Anybody who knows me, knows how much I love the sea. Not sailing on it. That’s a totally different story. And not swimming in it unless it’s several thousand miles from Blackpool and calm and warm. No, my love for the sea stems from childhood day trips and holidays to the seaside. These days my contact with the sea is limited to viewing it from the prom as I take a walk, and photographing it as it rages against the sea wall. I love it in all its forms - still and calm, glistening in the sunlight or wild in the winds that hit this coast.
Living in London, the nearest place to swim was Tottenham Lido, which was outdoor and freezing. I rarely saw my dad in less than shirt and trousers, so it was quite an event if he took me and my brothers to the pool on a Sunday morning. I’m guessing my mom persuaded him so she could getting on with cooking lunch without us kids in and out of the kitchen. My dad never really showed much enthusiasm for the outing, emerging from the changing rooms in his knitted trunks, body white as snow, and reluctantly dropping into the freezing water to keep an eye on three excited children. What I do remember, vividly, is the color of the water - which I only realised later, was, of course, the color of the floor and walls of the pool. That color has stayed with me for sixty years. If I see it now I’m instantly transported back to those Sunday mornings, and the shock of the cold as I carefully descended the steps into the not so welcoming water.
Anyway, I digress. Occasionally, instead of the Lido, we would drive to Southend, where we had young cousins. I only remember once going into the sea there. My mom had taken us kids down on the train and we obviously weren’t meeting the cousins that day. The sea was brown and dirty, but that was no deterrent. Having donned the home sewn elasticated costume, I ran into the sea with my brothers, emerging later with the swimsuit drooping dramatically, weighed down by sand and pebbles and resembling a baby’s full nappy. I wasn’t happy and insisted on getting changed behind a huge towel as quickly as possible.
Our main holidays were to Margate where we had another set of cousins, nearer our own age. I defy any child to have a better holiday than those weeks by the seaside. Like many a family, I’m sure, we kids scoured the horizon for miles before catching our first glimpse of the sea. It was utter magic. Before we even arrived at our destination my happiness was complete. The cousins’ house was just up the road from the prom. I couldn’t believe how lucky they were to have the sea on their doorstep. They, however, were pretty blasé about it all. I couldn’t get enough of the beach and the sea and the tacky gift shops but my cousin was much more interested in mucking out and riding her adopted horse. One year I went alone to stay, and to my horror, although the sea winked seductively at me in the sunshine, I was lent a bike and told to follow my cousin to the stables. Here she handed me a stinking brush and a large dustpan and instructed me to muck out the stable, while she went off on an exhilarating gallop across the fields. Not only was I scared of the giant horse that eyed me suspiciously but I also felt very resentful of the whole situation, which wasn’t helped by the loud and constant passing of wind from a huge and smelly behind. The horse’s, not mine.
When I saw the bikes coming out for a second day I lay back on the bed and feigned illness. I remember a tearful phone call home and the sympathetic voice of my mum, but no offer to come and get me. I never got my sea fix that week, and returned home vowing to take reinforcements with me next time.
Imagine my delight when, twenty years later - and quite by chance, the husband got a teaching job in Blackpool. We moved to the seaside, albeit a good thirty minutes’ walk from the actual sea. Ten years after that we decided to move. Our house sold and in a desperate attempt to find another we drove around the whole area, three young children bored and arguing in the back of the car, and spotted a huge house just off the prom. For whatever reason, it had been on the market for a year and subsequently reduced drastically. We bought it, we’re still here, thirty six years later, and I still marvel that we can see the sea from every window. The magic has never dimmed.
The Island by Jill Reidy*
Hardly a ripple
Shallow waves lap silently at sand
Approach slowly and with a quiet stealth
A family, deckchairs, buckets, spades
And no awareness
Of impending danger
Spades digging
Buckets filling
Castle building
When all around
That silent sea
glints in the sunlight
Gives a little smile
And calmly meanders
Around the group
forming pools
That join and fill
And finally
Without a sound
The island is complete.
*If you live in Blackpool you'll be aware of the way the sea comes in and fills in the dips on the beach. Many times, over the years, I've seen groups of holidaymakers trapped by the tide. The sea creeps in behind them and leaves them on an ever decreasing island.
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