In my childhood
New Year’s Eve
was equaled
only by Christmas.
We donned bathers and hats
piled into Rickety Kate
~ our Ford of ’27 vintage ~
and headed for the beach.
My father drove
along endless country roads
over the narrow bridge
with the bend high above water
which scared me so much
I hid behind the front seat
until danger was past
and I knew we would not fly
to our deaths
encapsulated in our car
at the bottom of the river.
An early lunch
ensured a vacant table
where we spread a cloth
crockery and food
prepared by my mother
in previous days
of searing heat.
We devoured chicken salad
my brother’s birthday cake
and family specialties
made from secret recipes
then
we grudgingly cleared scraps
and packed left-overs.
Restrained to allow
an hour for lunch to settle
we were like chained puppies
impatient to frolic
in the water.
When unleashed
we ran until waist high in the sea
squealed as undercurrents
dragged our feet from beneath us
and bolstered ourselves
against the strength of waves
anxious to break
over our heads.
We collected shells
built sandcastles
and watched them disintegrate
with the incoming tide
then we ran for another dip
before splashing Mum and Dad
as we begged a canoe ride
in the river’s mouth.
With the sun’s descent
we flopped exhausted
onto vinyl seats
that stuck to our legs.
We fell asleep to the engine’s hum
content in the knowledge
that in one year
we would again enjoy
our annual family outing.
c. Kathryn Coughran
Lovely to share your well captured reminiscence, Kathryn. Thank you
Thank you Annette… It’s nice to reflect on those times when life was more about the experience than possessions, and simple pleasures became memories to treasure.
I feel so sad that Dulcie Meddows has gone. I am reminded of William Wordsworth’s lovely lines – ‘Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. The soul that rises with us hath had elsewhere its setting and cometh from afar. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come from God, who is our home.” Dulcie professed to not be a ‘believer’, however, I like to think that she has now learned the truth. Lives in the light- and is young again. I feel blessed to have known her, worked with her, and loved her. And happy that she has gone back ‘home.’
oops! In quoting William Wordsworth’s lines from ‘Intimations of Immortality” I omitted three words. So, Take two! ‘The soul that rises with us, OUR LIFE’S STAR, hath had elsewhere its setting and cometh from afar.’ (sorry, William!)