A Bedtime Story

It was an escape, a respite from the noisy, dirty smelly streets of London. It was a holiday we could barely afford, but my father said that us children needed fresh sea air, sunshine and a chance to frolic in the sand. Every August we would pack our bags with beachwear, and beach toys. We would cram aboard the train at Victoria Station along with hundreds of others, all destined for the south coast of England. Amid the excited chatter my fathers voice would resonate loud and clear- "Stay close, lets not spend our holiday looking for lost children." some of the holidayers would be heading to Brighton, some to Hastings but we were bound for Eastbourne. Eastbourne with the grand promenade of whitewashed buildings overlooking the English Channel. Standing at the end of the pier the salt air would blow across our faces telling us tales from whence it came. My father (being a Navy man) would call this wind a "Frenchie Kiss" as these winds blew straight up from the coast of France. They had swirled up the streets of Paris, rounded the Eiffel Tower and roared up the Normandy coast. But the biggest excitement to us kids was the prospect of a donkey ride on the beach. We would beg our father, promising to be good, to do our reading and help our mother, if we could only please, please,please have a donkey ride. My father would purse his lips and furrow his brow as though in deep concentration of the request and the response. My brother and I would stand like angelic orphans holding our breath in desperation of the chance of a donkey ride. My father's face would suddenly explode with joy, partly from making us sweat and shake with anticipation of his answer, and he would shout "Why Not!" What's a holiday for if you can't have a jolly good time?" My brother and I would jump with glee, greedily grabbing the proferred 60p from my father's outstretched hand. As we raced down the beach to the donkeys, my father would shout above the wind "look after each other". Now all these many years later I think back on those days and realize that it was a small price for my father to pay for not only our happiness but his as well. While my brother and I would spend an hour with the donkeys, my parents would sit on the beach in their rented deck chairs looking towards France, eating their jellied eels in blissful peace and quiet.
Cheers,
Cat x