A Trip to the Seaside

“Got it.”

Hugh had lain awake for hours worrying over their anniversary. In a flash it had come to him. Take Sylvia to Westsand. She'd never been, he was sure.
He relaxed, wallowing in memories of trips he and his brothers had made to Westsand as children. Beside him Sylvia lay awake wondering what it was that had woken her.

Next morning Hugh booked the train tickets. As he left the railway station he began to wonder if he really remembered going to Westsand on a steam train. Back home he telephoned his brother Jack.
“You're doing what? You and Sylvia?” Jack asked.
Hugh repeated that he was planning to take Sylvia to Westsand, travelling by train.

“Sylvia doesn't know about this yet then?”
Hugh confirmed that she did not.

“Why?” asked Jack.

“It's a surprise.”

“Well I can see that. And I'm sure it will be,” Jack paused. “I reckon it'll be a surprise for both of you. That's not what I meant though. Why Westsand for goodness sake?”

“Well,” Hugh hesitated. How best to put this. He plunged in. “I've got such happy memories of it. We had some great holidays there. Don't you remember?” Jack was quiet. Hugh faltered, “Didn't we? You me and Tony, Mum and Dad?

“Are you sure you're thinking of Westsand?” Jack asked at last. “You hated it. Mum detested it. We used to go there because it was where Dad had been once, back in the twenties I think. Probably the only holiday he ever had as a kid. I can remember you being sick on the train, twice, once going and once coming back. And you weren't very happy while we were there, whinging about the cold, refusing to paddle. You must have hated it.”

“That's not how I remember it Jack. Are you sure? What about the other times we went.” Hugh was almost pleading. He had a sick feeling in his stomach. If Jack was right then perhaps a trip to Westsand was not such a good idea.

The line was quiet while Jack thought about Hugh's question. At last, slowly, measuring each word, he replied. “Little brother, that was every time we went. Three times, maybe four. Always the same. Sorry Hugh.”

“Are you sure, Jack?” Hearing him put on his patronising older brother voice Hugh was sure Jack must be mistaken. Without giving Jack the chance to elaborate Hugh continued “What I really wanted to ask you, I think I remember going on a steam train. Is that likely? Did we? Or was it one of the new diesels? Do you remember?”

“I can remember going by steam train. I don't remember you being with us, Hugh. I'm not sure you would have been old enough to have gone by steam train, not to Westsand. Tony and me, certainly, but not you.”

“Oh.” Hugh felt disappointed. Then he brightened. Perhaps Jack was mistaken. But Jack went on, “Perhaps you can remember hearing Tony and me talk about going on the steam train. Maybe that's what makes you think you went on one too. Is that why you want to go there by train?”

“Oh no,” he lied. “No, it just seems like a good idea to go there on the train if you can. Global warming and all that,” he laughed.

“Well you're lucky it still has a rail service. Have a good trip.”

After hanging up the phone he remembered Jack's claim that Mum detested Westsand. Of course Mum had a great time when they all went to Westsand, laughing and joking on the journey, smiling as she watched him and his brothers run in and out of the sea. She always made such great picnics and nearly always bought them ice-creams as the walked back to catch the train home. Jack was probably remembering some other holiday, he decided.

Hugh talked to Tony about it. Tony was fairly sure that they had all been to Westsand by steam train at least once. Then he started to wonder if Hugh was getting mixed up with the miniature railway in the King's Gardens. Tony wasn't sure that was a steam train but it looked like one. “You weren't very big the first time you went Hugh. You wouldn't have known the difference.”

Hugh snorted at that but he said nothing. He could point out that Tony might be getting confused because he was older than Hugh. He couldn't be so unkind.

Tony could shed no light on Mum's supposed dislike of Westsand. “Maybe she got a bit fed up with us always going there,” he mused. Perhaps she got tired of making sandwiches that got dropped on the beach rather than being eaten, wringing out damp shorts after we'd been paddling out too far, shepherding home whinging kids who'd got too sunburned or thrown up the ice cream she hadn't wanted to buy them in the first place. You know how it is when you take the kids to the seaside.”

Hugh raised an eyebrow. His brother wasn't describing any trip to Westsand that he could recall. He wondered how a confirmed bachelor like Tony knew anything about taking kids to the seaside.

“So anyway,” said Tony, “You're taking Sylvia there. Great idea. I'm sure you'll both have a great time. I haven't been since we were kids. You'll have to tell me how it's changed.” He peered into the depths of his pint for several moments then heaved a sigh. “Bound to have changed.”

“Well everything else has,” Hugh could not resist saying, “You, Jack, me, just for a start.”

When he got home Hugh told Sylvia not to make any plans for the day of their anniversary. “I've got a special treat planned, “ he explained. That was all he would say about it until the day.

When he parked the car at the railway station Sylvia looked at him in surprise. “Westsand. I don't think I know it at all,” she said when he told her where they were going.

He explained as they walked to the platform. “That will be lovely,” she said.

The train was late. A minor delay he pointed out to Sylvia, but he knew that Tony would be interested. The seats were much more comfortable than they used to be . He thought the train made faster progress than he remembered. Sylvia pointed out that it probably stopped at less stations, as they rushed past yet another abandoned platform.

Westsand was a disappointment. The grand façade of the station that he remembered was gone. They emerged through doors that reminded him of the doors to a fast food restaurant to face a street that had been taken over by charities, building societies and bookmakers. A hoarding at the end of the street pointed to a superstore, “100 metres” away. Hugh raised his head and pointed out to Sylvia the late Victorian and Edwardian detailing on the upper stories of the shops as they walked down the High Street.

In the King's Gardens there was none of the bustle that he remembered. The miniature railway was not running. The track and the buildings seemed too small. “You were smaller then,” Sylvia reassured him.

The tide was out. The beach stretched for miles, deserted except for dog walkers. “I suppose we would come in the school holidays,” he said to Sylvia. “I hadn't really thought about it.”
Behind the High Street they found a busy fish and chip shop.

“Always a good sign. You don't want a chippie that no-one goes to. If the quality is good they'll always have a queue,” he said to Sylvia.
“Did you used to come here then, you and your brothers,” she asked.

“Good lord no.” He chuckled. “We couldn't afford fish and chips. Not even to take away. I always wished we could, mind you. No. Mum made us sandwiches and if we were lucky we'd get an ice cream on the way back to the train.”

He led her to a table. He ordered fish and chips twice.

“Pensioner special?” The girl who took their order asked. Seeing their blank look she added, “Fish, chips, pot of tea, round of bread and butter, three seventy-five on a Tuesday.” As she left with their order Hugh leaned towards Sylvia. “Even pensioners appreciate quality,” he murmured. Her eyes twinkled.

Waiting for the train back, eating an ice-cream that Sylvia had insisted on buying, he wondered again if he really had once travelled this line on a steam train.