HERNE BAY
The Little Restaurant on the Prom
A childhood memoir of life before polio, and immediately after, and my magical childhood adventures in and out of a wheelchair
The Streets of Herne Bay
The streets of childhood, of Herne Bay, had their seasons just like any other town, seaside or otherwise. And just like any other kid you keep inside of you those seasons. For seasons have their changes, their atmospheres, their smells.
And so it was with the streets of Herne Bay: the loneliness of the grey sky, grey streets, grey sea, and grey winter. And then there was spring, where the boatmen were out painting their boats ready for the Day-Trippers. The restaurants were being scrubbed and cleaned "Maybe it'll be a good season this year?'' The first arcade opened which set the heart racing.
My Granddad with Kevin and Melly. Taken by the famous Skylark which was dry-docked for repainting.
And then came the euphoria of summer with sunlit beaches, blue sky, hot pavements beneath bare feet, so hot that you could fry an egg, which we did…if you waited long enough; and warm, warm sea. The smell of rain on hot pavements after a scalding spell where the lightning split the sky and thunder rumbled and crashed its way (God moving his furniture) and I counted the miles between flashes and glory; the lightness and freshness of autumn when you could just about bear to swim in the sea, the freshness of which took your breath away; the rich copper coloured sun where the streets were bathed in crimson leaves, well at least the avenues just off of Station Road. And the clouds piled up like mashed potatoes.
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