Photo by Steve Halama on Unsplash

How would we wake at daybreak,
For the long walk to town?
Grandmother said “bump your head
Five times on the pillow
You will wake up at five in the morning”.
I obeyed, not really believing,
But I woke up at five.

We shivered in the mist
As we waited for the bus.
Children and teachers off for a day
At the seaside.
I wondered briefly why our Granny
Was the only other adult.
No one spoke to her. I held her hand tight
But she shook it  off.

We rode through old towns
With houses clustering into modern roads.
Past fields bright with snapdragons,
Wallflowers and unrecognized red blooms.
Arrived, we stood beside the sea
Watched clouds turn darker
Until they matched the grumbling waves.
And wind whipped spray enveloped
Cringing kids.

Teachers, unprepared, whispered together
Gave up on the day beside the sea.
Took their students to the pier.
Grandmother took towels from her great bag
Handed them around to mop the icy faces.
She watched up mope along the boards,
Looking at entertainments, with no money.
She spoke to our teachers but was turned away.

She stood awhile, then spat her words
“Oh! For the Lord’s sake!”.
Gave pennies to the kids to play
The coin rolling game.
Miss Morehouse put up her hand
That we should halt while she spoke.
But the pull of entertainment strengthened us.
So she stood with a clouded face
And let it be.

We went for lunch at the yellow hotel
Saw waitresses pull damask from the tables.
Put paper on as they saw us coming in.
Miss Morehouse beckoned to our Grandmother
Spoke in a voice that carried over the tables.
“You are not invited. You are not welcome.”
Gran said not a word. Her mouth grew thin.
She turned away, and I thought her straight back
Grew straighter still.
The waitress led her to a table by the window.

We sat at long tables, peeling shrimp
Piled in bowls of ice.
Drank cold lemonade, and shivered.
I watched my grandmother served
With steaming tea, warm scones and jam.
I loved the way she wore her black
Old-fashioned hat over her Edwardian hairstyle,
That though less than once-full rolls of curls,
She never changed.

Nothing was ever said about our day by the sea,
But the picture of and old lady
Sitting alone, burned by such public words
Comes often to inform me.