Dancing On The Edge

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December 29th 2017

Published: January 2nd 2018

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John Miranda

Seaview

..........No Mans Land Fort in the background

It was a far cry from my usual Christmas haunt. I sat in the pub on the edge of Bembridge. The sea was yards away. The beer garden tables comes with stunning views out to sea, but not today. The sea fret was rolling in towards the cliff. Portsmouth had been visible as I walked up, but not now. The concrete fort from the days of the Napoleonic wars stranded out in the bay was coming in and out of vision. I observed events near the bar. It was warm and cosy. There was a choice of 4 hand pulled bitters to choose from. I knew I wouldn't like the price before I ordered, but it is the South I said to myself..... and it is Christmas. I was tempted by the Isle of Wight brewery offering, but Christmas ales are not my thing. The Seafarers Ale was actually better than anticipated. The drink of choice however was the fizzy stuff and ironically, the Captain Correlli's offering consumed recently in Milan. It is a small world in this beer business and whatever my views on how expensive northern Italy was, it had nothing on this afternoon. When you pay by card,

Seaview

prices don't matter. I am always fascinated by those that pay "contactless" for drinks in a pub ..... and the decline a receipt. The Battersea set were down for the Christmas holidays, making use of their seaside properties. It is a good excuse to give the Hunters a walk out, paddling down on the foreshore. There were plans being made for weekend city break preferences. "It'll be good to ctach up as a family in February, perhaps? Porto. Prague. Where would you prefer, Dad? Mum kept up the sales patter on her off spring and husband. Dad didn't seem keen on any if the ideas. The sons were not bothered, as long as Dad was paying. "A new country" was the only helpful interjection. Despite the Captain Correlli lager choice, Italy never got a mention. The majority of the tables were full. Food service ws going well. I checked my phone. No signal. The Other Half would no doubt be checking where I had ended up soon. The free wi-fi didn't seem to be agreeing with my phone either. It would have taken me a full 24 hours to find out that the Monkman had departed the Awesome Park hot

St Helens

seat. After much discussion, there was still no city break destination decided by the London set. I gave up and went in search of something cheap to eat.

The streets of Bembridge were all quiet. The village is very much second home territory and then strongly influenced by the sailing. Christmas isn't really the weather for sailing. The homeowners tend to visit from Easter onwards. The majority of the shops were closed. Last minute Christmas shopping possibilities were limited. Footfall was almost non-existent, which played into my hands. The Co-op had heavily discounted the remaining fresh pasta salads. 25 pence. I bought two. I was due to meet the Other Half on the other side of the village. We had planned another light refreshment, but decided against it when we realised we might be the only customers. The posh yacht club was closed up. There used to be a large hotel at this end of the village - the Spithead Hotel, but it is long gone. The original socialite favourite - the Garland Club - is no more too, but the name lives on, on the front of the current building. The railway station was here. The

Bembridge

geat and the good upmarket visitors were deposited here, assuming they didn't sail in on their yachts with the tide. The branch railway line cut off from Brading and followed the bay behind where the house boats now line the shore. We walked back round to where the old St Helens mill sits. The incoming tide is forced through the channel and was used to power the wheel. We walked out across the Mill Wall on to the Duver. It is difficult to imagine now, but this was once the epicentre of British golf. The Duver is now just an open heathland on what was the Royal Isle of Wight Golf Club. Turf was imported from Cumbria and a Links course formed to rival Royal & Ancient at St Andrews. The Isle of Wight Club was instrumental in shaping the laws of the game. A lost ball forefeited the hole at St Andrews, until the IOW club rule of a 2 stroke penalty was adopted. Members in the heyday included Queen Victoria's eldest son - the future Edward VII - in 1883, Arthur Balfour - the Prime Minister 1902 to 1905, the First Sea Lord in the 1920s and celebrities

Seaview

Boxing Day Dip

such as David Niven in 1930s. The glory days had long gone by 1961 and the remaining members voted to gift the course to the National Trust to preserve the open space.

Christmas Day passed. I awoke to find a bright, fresh morning on Boxing Day. It was ideal for football. The "Island Derby" kicked off at 11.30 am. I knew there was a pitch inspection at 9 - it was surely just a precaution? At 9.30, probably my only opportunity to take in a game at St Georges Park had gone. The pitch inspection verdict was "unsafe playing conditions". I was in shock. I still am for that matter. If this warranted a postponement in the Northern League, they'd be lucky to play 10 games a season. Newport IOW FC waved goodbye to a big pay day from what would have been a good crowd for them. The Newport IOW and Cowes Sports players probably went home to carry on their seasonal festivities, whilst the football fans trapped on the island cursed the decision of the referee. This was not the mainland - other game options didn't exist! We set off for a long walk instead

St Helens Green

under the blue sky.

