Only The British
This is about the place on the pebbled Southsea Beach where our family always established their bit of 'turf'. There was a whole ritual to it ...setting up the blanket so it wouldn't get blown out to sea..the baskets of delicious ham sandwiches and the bottles of home made ginger ale ! My step parents always had The Times or a Penguin book at hand whilst my step grandfather, Pop, smoked his pipe and Mum, knitted.
On this beach I once dug up a fully loaded revolver. Showing it to my step grandfather he grabbed it out of my hand and tossed it angrily out to sea for some other kid to find and shoot himself with no doubt ! Who knows...it might have been a murder weapon ? More likely WW2.
Our family was maniacal about swimming here in freezing, blustery April weather when no one else with a grain of sense was on the beach..but there we sat blown all to hell ... and into the water went I, whether I wanted to or not. Upon emerging after the obligatory 'dip' (that is as soon as I could get away with it) the blood in the backs of my hands would have separated into blue and red blotches. I have rarely been so bitterly, miserably cold !!
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RE: RE: Only The British
Your recollections made me smile! My mum came from Southsea, so many a day trip and holiday was spent on Eastney beach.Brrr! My Dad usually lay on the pebbles, dressed up to his overcoat, escaping the worst of the wind that way. I adored swimming in the sea, but getting dry and dressed was nearly impossible with those white-numb fingers. Still, we all warmed up with a brisk walk along the prom and around the Tower.
Comment from Frances Golynia on Tuesday, 5th February 2008.
RE: RE: Only The British
The nostalgia of Southsea is very dear to me..as I recall the sights and sounds of my beloved birthplace.
I lived in Delemere Road with my wonderful grandparents and walked daily to the Canoe lake with jamjar and fishing net in hand to catch tiddlers.The pebbles on the beach were a tough tread to the water where my little body froze in the icy water for our "swim".The striped deckchairs were a common sight in the summer as were the rolled up trousers and hankies tied in four corners to keep off the sun. A full scale search party was in full swing one sunday afternoon as I was "kidnapped" by the gypsies that visited Southparade pier and I was actually saved by my gran recognising my laugh and returned to my rightful owners. The trees and bushes in the park were abundant with wildlife that lit up at night and the clowns paraded through the air along the prominade. The daisies on the common gave me hours of pleasure making endless daisy chains that promoted the simplicity of my young life. As the years progressed I became a little more adventurous and swam out to the end of the pier with my big brother ,huddled against the slippery pilons and watched as the passengers boarded the large ship and held our breath as the deafening noise from the funnels sounded.
The long walk to clarence pier was invigerating but knowing the fairground was in sight our senses were oblivious to our frozen faces ..The smell of the much loved miniture steam train that chugged around the tracks under the bridge holds a special memory.as does the musical clock and the punch and judy puppet show...I now live in Australia and returned to my homeland in 1998 and my first port of call?....Southsea.
Comment from Patricia Heslam on Wednesday, 7th April 2010.