The Four Seasons Chapter Ten ~ Early Summer's Splendour

Summer has, at last, arrived. Grace takes us fleetingly to South West England and thence returning north to Lancashire’s coastline where two families are having ‘one of those days’ and a young couple have slightly differing views on ‘class’, enabling Grace to be the healing balm to an otherwise fractious day.

Early Summer’s Splendour

Part X

Summer in South-West England

Cricket

Strawberries and cream

Leather on willow.

“Cluck.”

Gentle hand-claps

Gently chinking cups and saucers in agreement,

pleasant afternoon English middle-class

conversations of nothingness,

delightfully sublime

all the same.

Saturn-sized hats, long skirts

below the knee when seated,

Stockinged legs neatly crossed,

neatly pleated college ‘ladies’.

Their peers in whites

‘oh he’s such a gentleman’

in earnest convo behind;

‘I say, Jonathan, after Cricket

fancy some skateboarding?’

‘Sure thing, Seb.

Sounds cool. Meet you at Six?

Six it is!

Oh yesss! Well done.

That’s a Six, umpire?

What do you mean, Sir?

Leg before wicket my arse …

A Saturn brim closes in

Darling!

Decorum, please.

I do not like that language.

Sorry Mother

A rolling of the eyes

and titters from young ladies

A wink below the brim …

The North and South divide.

Lace curtains,

open French windows

Warm summer breeze …

my balcony

at Abbots Croft

watching an ‘over’,

beneath the Great Old Oak

standing sentinel

at Asquith’s end

off Churchill Road

Leckhampton …

Where?

Cheltenham.

Oh! You should have said!

Amble to Morans, I think,

Coffee, biscuits, maybe

early supper and a ginger beer

catch up

with Beano, Bronwen and Gareth;

Jeremy and all the team

on the Old Bath Road;

‘Come now,

it’s our high street!’

A waved refrain to

Marcus and Michael

across the way,

millionaires now …

many happy times in yester-year

a lifetime now,

a different age,

a foreign era,

incomprehensible in today’s

Uni Generation,

quietly, fondly, recalled

within closeted recesses

of my mind.

Part XI

Summer on the North West Coast

of England

Blackpool’s astir.

Winds off the Irish Sea

light and warm.

Road works will end

Soon, we hope!

Lancashire’s gorgeous coastline

retrieving its jewel,

accessible again.

Deck-chairs for hire

Ice creams melting

Kids crying

Hire bikes awaiting

and, oh dear,

Sand-castles toppling.

Dad going off in a huff to the pub.

Mum being left to sort out the mess.

Babies botty wipes,

tell-tale markings …

surreptitious burials …

the family pet sneaked onto the beach

concealed behind the rainbow windbreak

I told you he needed another walk!

Can we go to Coral island NOW Aunty?

You promised us we could!

Now dad’s gone off to get sloshed again

and mam’s thrown a wobbly,

and I want my chips!!

And Chanelle has dropped her ice cream in the gutter!!!

Daemon’s picking his nose again Aunty

Says you’re an old fart.’

‘Oh shut up Jasmine,

I'd never have come if I knew

we were going to have all this

trouble again.

Honest.

It tries my patience,

it really does!

‘Shut up yerself aunty,

you old frump!

I'm gonna tell

Mam and Da

how orrible you are!’

Aunty heaved a sigh of relief,

adjusted the handkerchief on her head,

wiping the runaway mascara

off her cheek

and made an even greater mess;

so lit herself a cigarette

abandoned for the umpteenth time

all thought of family life,

looked forward with delight

to her return tomorrow evening

on’t 7pm Manchester Deansgate,

civilization again!

A cup of real tea

at the kitchen table,

just the sound of the clock

and the radio

a lounge all to herself

and Coronation Street,

Emmerdale Farm,

Waterloo Road,

and Albert Square

and those lovely soldiers in Afghanistan

on BBC 3 – ‘Our War’. . .

pondering with sadness

at the point of it all.

… and if fast enough

an episode of Coast

will buck her up

that dishy Neil Oliver

will calm her frazzled nerves.

*

A family from Lytham

sit across the way

not quite sure they’ve come

on the right day!

Children adore it

They’ve made friends

with ‘those kids!’

MaMa is not at all sure

that Clifton Drive and West Beach

mix with that oddly Bank Street

and back street guest houses

of Blackpool North Shore.

Walking down Lord Street

earlier losing their way;

MaMa was most unhappy.

This simply was not what

one was used to.

It was not one’s idea

of one’s good day!

