That’s the writing prompt today. My answer, yes. Both voluntary and forced.

https://www.rafakrotiri.info/?path=/episkopi/HappyValley

My dad was in the military, so we lived in Cyprus for a while. Happy Valley back then was a mix of things. I can’t say I remember a specific cricket ground (and I daresay if we’d camped on the wicket the PTB would have been irked.) But there were loads of places to go to and there was an athletics ground where I won a 1500 metre race. (True! Honest!)

We used to go camping down on the beach and we’d get up at dawn because snorkelling as the sun breaks through the water in that part of the world is just astonishing. Being of school age was doubly fun out there because the school day, while it started early, 7 am, it finished early too. 2pm? Ish? So spending time in the sun was essential.

Happy Valley was connected by a very long tunnel to a place called (imaginatively) Tunnel Beach. It was the place (when swimming) where everybody hung out. Drinking Cokes out of the old thick bottles, smoking fags, eating chips. Happy days.

One small plus of being an army kid was that we could do things with squaddies. The 14/20 Irish Hussars were the duty regiment when my sister Linda was kicking about with a staff sergeant (can’t remember his name but his favourite drink was Brandy & Milk!) Me and my Brother got to be squaddies for a week. We got to drive armoured cars, went on runs, kipped in the soldiers blocks, shot guns… amazing fun. Tried replicating it by joining army cadets back home but didn’t come close to that experience. Did spend a great long weekend in Great Yarmouth tho’ at a cadet camp so that was fun. Managed to get shot in the leg (by a blank) but it was still incredibly painful and could have been a lot worse.

So as you can imagine, the above were very much voluntary camping. What on earth is ‘forced camping’?

Homelessness. After going through a massive breakdown in 2000, I had a choice to make. I could either give up and put an end to this life. Or, I could get out, leave it all and try and connect with family. Obviously I chose door #2 and got the bus to Holyhead. I was looking forward to reconnecting with the family on Mum’s side and glad to be getting away.

Clearly, I had not really thought things through. It’s fair to say that the family I stopped by to see were less than thrilled at my arrival. Over time in Holyhead, I realised what the issue was but their cold-shoulder was a shock. Their thinking was that I had just turned up to leech from them. Twenty years later I still think that they expect me to start asking them for things, I’m just biding my time waiting for the right moment to strike!

So, miles from anywhere I knew, nowhere to stay, I found myself here:

https://maps.app.goo.gl/9R4UwNuZcLXqvopt7

It’s a bus stop on Newry Beach. I lived there for the best part of three months through a very cold winter. It’s different now, they have converted the stops into small seasonal shops for the tourists. In the spirit of kindness, (thankfully after I had moved to a room) the council removed the boards from the stops that kept most of the wind out. What’s that French phrase? Pour encourager des autres (to not sleep rough!)

I was very fortunate to have the Lighthouse centre to help me during that time. Made me think about a lot of things…