Waking Up - Looking Out

It was the mid-1960s and we, that is, my parents, toddler sister and I had arrived. From pubs in Manchester, Lancaster, brief stay in Marton then Padfield, at last we were in Blackpool with a pub on the prom.

Waking up early in the summer mornings with the noisy seagulls and a pleasant breeze blowing on my face through the small opening at the top of the sash window is a lovely memory I will have forever. Net curtains wafted inwards, close to my sister’s cot. We shared that big, front bedroom until she was old enough for a bed and a room of her own. The view fascinated me and even more so when Nanna came and planted herself in her favourite place, the bay window of our front sitting room. We watched the world go by, Nanna, with her knitting, Park Drive cigarettes and cups of tea and me, looking out to sea, happy to be with Nanna and share her enjoyment. I was staying with Nanna when my sister was born. We were living in Lancaster then. Dad had already moved into our next pub, but Mum was close to giving birth so we were sharing a spare room in their pub, waiting for nature to take its course. And it did, in the middle of the night. Waking up alone, I remember fleeing the bedroom in tears, Nanna cuddling me and explaining that the baby was coming so my mummy had gone to hospital. My tears soon turned to joy later that day when I was told I had a baby sister. Not quite what I wanted, to be honest. I really wanted a big sister and I’d been misled into thinking I was getting a playmate and she wasn’t that, either. I got over it.

Another of my favourite relatives was Auntie Alice, my grandfather’s sister, so my great-aunt, but Auntie Al would do. When she came to stay, she shared my sea-view room. She wasn’t one for silly nonsense, but we had some fun times together. I learnt her boundaries the hard way and had great respect for this plain-speaking, strong-minded woman. One night, there was a terrific thunderstorm. It woke me up and I was very scared. The building felt like it was shaking – it probably was. She reassured me, in her no nonsense, practical way. Together, we watched the lightning coming over the sea, counting seconds to the thunderclap.

I treasure all those memories, living in that pub, my front bedroom and my sister, my auntie and others who stayed in it with me. Life changed. It changed forever. My room was taken from me.

On a happier note, nearly seven years ago I was waking up to my phone ringing at some unearthly hour, just about morning time. I remember day was breaking. It was our son, to tell us that our beautiful granddaughter, Lola-Skye was born, a little early and having special care, but all would be well and her mummy was fine. Our second grandchild, as our daughter gave birth to our grandson the year before. Two more grandchildren since then.

My Haiku poem,

Window nets wafting
Round the open sash, flapping
In the morning breeze.

Screaming seagulls, loud
And urgent, meet on the sands
Following the tide,

I breathe the mixed smells
Of the seaside and the prom,
This is our new home.

Candyfloss, donkeys
Mingled with ice-cream, burgers,
Sweet, fried onions.

Blackpool promenade,
South Pier stretches out to sea,
Central just in sight.

From the front window
The ‘Beachcomber’ amusements
Will soon come to life.

The whole world passed by
And I was fascinated,
Scenes from my window.

PMW 2023
Thanks for reading, Pam x

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The Sea - My Bit of Blackpool

 When my parent's wish for a pub on Blackpool promenade was granted, I had the joy of having a front bedroom facing the sea. I was fascinated by the view. The summer season was just starting, people were strolling past and each day seemed busier than the last one. Trams rumbled by, horses clopped along pulling landaus, bells rang out from the donkeys taking their place on the beach and squeals of delight or screams of fear came from the nearby Pleasure Beach. These new sounds were exciting but nothing compared to the noises of the sea. On a still and quiet day, with hardly a ripple on the incoming tide, there might by a gentle splash as the last wave met the sand. On a breezy day, the sea was louder and the tide came in with lively, white waves. One of my first memories of that room is of a sunny morning, the curtains half open and the nets billowing into the room on the fresh, salty breeze. In those early days, I shared the room with my little sister who was still in a cot and I would wake up properly to hear her calling my name and holding her arms up to be lifted out. I think she was two years old, which would put me at nine, nearly ten. I don’t know when she moved into a room of her own, though at some point she did.

My grandparents were regular visitors, leaving their pub to oversee ours – it was a family joke. Grandad would go and take an interest in the cellar lay-out and everything behind the bars. Nanna planted herself in the bay window of our private lounge and watched the world go by, tutting at some of the sights and loving the view of the sea. She would smoke her Park Drive and drink tea. Her knitting would remain untouched as the outside goings on captivated her.  I expected to be part of those goings on when I was old enough. I wasn’t, well, not quite.

We spent hours watching the illuminated trams when Blackpool Lights shone. We could see for miles up and down the promenade. My sister and I would be taken out by Dad in the car to enjoy a proper look and see the fabulous tableaux towards Bispham. Many years later, a story and a poem of mine featured along there, amongst others. Who could have known?

When the Illuminations end, Blackpool hibernates. The view from my window is dominated by the sea with no distractions. Trams, less frequent, thunder along but the horses and donkeys have gone. Gale force winds and high tides send waves crashing over the sea wall on to the tram tracks, into the road and often into our cellar. It wasn’t flooded completely, but Dad would need his wellingtons on. I watched the sea with my mum, from the comfort of our lounge. The noise of the sea would frighten me, roaring, pounding and fierce, rising at its most scary like some great water monster. It still scares me. I like to watch without being too close.

I loved that bedroom. Our family changed after my mother passed away and my bedroom was promised to another. I moved to a back room. I should have refused. That’s life.

During the full lockdown, I wished I lived close enough to the promenade to have a walk and a look at the sea. Suddenly, I missed it, everything, the sounds and the taste of salt on my lips. There was one very hot, sticky day during the summer when there was only one way to cool off. After tea, my husband and I drove to Anchorsholme and found a quiet spot. We had a short walk then stood by the railings, looking at the sea that was right out on the horizon. A gentle breeze was pleasantly cooling, swirling my summer skirt and loose-fitting top. We stood for an hour enjoying the fresh air, watching seagulls and the people in the distance. The Blackpool I like is the vast coast-line and the changing of the sea.

My chosen poem, a favourite from John Cooper Clarke, with a nod to John Masefield. It brings to mind the Golden Mile, 

i mustn't go down to the sea again

Sunken yachtsmen
Sinking yards
Drunken Scotsmen
Drinking hard
Every lunatic and his friend
I mustn’t go down to the sea again

The ocean drags
Its drowning men
Emotions flag
Me down again
Tell tracy babs and gwen
I mustn’t go down to the sea again

The rain whips
The promenade
It drips on chips
They turn to lard
I’d send a card if I had a pen
I mustn’t go down to the sea again

A string of pearls
From the bingo bar
For a girl
Who looks like Ringo Starr
She’s mad about married men
I mustn’t go down to the sea again

The clumsy kiss
That ends in tears
How I wish
I wasn’t here
Tell tony mike and len
I mustn’t go down to the sea again.

Thanks for reading, stay safe and keep well, Pam x

Photo from Blackpool Gazette

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