STAR E-MAIL
1977. A night train from Peshawar. I’m on the top bunk in a women’s
compartment; my boyfriend is squashed in with the men. This is a Muslim
country. We have been through Iran in the last days of the Shah, through
Afghanistan months before the Russian invasion and down the Khyber Pass
heading for India. A handful of Pakistani women and children squat on the
floor, talking. I am tired and a long way from home. All I have to read is
Akenfield by Ronald Blythe. Bizarrely, in the heart of Pakistan I am
transported to the heart of England.
Janet Grant, Wiltshire
I spent the summer of 1939 on the beach near Bognor. I read and reread by
torchlight my latest favourite book. I escaped from worries about the coming
war to 'the first Monday of the month of April 1625'. My sword was soon
flashing beside those of d'Artagnan and the Three Musketeers.
I still have that book inscribed 'In Remembrance of Edenmore, Summer 1939' and
signed by the headmaster of my preparatory school to mark my leaving. Happy
days. Exciting nights. I would never say 'bugger Bognor'.
Roy Munden, Taunton
In 1998, whilst teaching in Kenya, I spent a fortnight safari-ing in my
well-worn Suzuki Sierra. I took along an old, yellow, hard-cover copy of
Steinbeck’s ‘Travels with Charley’. I loved Steinbeck’s isolation, and the
flatulent Charley bore comparison with my decrepit vehicle. That trip
remains my favourite adventure – attacks by safari ants, running from
elephants in the dusk, car trouble marooning me for two days. Back on the
shelf in the school library, the book bore witness to its part, its thick
pages rimmed with the red dust of the bush. It joined me on every subsequent
safari.
Liz Jadav, London SW8
Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky seemed a suitable choice for last years
holiday in Brittany. And after only two chapters I had my own suite
francaise. Under a halo of blue flashing lights I was rushed into hospital
and given the luxury of a private suite for six of my fourteen nights
holiday. There I marvelled at the beautiful, tragic and gripping story which
though a novel has a ring of truth. In between vigorous examinations of my
ailing abdomen and fragile french I was able to escape from my own suite
francaise to Issy - l'Eveque. Ah, what bliss.
Adrian Bradley, Cheshire
Driving across the USA with my brother in a fifth-hand Plymouth Reliant in
1991, I spent what seemed like hours in youth hostel bunks waiting for him
wake up so that we could get on with our journey. These moments were saved
by Bill Bryson's The Lost Continent, whose hilarious descriptions of the
states we were driving through not only helped to put the landscape in
context but made me laugh so much that my snorting usually woke up my
slumbering sibling.
James Smith, London SE19
It’s hard holidaying with a testosterone-charged, angst-ridden teenage Goth
but when the youth is your stepson, it’s painful.
Cannes 2003. We only had one thing in common – a love of the same man - for
whose attention we competed.
It was poolside paperbacks at dawn.He clutched his ‘Misery’ with vengeance -
six consecutive reads to amplify his point. My ‘Ladder of Years’ failed to
register. Desperate for the last in last words, ‘We Need To Talk About
Kevin’ was offered as the modern literary equivalent of Damien.
He read it. Verdict; best book ever. Now we share two things.
Phoebe Gibson, Worcestershire
In a little croft at Princhorran on the Isle of Skye. Out of the window to the
west the little island of Raasay. To the east sheep grazing on the rough
hillside. Yet here was I tucked up in bed with a hot water bottle and the
book 5 Quarters of an orange by Joanne Harris. The alarm had gone off at
6am. I got up, made sandwiches and a flask for my husband who, brave soul,
left early to go into the Cuillins, Bla Bheinn I seem to remember. The book
took me out of those beautiful surroundings. I could smell the French
countryside. I tasted the beautiful food. I gathered the mushrooms, I
preserved them in olive oil with garlic.
I ached at the friendship between the child and the German soldier, I ached
mainly because of the innocence of child hood and yet the crafty way she
used the 5th quarter of the orange.I finished the book at one read(Bla
Bheinn is a long and hard slog) I didn`t feel satisfied and started the book
again immediately in case I had missed some detail.
