‘I didn’t think too much about the quiet, empty place’

In early 1969, my parents booked a holiday in Belfast for one week and a bed and breakfast in Dublin for one week. When we arrived at our Belfast destination, The Elsinore Hotel, there wasn’t another car in the parking lot and the hotel was empty except for the aged husband and wife owners. Being 12 years old, I didn’t think too much at the time about the quiet, empty place but the owners invited the whole family down to the dining room every evening and we enjoyed some great meals. Lots of pictures of JFK and the pope adorned many of the hotel walls and being a Catholic family ourselves, the hosts made a big fuss of us.

A few days after returning home my dad and I sat in front of the TV eating supper when the BBC newsreader began the broadcast with the announcement that a bomb had gone off that morning in downtown Belfast and had pretty much destroyed The Elsinore Hotel – the purported meeting headquarters of the IRA. My dad spilled his dinner on the floor as he rose from his chair with a loud shout of “Good God!” Imagine a solitary car with an English number plate in a parking lot frequented daily by the leaders of the IRA? I guess we survived because we were a family of Catholic red heads even though we were English. Marcus Graham, Florida, US

Our honeymoon in 2008 was like a Laurel and Hardy sketch, since everything was done in silence. We weren’t speaking to each other after my new husband got so drunk at the wedding we couldn’t do the first dance. Then everything else seemed to go wrong. On our way to the airport, our car broke down so we had to get a hire car. When we finally got to the resort, we were told that our accommodation was two miles out of town and that there was no public transport or taxis because it was a religious feast day.

We walked uphill in baking sun and one of the wheels fell of my suitcase on the way. My husband ended up walking barefoot because of his blisters. When we arrived, the site restaurant had closed for the day so we had to have frozen pizza from the shop. My husband said we could have eaten the pizza box and it probably would have tasted better. We are, however, still married 18 years later. Fiona Irwin, 52, Hull, England

‘The water was red from my blood’

About 20 years ago, I went to Fiji. I can’t swim, and have a fear of going deeper than my knees. But my friend, an accomplished surfer, was relishing this part of our trip. The weather was so hot that going in the water seemed sensible and as it was only a degree or two less than the air, I was actually starting to like it. Then my friend [and I] rented kayaks. We went out to sea, staying close to land, and I had my lifejacket, goggles and snorkel to hand. It was genuinely fun.

My friend got excited about something called a “reef break” and wanted to get a closer look. The water got less calm. It got harder to control my kayak. My friend was getting further away. I shouted to my friend. At first I couldn’t hear his reply, which panicked me even more. Then I heard him say, “Ride the wave!” I saw him get on top of a huge lump of water and it propelled him back to shore. I turned to see a wave above my head and then, a second later, I was underwater, no kayak, no lifejacket, no snorkel. I was kicking my legs and waving my arms. My foot made contact with something that felt solid, but painful – coral. I pushed up, cutting my foot, but I got my head above water and could breathe again. Disoriented, I looked around and the water was red from the blood from my foot. That’s when the shark fins appeared, and I thought … this is it. I don’t know how many of them there were – it could have been three, four, 10 or a million.

Then there was a noise and something hit my back – a surfboard. A hand pulled me on to the board. I lay there exhausted and the surfer paddled back to land where my friend was waiting, in shock. The guy who saved me was a local from the island who had seen me in trouble. My friend said something to him about the sharks, and he laughed and said “they won’t kill you, they might bite you or take a nibble”. We walked back to our beach hut, bandaged my foot and went for several beers. Tim Halliday, 47, Madrid, Spain

‘I pictured the missile approaching the shore’

Our first day in Ka’anapali was spent on Canoe Beach, snorkelling. The next morning in a hotel courtyard, I pulled two chairs up to a table, and set my partner Alison’s purse beside me. Our phones beeped in unison. My text bubble read: “Emergency Alert. BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND TO HAWAII. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.” A wave of cold nausea swept through my body. I showed Alison and her face grew pale.

When I asked the barista if the hotel had a bomb shelter, she pointed to a sign near the stairwell, an image of a dancing couple. An ashen-faced woman with a baby stroller rushed past. All around us, people stared at their phones, dazed and numb-looking. We decided a huddle in the basement ballroom would only increase our panic. Partway to the concierge desk, Alison fainted. I carried her to a chair, and the woman behind the counter offered to call 911. I wondered how island emergency services would be prioritised. When Alison regained consciousness, I put my arm around her and asked her what to do. “Take me to the beach. I want to sit near the water.”

We settled on to chaises to watch the waves and the sky. I pictured the missile approaching the shore, a composite of every childhood cartoon and nightmare image of nuclear detonation I’d ever seen. We phoned several people on the mainland but nobody answered. I began thinking of myself in past tense.

Several minutes later, a second text appeared: “Emergency Alert. There is no missile threat or danger to the State of Hawaii. Repeat. False Alarm.” I looked at my toes in the sand and watched the water sparkle over the beach, scattering small rocks and broken shells, erasing footprints. Thirty-eight minutes of my vacation had been stolen, but my souvenir was a glimpse of eternity. Benjamin Malay, 56, Seattle, Washington, US