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
Alone
(From left to right) Me, Sid [who lived in the woods behind us], Kevin, Josie, Carol Alexandra and Melly sitting whilst on holiday in the village of Wigmore, Near Gillingham, Kent. We thought the countryside was SO boring!
The Bell public house at Bredhurst, nr Wigmore where my granddad (known as Snowy) spent many a happy hour. The lane down the side of which I had my first Mystical experience only weeks before I caught polio.
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Although I was surrounded by family and friends most of my wonder of life was experienced alone. I was alone yet not lonely. Beauty, wonder, and the craving for adventure plus an unquenchable curiosity served as my greatest friends. Perhaps that's why I became a poet and writer: a lonely, solitary craft. Atmospheres and feelings of terror were experienced alone. Dreams I experienced alone. I knew that I could fly in dreaming, but I always flew alone. I was a dreaming boy that had adventures in my head. No mates would accompany me, no brother and sisters, no mother or father would stand up to protect me. I was alone. I liked being alone.
I would go fishing, again a lonely, solitary thing to do. But ask any fisherman if they are lonely and I'll bet a penny to a pound that they will say ‘no’, peaceful, and sometimes frustrating, yes, but lonely, never. I would go swimming, alone. Ride my bike out to Blean Woods, alone. Walk in the rain, alone, yet always expecting the unexpected.
And then it happened, the unexpected happened. I rode my bike down by The Bell public house at Bredhurst in Kent, whilst on holiday for the summer with our grandparents. I was outraged that my parents subjected us to the boring old countryside, depriving us of our seaside with the smell of hot tar, fish and chips, fried onions, and the poignant smell of whelks being boiled, the dusty smell of oil and metal in the arcades. But I understand now why they did it: the constant nagging of us kids always wanting something.
I rode my bike down the little lane that ran beside the pub, where my grandfather spent many an evening, then weaving his wobbly way back to Wigmore, our village.
I thrust my bike on the bank and fell back in the grass. It was to be my first mystical experience, mystical because I couldn't explain it. I even kept quiet about it to Melly.
The birds seemed to speak to me in a thrilling way. They all seem to speak at once in an avenue of sound yet each one spoke to me individually and I could understand them all. Even the trees seemed to join in the conversation.
I don't know whether I slept or not but the smell of the grass was the best anaesthetic that I knew. Still dazed with the wonder of it I rode my bike back in the now setting sun. I'm not sure how long it lasted and I didn't care. It was timeless and I couldn't tell anybody. If I had not been alone it would not have happened. Three weeks afterwards I caught polio!
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