Ron Blundell - Minehead

Hazards to navigation.

Minehead Remembered

(Some Memories of Minehead and the Lido)

Have you heard the grinding of the stones upon the beach?

Have you seen and heard the paddle steamers beat?

Have you sat upon the fountain and heard the springboards bounce?

Seen the sparking of the water reflecting in the heat?

Have you heard the sound of baskets sliding out the racks?

Heard the sound of shouting children running out the back?

Tasted chlorine salted water, tasted sweet refreshing rain?

Dived 15 deep blue feet and swam back up again?

Can you remember Kingsley Taylor, Sammy Jay and Locks Bazaar?

Wondered at the hills in Dorrien Café and at the old taxi car?

Have you smelt the coke coal cooking walking out the dump?

Caught a fish in deep dark claypits and felt clay between your toes?

Have you explored the brick yards heaps and sat on Sunny Island?

Can you feel your woollen costume, can you feel the beach hut boards?

Can you taste the Fortes Ice Cream, feel the cold hard wicker chair?

Have you stood upon the stage only to stand and stare?

They have never known the things we shared in those days of long ago

They have never swam the “55” or jumped off “top”

They have taken it away and buried it down deep

Theirs is the profit motive and of course it counts a lot

But we are the ones with golden dreams for when we sleep.

Ron Blundell

Homeless at Culvercliff _- just another day.

The first grey streak of dawn touched the eastern horizon and the faint outline of the cranes of the biggest construction site in Europe were just visible. The chill wind off the sea penetrated all sides of the wooden shelter and the hard slats of the seat cut through the cardboard and sleeping bag that had offered the only protection through the night. The wind rolled the empty beer cans from side to side along the length of the shelter and the trees and bushes emerged from the gloom as the dawn brightened around him. His brain was still fogged from the contents of the cans that rolled from side to side in the corner as if mocking their 6 pack mate. His joints ached from the cold and awkward resting place not to mention the effect of the passing years. His reserve blanket had slipped off during the night and now lay on the concrete floor slowly soaking up the contents of a small puddle hopefully from a overnight shower? His woollen hat felt damp from dew or sea spray and the sounds of the high tide grinding the grey beach stones were merging with the sound of the wind in the fir trees.

He lay there not sure if to change position for the umpteenth time or just bear the pain in his hip and slip into and out of a fit-full doze. Memories played like a slide show and merged and played tricks with his mind, his mistakes loomed large and regret and anger competed for his attention. The dab of something wet and cold on his nose rose him from sleep and as his eyes focused he saw it was a large black dog standing in front of him. At the same time the owner appeared round the corner of the shelter and started at his presence. An older women well dressed in country clothes and green wellingtons looked surprised to see him and after a slight hesitation said “Good morning and Happy Christmas”. He grunted a response almost inaudible against the resistance of his scarf and strength of the wind. He felt vulnerable and embarrassed in his prone position and wished she would go away. Which after a slow and lingering look she did and continued on her walk calling the dog to follow. The dog also gave a long lingering look with expressive brown eyes that seemed to burn into his soul and trigger boyhood memories of his own dog many years before, it then turned and was gone.

Happy Christmas -yes he had forgotten that this was for some at least a special day. Memories of past Christmases jostled for attention and a small tear pooled between his eye and nose and then soaked into the edge of his grimy sleeping bag.

After a few seconds he rose stiffly to a sitting position and then eased himself out of his bag. Movement eased the joints a little and warmed his blood sufficient to start the walk to the road.

Ron Blundell