Beside The Seaside

Who said we had to spend Easter surrounded by chocolate eggs and hyper children?

WHAT’S the difference between flotsam and jetsam, anyway?” Jean shouted. We were on the beach, braving the winds, gathering shells for one of Jean’s young relatives who needed them for a school art project.

“No idea,” I replied, bracing myself against a sudden gust. “They always seem to go together, though. Can you even have one without the other?”

“I don’t see why not. I mean, fish and chips go together, but it’s still possible to have just fish or just chips.”

“You’re making me hungry,” I said. “Fish and chips always taste better at the seaside.”

“It’s because they’re so fresh,” Jean stated, although I wasn’t convinced that the fish served in this place were caught locally.

There was no longer the fleet tied up in the harbour that used to fascinate me as a child.

“Let’s throw these in the boot of the car and take a good long walk along the strand,” she went on, giving her bucket a rattle. “We’ll work up a really good appetite.”

“OK,” I said, although I have a really good appetite at all times, and Jean knows this very well. “But we’re not looking for somewhere with an Italian coffee machine and free Wi-fi today. It’s got to be a place with vinegar bottles on the table and tea served in a pot.”

“Fish and chips and tea and bread and butter,” Jean said, almost drooling. “What could be better?”

We plonked Jean’s bucket in the boot of my car, locked up and set off on our walk.

“I’m not linking arms, Maureen,” Jean warned. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but there it is. I don’t want to be one half of ‘those two old biddies’.” She sniffed.

“The hair might be grey, but the heart still beats red. Just to remind you, we’re both younger than Robert Redford and Jane Fonda.”

I couldn’t have cared less about linking arms.

“We’re younger than Robert Redford?” I asked in surprise.

“We’re younger than quite a few people, actually. Tina Turner. We’re only marginally older than Mick Jagger and Rod Stewart. And the same age as Harrison Ford.” “Harrison Ford? Really?” “Really. And we’re way, way younger than Sean Connery or Michael Caine.”

“Not a lot of people know that,” I said, attempting a London accent and pushing my sunglasses up the bridge of my nose in what I thought was a Michael Caine kind of way, but which Jean assured me was more like Eric Morecambe.

“Don’t try doing impressions, Maureen,” she said scathingly. “You’re no good at it.”

That was me told. We walked the whole length of the strand, passing dog-walkers, a few young families and a couple of brave souls in wet-suits with surf boards.

“Have you ever surfed?” I asked Jean.

We’re both decent swimmers and we go to aqua aerobics, so it wasn’t impossible.

“No, I haven’t. I tried skateboarding once, but I wasn’t any use. Then again, I could never roller-skate. I think that was Mum’s fault.

“She saw the other girls zooming about on their skates and she thought I’d break my neck. So when I got a pair for my birthday, Mum would only let me wear one at a time. Can you picture it? Me skatestepping up and down the street?”

“You must have looked ridiculous,” I said with satisfaction.

“I felt ridiculous, too.” On our way back, we seemed to be walking into a wind so chilly it made our eyes run.

“Let’s pick up a couple of newspapers to read in the café,” Jean said, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “All right. Which ones?” “Something with short words and lots of pictures,” she replied.

“I’m not in the mood for articles about the Royal Ballet and interviews with Martin Amis. They don’t fit in with a chippy café, anyhow.” She grinned. “I want to drip cheap tomato ketchup on celebrity gossip and a coffee-break quiz I might actually be able to answer.”

“I think you’re making assumptions about the literary preferences of people who eat in chippy cafés,” I said. “But so be it. We’ll buy the two nastiest tabloids we can find.”

“If we take these steps up to the prom, the newsagent’s shop is just round the corner,” Jean suggested, and off we went.

We discovered the perfect café on a side street not far from the promenade.

It had red and white gingham curtains on the windows, matching vinyl gingham tablecloths and, to Jean’s delight, a large plastic ketchup dispenser in the shape of a tomato, as well as my hoped-for vinegar bottle on the table.

I was delighted to spot one customer with a broadsheet newspaper spread out on his table, and two other people reading actual books. “See?” I said to Jean. “Trust you to find the intellectual hub of anywhere we go.”

Jean thinks I’m a bit of a snob because I still enjoy rereading the classics, whereas she prefers snappy magazines and a bit of “chick lit”.

Our fish and chips came, the fish in blisteringly hot, fresh batter, the chips crisp on the outside and fluffy on the inside. This was served with a twist of lemon and a little stainless steel dish of tartare sauce. “Fancy,” Jean remarked. Our sliced white bread was as soft as sponge and the teapot didn’t drip. I have a slight obsession with the drippiness of café teapots and Jean thought I displayed an unreasonably high state of ecstasy for this one small detail, but all I can say is that non-drip teapots spell happiness for me.

We set our newspapers aside until we had eaten our meal – well, devoured it, in fact, as Jean was right about the walk sharpening our appetites.

