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August 2019 | REDONLINE.CO.UKt
he light evenings and heady months of
summer seem saturated with events that
stick like Polaroids in our minds: the tearing
open of a manila envelope concealing
long-awaited exam results; the sweetness of
that first summer love, all sweaty palms and
stolen kisses. Even less-significant summers
are filled with evocative snapshots – the joy of
a 99 Flake, chocolate nibbled first while ice
cream rolls in rivulets down a limp cone and tanned wrist, or
a paddling pool optimistically inflated as May turns to June.
Life, then, is not measured in Prufrockian coffee spoons, but in
summers. One woman who knows all about this is Jools Oliver,
childrenswear designer, wife to Jamie and mother to their five
children [Poppy, 17; Daisy, 16; Petal, nine; Buddy, eight; River,
two]. She says that while some of the holidays she remembers
most fondly were set in sunnier climes – a girls’ trip to Mallorca,
her honeymoon in Italy – just as many were quintessentially
British, with rock pooling and soggy wetsuits as standard. Here,
she reflects on her happiest summers, and explains why, after
a tumultuous few months [in May, Jamie announced the closure
of 22 of his UK restaurants], this one couldn’t come sooner.
Childhood
‘Every year, my family would go to Biarritz for a week, where
it never seemed warm! Zipping ourselves into rainbow-hued
cagoules, we couldn’t have looked more like tourists if we’d tried.
In any case, the real summer holiday came weeks later, when
we’d decamp from our home in Essex to Wimbledon, where
Mum’s friend had a family home. While she headed to
Corsica, Mum, Dad, my two elder sisters
and I would stay there for a fortnight.
Holidaying in London might sound
odd, but this house, which, to me, seemed
almost dreamlike in its vastness and
hide-and-seek potential, had a pool, and
my middle sister, Lisa, and I would stay
up playing with Sindy dolls that
belonged to the family’s daughter.
During our Wimbledon holidays, Lisa
became something akin to my nanny. She’d make hot chocolate
in the morning, sneaking vanilla ice cream from the freezer
and dropping a buttery scoop into our steaming mugs with
an unceremonious “plop”! We’d sip it until 8am, when we
were allowed to go swimming. If my mum had known of our
ice-cream breakfasts, she might have been irked, but the tacit
understanding that your parents care a little less about usual
rules is one of the great things about childhood holidays.
When Mum and Dad weren’t at the tennis, they’d take us
window shopping at Harrods. One year, when I was eight,
I met Darth Vader there. He was my first crush, and my
heart fizzed with excitement when I heard the unmistakable
murmurs of his ominous breath. As I turned, he stepped on
my foot, leaving a black smudge. To Mum’s disdain, I refused
to wash it for a week, lest I remove my beloved print.
Teens
When I was 16, my mum took the three of us girls to
Mallorca. My dad was ill and stayed at home with a carer
[Jools’s father, Maurice, suffered a stroke when she was nine
and died after another stroke when she was 22], so the trip
was a break for Mum. I remember her returning to our
holiday let from the supermercado on the first day,
and star-jumping, fully clothed, into the turquoise
pool. My sisters and I were stunned, but the rare
image of her being so carefree is etched in my memory.
It was a week of no worry. Mum navigated everything
on her own, and seeing her so empowered was a big deal.
But mostly, I was absorbed in my Walkman that I carried
on a cord around my neck and played Kylie Minogue’s
eponymous first album on repeat. We spent our days pottering
on the beach, and mealtimes eating pesto pasta, cooking on
the barbecue and nibbling on Manchego and oily jamón. One
night, we went out and danced like no one was watching.
If that holiday was a break for Mum, for me, it was
a becoming summer. I went away geeky and returned cool,
mostly thanks to a pair of cowboy boots I’d begged Mum to
buy for me. I walked into sixth form, legs tanned, hair curly,
and came of age in a matter of seconds. I’d absorbed the
confidence of my elder sisters, and the boy I fancied suddenly
seemed to notice me – it was my Sandy from Grease moment!
Even though my A levels loomed and my dad was ill, I felt
good. I was, in some ways, blissfully unaware, like teens are
at times. Growing up felt easy. When difficult things happen at
home, my children often have no idea, and I prefer it that way.Twenties
The defining summer of my 20s was
when I married Jamie in June 2000,
aged 25. All I wanted was children
and to get stuck into home life; I was
quite true to myself in that way.
Mum, Jamie’s mum and I planned
a classic English wedding, with the
reception in a marquee in Jamie’s
parents’ garden. My highlight was
the dancing. I didn’t drink, but you’d have thought I was off
my face! Our first dance was to Dusty Springfield’s I Only
Want To Be With You, but Jamie doesn’t like dancing, so
I threw him off, then started swinging around the marquee
poles and throwing my legs in the air! He was like, “Er,
hello?!” but I was in my element! We boogied until 3am.
We had a three-week honeymoon in Italy. Obviously, Jamie
loves the food, so we went to Sicily and Tuscany, before ending
in Positano. We spent long, sweltering days seeking out quiet
beaches, making it our mission to find the most idyllic,
undiscovered coves. We shopped for fresh vegetables in
outdoor markets and went on day trips to Florence and Rome.
Our favourite place, Positano, was gorgeous (and free of
photo-taking tourists). We’d amble down winding lanes, buy
wine and olives and spend evenings on our balcony, talking‘The defining
summer of my
20s was when
I married Jamie’