Gurnard 1958 Isle of Wight

GURNARD 1958

The walk from Cowes Esplanade to Gurnard Bay by the shore road had taken me well over an hour. Passing the flags and the row of small starting cannons, polished and shining, hiding behind grey stone buttresses that front the Royal Yacht Squadron.

From the Squadron onward to the Public Green, where sloping verdant banks bordered the shoreline. And where, on breezy summer Sunday afternoons, families would spread blankets, open flasks of hot steaming tea and wave sandwiches at relentless wasps. Father's, stripped down to their vests, would hire faded deck chairs and wind breaks, and determined to enjoy the fair weather August afternoon. While tousled, squealing children picked and danced their way over the narrow stony beach to paddle in dark rock pools and swim in the cold green sea.

Soon the long lawned banks are left behind, the sharp shingle shoreline changing to a wild rocky high-water as Egypt Point Beacon looms into view.
From the Point, a long mile, where tangled sea grass borders the yellow graveled shore road that leads to the Woodvale Hotel in Gurnard Bay.

A scattering of ancient holiday chalets and timber shingled bungalows hang like coloured beads, peeping out from the wooded, crumbling undercliff.

Wild winter seas often demanded sacrifice of land and dwelling, pulverizing everything to sand and matchwood in swirling black eddies and boiling foam.

It had been the same tantrumus seas that had claimed the steep stepped path that wound down from the 'High Road', which had cut the Bay off from the few shops and buses, like the spiteful act of a jealous lover.

Norma's bungalow had been built astride a cliff gully that bubbled and splashed streams of water down to the shore far below. Standing like the Trojan Horse on a intricate framework of timber stilts 'Woodside' hung precariously over a valley of fern and wild purple bramble, awaiting the inevitable call from the sea.

Since first meeting Norma, she had always gone out of her way, to make me feel special. I’d met her a couple of weeks earlier on the beach offering me five bob provided I was able to find her a rock crab large enough for her tea.

It was not the rock crab’s lucky day.

"Grief! He’s a beauty, probably couldn’t manage him all on my own".

"Not much on 'em when you get the shell off", I said.


"Well, I expect you're right!.....What's your name sweetheart?

"Paul, I said. "What’s yours?"

My name's Norma, she had taken a cigarette from her packet, suppose you would like one of these darlin', she winked.

I nodded. Then lighting it, she held the cigarette towards me in her outstretched hand.
Traces of her perfume and the moisture from her lips lingered as I sucked on that red stained cigarette. The smoke made my head light an giddy as I sat coughing upon the sand.

She looked up, "think we've had the best of the sun today ".

"I only live over there, she said pointing over her shoulder, come on lets see what I can do with this crab of yours... bet you would fancy a nice cold drink...or... how about sausages and chips!

Norma threw loud kisses through the air and hugged me on the door step in the full view of no one. Her poodle, which smelt like the sea, scurried and yapped excitedly around my feet, leaving a profusion of small puddles in his wake.

Nothing was too much trouble; everything seemed so easy for her.

Since our first meeting on the beach she had invited me to visit her when ever I wished. She even showed me where she kept the front door key, should she ever be out. Besides she was quick to add she would never be that long and I was to wait. She would always cook for me, eggs and chips or sausages and bacon always followed by lashings of blackberry pie and finally an American Coca Cola, the bottle, ice cold and frosted from a huge trembling refrigerator which she kept outside on the verandah.

The late afternoon sun warmed the small front room.

Brass ornaments and pretty china flowers twinkled and shone down from delft rack, their reflections glinting on Norma's pride and joy. Prince and Warrior were two large porcelain shire horses, ever straining, as they heaved a copper dray stacked high with barrels across Norma's dining table.

"Don't you just love my boys", she would say, throwing another couple of kisses, this time in the direction of Prince and Warrior.

"Ain't they beautiful, just beautiful', she'd mooned.

I loved the way that Norma spoke; it wasn’t just what she said, more, it was how she said it.
Years spent in Australia during her first marriage had put sunshine in her voice, given it a golden treacle sweetness, a girlish musical note.

Norma was a very attractive woman, compared by many, in her heyday, to the Hollywood film star Jayne Russell. Her long dark hair was pulled back tight by a large yellow bow held by a small tortoiseshell comb, she wore beaded bangles and gold ear rings, like budgerigar perches.

Norma's brown eyes twinkled like a fairground gypsy,

"Come and sit down here... she patted the small space beside her, on the small settee ...and tell me everything that's been happening".

We would chat for awhile and then she'd place her arm around me, pulling closer to her fragrant softness. She would kiss me, softly at first and then harder, lingering, again and again. I could taste her lipstick and feel the tip of her tongue, warm and wet probing my open my lips. And before closing my eyes I was aware of a golden star that shone out from the pearls in her pretty red mouth.