My husband was sorry he had taken so long, leaving me on my own. I was sorry I
had been to France twice without him
Bren Connor, Tyne & Wear
In the summer of 1990 I had just finished my GCSEs and was looking forward to
a dissolute and lazy summer. My mother had other ideas: athree month break
would be an ideal opportunity to start on the reading listfor my A-levels.
So I spent that summer immersed in Wuthering Heights,reluctantly at first,
but with increasing enthusiasm as this great tale ofpassionate love and
revenge unfolded before me in my sheltered, middle-classback garden. I've
re-read the book countless times since, and always those wildand windy moors
bring back memories of that long, hot summer. (100 words)
Liz Gregory, Didsbury
In 1988, amidst the cacophony of sounds and stuporous heat of Madras in India,
and after having exhausted all conversational topics with friends and
relatives, I turned to John Steinbeck. Of Mice and Men was a deeply moving
story of soul-bonding of two disparate characters, desolation and sheer
hopelessness of their unfulfilled dreams. Equally emotive was Steinbeck's
epic work The Grapes of Wrath - a novel about fractured lives, utter
deprivation of the dust-bowl droughts of the Deep South, and the battle
between existential and anti-existential forces which govern our lives.
Melancholic, yet Steinbeck showed us that the indomitable human spirit lives
on.
Dr Sam Banik. London N10
In 2002 I went to Barbados for a two-week holiday. It is a beautiful island,
but there is not much to do except sit on the beach and/or drink. So I read
War and Peace, which I had been promising myself I would do for about fifty
years. It is an excellent read, especially if you are sitting on a sunny
beach in Barbados. Next time, Ulysses. Maybe. But certainly not any Salman
Rushdie.I know lots of people who have read eight pages of Midnight's
Children.
Tom Rayfield, Oxfordshire
In July 2006 I wasn’t going anywhere, having just given birth to twin boys. It
was to be a summer ‘holiday’ with a difference, but I was determined that I
would still find time for reading, and the book that saw me through the
first few weeks of night feeds and nappies was Human Traces by Sebastian
Faulks. This novel about what it means to be human absorbed and moved me.
Reflecting on parenthood, one of the characters feels herself to have been
‘transfigured by that joy, always’. As I read, I realised that my life had
just changed forever.
Karen Foster, Whitby
I needed to get underground. Rome was hot, bright and crowded in June 2007 and
I was enjoying David Hewson’s ‘The Seventh Sacrament’. Its vivid
descriptions of labyrinthine underground passages travelled with me and I
wanted sacrifice. San Clemente’s mithraic temple, a second century
underground cave, supplied the atmosphere. The altar depicted Mithra slaying
the bull and the subterranean river provided the sound effects. Dragged back
into the sunlight, the next tourist venue was the spectacular Pantheon. I
gazed up at the oculus. ‘Imagine a cone of snow forming below,’ I mused to
my friends. ‘Now, in ‘The Sacred Cut ………’
Margaret Newman, Derbyshire
Summer 2005 I broke my shoulder. I was too fragile to travel – what else could
I do but spend the holiday at home reading? I resorted to crime, a genre
guaranteed to absorb me. In the bookshop I came across Ann Granger’s Say it
with Poison. I was immediately hooked by this tale of murder, blackmail and
unrequited love. I needed no car, coach or train to transport me – I was
there in the Cotswolds village, on the case with Meredith Mitchell and Chief
Inspector Markby. I enjoyed this book so much I read all fifteen Mitchell
and Markby Mysteries!
Jean Marshall, Hertfordshire
1977. A night train from Peshawar. I’m on the top bunk in a women’s
compartment; my boyfriend is squashed in with the men. This is a Muslim
country. We have been through Iran in the last days of the Shah, through
Afghanistan months before the Russian invasion and down the Khyber Pass
heading for India. A handful of Pakistani women and children squat on the
floor, talking. I am tired and a long way from home. All I have to read is
Akenfield by Robert Blythe. Bizarrely, in the heart of Pakistan I am
transported to the heart of England.
