While reading a friend’s comments about rainy days on the beach, I was reminded of my childhood, when we lived with my grandparents. We couldn’t afford holidays but Nan saved up threepenny bits in a jar for days out in the summer, which she booked with a local bus company. She would take us to the south coast: Brighton, Hastings, Littlehampton, Margate and Ramsgate – and don’t forget Bognor. As it was pre-booked, we never knew what the weather would be. I remember digging on the beach in a plastic mac; shivering in a seaside shelter where we ate a lunch of sandwiches or rock and chips; and riding along a pier or promenade on the seaside special in the pouring rain. I would return with a stick of rock and a bucket of shells that always ended up outside the backdoor because it would stink to high heaven by the time we got home.
Another summer treat was visiting the local park, which had not only the best swings and huge slide (it was to me), but also a paddling pool and cafe. Nan used to buy me a fishing net to catch tiddlers at one of the local ponds.
I loved getting the train and bus to visit family members all over south London; some of my great aunts were ancient Victorian and Edwardian ladies in long dark clothes with ornate brooches – maybe I inherited my fashion sense from them!
My favourite pastime was running around the garden in a swimming costume while Granddad sprayed me with the garden hose. Their garden was small but it was a place of wonder for me. I would spend hours collecting peony and rose petals, caterpillars and unusual stones.
writing in north norfolk 