Chasing the sunset

The apartment my parents rented

We are enjoying a few days in Westward Ho! We chose this location because of my happy childhood memories of the place. Actually I can remember very little detail of those happy family holidays spent here, but I do at least recall walking under that strange arch - a buttress I suppose - and my mother commenting on the dank smell on entering the holiday apartment - funny the things, the very few things, that stick in one's memories as a child. And I remember that awesome view...

The view from the apartment

Then there was that evening stroll with my father along the cliffs heading west, chasing the sunset. This morning I tried to find the place but could not... maybe my memories are all mixed up with the closing scene of Oliver - a film that also made a big impression on me: my mother took me to a showing in a big cinema in Southampton where I first experienced the wonder of surround sound. I would have been about 16 at the time.

"I'm reviewing - the situation..." from Oliver

The coastal path - was this where we walked?

Wherever it was, the fact that we walked together, just us two, is strong in my memory. Perhaps because I felt like was being treated as an adult. I don't know what we talked about. Possibly we didn't talk. Talking is often superfluous, inappropriate, especially for men-folk. Why talk when you can see?

So I followed what starts off as "Kipling Tors" and has now become the way-marked coastal footpath for several miles before turning back; deep emotions throbbing inside me. How I wish I could turn the clock back. You parents out there, invest time with your kids, do unique things with them. Treat them as sentient beings. Your time with them will be so, so short, before they grow up, leave home, have their own lives to live.

Westward Ho! was of course originally named after the 1855 novel by Charles Kingsley. Only later did it rise to fame because of Kipling's associations with the place. His novel, Stalky & Co, is based on his schooldays here and Kipling Tors is where Kipling and his friends used to smoke cigars and pipes and read books together. Which makes another connection, for the Jungle Book stories also made a deep childhood impression on me. And so I am a sort of mixed-up product of all this.

During our short stay here I've enjoyed running up and down the beach and swimming several times - the weather has been remarkably warm: both air and sea temperatures at around 15'C - and the waves are so invigorating. But regardless of the time of day (I headed out at 07:00 this morning) you will meet countless dogs and their owners. Not that I mind dogs (or even their owners) but it just makes it more difficult finding somewhere discrete to change as there is in variably an owner and dog approaching from either direction.

Memories: Part 2

Why do we like to delve into our past? Is it because we are at least partly a product of our memories? Or maybe our memories are an increasing treasure as we get older, and might even in some small way live on in our children's minds long after we die. 

We are at the moment caring for A's aged mother who has been diagnosed with cancer. Her short term memory gets worse but every so often she comes up with a memory of long ago. Memories are certainly of value to her, even if for us we have heard her speak of some of them rather too many times! So I'm not at all sure that any of any of my readers has the least interest in the memories I recall herewith but maybe they will resonate or at least make you chuckle. 

I was about 13 when my parents took me to see the newly released Sound of Music. I became infatuated not only with the music (which has become a part of me) but also with Julie Andrews as Maria - to the point that my father thought it necessary to warn me that it wasn't any good falling in love with a film star. I hadn't thought I had fallen in love, but I bookmarked his words.

My dad's LP record collection was about as limited as my own small pile of CD's. One of his favourites was Mediterranean Moonlight by Frank Chacksfield and this became, along with hymn tunes, my early musical bread and butter: example tracks here and here. This music still haunts me. Lady of Spain I adore you...

My best friend's musical taste was much more refined than mine - I suppose I was less mature and had not yet discovered the sort of music that I would end up loving for the rest of my life. Back then I listened to what might be described as light music. As opposed to "pop" which my parents disapproved of. I remember Cliff Richard's Congratulations when it first came out and feeling ashamed because, though 'pop', I rather liked it. Even to this day I do not allow myself to listen to pop music channels on the radio whether or not I like what is playing (generally I do not but there are exceptions). 

Of this "light music" two songs are still part of the rather limited repertoire of tunes that to this day still go persistently around and around in my head.

Things is a song which was written and recorded by Bobby Darin in 1962 and reached No.2 in the UK. One pertinent line goes Memories are all I have to cling to.

The other is For all we know, this may only be a dream. We come and go like a ripple on a stream. So love me tonight - Tomorrow was made for some - Tomorrow may never come - For all we know, which was written before my time but was performed here by Bobby Vinton in 1970. I found the analogy of a ripple very evocative.

These songs are all mixed up in my memories with my adolescent discovering an attraction to the opposite sex: puppy love I suppose, but at the time it was heart rending. 

I am almost ashamed that I had such shallow musical tastes and I guess my recent "music appreciation" classes that I have given to four youngsters in our community have been my attempt to make sure they at least have the opportunity to hear some genuine music. Whether or not they like it! Although I doubt if my attempt will be wholly successful.

But then by accident I discovered Bruckner and all of a sudden I started to grow up.

Earliest memories: Part 1

I wrote the following some while ago and thought I had published it, but either I hadn't or else I had accidentally unpublished it. So here it is, but as I now have more material I want to share it will have to be renamed with "Part 1" in the title.

Possibly my earliest memory is sharing a bath with my older sister and somehow slithering around so that I was face down in the water, at which I made such a commotion that I was quickly rescued. This occurred more than once so that taking a bath became a dangerous mission. For me to remember this at such an early age, it must have been very traumatic and may well be why I still easily panic when out of my depth in water.

I've noted elsewhere how I distinctly remember posing for this photo, feeling the coarse sand-dune grass scratching my body. I like to think the location was our favourite holiday haunt Brea Hill, Daymer Bay but I cannot be sure.

I remember, pre-school, standing, legs apart, on the dining room fireplace hearth and swaying from one foot to the other whilst enquiring of my older sister what was school like, and then years later asking her what senior school was like ("Physics" - 'what's that?', "oh ever so boring, all about light and speed and weight and stuff" - 'sounds very interesting to me!')

Pose for annual official photo at APS

Of course I remember my first day at Alresford Preparatory School ('APS', a dame school), at least I remember being introduced by my older sister. My older sister comes into many of these tales. I can remember not wanting this cheap toy telephone to be in my official photograph but being told to pose like this. Back then the government provided all pupils with a third pint bottle of milk every day and this we consumed via a straw. In the winter it was sometimes frozen and I remember the disgust I felt at the teacher saying it was "just like ice cream". Adults sometimes say ridiculous things to children and expect them not to be taken in. On one occasion I tried blowing instead of sucking through the straw, with disastrous results. But it was only an experiment - how else does one learn? 

My mother and me

That's my mother, just how I remember her: this picture still gives me a lump in my throat. Memory is so frustrating: I feel like I ought to be able to recall, oh, so much more but in fact I remember so little about my parents, good as they were. She loved flowers, that much I can remember - and her signature meal was roast lamb with all the trimmings (which would include Yorkshire pudding even with lamb).

We aggravate the world by first being born then, in order to stay alive, by consuming its bounty until we die and rot in our graves leaving behind no more than an aroma and a feint but gradually vanishing memory in the minds of those we came in contact with.  Such is life and what is achieved?  All is vanity!

Freckle

There is a small freckle on my right leg just above the knee. Not very significant, you say, doubtless most of us have odd freckles here and there. But this one is memorable - I can remember as a child studying this freckle. Look back at your childhood and you will probably not remember being aware of your own body, indeed even as adults we largely take our bodies for granted. And so, along with my favourite picture of myself kindly colour corrected by JA, this freckle is yet another link with my childhood.

I considered posting a photo of my freckle but, on reflection, figured that whilst I would see the freckle, others would only see pimples on my hairy leg...