Janet Grant, Wiltshire
To celebrate my birthday in July 1991 my husband arranged our first visit to
Italy. A wonderful holiday of one week soaking up the atmosphere, visiting
galleries, museums, churches and restaurants in Florence and an equally
wonderful week relaxing on the beach and people watching in Viareggio. A
friend loaned me a copy of "A Prayer For Owen Meany" by John
Irving, most of which I read on the beach in Viareggio. My husband's
sunbathing interrupted by my sobbing as I attended Owen Meany's funeral! One
of the best novels I have read and a welcome introduction to John Irving's
novels.
Susan Garner, Bury
Crete might have been a more relevant destination, but The Island by Victoria
Hislop, a quest for the truth about a traveller’s ancestry, would be an
entertaining read for any summer holiday, and didn’t disappoint last year on
my family trip to British Columbia in Canada. Vancouver Island bore no
resemblance to the carefully-drawn horrors of Hislop’s Spinalonga leper
colony, of course, and was instead the location for adventures such as
bear-watching and rainforest-walking – but we did find ourselves applying
lotions and potions after succumbing to “swimmer’s itch” in Whistler’s Alta
Lake.
Katherine Dixson, South Staffordshire
We flew to Greece on September 12th 2001; it felt as if we were entering a
parallel universe, worlds away from images of terror. Our family sailing
trip to the Ionian islands was delightful: turquoise seas, hidden beaches
and rustic tavernas. Of equal delight was my secret companion: Lyra [the
protagonist of Philip Pullman’s Northern Lights]. As I basked in the Greek
sunshine I also travelled with Lyra on her adventure to the North. I was
enchanted by her world, so familiar and yet not-familiar. A world of daemons
and gyptians, lit by naphtha lamps and controlled by the Magisterium.
Another world; another parallel universe.
Sue Kingston, Edinburgh
'In the Dark' by Deborah Moggach - read June 2008 in Antigua whilst on a
family holiday. Everything about the holiday was perfect and we all deemed
it to be up there with the best, as the sun seemed to shine especially upon
us.
I was reading this book for a book club meeting for the Thursday of our return
so, initially, it remained in my beach-bag as an 'intrusion' into our lovely
holiday. However, I eventually started to read it and was hooked from the
start. It is about a family running a lodging house in London during the
first world war and concentrates around the ordinary lives of four/five
central characters, but it is such a compact, detailed and sexy read - and
so well researched - that it indeed added to the pleasure of the holiday,
although my daughter does remember me exclaiming about the ending!
Alison Flynn, Cheshire
It was 1975, I was young, in love and on holiday. Lying on a hot white sandy
beach in a secluded cove in the Algarve, with the sun beating down,
listening to the gentle lapping of the azure blue water, mixed with the
laughter of people frolicking in the sea.
Postponing my toe dipping until a little later I became engrossed in my book,
Jaws, picked up hastily at the airport. All thoughts of my idyllic location
however soon retreated and a thumping, heart in my mouth, grippingly
terrifying fear took over.
I would never go in the water again.
L. Jameson, Essex
It was the summer of 1990. We were on a family holiday in Side, Turkey. This
included my husband and two young children, my parents and my sister and
brother in law. I was reading "To Kill A Mockingbird" by Harper
Lee. I had read the book before. My husband made the comment that, "That
book must be good, you've not been able to put it down". At that time,
with a young family, it normally took me months to read a book. I read that
book in two days, it remains one of my favourite books.
Mary Golaszewski, Cardiff
“Why don’t you just go then?” was my husband’s comment.
As a young girl I corresponded with my cousin, who held the status of Army
Captain stationed on the Seychelles. He wrote wonderful tales of languid
days in a climate pleasant and warm. With “Gone with the Wind” packed, in
August 2003, Margaret Mitchell’s blockbuster mesmerised me in thought on the
verandah of the wooden cabin after I reached Bird Island. I walked the
island followed by screeching Sooty Terns, to return and pick up the next
chapter. Other Seychelles Isles were visited. “Gone with the Wind” kept me
riveted.
