The Golden Stones

One day, a beautiful day, a day filled by warmth and sunshine, probably not too long from now, when I am happy and ready to meet my maker, you will more than likely find me upon the beach of golden stones in West Cowes in the Isle Of Wight. I will be sitting quietly in a deck chair beneath the sun, a book of my own prose upon my knee, my straw Panama scattering light across my shaded face as my eyes close to dream. I smell the salt spray stingle in the air and hear the splashing, glistening edges of the drawing tide as it chases the clattering rattle of stones and shells higher and higher upon the shingled beach. Close by noisy children clamber over weed strewn rocks, dancing and shrilling at the touch of the cold green sea and thrilling at the capture of small crustations. Regatta, carnival day pirates and greasy poles that usually marked the beginning of Cowes Week belong to happy days long past; as do the Royal Yacht Britannia, Blue Bottle and the stately Princess Flying Boat, all have faded like sepia memories into the yesterday of long ago.

The blur of Calshot Spit mists into the distance as coloured spinnakers of sailing boats tack one way and then another making way for the constant flow of passenger ferries to and from the Island. A sudden explosive crack from the starter cannons, fired from the Royal Yacht Squadron heralds the start of yet another yacht race. The gathered rows of yachts set off at a fluttering jagged pace followed closely by the Marshals of the race in their small motor launch.  As the stiff breeze picks up crews immediately begin heeling in an effort to keep the yachts upright before trimming the sails and heading out for the marker buoys that outline the route for the race.

The verdant slopes of the Princes Green, venue of many a family holiday picnic, lies behind me rising up to meet the prestigious houses that edge Queens Road. I become aware, in my daydream of a number of stone and shell searchers stooping and kick picking their way through the endless golden stones, intent on finding a unique rarity that they can keep as a memento for all time.

Momentarily my peace is interrupted by two very loud and deep, haunting,  booms of a ships horn reverberating and echoing across the quiet Solent.  A leviathan of the modern age, a luxury trans-Atlantic passenger cruise ship, enters serenely into view from Southampton Waters beginning her regular crossing of the North Atlantic, Once again my memories drift back to the awe and grandeur of the vintage shipping line of Cunard’s graceful Queen Mary, and  Queen Elizabeth. I recall watching these together with many other ships sail past from this same spot upon the golden stones when I was just a boy. No doubt for centuries boys and men will have watched all manner of craft large and small sail past upon the Solent from these same golden stones. Looking across the tidal mound of stones and shell, I silently muse, pondering what were the chances of my own son and grandsons one day watching the passing of ships and time from this rare and beautiful place.