|
Illustrations by Gillian Arthur
It was well after one o'clock; I was getting hungry and the children restless, but when looking for a Picnic Spot the grass is always greener around the next bend. In this case it was clean sand and clear water we were after. It was a beautiful day. The sun was high, bright and hot. Stately palms were swaying in the breeze and the sea swelled, seductive and blue in the distance. It was a good beach we needed; a quiet cove where we could eat, read and swim in peace. Suddenly cresting a low hill flanked with leafy banana groves, there it lay on the right; a curving bay with a fringe of crisp rollers breaking on a wing of fine, white sand.
"That's it! Stop! Right here!" Hwke/b (He who knows everything, or best if something is in dispute) - my spouse by then of half a dozen years - for once heard my cry and skidded to a halt. Was it accessible? Between the beach and the road were large piles of debris. Enormous fallen trees and piles of rotting nuts were criss-crossed by dead vegetation and driftwood swept up by the tide. Besides that, a line of rough-hewn boats had been hauled clear of he water and lay on their sides, blocking the access. Ignoring the waving arms of a couple of fishermen who were working on their nets, Hwkb swung the jeep expertly off the road, between the boats, over the rubbish and full tilt on to the inviting beach.
"That suit you?" It was lovely, just perfect! But ....
"how are we going to get off? Maybe it's private and what about those men?" I wondered nervously aloud.
"No problem!" he laughed, and then, even as he threw the gear into reverse to properly park in the shade, the vehicle started sinking through the promising surface and was quickly buried up to its axles.
A grinning fisherman approached. "You Need Help Man!?" It was one of those exclamations which states the obvious, invites an opinion and offers assistance all at the same time. A couple of other men carrying planks stepped forward. "Yours for $10" indicated the Capitalist-in-the-making. I thought for an instant Hwkb would grab the planks and wallop the would-be assistant over the head, but with a quick intake of breath and a low "never," he reached for the collapsible spade he kept under the driving seat and started digging.
Seeing there was no more to be said, I picked up the picnic basket and swimming gear and headed for the nearby rocks to set up stall. The children ran excitedly ahead, scuffing the sand with their spades, already siting their castles, as they tugged their clothes off.
He was still digging an hour later when I took a ham sandwich and a Red Stripe over, the centre of a lounging circle of passers-by, who were watching him work with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief ...
» back to "tallboys"
» back to books
» other stories and poems by Susan Siddeley
|