Mary Kingston, East Yorkshire
Summer 1975. An exhausting ten days of exams was followed by a nerve-wracking
viva.
August, our camping holiday in France. The sun shone and the five of us swam,
played boules, visited markets. Then the rain came.
I snuggled into my sleeping bag and lulled by the hypnotic drip, drip of water
on canvas, opened my copy of "Lord of the Rings" and was
transported to Middle Earth. Rereading it revive those memories. After five
years as a mature student this was my gift to myself. The 2:2 was a bonus.
Eunice Roberts
In the summer of 1990 we were walking and exploring in British Columbia's
Rocky Mountains with three very active young boys - who were constantly
looking for bears - we never saw one! We were camping and each evening,
after the boys had gone to bed, I read the 1000 pages of Ken Follett's 'The
Pillars of the Earth' by candlelight, drinking beers chilled by the icy
Illecillewaet river. The engrossing story came alive and I feel I helped
build the cathedral with Philip and the others, as I turned yet another page
long after the whole campsite had gone to sleep.
Pam Hoyle, Cumbria
I think it was 1944. Walking round Woolworths in Belfast I was totally
transported by music flooding through from a loudspeaker; we had journeyed
to Belfast to stay with relatives for a holiday. A long arduous train ride
from Leeds, all the way up to Strunrae, then on the ferry across the Irish
sea. Cramped now in 3 bedroom semi with family I did not know.
"Oh What a beautiful mornin` Oh what a beautiful day".It shot
through my system like a drug, I no longer walked I was three feet above the
ground. From there I went to the public library, into the children`s section
and just focussed, magnetised on to "Ann of Green Gables" That
amazing book got me through that "Holiday".
Joy Harper, Suffolk
Five blissful weeks of house-minding at the Cape ended at midnight on the eve
of departure with a bolt from the blue or rather the black. Nightmare sent
me bounding beserk from bed to punch and kick some imaginary assailant. I
awoke bloody and confused on the floor and quite second-best in the strange
encounter.
Earlier we had read with pleasure Sebastian Faulks' account of the confusing
spasmodic memories of Engleby about the disappearance and murder of his girl
friend at Cambridge. Were these, we couldn't agree, more realistic examples
of bolts from a very fevered blue ?
Brian Taylor, 5 Victoria Street, Brighton
In 1994, at the end of my first year at university, some friends and I
travelled to Zimbabwe. We drove around the country; camping out amidst the
spine-shivering sound of lion roars. Each evening we read aloud from Wilbur
Smith's 'The Leopard Hunts in Darkness'. Wilbur Smith is a magnificent
storyteller but to be passing through the actual settings made this story
particularly enthralling. My first taste of Africa was an intoxicating,
bewildering mix of vast blue skies, exotic wildlife, stunning waterfalls,
faded colonial splendour and a seemingly impenetrable chasm between black
and white. I fell in helplessly in love.
Katy Peters, Guildford
I made a new friend when I was on a touring holiday of France in 2006. I was
travelling in my 1961 MGA sports car and Henry was residing in Ian McEwan’s
book Saturday. As we motored down the straight tree-lined roads from Calais
to Bordeaux I recognised that feeling of excitement on meeting someone, to
whom you feel an instant connection. It seemed as if I had known him for
years. Had he walked into the auberge where I stayed that night I would have
recognised him immediately and invited him to join me for a glass of wine.
Sally Stewart, York
In 2005, in Turkey, whilst in a queue, I chatted about the book that two of
the people in front of me were carrying- Harry Potter and the Order of the
Phoenix. My 6-year-old daughter ended up in hospital with cryptosporidium,
on a drip; we were trying from the hospital for repatriation, and getting
little help, I was unable to sleep. I saw them again in the foyer and they
told me that many people were getting far more help than us. We were flown
back the next day. Without the book I'd never have known them. Thanks Gents!
