A Boys Visit to His Aunt

I always looked forward to a Sunday morning walk to Gurnard from East Cowes to visit to my Aunt Norma, especially as she was my most favourite Aunt. She was so wonderful in every way, so different to my other Aunts, even my own Mother, especially my own Mother. Auntie Norma’s voice had a slight honey drawl, possibly due to the years she had spent travelling the world before marrying and divorcing a rich sheep farmer in Australia. I loved to watch in fascination as she patted and dabbed her lips, pouting and kissing the corner of a lace handkerchief so delicately immediately after applying her red glossy lipstick. Her perfume pervaded all things she was close to, it imbued her clothes and hair right down to her beautifully manicured nails, which always matched her lipstick. I adored my Aunt, everything she said and did was always flawless perfection. I had never seen any other of my other Aunts wear clothes similar to those that she wore or for that matter I had never seen them smoke cigarettes with a long holder blowing effortless blue smoke rings into the air.

Although the distance from my home in East Cowes to Gurnard was only a couple of miles (as the crow flies) it always seemed so much further to me. Once I had crossed the Medina to West Cowes I hurried down through the quiet narrow high street until I reached Watch House Lane which led down to the Parade that edged the sea. In no time at all I had reached the starting cannons at the Royal Yacht Squadron then very soon after I would crunch over the stoney shingle beach trying to dodge the waves at my feet as I made my way toward Egypt Point. I aways loved the sound of the sea, even the sting of the salt edged wind when taking the coast route to Gurnard.

Egypt Point is the most northerly prominence of the Isle of Wight, where an unblinking Panthera Lapis keeps his stony vigil at the edge of the Solent. Resolute and fearless he sits high upon his plinth above the waves of cold, clear green sea that wash over the golden beach of stones and shells. The top road from Egypt Point to Gurnard was only undertaken by the most robust when Princes Esplanade is impassable due to recent storm damage or sea wall erosion, it was extremely arduous and steep even for my young strong legs. The long slow climb up from Egypt Hill to Baring Road left me breathless and winded but once at the top of this unforgiving climb the open panorama of windblown white crested waves dancing in the changing tide against the misting distance made the effort worthwhile.

After a short moment or so to regain my breath and after taking one more glance back at the stunning view of the squalling Solent The righthand turn leads you along Baring Road passing the tall grey stone walls that edge large, impressive homes and gardens until I finally reached the crossroads known by all as The Round House. This quaint half-timbered, circular, Round House was evidently in days of yore a small toll house standing upon the cusp of the crossroads exacting a fee from farmers taking their livestock to market. The old painted road sign says Gurnard and I pass recently harvested corn fields, where rows of golden sheaves lean silently one on another.

Auntie Norma’s small black poodle Perry was always first to appear whenever you approached the garden gate, yapping excitedly he was so pleased to meet and greet whoever the visitor may have been. Shingled bungalows hang like coloured beads peeping from the wooded, crumbling undercliff. Auntie Norma’s bungalow was built astride a cliff gully that bubbled and splashed streams of water down to the shoreline far below. Standing on an intricate framework of timber stilts, ‘Woodside’ hung precariously over a valley of fern and wild purple bramble, awaiting the inevitable call from the sea.

Wide eyed and giddy my Auntie Norma threw loud kisses through the air, hugging me at her open garden gate in full view of no one. Her eyes shone brightly like stars; kisses stained my cheeks with a wet sticky red sweetness. Later that afternoon we climbed the ragged cliff path to the top road. Glistening and breathless she bought ice cream cornets, newspapers, and cigarettes from the small newsagency. Stepping back out into the sunshine sticky rivulets of vanilla dribbled twixt finger and tongue as the distant mainland drew close foretelling a change in the weather.