these nations were starting afresh and discovering their own identity.
I’ve lived a fortunate life, and been able to see so much of the world, but I try not to forget the riches we have on our doorstep. When I was filming Hetty Wainthropp, I spent a lot of time in Lancashire — the Forest of Bowland, the Ribble Valley — and Yorkshire. Views that rival any corner of the globe.
If someone told me I could never leave this country again, I reckon I could make do. The Lake District, the Peak District, Scotland, Cornwall and across the south coast — that doesn’t sound too bad, does it?
Patricia Routledge, 85, is best known for her television roles, playing Hyacinth Bucket in Keeping Up Appearances and the eponymous amateur detective in Hetty Wainthropp Investigates. She is appearing in An Ideal Husband, at the Chichester Festival Theatre, until December 13. She lives on the West Sussex coast
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