Cold Sands In September

Our past “mistakes” often have a way of working out just fine along the way…

Bittersweet Memories

Istare at the empty space, wondering what I should do. The shop I remember so well has gone; racks of buckets and spades and beach balls have morphed into a park. The shops and amusement arcades that overlooked the beach have vanished.

Already nervous about the meeting, I consider taking the next train home. What will we think of each other? Will we understand? We might not get on. Resentment might have taken root.

I button my coat. The sea wind cuts like a knife. I have walked too far but walking by the sea is worth a few aches and pains. Just being here has evoked many memories.

I spot an empty bench and hurry towards it, priding myself that I am still sprightly – my back straight, my legs strong – and I only use a walking cane for confidence. People move out of your way when they see a walking cane.

It is a pretty little park with colourful flower beds and trees and a pond. Leaves are a riotous display of red, brown and gold – warm colours for a cool time of year.

September is an incongruity to me. Sun warms the sea, but the sands are cold and my memories hold both joy and pain.

It was in September 1960 that I came to Salmouth with my best friend, Penny and here it was that my life changed. We were seventeen… Arm in arm we walked along the promenade, our pony tails swinging jauntily. We thought we were the bees’ knees with our pearl-pink lipstick, American Tan nylons and white stiletto shoes. Penny’s cheeky knee-length skirt and my new shift dress that Mum had run up on her treadle sewing machine completed the picture.

Our heels clicked on the pavement.

It was on this BEACH in SEPTEMBER 1960 my life CHANGED completely

Our hearts beat to the rhythm. We were on holiday without our parents for the first time. Well, almost.

“I wish Mum hadn’t insisted we stay at that boarding house my parents used to use,” I complained, embarrassed by my fussy mother. Penny wasn’t bothered at all. “Oh Ellie, we’re here to have fun!” “Mum says that Mrs Murray will lookafter us.”

“It just shows your mum cares,” Penny replied, refusing to grumble. Penny’s ambition was to enjoy life.

“But it means Mrs Murray will be spying on us!” I spluttered in disgust.

“Oh well, it’s cheap and we don’t earn much money, what with you working in a book shop and me in hairdressing.” She grinned. “Ellie, it’s Saturday night and Mrs Murray can’t see us right now! Tomorrow we’ll go to the beach and show off our new swimming costumes.”

The wind caught her full skirt, sending it and its sugar-rinsed petticoat whizzing around her waist. Two boys walking behind us whistled. Penny giggled and peeped over her shoulder.

“They’re dishy,” she whispered. “That one reminds me of the darkhaired boy in the Everly Brothers. The other one’s like Pat Boone.” I couldn’t resist a quick peep. “Oooh, I bags the Everly one! There’s a beach shop ahead that’s still open. If we go inside we might be able to get talking to them.”

Sure enough the boys followed us into the beach shop and we got talking.

The slim one was Jed. His dark hair fell in a widow’s peak but it was slightly

off centre, covering one eye. He gravitated towards me while Penny was happy with Paul who really was a little like Pat Boone.

As darkness fell and the lights were switched on, we walked along the beach eating chips. There I was kissed for the first time. It tasted of vinegar but I liked it all the same.

We met on the beach the next day, buying buckets and spades from the beach shop. Jed and Paul joined us and the four of us built sandcastles. The sand was cold but we played like children. By the end of the week I was in love. By the end of November, I knew I was in trouble.

In those days expecting a baby before the wedding meant that either you got married quickly, or the baby was put up for adoption.

At the end of the week Jed gave me his home address. I wrote several times but my letters were unanswered. His rejection left me cold like the sands. Soon bitterness crept in. Jed had only wanted a holiday romance, but I thought it was more. The bitterness was tinged with fear. What about the baby? With no possibility of a wedding, the baby would have to be adopted.

Mum spent hours in the phone box on our street. Somehow she arranged that after Christmas I would stay with her friend Mrs Murray at the boarding house in Salmouth.

“When the bookshop manager knows you’re expecting you’ll lose your job anyway,” she said.

Unmarried mothers were not yet accepted, at least not in our family. It was the way things were. My mother was not harsh. She was disappointed in me but she was kind.

“Oh Ellie,” she would say with tears in her eyes that spoke volumes. “I’m sorry, Mum.” “It’s a bit late for sorry, my girl,” she sighed. “Still, you’re not the first to get caught out and I dare say you won’t be the last.”

In those months at Salmouth, Mrs Murray mothered me. The homely Scots woman faithfully accompanied me to medical appointments, made sure I ate properly, took my iron tablets and had plenty of fresh air.

She also knitted me a layette – just one of everything.

“You’ll want to send the baby to its new parents wearing something nice,” she’d said briskly.

I examined the tiny garments then quickly put them to one side. What was the point? The baby would never be mine, no matter what.

In June my little girl was born and I caught a fleeting glimpse of a red face, dark hair and tiny flailing fists before she was taken away. The nurses said it was for the best.

I named her Mary Beth. She would always be Mary Beth to me.

Now the leaves are falling as I sit in the little park. I anxiously scan the seafront.

“Hello Ellie. It’s good to see you after all these years…”

A hand touches my shoulder and I look up to see a man with a tanned face and white hair and a widow’s peak falling over one eye.

“We met by the pier, Mum,” says the middle-aged lady following him.

“Mary Beth,” I gasp. “The bucket and spade shop has gone.” My daughter laughs. “I can see that!” Mrs Murray had come to visit me in hospital all those years ago.

“I saw the little girl in the baby ward. She’s a bonnie wee bairn and no mistake,” she’d told me.

My lip trembled. “I don’t want to send her away,” I whispered.

A tear slid down my cheek and the kind Scots lady looked as though she was going to cry with me.

“Dinnae greet, lassie. If you really want to keep her, then don’t let them take her away.”

Her voice was fierce. She understood. Later I wondered…

Mrs Murray had telephoned my parents and told them I would not be giving my baby up for adoption.

Although angry at first, my parents took one look at their grandchild and fell in love, just as I had done. There were tough years but they did their best to support me.

Eventually I met and married a lovely man called Eric who accepted Mary Beth. We had three other children and were a happy family. I could not have wished for a better life.

We told Mary Beth the truth about her father when she was eighteen.

“Dad will always be my dad,” she said firmly and gave Eric a hug. The smile on his face said it all.

When dear Eric passed on last year, Mary Beth suddenly wanted to meet her biological father. With today’s resources it wasn’t hard to track him down.

That was when I discovered that when he’d returned home after our holiday, he’d learned his family’s application to move to Australia had been approved. They left straight away. Jed never received my letters. The sands are cold in September. Standing in the place where Jed and I met, I regard my middle-aged daughter who today has the sparkle of youth in her eyes and I look at her father who seems unable to stop smiling. I know that my sunshine is right here. “Let’s walk along the beach,” says Mary Beth and I agree because I know that the sands will not be cold any more.

In those days a BABY before a WEDDING only meant TROUBLE