*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.
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Taken 2006, a sad sight/site,
no queues of eager swimmers,
but refurbishment is ongoing |
When I was at primary school, we used to walk home through Hornfair Park in Charlton, London, and past the lido, that wonderful repository of enormous quantities of cold fresh water. On a hot summer day I would long to go in and join in with the raucous shrieks and splashing sounds that I could hear wafting over the high perimeter wall. Sometimes my Mum had brought along our swimwear so that we could spend the remainder of the afternoon there, after school. On really hot sweltering days, there was always a long queue but I was very happy to join it, knowing what pleasures were to come. The cost was a few pennies, and once through the entrance turnstile we went immediately to the changing cubicles. We then took our clothes and other belongings to the storage area counter where they put them in a metal cage-type crate, with a large compartment for clothes, and a separate pocket for shoes. The crates were stashed on long shelves and the staff gave out in exchange a round plastic numbered* token on a loop of string, which people generally wore round their necks or wound round their wrists.
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.
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Hobby horse wishing he
could get into the lido in the
background (mid 1960's) |
The tokens were an occasion for the young men to show off, throwing them into the water and then having to dive down to retrieve them – a watery game of dare. I think they were often competing against each other to be the first to get the disk, and maybe even boisterously snatching them off their friends' necks and throwing them about. Meanwhile, I pursued the more interesting activity of learning how to float or swim in different styles, copying as best I could those about me who knew how to do it properly. Doggy paddling was easy but wasteful of energy and I was glad to at last be able to glide forward faster when I learned to synchronise the movements of arms and legs. Butterfly stroke was the least favourite, as it meant a big faceful of water on each stroke.
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.
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| Hornfair Park paddling pool (2006) now with wire fence |
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Author's cool and clean
feet at about 4 years
old (1957) |
The paddling pool was most attractive when it was being refilled, as there was a large noisy gushing outlet at one end in which we could play and make attempts to resist the surge of water. I was pleased to know that there was an endless supply of water somewhere, and I hoped that it would never be turned off, but unfortunately it was not always flowing when we visited. I liked to play in the very centre, as all the sides seemed so far away and I felt I was in a small blue sea under a spacious blue sky, but safe in the knowledge that Mum and Nan were sitting on the grass not too far away. The only thing that would have brought us out of the pool was the prospect of ice-cream.
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Greenwich Public Baths in Trafalgar Road,
now a swimming and fitness centre |
In later years we visited the indoor swimming pool at Greenwich Public Baths, a smart red brick building with white stone detail, and two arched entrances at the top of two wide flights of steps. Inside the floor and walls were tiled in a dark Victorian style in white and green, with heavy wooden doors with brass fitments, all very opulent and theatrical* looking. Immediately upon entering we could hear the same excited shouts and splashing sounds coming from what seemed like some distance but really just muffled behind more doors. There were two swimming pool halls but unlike the lido, these had timed sessions. Having bought a ticket, we had to wait until the current session ended before being allowed in. The experience was quite different from the open-air lido. We were enclosed with no sun shining on us, it was not so crowded and the sounds bounced off the ceiling and reverberated around the space. The air had a faint bleachy smell from the chlorinated water. Rows of wooden changing cubicles lined the sides, and a high level gallery above could be used by thosesupervising their children.
*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"
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Happy squawking and energetic
showering from the starlings |
Leaving the baths and going home was always a hot, dry, dusty experience and we invariably came up with the usual question “Can we come back again tomorrow?” to which the answer was “We’ll see.” I went once with the school to Greenwich Baths but as the sessions were structured and educational – no doubt to ensure everyone knew how to swim and stay safe – I did not really enjoy it as much as when it was a family outing on the weekend. I knew that my quest for summer water activities would never be over, and the best we could manage at home would be to fill the largest container we could find, a large old zinc washing bucket, placed in the middle of the lawn. It would not be swimming but it would at least provide the desired relief from the heat. Nowadays, I can get the same cool effect by watering the pots scattered about the garden, splashing some water onto the paths, and sitting in the shade surrounded by damp air. There is no planning necessary, no queue, no charge, no announcement at the end of the session, and no need to leave it all behind to start the long tramp home. Other than when the hose springs a leak that sprays water on me, all the refreshing outdoor bathing is now done by the birds in my bird baths. (2275 words)
http://homepage.ntlworld.com/oliver.merrington/lidos/lidos1.htm - Info and links about other London lidos
