I Wonder … (or Grateful Reminiscences in Lockdown)

I wonder what may have become of us all if matters had turned out for the worse on that grey, damp, half-term day in 1957, when Pete and I rode our bikes the short distance from our council estate to Chesil Beach.

The tide was not quite in, so we left the cycles on a sandy strip and made our way up the steep beach passing a lone fisherman on the edge of the Fleet Lagoon. We broke into a jog, struggling on the slipping pebbles to outdo each other in our quest for the ridge and the first view of West Bay.  Pete and I do not agree about what happened next.

As I reached the top a step or two ahead of him I spotted something protruding from the pebbles on the down slope the other side. Sixty-three years on my recollection is that it had a yellow winged tip, rather like a small rocket, and we later discovered it was also red and, I think, green.

“Look, Pete, I think it’s a bomb!”

We decided to test it by lobbing a few pebbles. I don’t remember how many hit the target, nothing happened, we debated whether we should pull it from the pebbles but eventually thought better of it.

It didn’t explode but we weren’t going to leave our treasure there for someone else to find. We did not know what to do until we remembered the fisherman at the Lagoon. We retraced our steps and raced downhill towards him. He appeared bemused as two babbling 12-year-olds blurted out their story, but he put away his fishing gear and trekked back up the beach and down the other side until we were able to reveal our discovery.

He lowered himself alongside the object and eased it from the stones. “That’s nothing to worry about, it’s just a dud bomb the Forces practised with in the War.” He handed it to me and wandered off to resume his fishing.

It was then that our ‘best friends forever’ pact started to fray at the edges.

“I saw it first, so it’s mine” I claimed.

“No, you didn’t, I saw it when I beat you to the top.”

“You didn’t, I won.” And so it went on. The argument grew in intensity while I clutched the bomb tightly as we trudged back over the beach to our bikes on the sandy strip. How would we resolve the situation? On the sand there was a large white sign, quite high up, mounted on two legs with warnings about the tides and the dangers of swimming from the beach.

That is what we would do. We each took five pebbles, stood a distance from the sign and threw them one at a time at the white board. Three of my pebbles struck home, but Pete managed only two so the bomb was mine.

The next challenge was how I could keep the bomb safe while we cycled back. I thrust the it down the front of my school jacket, fastened the buttons as tightly as I could, and clambered on to the bike.

The strong cross-wind made cycling across the causeway tricky, and the bikes wobbled as we crossed Ferry Bridge. The bomb kept slipping and I fought to keep it in my jacket while at the same time retaining control of my handlebars.   It was a relief to turn into our estate and pull up at number 14. Pete was disappointed but, as we parted, our friendship was still just about intact.

I could hardly wait to get indoors. I propped my wheels against the side of the house and threw open the back door. Mum was at the kitchen sink and Dad was unpacking behind her, just having returned from shopping.

I was so excited. “Look what I found!”

All these years later I can still recall the looks of horror on the faces of my parents. My father reacted so fast I hardly know what happened next, but the bomb was plucked from my grasp and dad disappeared at high speed to the bottom of our long garden where the bomb was safely deposited.

I was so disappointed and I didn’t take in much of the lecture that followed. It appeared to me to be an overreaction and, anyway, if anyone was to blame I thought it was surely that fisherman at the Lagoon, but they seemed to think that I should have known better.

Dad then disappeared down the road to find a telephone box; we didn’t have phones at home in those days and there were no such things as mobiles. Within the hour an officer from the Royal Naval Bomb Squad at Portland arrived to take it away.  While the Navy were blowing it up, I was left to reflect that for a short time at least, I possessed my very own live bomb.

As I consider the possibilities now, a tear slips down my cheek when I think of our two lovely daughters and three gorgeous grandchildren. With gratitude, I contemplate that they may still be stardust and so much more would not have happened thereafter if that bomb had slipped from my jacket and exploded on Ferry Bridge in 1957.