The last few weeks here in England have been very hot and dry. Our summer weather has been rather late in arriving, and as the British weather is so unpredictable, we tend to give it an inordinate amount of attention when it changes, or fails to change as we want it to. It is always an acceptable conversation opener to comment on the weather, but innocent observations on such a harmless subject can sometimes result in a grumble. This seems to me to be conversational quicksand and I do not enjoy participating in being dragged down. Extra efforts are needed to counter it with a more positive view, in order to purposely deflect the grumbler’s intention. Other than destructive storms, there is always a good side to whatever weather comes our way. The snow provides a brilliant light on the normally* grey winter days. Freezing weather breaks down the farmer’s lumpy soil, or can be a convenient excuse to stay indoors by the warm radiator. The downpours water the gardens and replenish the groundwater levels, and the wind and fresh air keep the roses from getting mildew. The sun makes everything grow and ripen and a grey day is the best time to concentrate on catching up with other jobs, so that one is more free when better weather comes.
*Insert last vowel, as "normal" would also make sense
Hot days require cold water and during one seaside holiday I had enough pocket-money to buy a toy water-carrying bottle. It was an oval shape made of yellow plastic, with bands and straps made of red plastic, fully adjustable with an array of buckles and poppers. It was made to look just like a traditional leather bottle, and I could go round with the strap over my shoulder and the bottle itself swinging at my side. I used it all week, duly filling it to the brim every morning and taking warm plastic-flavoured sips all day while we explored the beaches, cliffs and shops. I soon realised that my thirst was generally greater than the amount it held, so I rationed it out, and took the last big swigs at the end of the day, when I did not have to save any more of it for later. I could enjoy everything so much more when I had the answer to a parched throat. I began to wonder how many of these bottles I would need for proper thirst quenching all day, and concluded that I could not practicably carry my entire day’s requirements with me. But it did give mea taste of how life can be improved by having the right equipment and supplies, especially when out and about away from home.
Taken 2006, a sad sight/site, no queues of eager swimmers, but refurbishment is ongoing |
*If necessary you can signify the past tense of a contraction by striking a short line through
Fuller photo of the lido exterior similar to above at http://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/2291025
Fuller photo of the lido exterior similar to above at http://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/2291025
Then we had to go through a lobby, treading through a few inches of water that washed our feet, finally emerging into the brilliant sunshine once again. The red brick wall and concrete surroundings were somewhat drab, but the water, sky, swimwear and towels were bright and colourful, and we could see the green waving tops of the surrounding trees outside. The lido consisted of one very large rectangular pool with slides and diving boards. At the far end was a small shallow pool with steps at both ends for children, about waist-high for adults. At the two far corners were waterfall fountains, where people could sit and soak and between them was a place where refreshments could be bought. In between the two foot-washing lobbies was a café and those who had not come to swim could remain there and watch the swimmers, as shoes were not allowed in the main lido area. There was a large clock over the café, especially important as people would have put their watches in with their other stuff in the storage baskets.
The ideal place to position our towels was near to the shallow end, but away from the edge and its dripping wet traffic and splashes from people jumping in. People were lying about everywhere, apparently enjoying being cooked from below by the hot paving and from above by the sun. I was perplexed by people’s desire to lounge about like this, as to my mind the whole purpose was to play in the water and not sit on the hard concrete for a single minute of our time there. They were obviously either warming up again or resting, a concept that eludes a child full of excitement and enthusiasm to take advantage of limited time in this watery heaven. Outside people would lounge on the grass and that was more understandable to me.
Hobby horse wishing he could get into the lido in the background (mid 1960's) |
I found it was better to literally take the plunge, to just get in the water straight away rather than dilly-dallying at the edge in case the water was cold. Time was of the essence and I did not want to waste precious swimming minutes in hesitation, although the children’s shallow pool was warmer and a good way to let oneself in gradually. On one afternoon we visited the lido on a quieter day, with not many people there, and I found to my dismay that the smooth undisturbed water surface had long streaky shapes of thousands of dead black-fly lining the edges. Such things would usually be masked by the movement of the crowds of people. After some hesitation, I finally jumped in but restricted my playing to the centre of the pool, with extra efforts made not to swallow any water. At the end of each visit, we did not relish the prospect of returning to our former hot dry existence. There was an exit at each side of the lido, where you had to go through a full-height turnstile. The fast clanging and clicking noise as the vertical row of bars went round signalled the end of cool and refreshing activities and the beginning of the long walk home, clean and tired, but wishing the lido time could have lasted forever.
In the park there was also a playground area with a large paddling pool, and we could run about in this without having to bring a change of clothes or towels. My dress was tucked into underwear for convenience rather than to keep it dry. The water was about eight inches deep, and running through it was a delight, but the closest I could get to the experience of swimming was to lie down in it and thrash about, getting nowhere but always hoping that some slight forward movement might result. Once when I did this rather too energetically, I emerged from the pretend swim to find that I had grazed my arms and legs. I had no idea at the time, as the cold water prevented any sensation of injury, and I went home with bits of sticking plaster dotted about my knees, elbows and wrists. After that I was much more careful and not so exuberant with my swimming efforts.
Hornfair Park paddling pool (2006) now with wire fence |
Author's cool and clean feet at about 4 years old (1957) |
Greenwich Public Baths in Trafalgar Road, now a swimming and fitness centre |
*Retains the doubling of "theatre" for convenience
I mainly played in the area from shallow to middle, but occasionally I would make the courageous effort to swim a width over the deep end, knowing that there was no reachable floor under my feet. This was my idea of bravery, in that once I had started, I could not just stop and change my mind, but had to keep going. Making for the steel hand bars or the ladder on the other side was my goal. On one occasion I made an effort to bob down vertically to the bottom at the deepest corner, and was surprised to eventually make it to the cold tiles on the “seabed” but I soon shot back up out of that silent and airless world where I had no business staying for too long. Having been successful a few times, I decided that holding my breath was not so much fun as playing in the shallows. I did learn that a half-hearted effort was a waste of time*, as I did not have enough breath to make more than one attempt to reach the floor tiles on the same dip. Another time I realised I could open my eyes under water, which took some courage to do the first time, but I soon gave this up as being too uncomfortable and it exacerbated the sore eye effect next day from the chlorination of the water.
*Omission phrase "was(te of) time"
Happy squawking and energetic showering from the starlings |
http://www.charltonparks.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/Hornfair-Lido-by-Andy-Hoines-2004.pdf History of the Hornfair Park lido
http://homepage.ntlworld.com/oliver.merrington/lidos/lidos1.htm - Info and links about other London lidos
http://www.thegreenwichphantom.co.uk/2009/07/charlton-lido-2/ Article with recent aerial photo
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