As if from nowhere

a suit and briefcase emerged

from a gay hotel, no less,

God forbid!

And in Lord Street no less!!

and gave herself the sign

of the cross … …

and MaMa couldn’t end

her distracted thought …

His look of censure

as if he read her …

God! he even looked

he might be a solicitor!

Surely not!!

It was all so quick,

so sudden,

and now she cast her mind back

quite comic

Morning Madam


Good to see you’re heading for the beach

They’ll love it

Have a great day!

Curious. She pondered.

I mean he didn’t look gay!

If anything, she detected

her husband’s former

military bearing

Surely not!

and that ‘BBC voice’ threw her

into the ‘quandary lot’

… …

… … then and there, MaMa decided

I’ll make it up to my brother, yes

that’s what I’ll do,

Send him a postcard, yes …

… even though we haven’t

spoken in three years since

he did all that “coming out“

causing a frightful palava

in the drawing room!

Her thoughts tumble on

the domino effect,

One thought falls and then

before she knows

a stream of thoughts

domino increasing speed

beside her the length

of Lord Street …

State Schools just don't seem right.

And here’s the proof

MaMa decides,

observing her perception

of the product of a

perfect private education.

PaPa takes a more robust

and practical approach

Deciding he’s enjoyed

his pint with “those kids’ dad”

Made home feel real again -

in touch with his roots

in an unreal world

of petty bourgeois

snobbery, and

another domino fell,

reminding him

to return again to Liverpool

sometime,

to educate his children

in life’s reality,

dockland roots

Be proud

regardless of what

MaMa says!

And if they moan and groan,

well, he’ll go alone!!

He just wanted to be called Dad

like he called his dad

All this Papa Mama malarkey

really wore him down

In fact the more he thought

the more the fancy takes him

as he remembers again

the night clubs

in last summer’s heat,

a brief shirtless walk

from Crowne Plaza,

Lasses, chance meeting

Cocktails by Princes Half Dock

beneath the ‘baby chestnut trees’

of Malmaison.

“No! Saplings darling, saplings!”

Inwardly rolling his eyes

he fixed his mouth

but caught his son’s eye

who knew that look

and loved his Dad

all the more.

‘Out of the mouths of babes

and mouths of sucklings comes wisdom

without warning’

so they say

Well, it did that day.

For, no prompting, his son

got up, walked to his side

whispered in his ear

It’s Dad, Dad! Not Papa!

Our secret!

And Dad too loved

his son even more

and whisked him up

and in fits of giggles

flew him round his head

and looked at his wife

and beaming

Thank Christ I’ve got you.

I’d be sunk without you.

Summer looked on


with delight and warmth

bathing the family in love and joy

Games in the sand

and later, some well-earned

not in front of the children time,

bringing the day to perfection.

Summer graced the

elegant terraces

beaches

upper and lower promenades;

soon she would warm the backs of

people sitting in her favourite

time of the day

when, so mythology records,

that in the Garden of Eden

even The LORD

once walked

‘in the cool of the evening’

calling out

‘Adam, where are you?’

A universal pause. . .

the shock, the horror. . .

the portent of things to come.

‘Who told you, you were naked?’

That awesome pronouncement

that sting to the heart

A millisecond pause 
but felt throughout the Multiverse

from which human nature

never fully recovered …

‘WHAT is this you have done?!’

Not fallen Lucifer

did the Lord address,

his penalty came later

after judgment on the woman.

And PaPa,

now increasingly Dad,

pondered more and more

Why is it that these writings

besmirch the woman?

Well, it’s a story.

But when human nature

demands a fairytale

an allegory

to be exactly

as it happened …

and he heaved a silent sigh

Grace looked on

warming his shoulders

A quiet embrace

That’s it

You’re on the right track

And Summer graced also

the elegant Promenades on

the South and North Shore Piers.

Such delight,

the basking people who nightly

sat above the waves

in North Pier Tea Rooms

lovingly restored,

a delight to all,

where one partakes

of that peculiar institution

English Afternoon Tea at Three;

a Victorian creation

that never goes away.

Little ones bemused,

older ones enthralled

by three-tier cake stands

and habits

of the English-Speaking-Peoples

an ever-present hint

giving a curiously growing shadow

of a long-gone Imperial Past,

captured still,

in Royal Garden Parties and Embassy Receptions

throughout its descendant

The Commonwealth of Nations

where even today, on occasion,

may be favoured by its Head of State

Her Post-Imperial Presence.

1 March 2021
All Rights Reserved

© Kenneth Thomas Webb 2022