Tracey Millington-Jones, 59, Essex
I lifted my bucket off the last sandcastle turret, and we stood back to admire our masterpiece.
‘Great job, girls!’ my mum Wendy, then 27, said. ‘Now, who wants a treat before a donkey ride?’
‘Me!’ I cried, scurrying toward the ice-cream stall, with my little sister, 4.
It was summer 1970, I was 5 and, as usual, Mum and Dad had taken us on holiday to Scarborough.
Mum played with us on the beach and took us to visit the novelist Anne Bronte's grave.
She made everything into an adventure.
Back home in Wakefield, she juggled several jobs to put food on the table.
