Once more unto the Beach

I love Whitstable, it has an old world charm that relaxes me and takes me back to my childhood. I grew up in a seaside town, whilst there was some fishing it had nothing like the oyster industry that Whitstable has been forever famous for.

What we did have locally however was huge winkle beds. The best could be found at the base of the cliff at low-tide. There you would find hundreds of thousands of black shiny winkles firmly latched onto the huge rocks that were slick with bright green sea moss and there was a perfusion of other plant and shelled life. I could lose myself for hours picking the right sized winkles, too big and they get chewy like whelks, too small and the old musical hall song “I can’t get my winkle out….” begins to make sense., but just the right size and they cook evenly are plump enough to remove easily from their shells and make a good hearty winkle sandwich… just add vinegar and pepper!

The only problem about it was that the only way down to the shore at the base of the cliff was a vertical iron ladder set into the side of the cliff. Now I am somewhat concerned about heights, OK so scared stiff probably sums it up a little more accurately, I was dropped on my head as a small child…what can I say….I know it hurts when you fall from a height!!!!

The only way to get me down was for Dad to get onto the ladder and then for me to approach it wriggling backwards on the ground, I couldn’t look over the cliff or stand anywhere near the edge or I would become a jelly mess, I am a bit better these days and can use a small step ladder but it is NEVER fun.

So wriggle back and then onto the ladder so that Dad’s body formed a cage around me and we would go down slowly one rung at a time, me just looking at the cliff face or Dad’s hands and he would talk or sing to distract me. He of course had no fear of heights having been a steeplejack in his youth so although I was scared I trusted and felt safe with him.

However lost we got in collecting the winkles, prodding about in the rock pools and exploring the caves we always kept an eye on the tide and never let it cut us off from the ladder because other than swimming miles around the headland the ladder was the only way off the shoreline as high tide would come in fast and rise up the side of the cliff!

Going back up was always easier I would get onto the ladder and Dad would surround me again and up we would go, at the top I would scramble onto my hands and knees and move as far and fast as I could away from the edge.

If I have to do anything involving heights I still find going up easier than coming back down, because unless you look back when ascending you don’t realise how high you are.

Oh, and one final fashion tip of the time, once removed the round winkle “door” could be used as a beauty spot, a little bit racy and wicked just like Margaret Lockwood!!!!