3. STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN

A first holiday for Daisy's children

STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN

3. Stranger On The Beach

Brian was soon to start infants’ school and Isabel was seven coming on eight when Daisy was offered a treat to beat all treats. The fifties were getting under way and their uncle Ian, her own brother, told her that he had actually bought an elderly caravan of his own and it was parked on a site just outside Skegness, a holiday town on the East coast of England. The caravan was his to use all the year round because, hey, he owned it, but he only used it during his holidays from work, so if she wanted she could take her family there. For free. After all, she was his sister!

Arrangements were soon made and a small number of clothe were packed for the holiday, and they set off for the railway station where they were to catch a train to Skegness railway station.

Neither child had travelled by a train before, so in itself the journey was exciting. All that smoke and all that steam: memories of how they felt promised to persist for ever, even the black smudges that came in when Isabel opened the carriage window, but only for a moment.

The town of Skegness, when they arrived there, was thronged with holiday makers, the men in their Sunday best suits and the women in their very best frocks and, if they owned one, with a jacket even though the weather was warm and sunny and wearing a jacket seemed quite inappropriate. That was people back then, wary of being seen as beggars or half naked. Isabel wore her best little grey school dress, and the only other dress she possessed, equally grey. was in the suitcase. Brian wore school shorts and a school shirt.

Special play clothes were to be a thing of the future for the Parfitt kids. The system for dressing them was simple. New clothes were bought in time for the autumn terms at school, those worn for all of the previous year assigned a new role as second-best, though the word best hardly applied. and all other even older clothes, if they still fitted, were put in a drawer for emergencies or playing out in during murky weather that was too bad to justify the second best to be spoiled by. It was all down to finances, and Daisy would have loved to be able to turn the two children out better, but her widow’s pension didn’t allow for much more than daily essentials.

The caravan, when they reached it via a barely attended reception office, was small but had everything they needed bar bedding, and they should have taken sheets but Daisy had been so excited when Ian had smilingly offered them the use of the caravan that she hadn’t latched on to the bit about taking bedding.

Fred would have loved it and the fresh sea air would have been good for his cough. Daisy was quite sure of that. The thick air of Brumpton can’t have done him much good. Why, a bus with its black fumes trundled past Winkerby Road every hour on the hour. But he was dead and gone and there was no way wishful thinking would bring him back. The graveyard had him now, and that just had to be that.

Skegness was an eye opener fr the two children, once they had got used to the caravan site and all the sights to be seen there. Oither children abounded, some of them easily befriended by Brian and his cheeky grin whilst Isabel found that the narrow tarmacked lanes that wound round the site made an excellent route for her imagined buses, with her as the driver, stopping at make-believe stops and ringing an imaginary bell as she set off on an endless journey, her legs doubling as wheels.

But it was the seaside and the sands that became the main attraction. While Daisy sat on an old towel (she was aware that an invasion of sand in her knickers might prove far from comfortable and she’d had the foresight to bring a threadbare towel from home) the two children explored the beach, never going far from where she sat. There were plenty to tiny crabs to fascinate them.

And it was then that Bramwell (he called himself Bram and that’s what she learned to call him) appeared from amongst the crowds on the beach.

“Hi,” he said, “the name’s Bramwell though you can call me Bram if you like. Everyone else does.”

“Oh,” she said, and smiled at him because it was good to have some adult male company for a change. And it was just that: a real change and a pleasure. “I’m Daisy,” she added.

“Daisy, what a lovely name,” he said, rather too smoothly though she thought that maybe that’s how men sounded when they were away from the pressures of suburban life. And she noted his dress: casual trousers and just a shirt, no suit or jacket, and he looked comfortable like most men didn’t when they were on the beach.

“You look lonely,” he said, “are you on your own? I know what, we can chat. Here: have a cigarette,” and he produced a packet from his pocket, flipped it open and held it towards Daisy.

She thought for a moment. I’ve never smoked in my life before and isn’t it smoking that killed Fred? The doctor said it was. Or that it contributed to his death. But if that’s true, if smoking cigarettes is what people die of, why aren’t they banned?

“I don’t usually,” she said shyly, “I mean look at me, an old lady of about forty and I’ve never so much as smoked a cigarette!”

“Then it’s time you started!” he said, sounding as if he was joking, “here, take one and light it. It’ll make you feel good!

But don’t I feel good anyway she asked herself, but leaned towards him so that the flame from his lighter reached the cigarette that she’d taken. He smelled of tobacco, of stale cigarettes, and she thought it rather manly.

The first attempt in her life of smoking was an instant disaster. She tried to inhale the smoke and then spluttered and coughed and spluttered gain.

“I’m sorry,” she almost wept at him because the smoke had made her eyes water, “I’m not used…” And she coughed again.

“It’s what we all do when we’re beginners!” he laughed, “but we soon get used to it! And if Bram says it’ll do you good then that’s what it’ll do!”

By then the adventurers on the sand returned quietly from a rock pool tney’d been investigating and Isabel and Brian quietly found their way back to where they’d left Daisy. Quietly, they sneaked up to their mother and this strange man.

“Mummy!” exclaimed Isabel, “You’ve got a cigarette and isn’t smoking cigarettes what killed daddy? And just then it made you cough… you won’t die too, like daddy did, will you?”

“These are your children?” asked Bram, “how sweet they look! I might hhave known yould have two pretty little loves like these!”

“She’s Isobel and he’s Brian,” she replied, “and I hope you don’t mind but I don’t think I want this cigarette because my daughter’s quite right. The doctors said my late husband would probably still be alive if he hadn’t smoked.”

“I’ve heard that sort of thing before,” Bram frowned, “and it’s all poppycock, you know, rumours put around by our socialist government to take any pleasure out of life. Smoking never hurt anyone! I mean, look at me: I’m fit and healthy and in my thirties … well, thirty seven if you need to know … and I’ve never had a cough in my life!”

“I’m sorry,” was all she could think of saying.

“Hey you kids,” smiled Bramwell at the two youngsters, “you don’t want to believe everything they tell you! Though I do believe you shouldn’t smoke at your age. It might be bad for you, like coffee is.”

“What’s coffee?” asked Brian.

“Like tea, but poisonous for kids,” Isabel told her brother. “It’s nasty.”

Bramwell could see a debate starting, one that he was ill equipped to join in with because he loved his cigarettes and at the same time felt he might not be up to childhood logic. He took the partly smoked little white cylinder from Daisy and pinched it out.

“I’ll save it for Ron,” he grinned, cheekily as he pushed it back into the packet, “Ron. You know: Later On! Well, if you’ve got kids you won;t be bothered with what I’ve got on my mind so I’ll see you about…”

And he stood up and wandered off without waiting for a repky.

“Funny man,” growled Isabel, “we don’t like him do we, Bri?l

© Peter Rogerson, 25.02.23

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