Shitlanger was turned into Shut-langer.") Camber Sands had a nice rhythmical lilt and was seen as idyllicâbut it wasn't; Bognor contained a lavatorial echo, so it was seen as scruffyâbut it wasn't. All English people had opinions on which seaside places in England were pleasant and which were a waste of time. This was in the oral tradition. The English seldom traveled at random. They took well-organized vacations and held very strong views on places to which they had never been.
5. A Morning Train to the Isle of Wight
T HE COAST for the fifty miles west of Bognor was full of pleats and tucksâharbors, channels, inlets, and Southampton Water, and the bays of Spithead. The coastal footpath around Selsey Bill gave out at one of the two Witterings. Beyond it were inconvenient islands and not enough causeways and a path made impossible by the scoops and cuts of all this water. There were no walkers here. This territory was for sailorsâfull of fine bays, friendly harbors, and the waterlogged geography of the Solent; all the blowing boats.
Just under the irregular coast was the Isle of Wight, shaped like the loose puzzle piece that most offshore islands resemble. I could reach it by train, taking the ferry from Portsmouth, and there was another train that went down the right-hand side of the island, from Ryde to Shanklin. I wanted to see what Henry James had called "that detestable little railway." This was the best way of skipping across the crumbs of land that made that part of the English coast from Bognor to Bournemouth so hard for the walker. I would simply take the morning train to the Isle of Wight.
I thought I might be the only passenger to Portsmouth, and was still convinced of it as we crossed the green fields to Chichester ("...a handsome Market Cross, erected in 1500, but much damaged by the Puritans") and Fishbourne, which was full of new mauve lilacs and booing children; but at Bosham, a middle-aged coupleâthe Luckettsâgot on and seemed eager to tell me, but without appearing to boast, that they were going to Southampton to see the
Queen Elizabeth II
set sail for the Falklands.
"And of course we'll pop in and see my sister at the same time," Mrs. Luckett said, embarrassed by my lack of response. The Lucketts were off to wave plastic Union Jacks at a departing troopshipâwhat was I supposed to do? Sing a chorus of "There'll Always Be an England"? "She's out at Hedge End in a maisonette. Her husband's in the transport business."
"By 'transport business' she means he's a lorry driver," Mr. Luckett said maliciously. He was not close to his brother-in-law. "Mad about CB radios," Mr. Luckett went on. "'A big ten-four to that rig, Rubber Duck.' It's the most awful cobblers."
"He travels all over the country," Mrs. Luckett said.
I said, "And you live in Bosham?"
"Bozzam," Mr. Luckett said, and I believed at the time that it was a different place.
I said, "I hope nothing happens to the
Q.E. II.
" The Lucketts looked up, a little startled. "I mean, in the war." They looked even more alarmed. "This Falklands business."
They seemed a little calmer when I said that. You weren't supposed to say
the war,
but rather
this Falklands business.
"She'll be fine," Mr. Luckett said.
"Oh, yes," Mrs. Luckett said.
They were very proud, but it also occurred to me that they were going all the way to Southampton mainly because it was a beautiful sunny day and because Mrs. Luckett's sister was nearby. They told themselves they were going to cheer the
Q.E. II,
but I had the impression that if it had been raining, they would not have gone.
There were apple blossoms all along this pretty line, and they looked like a brilliant form of knittingâbright blown-open stitches of white yarn fastened to rain-blackened boughs. I thought at Emsworth: What a nice old-fashioned station platform, freshly painted wood and a small fireplace in the waiting room.
Warblington was no more than a short platformâa
5. A Morning Train to the Isle of Wight
T HE COAST for the fifty miles west of Bognor was full of pleats and tucksâharbors, channels, inlets, and Southampton Water, and the bays of Spithead. The coastal footpath around Selsey Bill gave out at one of the two Witterings. Beyond it were inconvenient islands and not enough causeways and a path made impossible by the scoops and cuts of all this water. There were no walkers here. This territory was for sailorsâfull of fine bays, friendly harbors, and the waterlogged geography of the Solent; all the blowing boats.
Just under the irregular coast was the Isle of Wight, shaped like the loose puzzle piece that most offshore islands resemble. I could reach it by train, taking the ferry from Portsmouth, and there was another train that went down the right-hand side of the island, from Ryde to Shanklin. I wanted to see what Henry James had called "that detestable little railway." This was the best way of skipping across the crumbs of land that made that part of the English coast from Bognor to Bournemouth so hard for the walker. I would simply take the morning train to the Isle of Wight.
I thought I might be the only passenger to Portsmouth, and was still convinced of it as we crossed the green fields to Chichester ("...a handsome Market Cross, erected in 1500, but much damaged by the Puritans") and Fishbourne, which was full of new mauve lilacs and booing children; but at Bosham, a middle-aged coupleâthe Luckettsâgot on and seemed eager to tell me, but without appearing to boast, that they were going to Southampton to see the
Queen Elizabeth II
set sail for the Falklands.
"And of course we'll pop in and see my sister at the same time," Mrs. Luckett said, embarrassed by my lack of response. The Lucketts were off to wave plastic Union Jacks at a departing troopshipâwhat was I supposed to do? Sing a chorus of "There'll Always Be an England"? "She's out at Hedge End in a maisonette. Her husband's in the transport business."
"By 'transport business' she means he's a lorry driver," Mr. Luckett said maliciously. He was not close to his brother-in-law. "Mad about CB radios," Mr. Luckett went on. "'A big ten-four to that rig, Rubber Duck.' It's the most awful cobblers."
"He travels all over the country," Mrs. Luckett said.
I said, "And you live in Bosham?"
"Bozzam," Mr. Luckett said, and I believed at the time that it was a different place.
I said, "I hope nothing happens to the
Q.E. II.
" The Lucketts looked up, a little startled. "I mean, in the war." They looked even more alarmed. "This Falklands business."
They seemed a little calmer when I said that. You weren't supposed to say
the war,
but rather
this Falklands business.
"She'll be fine," Mr. Luckett said.
"Oh, yes," Mrs. Luckett said.
They were very proud, but it also occurred to me that they were going all the way to Southampton mainly because it was a beautiful sunny day and because Mrs. Luckett's sister was nearby. They told themselves they were going to cheer the
Q.E. II,
but I had the impression that if it had been raining, they would not have gone.
There were apple blossoms all along this pretty line, and they looked like a brilliant form of knittingâbright blown-open stitches of white yarn fastened to rain-blackened boughs. I thought at Emsworth: What a nice old-fashioned station platform, freshly painted wood and a small fireplace in the waiting room.
Warblington was no more than a short platformâa
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