A day I remember was the beach street party we had in the summer of 1978 in a small town in south Wales. Our street was alive with activities surrounding a small inflatable paddling pool on the concrete pavement outside the terraced houses of Alexandra Street. Women were sitting on deckchairs, the ice-cream van was parked outside number 35 selling cones with chocolate flakes and rasberry syrup and even the dogs were on holidays.
All the children were wearing their shorts and t.shirts or some in swimming costumes and David Jenkins was wearing a snorkling mask and flippers. Some one had brought a record player outside which was shouting out old 33s…Boney M’s “Brown Girl in the Ring” receiving the most play time. Two or three of the men were in the shade sharing beers and cigarettes and only one neighbour, Mrs Williams from number 12 didn’t join in. She kept her curtains closed and cancelled the sun and said “I’m not going to no beach party in the street. It’s senseless.”
The summer of 78 was a tiring time for me. I was starting to decide what I wanted to be when I grew up and it was all consuming. I was deliberating between being Nadia Comaneci, a waitress, a vet or a princess and it was exhausting. I practised my gymnastics religiously and my floor routine consisted of a hand stand, two roly polies and a star jump to finish. I would make my mother do the live commentary throughout so she would say things like “and here’s Nadia Comaneci on the floor again and isn’t she amazing…” My father’s role was to award me perfect scores of 10 and to present me with a medal at the end. On other days I would practise waitressing by clearing up the cups, washing out the ashtrays, moving plates even before my parents had finished with them. Practising vetinary science was more problematic, although we had a cat so she endured some treatments and examinations regularly. While trying out my princess skills involved a lot of waving. It was endless.
78 was also the summer I experienced grief for the first time. Two close friends, Alvie and Suzie died in quite violent accidents. Alvie and Suzie were my imaginary friends, who lived on the mountain opposite our house, and they had been a very important part of my life. But they both met with early deaths that summer, Alvie by falling down the toilet and drowning and Suzie by falling into the back of the old black and white television in our living room. These deaths concerned me, but they didn’t interupt my gymnastics, waitressing apprenticeship, vetinary or princess skills.
But on this day in 1978, we didn’t think about fallings, ambitions or worries, we just enjoyed the sunshine and the music.
“Brown girl in the ring, tra la la la la…”
My father had a polaroid camera and he documented the day. Faded colours of people smiling, dancing, talking and having fun. It didn’t finish until well after mid-night. Some tired children had found sofas or their own beds, but I wasn’t sleepy at all and I stayed awake the longest. The sun had long set, but like those July nights of the 70s and my own memories, it still wasn’t really dark yet and you didn’t need a jumper.
David Jenkins’ father was the first to start clearing up. He emptied the water from the inflatable paddling pool into the street gutter and he put the empty beer cans and plastic cups into a bin bag. He said to me “it’s late, you should go to bed now” but I didn’t want to. I liked hearing the grown-ups talk in their funny drunk voices and I wanted it to go on forever. But in the end, my mother took me by the hand and we walked the few paces to our house. I fell asleep quickly to the sound of the last of the adults laughing and to the rhythm of Boney M.
“Brown girl in the ring, tra la la la la
She looks like a sugar in a plum
Plum plum”.
Shorter than me 