Holiday Memoir

Holiday Memoir

The Sailor strolled down the promenade, his shoulders rolling as sailors do, as if countering the motion of the seas.  The smell of the air rekindled memories of long ago. Stopping momentarily at the various stalls and side-shows he paused to consider the `Kiss me Quick’ hats and the `Hook a duck’ games, but didn’t stay long at any of them.  He had one destination in mind and he didn’t want to linger.

When he reached the long Central Pier he paid his 50p entrance fee and began walking along its length.  It had been ages since he had been there, not since he had been a child of eight, twenty-one years ago to be exact.  In the distance he could hear the golden sound of an organ regurgitating over and over the same tune he had listened to then. It was ingrained in his memory and so catchy he couldn’t help humming it to himself as he strolled along;

`Oh I do like to be beside the seaside’

As he rolled along it seemed as if he had stepped into the past the whole pier looked exactly the same.  Apart from peeling paintwork things were just as he remembered.  The sides were lined with continuous benches, their curved bulbous legs and inclined backs forming the pier edges. Looking down through the grey, slatted wooden planks beneath his feet that seemed to stretch forever, he could see the ripples of the damp sand beneath him as he walked along.  Halfway along the pier he could see the once gaily-coloured stalls inviting curiosity.  He wondered if Gypsy Rose Lee still had a booth there.
And all the time the organ churned out its same enticing melody now  accompanied by seagulls calling to their mates;

`Oh I do like to be beside the sea’.

Between the gaps under his feet  the sea could be seen gently lapping against the massive pillars and the criss-cross steel supports; much calmer now than that day so long ago.  He hurried along, impatient now wanting to get to the end of the pier, to sit somewhere he had been with his mum and dad all those years ago.  It was important for him to rest there awhile and remember.  The breeze was stronger nearer the pier end, it brought the smell of salt, seaweed and fish.  The same benches lining up at the very end, everything appeared as it was accept that there were no people, the end of the pier was totally deserted.  His memory was of a crowded place with people milling around, laughing, enjoying their holiday, and having fun.
And all the time the speakers blared out;

`Oh  I do like to walk along the prom, prom, prom’.

But now it was completely empty.  Disappointed, he looked around trying to picture it as it had been that day, crowds of holidaymakers thronging about. His dad had given him a huge pink candy floss, he could taste it now, lovely and sticky. Tears rushed to his eyes as he pictured his father carrying the large teddy bear he had won earlier on some coconut shy.  Both his mum and his dad were tipsy, wearing `kiss me quick’ cowboy hats at a jaunty angle, balancing precariously, feet on the seats with their backs to the water, perched on the very end rail trying to eat each others ice cream cornets. Dad was standing on the bench waving the bear about, his mum was giggling trying to snatch it from him.  They played about like this for several minutes weaving about like a couple of kids when suddenly they disappeared, one minute he had been looking at them acting daft, the next they were gone. Not a sound, not even a splash.  Nobody else on the pier seemed to notice.  They were all engrossed having a good time, making the most of their own short breaks.

 
He had rushed to the side and looked over edge.  There was only the grey sea boiling against the pier supports.  He had shouted “Mum, Dad,” and began crying.  An old lady  took him by the hand and said, “What’s up son?  Lost your mum and dad have you?”  He told her they had fallen over the side, she just smiled saying to her husband, “Charlie, just walk around the pier with this lad and see if you can find his mum and dad will you.”  Of course they hadn’t been found that day, in fact it was a week before their bodies were recovered.  During that week his picture had been posted all over the town, he was called `little boy lost’. This had really annoyed him, he wasn’t the one missing, it was his parents who were lost.

The sailor climbed onto the seats at the end of the pier and stood with his back to the sea.  Gradually, ever so slowly, he leaned back almost to the point of losing his balance, that point where his stomach began to churn.  Turning his head he looked down into the icy depths, trying to imagine what they must have gone through.  He teetered in that position for a minute experiencing his parents last moments before climbing down.  Although tears ran down his cheeks he felt relieved, as if purged of a great weight.  After taking a minute to compose himself he began to make his way back down towards the pier entrance, walking with that sailors roll of his, softly humming to himself in time with the music;

`Where the brass bands play
Tiddly Om, Pom, Pom.

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