Then we read the latest gossip about Tess Daly and Simon Cowell, and a nicer story about a newsreader who wasn’t quite so famous but who had actually done something important. That is, she’d stopped at the scene of an accident and used her first-aid training to resuscitate an injured man and put two women in the recovery position until an ambulance came.

“Don’t you think stories like that show how important first-aid training is?” I said. “I believe in some parts of Scandinavia everyone is trained in first aid. We should do that here.”

“Why don’t we ask the WI to send us for training?” Jean said. “With an average age of ninety-three it’s almost certain to come in useful.”

“We do not have an average age of ninetythree!” I objected.

“Don’t we? Lorraine Crockett has just celebrated her sixtieth, and she’s regarded as the young one.”

“For someone who’s so adamant about not being regarded as an ‘oldie’, you certainly spend a lot of time thinking about age.”

“I’m just telling it like it is. But I do think we could go and do our first-aid training. You never know when we might need it.”

“Agreed,” I said. “Now, we said we were going to do Easter Sunday in our own sweet way, just making it up as we went along, so what next?”

“Well, so far today we’ve managed to avoid the dreaded family leg-of-lamb roast dinner.”

“And we’ve missed out on all the tantrums about not opening the Easter eggs until after lunch,” I added.

“We’ve also escaped the obligatory vomiting child who didn’t listen and ate a whole chocolate egg by themselves, on the floor behind the bed while their parents were bickering in the kitchen.”

“I always enjoyed church,” I said. “It’s really the only part of Easter tradition that I actually like. The man-made bits you can keep.”

“Me, too. Once you’ve been to church, it’s like all the worst bits of Christmas Day and none of the fun. I’m glad we made a break for it.”

“I like the fact that we had no plan,” I said. “We followed our noses to the coast, and even though it’s cold, it’s lovely to be out in the sunshine.”

“Better than being stuck beside the living-flame gas fire for the afternoon.”

Jean has a decided prejudice against the things. “So what now?” I asked. “Isn’t it obvious? Now that we’re here, it has to be . . . the slots!”

We each changed a whole pound coin into two-pence pieces and braved the rowdy noises of the seafront arcades.

Jean was profligate with her coins, whereas I was guarded. I walked around the different machines, only playing when I was sure a cascade of coppers was imminent.

Of course, when Jean ran out of coins, she came bounding over to me.

“You’ve got loads!” she cried. “Just give me a few more, please!”

She was like a child!

I gave in and scooped her up a generous handful from my tub.

“On one condition. When you run out this time, we both go on the dodgems.” “Deal.”

When I traded in my winnings there was enough for a dodgem each.

We climbed into our cars, in my case with a deal more difficulty than Jean, who is a few dress sizes smaller.

Once in place, though, I was confident. I’ve always been good on a dodgem, and I looked forward to surprising Jean with my skills.

Once the bell sounded and the ceiling sparked to life, I made a nimble charge for all the clear space I could find. I hoped Jean appreciated how well I handled the little car.

Then suddenly, whump! Something had rammed straight into the back of me!

I turned to look. It was Jean.

“Hey!” I shouted. But she was off. What followed was a classic game of cat and mouse as I attempted to show my driving prowess and Jean repeatedly tried to slam into me.

She had absolutely no finesse, and I hooted with laughter when I saw her trying to reverse out of a tricky situation, only to cannon off no fewer than three other cars.

“That was fun,” I said as we disembarked.

“It was. But now I think it’s time for us to get out of town. The place is starting to fill up with families and I don’t want to be around when they all start dropping their ice-creams and refusing to get back in their buggies and getting their last coins stuck in the ride-ons.”

“Ready for home, then?” “Ready for home,” Jean agreed. “But with one proviso. We stop at a supermarket and take our pick of the reduced-to-halfprice Easter eggs. Yet another of the advantages of doing Easter in our own way.”

We got back to the car already tired, although it was still early.

We took off our big outdoor coats and threw them on the back seat.

“Belt fastened?” I asked Jean.

“Belt fastened,” she confirmed.

I was wondering what radio station to

I’ve always been good on the dodgems, and planned to show off

select as I turned the key in the ignition. Uh-oh. “Maureen, what’s up?” “I’m not sure,” I said, turning the key again.

The car gave the slightest of coughs, then nothing. “She won’t start.” “Try it again,” Jean said, looking worried.

I did, but still nothing. “There’s not even a rattle to make me think she could catch,” I said. “We’ve well and truly broken down.”

“Open the bonnet,” Jean ordered in her takingcharge voice.

“Really?” I said. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Yes. But not in the way you think.”

I sprung the catch under the dashboard and we climbed out, lifted the bonnet and propped it open.

“Now what?” I asked. “Now we wait. There’s always some petrol-head who spies a car in trouble and can’t resist helping. Trust me, Maureen.”

By the time we had put on our coats a couple of people had stopped to look at us, but no-one had volunteered to help.

Then a family with several children on an assortment of bikes, trikes and a little trailer pulled by the dad came along.

