Water has always been a fascination to our whole family. Myself and my two sisters have never been afraid
of it. That’s not to say we like the marine wildlife - the sight of a jelly
fish could see us scramble for the beach at a rate of knots. I had no swimming
lessons at school but have swum regularly throughout life. My style may not textbook, but I like to
think it could get me out of trouble.
I was eight years of age when we first went to Great
Yarmouth in a caravan for two weeks. Dad took us all into the sea, rain or
shine, there were no swimming pools. We would throw a ball and were happy to
rely on our buoyancy or doggy paddle if we ventured out of our depth.
At home, Western Park was local and our daily playground. We lived a hundred yards from the ‘First
Field’ where we would sit with neighbourhood friends making daisy chains. On
hot sunny Sundays, the whole family would de-camp to Western Park. A ten-
minute walk took us to the playground. A blanket was spread on the grass. Mam had
prepared the sweaty cheese and tomato sandwiches (there were no fridges) packed
in a greaseproof ‘Frears & Blacks’ bread wrapper. We children drank from
the stainless-steel water fountain, around which the lips of every other child
on the park had been wrapped, whilst mam and dad had a flask of tea. There was
no sun-tan lotion, nothing fancy, perhaps just a ball and a bucket and spade
recovered from the shed, the remnant of a previous holiday. Squeals of delight
came from the pool all day long as we played with our neighbours’ children who
were also enjoying the free day out. We ran between the swings, the witch’s hat,
the slide that had a solid concrete base to land upon and the rocking horse
that was loaded with six to eight children doing their utmost to jolt it from
its rocker mechanism. The only cost of the day may be a cornet from the
visiting ice-cream van - one scoop of ice-cream with ‘ras’, no option for a chocolate
flake, double cone or chopped nuts in those days. The driver resorted to playing
his ‘Greensleeves’ jingle whenever the queue dissipated and his sales dropped.
At the end of the afternoon we made our way home, all carrying
something - either the blanket, empty food bag, flask or wet towels and
swimsuits, the youngest took the ball or bucket and spade. A whole day out, no
travel cost, no entry fee, just a thru’penny ice-cream each and a good day was had
by all.
We were lucky that Forest Lodge Infant School had a sandpit
and a large concrete paddling pool. Each class would be allocated a morning
when it was their turn to spend the morning in the pool. Aged five, Miss
Christian forewarned us that tomorrow would be our turn to go into the pool. I
was up early and dressed wearing my swimsuit underneath my red gingham dress. A
towel was rolled up and carried to school in great anticipation of a morning of
fun. It was not until I was getting dry that I realised I had bought no
underwear with me. I confessed to the teacher, who told me to walk home to get
some knickers on. Luckily, mam was at home and I was able to remedy the problem.
By then it was dinner time, I had missed my school dinner, so mam gave me a sandwich
and I returned to school a couple of hours later with the security of a pair of
pants.
Wicksteed Park had by far the best of paddling pools. Not
just grey concrete, but a luminous turquoise blue tiled surround. There were two pools, one for infants and
toddlers, the other about four feet deep for older children. I was around seven
when I graduated to the deeper pool and the water came up to my neck. We had no
flotation aids and never witnessed any mishaps - or perhaps just the one? Dad
invited our neighbours to come with us, they had no car. It was a tight squeeze
in the car with nine passengers, but our Citreon had two extra seats that
pulled up out of the floor. It was the same model as the one the Von-Trappe
family escaped in on the Sound of Music. We headed straight for the paddling
pools and our parents sat around the edge of the pools on the benches provided.
The neighbour’s daughter whispered to her mum that she wanted to go to the
toilet. These were situated quite some distance from the pool area and her
mother whispered back for her to “go in the water”. Unfortunately, she did not
want to pee, and the pool cleared very quickly.
Our swimsuits progressed from mum’s woollen knitted ones to
the then fashionable bubble ones. Being the eldest, I got them new, and they
were passed down until Gill got them third hand. The reaction in the water of
both was similar. The wool soaked up the water, got heavy and stretched. The
bubbles stored the water in the pockets that stretched down to your knees as
you emerged.
So much fun was had in the paddling pools during the long
summer holidays. The infant school pool and sandpit are now long gone. The
paddling pool on Western Park was filled in during my teenage years when
vandals thought if funny to throw broken glass into it. I often pass the pool
in Abbey Park, another pool we frequented and enjoyed greatly; it lies desolate
and empty for the same reason. Braunstone Park had a wonderful pool, a
recurring story of a resource lost. Perhaps the people who thought this was
funny are now sorry that their own children have no access to the same fun and
games enjoyed by thousands of children over a summer?
Carolyn Wheatley
