not a bad colour.
It’s like variegated ivy leaves.”
The name stuck, and Ivy joined the family.
We kids loved Ivy. There were no seats in the back.
We just sat on the floor holding onto anything we could, slipping
and sliding and landing in a tangled heap when Ivy sailed round
bends. It was great fun.
Sometimes we’d get up early and my mother would
drive us to some local fields where we picked mushrooms. Ivy’s big
tyres left tracks in the silver dew.
Of course Ivy was also the perfect vehicle to take
to the beach. The nearest sandy beach where kids could dig, make
sandcastles, and bathe safely, was Studland. I don’t remember my
father ever going, but I guess he was at work. We kids piled into
Ivy, along with the towels and picnic boxes. My mother would grip
the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles were snow-white and
off we’d go. The canvas roof flapped, the wind roared in our ears,
and Ivy’s engine was so loud that we had to shout to each other, or
talk in sign language. It was all part of the fun.
Looking back on it now, I’m surprised we never had
an accident as my mother’s driving was appalling. We kids didn’t
care, and as we bucked and stalled all the way to the beach, we
sang Ten Green Bottles at the tops of our voices.
Studland Bay is renowned for its fine sand and
expanse of sand dunes. Dorset has a great deal of precious
heathland where the adder (or viper), and the rare smooth snake
thrives. Studland’s sand dunes were a refuge for these shy snakes.
In all the years I went there, I never saw a single one.
Studland is also renowned for something else, but I
didn’t know that at the time.
My mother ignored the car park and set off into the
dunes, gloating over the fact that Ivy, with her four-wheel-drive,
could go places where standard cars couldn’t. We could navigate
over quite soft sand and my mother would crow with delight at the
thought that lesser vehicles may get stuck in the dunes. Over the
dunes we sailed, Ivy lurching dramatically, with us kids grabbing
each other in an effort not to be bounced out of the back.
Then came the search for a good place to park.
Luckily, there was heaps of parking choice, because my mother’s
aversion to reversing meant we had to find somewhere where she
could circle when it was time to leave.
Out came the towels and swimming stuff. We also
brought a bottle of homemade suntan lotion. It was a nasty
concoction, 50% cooking oil and 50% vinegar, to rub into our skins
making us smell like fish and chip shops. These were the days
before the dangers of skin cancer were known.
Weighed down with buckets, spades and beach
paraphernalia, my brother and I cantered down to the beach, leaving
my mother and older sister to follow at a more sensible pace.
Once on the beach, if one looked to the left, one
would see the Sandbanks ferry crossing back and forth. Look right,
and you’d see the Old Harry Rocks. Old Harry and his wives are
white chalk stacks and stumps, chiselled out by the ocean and time.
Poor Old Harry regularly loses wives to the waves.
Old Harry
Rocks
My brother and I built sand castles, sand boats and
sand cars. We buried each other and chased in and out of the
waves.
“Picnic is ready!” called my mother.
We ate sandwiches, then my mother produced a tin
opener and big can of sliced peaches. We held out our plastic bowls
into which she tipped a few peach slices which slid around like
goldfish. Then came a dash of evaporated milk. Tinned peaches
always remind me of those days at Studland beach, and I still adore
evaporated milk.
I learned to swim at Studland. I was at that stage
when I was nearly swimming, but too nervous to lift my feet off the
ground. A complete stranger detached himself from his family group
and walked over to me.
“Put your chin in there,” he commanded, cupping his
hand.
I was so shocked, I did so.
“Now lift your legs and kick. Don’t worry, I won’t
let your head sink under water.”
I did as I was told