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 Car
It was huge and gleaming and open-topped, yet still smelt of leather. There was a strap to hold the bonnet and walnut around the dashboard. It had bucket-seats that were welcoming, very welcoming. Jimmy Pierce and I climbed in. We wiggled the gear-stick and uttered the usual Brroom! Brroom! sounds, whilst clutching the steering wheel. Then we released the handbrake. We didn't mean to release the handbrake, it just happened. The car began to move! It gained momentum and we were struck rigid with horror! It slowly crossed the main road, just missing a car. It came to a halt, bumping up on the pavement opposite. With the speed of a rat up a drainpipe I shot down the alley that ran between two shops, connecting The Oyster bar's backyard. They got Jimmy. I hid away all that day. When darkness fell I crept into the backyard of our restaurant and, tentatively, raised the latch. I expected a thrashing, or at least a telling-off. They said… NOTHING! They gave me something to eat and I went up to bed, bewildered. Years later, I asked my parents why? "You were out all day," they said, "surely that was punishment enough?" Well maybe it was but it left me really confused. Perhaps, knowing my parents, they planned it that way all along.
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