大象传媒

The excitment felt in our house the day before a Sunday seaside trip to sunny Sussex befofe the WAR is still very clear in my mind seventy years later. To children there's few things better than a summer day on a favourite beach and our's was the lovely shingles and sands below the Galley Hill at Bexhill-on-sea. Here was a wild unspoiled section of coastline east of Bexhill town and with not a single 'pestering' shop to be seen in any visible direction; (Dad was no fool). Not that that mattered to us kids for home-made lemonade and luscious fresh cut sandwiches swamped the baskets in the car.
With the 700 foot high sandy cliffs backing-up the tide washed pepples and shingles and super sands, then it wasn't difficult to imagine that here you owned a desert island. Dad had known of this special beach long before I was born in 1927, and I'm pretty sure we kids first discovered it in 1932. Thereafter, directly the Saturday weather forecast proved a 'winner' it triggered Dad into dropping his building tools and start preparing the Singer 9 for OUR Sunday by the sea. Dad loved it there, and we never went anywhere different: here to him was 'bliss' itself - a seaside 'gem' to soak up a basin full of healthy sunshine; a salty 'spot' to dream or think before washing away his cares and woe along with the coats of bricky dust and smelly mortar.
Luckily we had still enjoyed a few trips to Bexhill in 1938, but with the looming war threat they proved our last. By next year we no longer owned a car and Bexhill for we children were just splashing memories of the happy past.

With no sea sitings in 1939, nor the War years, it wasn't until I was posted from Lanark to the Isle of Wight Army Air Corps training centre at the end of March 1945 that I saw and smelt the briny again. And if I had considered going by train to Scotland to begin my army training two months prior was a great adventure,now the Solent crossing from Portsmouth to Ryde was yet another. And here were very famous waters and Britain's premier pre-war holiday island, while in a close-by docks or steaming past could be seen our busy Navy ships for we were still at WAR. In transit, I was at last seeing the sea again. After a lapse of seven years, the chance of at least a paddle might not now be so far away: but a train was awaiting at Ryde to whisk us Para recruits to Parkhurst Barracks.

Our training progamme near Newport was quite a strenuous affair and it wasn't till mid June that our platoon Sergeant unexpectedly suggested we do a training run to Thorness Bay. Here we could have a swim!! then run back again: about 8 miles in total, and the standard training distance. It was quite a warm afternoon and to howls of delight and enthusiasm we gladly set off along the Parkhurst forest road in PT vests and shorts and those awful studded boots. Our training included a lot of running so 'bashing' the Island roads with hard boots was a common practice.
After the third mile we were already sweated-out but plugging painfully on with blistering heels, yet again. 'How much further, Serg??' came the gasping calls from heaving bellows giving of their best.
'Only half a mile' hollered our Sergeant as turning into a narrow lane our banging boots put birds to flight and rabbits scooting. Then there was loud shouting of glee from the leading trio of our three dozen squad as they spotted the sea ahead. Tired, sore footed, gasping and aching, we trotted the remaining yards with rising spirits. We were now desperate for a breather and the life saving swim to wash our sweat away.
Even as we drew closer we were becoming aware of obnoxious smells and the voices of accusations rang out. Then those up front dropped their voices to first silence then moans of disgust. All the beach was yellow! The rocks and sea were a dirty yellow colour? It stank awful! YES - raw human sewage by the ton!! The whole Bay was an outfall area. As far as the eye could see -- Muck!!

Utterly dispirited, I joined those who just stood swearing in torrents of pain and disgust. The Sergeant hadn't been there before so we couldn't blame him.
A few chaps braved the messy shallows to gain some clearer looking water off shore, but the remainder of us turned about before the smell ruined our lungs.
Very disheartened and dirty with sweat, I trotted silently back to barracks yearning for Bexhill.

end

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