England

 On the Isle of Wight

The morning off to the shipwreck all passengers were waiting to board small boats which had arrived to carry us to a small pier in Waymouth, Portland. We had to wait there until all luggage was brought onto land. The passengers standing in line had to point out which pieces belong to them. All were remarkably patient. After we all collected our belongings, we boarded a waiting horse-drawn buggy that brought us to Southampton, from there we continued to Ventnor on the Isle of Wight.

My father had rented a house on the quay outside Ventnor, right above the beautiful beach. A stone banister guarding the white steps leading down to the sand became soon our only way to descent to our daily playground. All children did the same. I knew I was forbidden to glide down on the banister because my pants got torn, that my mother saw the pleasure I had and let me have the fun. 

We spent wonderful weeks on the island. The weather was mild and mostly sunny, and we all were in heaven. We built sand, castles, selected colorful glass pebbles in green, blue, yellow, and white, found shells, and started shell collections. My brothers swam into the open sea. We girls pretend that we could swim, but only paddled along the flat, safe shore. When the tide came, the salty water carried us safely and we experienced the joy of swimming. My mother could watch us from the house and when it was time for lunch, she did not call us into the house. Instead, she came with a big basket on her arm, crossing the sand in her long white skirt, spread a linen cloth, and heaped food we liked to eat. We swallowed quickly. We were in a hurry so we could go back to play while our mother watched us for a little while longer before turning home. 

Ventnor was a fashionable resort. It had many summer guests; families with children who became our playmates. The grown-ups slay leisurely in lounge chairs, talking together, often in substitute voices they were fearful of the possible outbreak of war.

We children ventured sometimes along the steep at narrow path of the coastline cliffs. I remember well one bright and sunny day when we walked up this path. I was framed with wild, pink bling rosebushes that spread sweet scent into the balmy air. They were covered with nectar-collecting bees. Many butterflies tumbled in the glittering warm air. I could see the gold beach and far into the blue ocean beyond through these rosebushes. I never forgot this beautiful summer days in Ventnor. My father was most of the time absent, either painting or visiting other parts of England and probably attending business .