Only The British

A Memory of Southsea.

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 !!