Camping On The Benthills

A Memory of Sizewell.

I too, as others, have many fond memories of holidays in Sizewell. During summer school holidays I travelled from Scotland to London to be with my grandparents. They were well connected with Sizewell and would take me there for their annual holiday camping at the foot of the Benthills just below where the power station is now. The Gunthers House surrounded by a wall did not stop me from sampling the wonderful apples from their tree. I remember my grandmother taking me for a walk through the pine trees where the power station is now, and showing me the ruins of a cottage where she lived during the war when my grandad was away serving in the Royal Navy submarines. It is very true about the blackberries big as gobstoppers, I collected metal buckets full of them for selling to a local farm for pocket money. Uncle Jack Fryer, the local fisherman and his brother Tom, and their mother Mabel have all passed on now but they are still fresh in my mind. They had a chicken coop just up from the cottage where I used to feed the chickens and collect the eggs, sometimes I thought I would not get out of the coop alive, with the chickens attacking me. What great times we had waiting for Jack to come in with the catch, helping put the skids under the boat as it was hauled up the beach.
Many times I stayed overnight in their house with Jack's nephew David, who was about my age, playing monopoly. And I remember the Vulcan pub and sitting outside drinking Vimto, or sometimes cider, and eating crisps, I got a bit squiffy once with cider, I was 12 years old at that time, in 1957, Grandmother laughed. There were occasions when they would sneak me in the pub and hide me under the table, I beleive everyone knew I was there but pretended not to. I would walk along the beach to Thorpness, hire a kayak and have a great time on the mere. Sometimes I would walk as far as Aldeburgh and back, this would be a great adventure. Over the years I have returned many times, bringing my wife and son to experience the peace and tranquility of the area, I try to block out the power station and stroll down memory lane. When I was about 20 I officially had a drink in the Vulcan with Jack and Tom Fryer and my grandparents, listening to them all singing sea shanties and telling tall tales. My grandfather told me about an old local who came in the Vulcan one evening with apparently a piece of amber, asking others if they knew what it was. The coastline was known for amber and you tested it by lightly chewing it with your teeth to determine if it really was amber. After a few tested it, the old man divulged that it was his big brown toenail that had come off, I leave the rest to your imagination!
As I write this I feel I want to go there now, it's been two years since I was last there. Now I'm on my own Sizewell is my oyster and I will be there soon to catch up with some old friends in Leiston, especially that old dog Sperry and his homemade wine. If I win the lottery I will not be in some foreign country basking in the sun, you will find me forever gazing out to sea along that coastline and walking down memory lane.