My Secret Sister: Jenny Lucas and Helen Edwards' Family Story by Helen Edwards, Jenny Lee Smith
Authors: Helen Edwards, Jenny Lee Smith
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see this was true.
‘So she is.’
‘Yes,’ replied the other lady. ‘She’s a natural.’
I was probably about seven or eight. I’d just picked it up by watching the others. I do remember the North Sea water was freezing that day, absolutely freezing!
Soon I was swimming so confidently, I could join in all the swimming games with the older children. I became a strong and competent swimmer after my summers at Embleton, and back home at Jesmond I started spending a lot of my spare time at the Jesmond Baths, which were within walking distance of our house. Seeing how well I was doing, my parents sent me for extra swimming lessons two days a week, which I loved, and very soon I was entered for competitions in various locations. Mum and Dad drove me to all the galas and gave me huge support – I think they enjoyed watching my progress. I just loved swimming.
I was a born competitor, but I didn’t realize it then. That carefree summer, all I was doing was having fun with my friends.
When I was a little older, several of us had canoes, and I often went out canoeing with others across the bay, usually taking the dog with me. Sometimes the boys tipped me and Janie out on the other side of the Emblestones. Occasionally, on a calm summer’s day, some of us ventured further out to sea and tipped each other out in the deeper water, but always with our life-jackets on, of course, and we always made sure we were all safe. In the bay, seals swam around our canoes, playing with us, barking with excitement. It was all great fun and we often had the bay more or less to ourselves.
On the sunniest days, visitors from a wide area around us would drive up to the clubhouse and make the trek across the dunes and the golf course to our beach. It was sufficiently remote that it never got crowded, but I have a memory, aged seven or eight, of standing at the top of the steps and looking down on strangers, small family groups settling in for the day with their picnics and their striped wind-breaks, carefully arranging them to shelter their deckchairs on the warm sands. Some of them were building sandcastles, some were playing bat and ball as it was a calm day. One girl, about the same age as me, maybe a bit younger, was sitting alone in the shallow water playing with a spade, poking at worm holes on the rippling sand. A man, presumably her father, was trying to persuade a woman to stand near the child. She took a lot of coaxing. I watched with curiosity and a mild sense of discomfort. The girl ignored the woman, who seemed very reluctant to go near her, though eventually the woman came close enough for a photo, but it struck me as strange that she didn’t smile or hug the girl or play with her in the water, like my parents would have done.
At that point, my dad called and I went off to caddy for him on the course. When I got back I looked out for them, but they had gone.
When I was ten, my dear grandpa died. It was the first time I lost someone close to me. He had become gradually more poorly, and of course I knew he was old, so I think it was expected, but I’m not sure what he died of. I just remember how sad I felt and how much I missed his warm smile whenever I came in from school. Now his room was empty, which was how I felt inside without him. I don’t remember a funeral, so it must have been on a school day, when I couldn’t go. Or perhaps they didn’t want me to go.
The winters were always icy cold in our house at West Jesmond. There was no heating other than the coal fire in the lounge, and I used to sleep in my clothes on the coldest nights. I made a game of breathing out long warm breaths and watching them freeze in the chilly air. In the mornings I scraped ice off the windows in my bedroom and the bathroom, which was the coldest room in the house. Thank goodness we now had an inside toilet, which Dad had put in, so we didn’t have to brave the low temperatures outside.
It was a particularly bleak winter’s day when
‘So she is.’
‘Yes,’ replied the other lady. ‘She’s a natural.’
I was probably about seven or eight. I’d just picked it up by watching the others. I do remember the North Sea water was freezing that day, absolutely freezing!
Soon I was swimming so confidently, I could join in all the swimming games with the older children. I became a strong and competent swimmer after my summers at Embleton, and back home at Jesmond I started spending a lot of my spare time at the Jesmond Baths, which were within walking distance of our house. Seeing how well I was doing, my parents sent me for extra swimming lessons two days a week, which I loved, and very soon I was entered for competitions in various locations. Mum and Dad drove me to all the galas and gave me huge support – I think they enjoyed watching my progress. I just loved swimming.
I was a born competitor, but I didn’t realize it then. That carefree summer, all I was doing was having fun with my friends.
When I was a little older, several of us had canoes, and I often went out canoeing with others across the bay, usually taking the dog with me. Sometimes the boys tipped me and Janie out on the other side of the Emblestones. Occasionally, on a calm summer’s day, some of us ventured further out to sea and tipped each other out in the deeper water, but always with our life-jackets on, of course, and we always made sure we were all safe. In the bay, seals swam around our canoes, playing with us, barking with excitement. It was all great fun and we often had the bay more or less to ourselves.
On the sunniest days, visitors from a wide area around us would drive up to the clubhouse and make the trek across the dunes and the golf course to our beach. It was sufficiently remote that it never got crowded, but I have a memory, aged seven or eight, of standing at the top of the steps and looking down on strangers, small family groups settling in for the day with their picnics and their striped wind-breaks, carefully arranging them to shelter their deckchairs on the warm sands. Some of them were building sandcastles, some were playing bat and ball as it was a calm day. One girl, about the same age as me, maybe a bit younger, was sitting alone in the shallow water playing with a spade, poking at worm holes on the rippling sand. A man, presumably her father, was trying to persuade a woman to stand near the child. She took a lot of coaxing. I watched with curiosity and a mild sense of discomfort. The girl ignored the woman, who seemed very reluctant to go near her, though eventually the woman came close enough for a photo, but it struck me as strange that she didn’t smile or hug the girl or play with her in the water, like my parents would have done.
At that point, my dad called and I went off to caddy for him on the course. When I got back I looked out for them, but they had gone.
When I was ten, my dear grandpa died. It was the first time I lost someone close to me. He had become gradually more poorly, and of course I knew he was old, so I think it was expected, but I’m not sure what he died of. I just remember how sad I felt and how much I missed his warm smile whenever I came in from school. Now his room was empty, which was how I felt inside without him. I don’t remember a funeral, so it must have been on a school day, when I couldn’t go. Or perhaps they didn’t want me to go.
The winters were always icy cold in our house at West Jesmond. There was no heating other than the coal fire in the lounge, and I used to sleep in my clothes on the coldest nights. I made a game of breathing out long warm breaths and watching them freeze in the chilly air. In the mornings I scraped ice off the windows in my bedroom and the bathroom, which was the coldest room in the house. Thank goodness we now had an inside toilet, which Dad had put in, so we didn’t have to brave the low temperatures outside.
It was a particularly bleak winter’s day when
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