Catching A Little Happiness !

A Memory of Hayling Island.

My childhood was a very unhappy one from the age of 7 until I left home at age 19. I had a very abusive stepfather and a compliant stepmother and it is a wonder that I came away with any moments of joy to look back upon ! In order to survive ( and that's all it is)I sought out any opportunity, most of which involved some relatioship with nature.

My stepmother's parents lived in tne North End, on Wadham Road and we would spend our summer holidays there. This meant that we only had to deal with my stepfather on weekends as he had to work in London. During the week , on occasion, preparations were made for a trip to Hayling. Corned Beef sandwiches, some with Coleman's mustard and others without, home made Ginger Beer and sponge cake were packed up. Seeing as there were at least six of us, my Aunty Linda would drive her beloved convertble Morris Minor via Cosham while the rest of us took the trolley bus to the Hayling Ferry where a simple open topped boat ferried us across the inlet, often with a heavy tide running, to the Island.

Stepping down into the ferry boat and taking my place on the bench running around the sides, always excited me as I loved any kind of boat and felt I was on a big 'Swallows and Amazons' adventure !

Arriving at the West end of Hayling meant a pretty lengthy slog along the shore to the Golf Club building, just before reaching the more peopled areas where, in the dunes above the beach, blankets were laid out and the adults settled down to enjoy the sun. My step parents, if both present, would dive into The Times or the latest Evelyn Waugh novel and this gave me the perfect opportunity to rush down to the beach where, if the tide was out, I would spend hours on my stomach or knees, reaching into magical pools as I searched for crabs and crayfish, completely lost, escaping everyday worries, in a magical underwater world.

It took a call for lunch to get me to return to the present and either go for a swim with my step grandfather, Pop. No man ever came closer to imitating a walrus in the waves as Pop. I swear his hands were actually flippers and he seemed totally at home in the saltwater as he rhythmically propelled himself in the swell.

My sister and I often got a painful sunburn and would make the return trip home, contented yet sore, increasingly glowing from reddened skin, tired to the bone.

---

---