WHITSAND BAY, CORNWALL, AS A KID... (My new poem, inspired by Georgie Harrison's fine painting...)

 Whitsand Bay, Cornwall, As A Kid…

WHITSAND BAY, AS PAINTED BY GEORGIE HARRISON...

Staying as B&B Brummies with the Reveleys in Edith Street,

St Budeaux, meant days out, driven by my Uncle Jack

And because of the lack of a sandy beach along Plymouth Hoe,

Whitsand Bay was looked forward to as a destination.

The excitement of descending a steep, rough footpath, my child’s feet

Slipping now and again in my haste was palpable and due lack 

Of care was forgotten, even if the tide was tousling and low,

For the sea could be wild there and the clean sand a joyous invitation…

Keen to bathe, I would race towards the shallows with innocent

Glee before splashing into the onrushing, cascading sea.

 Family cricket upon the flat, smooth sand left behind

By a retreating tide was always keenly anticipated

After a picnic lunch on plastic plates, when I sat impatient,

Dreading the tinned crab and tinned peaches (without cream for me.)

Free of the strict scoldings from my father’s sternness unkind,

I was in awe of Whitsand Bay but guarded, though inwardly elated…

Pete Ray

23rd January 2024…

Loved it there, though the climb back up to Uncle Jack’s car on the coast road was a bind afterwards.

I bodyboarded there once, some years ago but on a couple of occasions the tide was too far in to really enjoy the beach there…

A stunning bay and a short trip for the car across the River Tamar on the Torpoint Ferry hauled by chains, which was another pleasure, except for the often long wait to cross.

The Reveleys were great folks and the husband, Bill was a Devonport docker whose accent my mum couldn’t understand a word of… She just kind of nodded and uttered a shy, nervous, “Yeeesss…”

I was addressed as “Pederrr, me-ansum…”

In succeeding years we stayed with the Felwicks a few doors away, who were lovely people too…