Kate Kingsbury | Summers Past

Many years ago in my distant past, when I was still living on the southeast coast of England, I spent four memorable summers working for my mother in her small seaside hotel. I laid, waited on and cleared dining tables, cleaned rooms, welcomed guests and hauled heavy luggage up two flights of stairs since we had no elevator. It was hard physical work and long hours, made even longer by my mother’s insistence that I entertain the guests on the piano when all the chores were finally done. All I received for my pains were room and board, and tips that were few and far between. A poor return for the efforts I put in. At least, that’s how it seemed at the time, when I was stumbling exhausted to my bed, only to rise a few hours later and do it all over again.

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