I looked out along the prom to the vast greyness of the North Sea and breathed in the chilled ozone air of the Granite City. It was a stormy day in October, the seagulls cried and hung in the wind as if attached to invisible wires. I have always loved the smell of the sea and to taste the salt of the wind on my lips. Aberdeen could be a cold, grey place but it was also a beautiful cold.
Living in the centre meant that it was just a jump on the bus in Union Street to get to the Fittie. In the Summer holidays mum and I would set off. I would be eager to get there so would have my swimmy on before we left the house. My favourite was my ruched red one: I loved the way the bubbles in the material puffed out when it filled up with water. My pink plastic jelly shoes, which were bought every year from Woolworths, were to keep my feet safe from the jagged rocks and jelly fish.
At the little ice-cream kiosk on the prom my mum would buy me a new net with a long bamboo handle. Anything I did catch was put into my glass jar for the day but I always released the creatures before we went home.
Once she had found a spot on the beach, mum would take the tartan rug out of her wicker basket and spread it out underneath her and then take off her shoes and stockings. I remember her rubbing sun oil on herself; her skin used to go brown very quickly and how white her hair looked against her brown face. She looked a lot older than most of my friends’ mums and I was teased by the kids at school that she was really my granny. I never ever told her that as she would have been upset.
As for me, once my street clothes were stripped off to my red swimsuit, I was duly clarted with Nivea sun cream in case I burnt. I would set off to the rock pools with mum’s usual warning to me to watch the tide as it could come in fast and cut me off.
Armed with my net and bucket I would first go to the pier wall to see if there were any starfish. I loved the feel of their rough, bright orange skin and how they could lift one leg at a time. I liked to look at their white underbelly where they had their mouth. Brown bladderwrack seaweed hung down in curtains from the sodden broken wood, you could pop the bubbles if you pressed really hard. It smelt so salty. Old rope and barnacles stuck on to the driftwood. I used to think that maybe the driftwood belonged to pirate ships just like in Treasure Island. Most of all, the rockpools were my favourite; I spent hours exploring the little cities that were left behind until the tide came back to free them.
I remember at one time I had wanted to be a Marine Biologist after a school trip to the marine laboratory at Torry – especially after we were all given a free little handbook on seashore life which I took with me when I went exploring. I used to search for the mermaids purse which I then knew was really a shark’s egg case. I loved to see the little crabs scuttle away sideways, pushing the pebbles as they went to hide. I found out that even the littlest of claws could give you a nasty nip. Flounders were flat fish, they fascinated me as they always looked if they had been stood on, and they would bury themselves into the sand to hide causing the sand to make clouds in the water.
Lunchtime would usually be sausage sandwiches and a drink of cold Bon Accord cream soda as I kept the bottle in a shaded rockpool. As the tide came in I emptied my jar back into the sea, tired but happy to go home. I would wrestle under the rough towel to get my swimmy off and put my clothes on without people seeing my modesty. Shaking the sand out of my shoes.
That little girl that was carefree and happy guddling in the rockpools seems so far away now. Forty years later I am again at the prom, the grey sea has white horses on top of it and the spray and the foam have gathered on the top. My parents have both passed now but are with me every day in my heart. I also knew they wanted me to do my best and they were proud of me. My mum taught me to respect everything, even a wasp. To treat people the way you want to be treated yourself. All of which, I have tried to do as much as possible as I have grown up. I have passed on my love of the sea and rock pools to my youngest daughter. She also loves rockpools, likes to draw fish and the crabs just as I did all those years ago.
I feel a strong pull towards my roots even though most of the people I knew have gone or won’t remember me. I suppose it is a sign of getting older that makes you revisit places from your childhood. I say to my husband that I must take my girls the next time that we visit and show them where I grew up and went to school. Maybe I will leave it until next spring so that when we come along the road next to Duthie Park they will see the other sea, a sea of purple, yellow and white crocuses. I will show them where I used to roll my Easter eggs.
Nostalgia sometimes is a bittersweet memory. I can feel tears in my eyes.