Rural Ramblings

Perhaps there are those who wonder what's so special about chrysolite ?

I spent much of my childhood in rural Suffolk. If I had ever been interested in football (and I never have been, not even remotely) I would have been more or less mid-way between the choice of being a 'Tractor Boy' or a 'Canary'. I'm glad I never had to make that choice at least. If I had chosen the former and then given up, would that have made me an ex-tractor fan ?

I have so many memories of Lavenham, Horringer, Debenham, Wenhaston, Bramfield, Halesworth, Beccles and Oulton Broad. Amazing how far you can get on a bike in a day, even those days and on the bikes of the 50s and early 60s - lovely cycling country. However, the memories that have stuck are mostly of Lowestoft and Great Yarmouth. I remember the plaice and chips from the shop just round the corner from my aunt's. I've since learned that if plaice is almost transparent as you clean it, it's really fresh and tastes SO good. Hated the bones. That's one of the reasons I rarely enjoyed eating fish. I have so many memories of going to the harbour in Lowestoft and fishing off the harbour wall. Never actually caught anything though. I remember the boats in Lowestoft and Great Yarmouth, crowded in the harbours, the raucous sea-birds, the salty tang of the sea and the smell of fish.

Strange. I never actually really liked to eat fish until I was in my forties. I ate it though. We were never that well off when I was young. It didn't matter which meal it was or what was in it - if it was put in front of you, you ate it - truly, end of story. Mum used to tell us of the times that, as a young girl, she had things that were put in front of her and, if you didn't eat it, they reappeared at the next meal-time - and the next ad infinitum - until you ate it. She had really great loving (and, I guess, hungry) brothers who would eat what she left so that she didn't have to suffer. When I went to Goshwhatta University in the far north I had a friend Ken from the Western Isles. I mentioned that about my mother. He told me how he had to eat his porridge. A huge pot was made at the start of the week. Nearly all was poured into a lined drawer, allowed to cool and cold slices were served up at every meal for the rest of the week. Horrible.

Near Beccles was where my Mum's nan, Auntie Mabel Bo lived. She lived in a small-holding with apple trees (where, as she kept telling me, she and my mum were strafed by a German warplane during the war as they collected apples). My brother and I used to share this tiny bed in the attic whenever we went to stay. She had hen houses where they kept bantams. I only just remember her husband, Sergeant. Early every morning in the one year I remember him, he took my brother and me out to collect eggs. Just before we were to leave at the end of our holidays, we went downstairs and found a fox had got into the shed and slaughtered all of the bantams. How many were eaten ? Why, only four out of the one hundred and fifty killed. My brother and I wept for ages over that. Now ask me why I have such a strong hatred of foxes (and, incidentally, minks which share the same murderous tendency). Not too long after that, Sergeant died and Auntie Mabel Bo lived on alone - sans bantams - for nearly another 45 years.

Anyway, I developed a love of sailing in the Norfolk Broads. My aunt worked for a restauranteur who had a boat; genuinely sea-going but he only ever sailed it in the Broads. He took a bit of a shine to my brother and me and so he used to take us sailing quite a lot in our summer holidays. I have so many happy memories of that. Even now, I enjoy any form of sailing.

We used to go to other places for holidays. I remember staying in a bed and breakfast in Keswick one year. The sun never shone. It was cloudy and misty all of the time. It rained a lot too. I didn't mind. One of the things that made my holiday - a Lotus Seven parked out in the street. It had a chrome-plated body and made a fantastic growl when it started up. I still have occasional longings for a Caterham (modern equivalent) even now.

However, Chrysolite. One summer we went to Port Seton near Edinburgh. If I remember correctly the swimming pool was called the Pond Hall. It was open and, being unheated, was five times colder than a witch's heart. My brother and I spent nearly all of the fortnight in there - blue but happy. Afterwards, each day, we went into a big cafe owned by some Italian family just up the slope for something to eat and drink. The chips were so good ! Did you know Scots don't ask for fish and chips ? It's a fish supper ! Anyway, we used to walk around the harbour and look at the fishing boats before they went out in the evening. One in particular, used to catch my eye. It's name - Chrysolite. It was so much more nicely painted than the rest with a deep green banding. I just loved that name.

When we got home I looked up the meaning of the name and found it to be a mineral. Shortly after, I was stricken with a monumental bout of bronchitis. My Mum and Dad had just bought Encyclopedia Britannica so I was not short of reading material for the 9 months I was in bed. I spent an awful lot of time reading up on minerals and, what did I do at university - Geology. Strange how the name of a fishing boat can influence your life.