Just one week each year during the school holidays,
To a small thin-walled caravan for the five of us.
Within walking distance of the sea,
A brightly coloured illuminated bingo hall
And an ever-present queue for the chip shop,
It was like an exterior designers magic triangle
Instead of the sink, fridge and cooker of your kitchen
As kids, we played on the beach all-day
Sometimes the sea was so far out on the ebb
That it took half an hour to walk to it,
I often thought that if I stood at the tide line and waited
I could walk on to Lincolnshire when the tide turned
The foreshore is mainly gravel but there is some sand
Not castle-building kind of sand
But burying sister kind of sand
They deserved it, they were horrible to an eight-year-old boy
I collected frogs once to put in my sister's beds,
Over a hundred of them from the local stream,
Buckets and buckets of them
Wish I had realised the commotion that was going to cause
Mum developed a phobia of frogs for the rest of her life
And I, a phobia to the pain of Dad’s well-focused slipper
Mum and dad played prize bingo nearly all day and night,
They were good, they spent a fortune on boards
Winning forty-eight piece coffee and tea sets
Christmas present toys, that would be discarded by Boxing day
Spades, wind-up vacuum cleaners and cheap bottles of wine
I often thought that if they had won just a little bit more
Then one of us kids was not going home,
There’d be no space in our rather small rental car
I hoped it was Mandy left behind
Holiday nutrition was not a consideration during the sixties
Fish with chips was the diet of choice
Mum and Dad's choice
Realistically, our choice too
As Mum was no Dame Mary Berry
Beans on toast were mine and Dad's favourite meal
Dad always got the juicy beans
That were not stuck to the bottom of the pan
We had other things to eat too
Pie and chips
Ham and cucumber sandwiches
Sausage and chips
Cheese and pickle sandwiches
Fish cake and chips
As well as the ubiquitous bread and butter to make chip butties
With lashings of Tommy K’
Sometimes we would walk along the beach to Hunstanton
To play our pennies in the arcade slots
Then we would watch everyone else,
Just in case they dropped some coins
Or forgot to collect their winnings
Then home along the breakwater to the green and cream caravan
That Mum and Dad saved up for all year to rent from Mrs Brownlow
We went to the same campsite each year
At the end of the sea, sand, chips and bingo week,
We would pack up the little Ford Anglia, minus frogs
Head initially towards Kings Lynn to get on the A47
On the way home I would wave to Castle Rising
Promising I’d visit in the future
And become the dark knight for the day
I loved Heacham so much as a boy
That I’ve never been back as a man.
Except in childhood dreams
Comments