Mrs Sharon Holden, Nottingham
It was September, 1987. My father had just died, and we went to Kos for a
holiday. I find beach-based holidays a bore, so took along Umberto Eco's The
Name of the Rose, plus Latin dictionary, spiral notebook and a supply of
pencils. My dear husband was content to potter about on the beach, whilst
our young son built sand castles. I read, and painstakingly translated the
Latin sections into English. It was SUCH HARD WORK! .. but so rewarding when
I found the humour hidden there.
The book was a good distraction for me, but my grief marked the holiday.
Jennifer Roberts, Devon
Summer'96, Southern France, blistering heat. "Uncle Tom's Cabin" was
on the bookshelf. At home I had my grandfather's school-prize copy and as a
child I loved it. Now with an adult's changed perceptions I doubted I would
enjoy it again. Indeed I found it pious, sentimental, far-fetched. But it
was grand in its pathos, thrilling in incident, sobering in its depiction of
a corrupt society. For two weeks I was living a different life, but I was
reading about people with no control over their own destinies. My own copy
became dearer than ever. Thanks, Grandad!
Clare Banham, Norfolk
In ’88-’89 I worked in Islamabad and during the elections we were told to stay
home for two days: a mini holiday. My partner got bored quickly, but I had a
book to read: ‘Love in the Time of Cholera’ by Garcia de Marquez. I was
transported into a world of Latin-American love. Outside, the expected
troubles did not materialise. In the book, after waiting for forty years,
the man is finally united with the love of his life. And when I finished the
book, I heard Benazir Bhutto was elected. Happy endings all around.
Karen Gerbrands, Dorset
Year: 2007
Place: Oura Beach, near Albufeira, Algarve, Portugal
Book: Napalm & Silly Putty by George Carlin
George Carlin, who died recently, was probably the best motormouth comedian in
the business, with a creative skill and no-nonsense delivery unmatched by
anyone I know. This book is really a collection of opinions, stories, jokes
and one-liners and plenty of laugh out loud surprises. The title, Napalm and
Silly Putty, juxtaposes two of Man's diverse inventions and that premise
starts Carlin off on his musings, challenging life's absurdities and
foibles. It is the perfect holiday book, albeit adult in language, one to
dip into for a guaranteed laugh and it serves as an antidote to novels,
which are all very well, but sometimes you need need to get your chuckles
muscles roaring with something lighter, even if it is a little embarrassing
on a busy beach to guffaw suddenly. Two examples of killer lines: 'People on
a diet should have a salad dressing called "250 islands"' and 'A
cat will blink when struck with a hammer.' Priceless.
Joe Cushnan, Worksop
In 1980, aged 50, I went on my most memorable holiday - trekking in Nepal, at
a time when most holidays consisted of French food, Italian art, or Spanish
sun. This one was totally different, as was my last-minute choice of book, a
paperback translation from the Icelandic of Njal's Saga.
Read in my sleeping-bag by torchlight, this wonderfully wild, volcanic tale of
honour, intrigue and gruesome revenge in mediaeval Iceland will, however
bizarrely, forever be linked to the breathtaking sight of sunrise breaking
over Annapurna's eastern flank. Two more diametrically opposed experiences
are surely difficult to imagine.
Patsy Walker
Year 2000, finally decided to go to Thailand which has been the most memorable
holiday! I went with my then boyfriend, now husband! Everything from the
ladymen of Bangkok to travelling in our own longboat to view the limestone
cliffs at Krabi and the Phi Phi beaches were spectacular viewing! I was
reading ''The Beach'' by Alex Garland, it was so significant because we
visited Maya Bay where it was filmed, I felt like I was actually part of the
book! Why in the film did they have to cast Richard an American and ''bad
girl'' Sal a Brit !
Jacky Cartwright, Uxbridge
In the summer of 1984 myself, husband, and three children went camping in
Italy. On the journey ten year old daughter threw up constantly and turned
yellow. At Lake Garda a camp doctor diagnosed hepatitis. By midnight she and
I were locked in a room in an isolation hospital in Grosetto; she was
attached to a drip and couldn’t move. Our only book was 'Charlie and the
Chocolate Factory'. I read it to her every day. On day fourteen we drove to
the motor rail in Milan . As the train left I threw 'Charlie' out of the
window.
