A childhood memoir of life before polio, and immediately after, and my magical childhood adventures in and out of a wheelchair
The Downs
The Downs tended to be boring, at least in the summer months they tended to be boring. Down the other end of the promenade, in the summer months, there were always the arcades. The excitement and smell of the various Bingos and of course the Dodgem's and
the Rifle Range. There was none of that up The Downs, only grass, an area that held the Bandstand and of course The King's Hall.
In the winter The King's Hall was rented out to the local Amateur Dramatic Society (where I later became a member), or the local dancing schools, or The Scouts Jamboree. It was BORING, I tell you, just plain BORING. There was of course the Yachting Club, the boats all hauled up for the winter, covered over with canvas, their tall masts clicking and thunking as the wind whipped the ropes against the wood. Then there were the hundred steps. Actually there were 120 or more. How did I know? I counted them. They stretched all the way up the cliff face from the sea. We kids, my brother Kevin and sister Melly, used to kick our bored heels up there. Up there where you could just see Reculver Towers like the huge'H' that it was.
We'd not climb the hundred steps but CLIMB, clamber up the steep cliffs like Sherpas. Fearless, frightened of nothing. Then hot and thirsty we'd raid an orchard or two. Scrumping! We'd eat so many brambly apples that we'd make our bellies ache. Apples were apples in those far flung days. Then dirty-faced, our knees scraped and bleeding we went home.
But when it SNOWED! Ah, that was a different matter. The Downs were transformed into a slippery slope of delicious, dangerous daring. That great green BORING stretch of grass was now a white wonderland of sledges, tin trays, and skis. Never mind that to one side of that slope there was a dangerous edge to drop over. Nobody was really hurt. Not really, just bruised a bit, that's all.
After polio, they still dragged me up on my homemade sledge, strapped my legs to it so as they wouldn't move and gave me a shove. I was still fearless. After polio, in the summer holidays, I dragged myself, one by one, up those hundred steps, pausing every now and then just to catch my breath. It took me 20 minutes to climb. Before, I could do it in one minute. I didn't care. My fix-wheeled chair was hauled up by my sister and brother. And when we finally reached the top we'd STILL raid the orchards, I giving orders from my wheelchair. After all, I was still the eldest! And when the Scrumping deed was done, my chair, heavy with apples, was pushed at high speed to a place of safety where we consumed our spoils. Our bellies still ached. But that was the price you paid for glory.
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