Seaview is millionaire row on this side of the island, even more so than Bembridge. Cowes grabs the attention, but here in the sheltered northeastern corner there were some serious properties. The majority seemed to be big Edwardian piles, although a few very modern designs have sneaked in the mix to cause controversy with local opinion. I noted one shorefront house currently on the market at a shade under £3 million. The price of a view of Portsmouth knows no limits. A few hardy souls were getting stripped down for the traditional Boxing Day Dip. It wasn't really that cold, but they were well applauded for their efforts as they made their walk down the slipway. The Solent was conquered and they survived to drink another Pimms. We were foiled in a bid for a latte in the Old Fort by a series of reserved tables. Lunch at the venue was the order of the day, after all that splashing about in the sea. Seaview Yacht Club was all closed up. It was clearly a summer only concern. The small sailing yachts were tethered on the decking high above the water. There were

Appley

2 notices outside - 1 advertising the appointment of the 2018 President and the second with the dates of the annual regatta. There is more controversy at the Ryde end of the village. The new modern beach huts that upset locals and local wildlife alike are up for grabs. Change hut to chalet, add electricity and parking (with a barrier) and put some noughts on the price. £130,000 secures you a view, the possibility to stay overnight and a chance to make a cuppa after a hard day out on the boat. The strict covenant allowing use between April and October remains. This is a whole new world of beachside chalets from the offer in the NEPSR. A further 10 minute walk to Appley offers the more traditional hut, but even they will set you back £13,000. The majority are painted British Racing Green and blend nicely into Puckpool Park. I took a few snaps, which will be included in Chalet News - a much read publication in Montreal. Chalet News has been much in vogue of late, but it just dawned on me that I was snapping chalets 10 years ago. Chalets in Brighton, no less. Brighton as in

Ryde

.....Wighlink ferry in the Solent

Melbourne, Australia and not the great pretender from southern England. The promenade was busy with walkers strolling off the turkey indulgence. Dogs chased around on the sands, taking the opportunity before they are banned in the summer months. The Appley Tower - a Victorian folly - gazes across to the modern incarnation in Portsmouth. The 2 cafes are doing a roaring trade. We stop for the previously deferred latte. The clientele was a mix of locals and visitors. When I say local, a good number are those who have retired to "the Island". I sat next to a woman from Gurnard, near Cowes. "I came across when my husband died", she advised. "It was the best thing he ever did for me".

The black clouds were set in by the time we made the central esplanade in Ryde. The walkers had all run for cover. The swans on the boating lake continued with their day. It must be a good place for them to spend the winter months, as loads were all congregated in one place. Ryde a white swan anyone? We walked out on the pier for no other reason than we hadn't before. The sea

Appley

cat to Portsmouth was due to dock at the end shortly and the Ryde branch of the Pompey chimes crew were gathering in anticipation of the clash with the mighty Wombles at 3 pm. There were about 50 of all ages in the terminal. We braved the rain and walked up Union Street. It was pretty much closed, save for the Sainsbury Local and a couple of cafes. The Spoons at the top was doing brrisk business. We decided against the food offers and the Number 8 bus back. We set off to walk. The rain became more persistent at chalet corner, so we stopped off in the Old Fort in Seaview. The old fort out to sea provided the view. No Man's Land survives the busy shipping lanes as a testament to military engineering. The prices for our latte were surprisingly cheaper than the cafe up the road. It had a good friendly feel, but it would need to be my lunchtime haunt - dogs are barred after 6 pm. The rain did not relent. The decision to decline the offer of a lift was a mistake.

It was much brighter the following day, but with

Seaview

a biting wind. Snow was causing havoc as far south as the M4 corridor. I took up unpaid labour as a taxi driver. We stopped off in Ventnor. Ventnor is reputed to have somewhat of a micro-climate and supposedly has more sunny days than anywhere else on the island. The town boasts some fine Victorian architecture and was much heralded as a place to recuperate from ailments of the day. The Botanical Gardens are now the primary visitor attraction. The biting wind was less noticeable when I got out of the car, but there was no sign of the sun. The Other Half and the Outlaw gravitate towards the Isle of Wight Pearl shop down near Freshwater at the western end of the Island. Could this be the only UK retail outlet not having a post Christmas Sale? The shop is perched on the cliff with a view towards Tennis on Down and the Needles. The outside temperature meant the coffee shop was the most popular place to be and certainly busier than the actual pearl emporium. The pearl shopping didn't take long and we were soon back on the route to Newport. The weather forecast was once again very