Gray Matter: Memories of a holiday paradise turned to hell

Me, me, me – this did not seem an appropriate attitude at a time of such tragedy. Nearly two weeks on from the slaughter, however, with the bodies of the victims now flown home through Brize Norton, perhaps reflections on my holiday in the sunshine of Sousse will no longer seem out of place.

The sunshine, in fact, remains one of my principal memories. We were there in the blistering, unremitting heat of August. Any time on the beach had to be spent in the shade of one of the palm-fringed umbrellas. You can see some of these in my photograph above. They will have a familiar look, no doubt, for it was through sunshades such as these on the same stretch of coastline that Rezgui’s murderous marauding was done.

The peculiar horror of his actions, I think, arises in part from our instinctive understanding of the vulnerability of his victims. They had no reason to think, as they lay stripped and oiled on their towels and loungers, that a killer zealot was about to strike.

The possibility of such an atrocity certainly never crossed my mind in the summer of 2009 as we lazed yards from the lapping waves.

Overhead passed hot air balloons and paragliders launched skywards behind speedboats. Witnesses say Rezgui made some of these his first targets for his Kalashnikov, brought to the beach hidden in a parasol.

In the foreground, up to their waist in the sea, could be seen from time to time the young bronzed dancers of the so-called ‘animation team’ urging us package holidaymakers out of our lethargy to combat the consequences of the eat-as-much-as-you-like meals served in our hotels.

To the amplified accompaniment of the cheesiest pop hits of the time, they taught strange movements of the arms and legs which, with a misplaced sense of my dignity, I felt no inclination to imitate.

Dignity, I discovered, was under constant threat during a holiday in which such Butlins-like entertainments as a nightly talent contest were offered to the eager punters. I would not have been surprised to discover bonny babies, glamorous grandmothers and knobbly knees being sought too.

There was no point in being sniffy about it. From night one, Rosemarie and I decided to join in – by which I mean watch – the fun. With anaesthetic supplied by a delicious fig liqueur (dangerously efficient in another area), the antics could be enjoyed without pain.

Like many murdered by Rezgui we were on a Thomson package. Our hotel, the Marhaba Salem, is a sister to, and a few kilometres south of, the Imperial Marhaba, the focus of the killer’s attack.

This was an unusual, in fact unprecedented, style of holiday for us, hastily booked through the the Co-op travel agency in Botley when I was offered the chance of some welcome unpaid leave. The Co-op’s helpful staff have delivered admirable service to us over the years, particularly in the matter of city breaks such as those we enjoyed in Istanbul, Rome and Lisbon.

This was not a holiday – ours never are – where the beach featured especially prominently. There was an excellent programme of excursions away from the resort for which we eagerly signed up.

One took us to the holy city of Kairouan, with its ninth-century Grand Mosque, the mausoleum to the Prophet’s companion Sidi Sahbi at the entrance to the bustling medina. It was at an institution in this city that 23-year-old Rezgui had been studying electronic network management, in between visits to neighbouring Libya to train for his deadly mission.

The day continued with a visit to El Djem, the world’s third-biggest Roman amphitheatre where Ridley Scott filmed Gladiator.

A later two-day excursion took us to the Sahara Desert and a date with a camel. Riding the animal proved another dignity-denying experience.

It is sad to think that such sights, such activities, are going to be unavailable to all but the most intrepid travellers for some time to come.