Childhood Nostalgia

I have many fond memories of my childhood years. Some of the fondest though are based in Clacton on Sea. It was the place where my grandparents on my father’s side lived. We were not terribly wealthy when I was growing up. Many school friends would talk about their summer holidays in Corfu or places in Italy. Their trips all seemed very grand and beyond our reach, and yet it didn’t seem to matter. From being a toddler through to my teenage years, my brothers and I would spend at least one week a year at Clacton on Sea and we loved it. We would walk from my grandparent’s house, past a very large mock Tudor house that supposedly housed a pop group (whether it actually did or not, we never found out). It had a big sign on the door warning of a Doberman patrolling the grounds, although we never saw it. We would walk excitedly towards the sea front, eagerly waiting for the moment when we would catch our first glimpse of the sea. When we finally got there, we would marvel at the pier in the distance. The walk along the sea front seemed to go on for miles. We would become more eager the closer we got to the pier, watching it grow on the horizon line. Once there we would scour underneath it for any discarded remains of the fishermen's catch that morning.

I make reference to all of this because I travelled to Clacton again last week, to visit a friend who has recently bought a house there. I am a sucker for nostalgia and can be prone to sentiment. So I decided to revisit the childhood stomping ground of those early years. One of the first things I noticed was the chav nature of the town centre. It was most likely always that way in hindsight and such is the innocence of the young mind that we probably just used to see through such things. The amusement arcades in town, once seemingly like a mini Las Vegas, now looked small and provincial and used by pensioners and a few hoodies. The pier no longer seemed to go out for miles to sea and the amazing rides we used to go on were now closed down until late spring. When we were very young, we used to wonder what might be out to sea in the distance – Sharks? Treasure? Pirates perhaps...? Now I know. It’s a wind farm and is 5 miles off shore.

The details of the road my grandparents lived on are so clear in my mind. The imagery from childhood so vivid that it was like comparing photographs of now and then. To my mind it was exactly the how I remembered it, even down to the colour of the paintwork above the garage door next to the house itself. I looked up the driveway and was overcome with an urge to walk up to the front door and call on the new owners, wondering what the house looked like now. I got halfway, paused and then turned back. I decided that some memories are probably best left in the past.

So you may be thinking that the passage of time has taken the sheen of a once favourite place by the sea. The truth however, is quite the contrary. What actually happened last week when visiting Clacton was that I walked some old walks and drove the roads my father and grandparents used to drive. I ate in cafes by the beach where previously my mother had bought us buckets and spades and for two days I was taken back to the memories of one of the happiest times of my life.

I popped into my local pub to meet a friend, upon returning to London. We hadn't seen each other for a little while and he asked what I’d been up to. “I’ve just spent a few days with a mate in Clacton” I said. “Clacton on Sea? He asked "That’s a bit bloody boring isn’t it?” "Only a bit mate" I told him, "only a bit".