This picture doesn't quite convey my delight at a day at the seaside - I think I'd just had my ice-cream confiscated. The legend on the back says '1953 - Aberdeen' - not quite the French Riviera, but seemingly warm enough for sundresses, although my Uncle Dan seems to think brogues and Argyll socks are de rigeur beachwear. See how all the women in deckchairs have brought their knitting?
Thursday, 21 May 2009
It's a pretty daft hankering for someone who lives in almost the dead-centre of the country, but I just love to be by the sea. When I was a girl, we lived in counties quite close to the east coast in the UK and a day-trip to the seaside was bliss. Well, when I say 'bliss' we're talking the North Sea here. Like everyone else my age, I had one of those ruched cotton swimsuits which looked like floral bubble-wrap. On reflection, it did take on some of the same properties when wet and acted like a bouyancy aid, trapping air in all the little fabric bubbles. Not that anyone in their right mind would actually be swimming in the North Sea. The other essential swimming accoutrement in those days was a cardigan two sizes too small, boiled to near-extinction in the Baby Burco and squeezed through the mangle just for good measure. This felted garment was perfect for keeping the biting sand-laden east wind from scouring the skin off your skinny goosebumped limbs. Running around in the dunes warmed you up, and getting your legs stung and whipped by the marram grass got the blood circulating. Ah, happy days!
not me, but a brilliant photo of the swimsuit!
Posted by Chrissie at 11:07