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 againSunken 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
