Swimming lessons
Sandy Gent recalls winning a ‘gold’ at her local swimming pool
When I look back on my Sixties childhood, one of my fondest memories is of trips to the local swimming pool.
The Broadway Baths in Manchester, was only a short walk from where I grew up and it seemed like a pleasure dome of delights when I was a little girl. I was most intrigued by what lay beyond those great wooden doors and badgered my dad to take me.
I’ll never forget the first time we passed through the turnstile and into the pool. At first, I was overwhelmed with the echoing sounds of children’s laughter, the smell of the chlorine and the sight of the gleaming water! I was also a little frightened and gulped at the sight of the ‘deep end’. However, encouraged by my dad, I took my first tentative steps down into the shallow beginners’ area, secure in my rubber ring, and began to experience the delights of the water. I soon was splashing happily and making my first attempts at ‘doggy paddle’.
After a few trips with Dad, we began to go weekly with the school and I loved the whole experience. A Routemaster bus pulled up at the school gates every Thursday after dinner and brought us back for home time. We all took a snack to eat on the bus back to school and I can still remember how good those jam or, in my case, HP sauce butties tasted after our exertions in the pool. All wet hair, wrinkled fingers and chattering teeth – what fun we had!
And how proud I was the day I achieved my first ‘length’! It was near the end of the first term and our swimming teacher, Mr Branker, asked for volunteers to have a go
‘I was exhausted and my legs flailed as I fought rather than swam through my length’
at completing the length on their own. Convinced my dad’s early lessons had given me a head start, I volunteered and refused to acknowledge I wasn’t quite ready. He urged me to leave it until the next term but I was determined.
That day, there were about half a dozen of us nervously shivering and biting our nails at the deep end as we waited for our turn. He kept me until last to once again give me the opportunity to pull out but I shook my head determinedly.
Mr Branker was right; I was exhausted and my legs flailed as I fought rather than swam my way through the final stages of ‘the length’ but perseverance won the day and I can still remember the sound of my classmates standing on the edge of the pool, clapping and cheering me to the finish. We got a certificate to bring home but most of all, we were ‘crowned’ three times by a smiling Mr Branker as he dunked a massive metal scoop of water over our heads in congratulation. Obviously, I don’t know what it’s like to win a Olympic medal but that day in 1967 was the nearest thing I came to a gold!