Sheringham revisited October 30 2010 Copyright © Victor Weston 2010

This is not the same Sheringham I recall
though the sound of the breaking surf is the same
Gone are the expanse of golden sands
that used to stretch eastwards
with white canvas beach huts
arranged along the promenade towards the
concrete steps
leading to Beeston Hill

Great granite slabs now disfigure the view
and hold back the waves
Here I used to play cricket on the sands
with athletic Uncle Stan and cousins
in unending summer sunshine
above were donkey rides, and the (very) Grand Hotel ..

Here latterly I have come in the offchance I may meet
someone who knew me in my youth
when we’ld stroll along, eyeing the girls
no care in the world
Roger out there swimming so fast to impress
with his flippers ...
along this same promenade I’ld later wheel my Mother in her wheelchair ...

I approach someone
      "Peter?"
he vaguely resembles
someone I used to know;
It was not to be a chance meeting
- it is chasing ghosts - nor Mary at "Whelk Coppers",
but then its the afternoon
The smell of fish and chips wafts
down Co-op Street
transporting me back to
when the family did eat meals together:
fresh plaice or skate with chips
and vimto
am I seeking the eternal in those moments that have not stood still?

Walking further to view progress
on the new Salvation Army Citadel
I happen across Brian Pegg
of that fisherfolk family
who have faithfully worshipped
through the years
We reminisce on the Emerys and Wests,
music teacher Evelyn Phillips
mutual friends, and those who taught
and caned at the Primary School

bidding farewell I left satisfied
I had made connection
with someone of the place 
      "We have an anchor" ...
and had refreshed memories
of my childhood origins