Georgina Armstrong, Hove
My holiday read last year (2007) whilst in Kephalonia was 'A thousand splendid
suns ' by Khaled Hosseini. This book is set in present times so is an
interesting insight to life in Afghanistan and it opened my eyes to their
culture and how hard life has been there for so long. One of the main
characters had the same date of birth as me so throughout the book I was
comparing the harsh life she had - with its background of violence and
unrest to the life I have had with none of the trauma and hardships. It made
me feel very thankful for my life and very sad for the plight of all the
people in Afghanistan who have suffered so much. The beautiful surroundings I
was in while reading the book made the contrast even more vivid. it was a
well written riveting read !
Mary Elgy, Surrey
This year on Crete I read Broken by Daniel Clay, the story of Skunk
Cunningham‘s friendship with a gypsy boy and bullying by the Oswalds. Based
in Hedge End, this is not the first time a novel set near me in Hampshire
has added another dimension to my enjoyment. Skunk’s father and her teacher
Mr Jeffries encounter the Oswalds, who bore similarities to an English
family I encountered on a beach and christened The Glottal Stops. Mr
Jeffries, a gifted teacher, lingers in my memory after the peace, memorable
tavernas, charm and generosity I associate with the Greeks.
Lynda O'Neill, Winchester
The summer before starting university was the perfect opportunity to dive into
the set reading, take time to appreciate the new academic world that was
opening up before me and value the books that would supposedly go on to form
the cornerstones of my education. Opening the very first page of Sir Gawain
and the Green Knight was enough to send me clawing back to Louise Fitzhugh’s
Harriet the Spy in fear. The intelligent and inquisitive heroine was the
only one to restore my faith in books, and remind me why I wanted to study
literature in the first place.
Katherine Solomon, Streatham
It was summer 2002 and I had just finished my A-Levels. As a well earned break
before university my best friend and myself went to Milan where I am lucky
enough to have an aunt. Knowing we would not have much time for reading I
only packed two, trashy looking books which another aunt had given me for
Christmas: One for the Money and Two for the Dough by Janet Evanovich. The
mixture of humour, romance, tension and the wonderfully outrageous
characters made perfect holiday reading. Now both my sisters, my mum and
several friends are hooked on the series. Gemma Jones, Cumbria
The tranquillity of our walk around Loch Muick, Balmoral, last October was
shattered by the yapping of eight corgis who thundered across a footbridge
towards us. The headscarfed owner came up to us, apologising for her "very
rude dogs". After several minutes' friendly conversation my husband and
I continued on our way. Later on, the lady drove her corgi-packed landrover
past us, giving a cheerful wave and broad smile.
Earlier that day I had regretfully come to the end of Alan Bennett's
delightful "The Uncommon Reader". With a sigh I said, "I do
so wish I could meet the Queen."
Jenny Sinclair, Sevenoaks
In August 2004, touring the cultural sites of Turkey, a good book was
essential to eat up the distances between sites such as Ephesus and Troy.
Cruising the coast in a gullet also stopped us from getting too cultured
out.
Two ‘life philosophy ‘ books were traded amongst our party of fifteen intrepid
travellers. One was Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist, and the other was White
Line Fever, the autobiography of Lemmy from Motorhead. One was tree-hugging
New Age drivel, and the other was a heartfelt rejoicing in life.
Read both, and decide for yourself, which is which.
Chris Wilde, Wolverhampton
I read 'wind, sand and stars' by Antoine de Saint-Euxpery whilst staying in a
blissfully remote house up in the hills of San Carlos, Ibiza.
He writes exquisitely of what it is to be alive, the real beauty of existence
and the gifts life has for us to take if we have the ability to recognise
them. Ibiza felt like one of my gifts, I felt his wind, dug my toes in his
sand and gazed up at his 'hatchery of stars'. His philosophy is as relevant
today as it was in 1939. He woke me up and I just happened to be in the most
perfect precious place to open my eyes.
Karen Driscoll