“Everything all right here?” the dad asked.

“Not really. It won’t start.”

“Like me to take a look?” “It’s all right,” the mum said. “He’s brilliant with cars. You can trust him.”

“Thanks. We’d welcome some help.”

The young man took off his jacket and hung it on a post. He pushed up his sleeves and started tinkering.

“Are these all your children?” Jean asked the young woman. It sounded a bit like an accusation.

“Yes. Five kids under the age of eight. Insane, eh? It’s hard work, but there’s never a dull minute.”

“Do you work or are you on benefits?”

“Jean!” I shrieked. Sometimes the woman simply doesn’t know when she’s being downright rude.

“Sorry. I just meant: are you both at home with them all day? Or does one of you have to manage on your own while the other one’s at work?”

“Luckily Jamie’s on a good salary as an engineer, so I get to stay home and play house,” the woman said. “Three of the kids are at school, so it’s not as big a handful as it sounds. We were both only children, ourselves, so I guess we’ve finally got the big family we always wanted. We love it.”

“What a nice thing to hear,” I said. “It’s wonderful when people say they’re happy with the life they’ve chosen.”

Jamie emerged from under the bonnet.

“I don’t think it’s anything too serious,” he said. “But take it to your own mechanic ASAP. I should be able to get you going with a jump-start from my engine, then just don’t stop until you get home.” “Thank you.”

“I’m parked over there. I’ll just bring her across and hook you up. Hang on.”

As he ran off to his car, I asked his wife, who introduced herself as Charlotte, if some of the children would like to sit in my car to keep warm. I was sorry there wasn’t room for all of them.

Charlotte elected to pack four of them in, with herself in the driver’s seat to ensure that no-one released the hand-brake. That left us with Zoe, the oldest, at seven.

“My daddy’s really good at fixing cars,” she told us.

“How many Easter eggs did you get?” Jean asked.

“Three. One from Mum and Dad, one from Nana and one from Grandma and Grandpa.”

Jamie pulled up in his people-carrier, jumped out and started fixing two leads to my engine.

“Where are your grandparents today?”

Jean is fascinated with other people’s families – especially when it comes to where the oldies fit in.

“Nana is in Australia, visiting her sister,” Zoe said, “and Grandma and Grandpa are on a cruise.”

Jean glanced at me but said nothing as Jamie had now started his engine.

After a couple of minutes, he told Charlotte, still in the driver’s seat, to try mine. It sang.

“I wish our grandparents weren’t off doing things without us all the time,” Zoe commented as her mum helped her younger siblings out of my car. “We like playing with them, especially on special occasions. They Skype us, but we’d rather have the real thing.”

Jean looked at me again.

We drove home a little nervously, in case the car would conk out along the road, but the closer we got to our destination, the more we relaxed.

“That little Zoe,” Jean mused. “She seemed to think having the oldies around would be a good thing.”

“She did,” I agreed. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I am, if you’re thinking that we should pick up a big bag of reduced-to-halfprice Easter eggs and do a tour of the junior relatives tomorrow.”

“After all,” I reasoned, “Easter Monday is still special.”

When we got home, I looked up “flotsam and jetsam” in the dictionary.

“Apparently,” I told Jean, “they are maritime terms describing two types of marine debris.”

I read further. “Flotsam is defined as debris in the water that was not deliberately thrown overboard, often as a result of a shipwreck or accident. Jetsam describes debris that was deliberately thrown overboard by a crew of a ship in distress, most often to lighten the ship’s load.

“The word ‘flotsam’ derives from the French word floter, to float. Jetsam is a shortened word for jettison.”

“And therein lies today’s Easter lesson.” Jean smiled. “Maureen, in our quest to avoid shipwreck on the rocks of old age, we have possibly been jettisoning rather too much of family life.

“Let’s take a couple of board games with us on our visiting rounds tomorrow. It’s not the law that I have to sit in the corner by the living flame gas fire – there’s absolutely nothing to stop me sitting on the floor with the kids and the Jenga.”

“I might not be able to manage the floor,” I admitted, “but I like the cut of your jib, to stick with the maritime theme.”

Later that evening, we rang our nieces and nephews to see if it would be all right to call round the next day, and they all said they and the children would be delighted to see us.

“Did yours sound like they meant it?” “Actually, yes,” I said. “Mine, too. Hopefully they don’t want to throw us overboard just yet, either,” Jean said.

It had been lovely, escaping for a day to ourselves, but we had plenty of days to ourselves, when you thought about it.

Maybe it was time to remember that we were part of something bigger than just the two of us.

Tomorrow we would celebrate with our families, because there was something special to be gained by bringing together the young and the youngat-heart.

“Happy Easter, Jean.” “Happy Easter, Maureen,” she replied. “Oh, one more thing came up in passing today that I think we should talk about some more.”

“You mean the first aid?” “No, Maureen.” Jean rolled her eyes. “I mean the cruise.”

Perhaps we had been jettisoning too much of family life