Deep Tears at the Seaside....

The Station Beano to Brighton.......

A 'Beano' in Cockney London is the name given to an organised special outing to the seaside or somewhere similar. They were, and probably still are, excuses for a good drinking session.

These days, people just jump in their car and are there in about an hour or so but back in the 60's there were no motorways to the coast, little or no money and very few, if any, of us had cars.  We hired a coach for such trips. So a Beano was something to look forward to. In fact, we used to save up for such special events.................

One particular such outing at our Police Station was the infamous 'Brighton Trip'. We used to save up for months before it and when the actual day approached, the excitement was electric.

It is unbelievable to think in this day and age how truly excited we became at the prospect of a trip to the seaside a mere 60 miles away.   You would have thought that we were destined for the French Riviera.

Over the years since, I have become quite fond of Brighton and have camped there several times when the children were young.   It is now quite a commercial city and a really nice place to visit.   In those days it was far from it as it was still trying to survive on its memories of the glory days when it was the haunt of Kings, Queens and other members of the Royal Family.

There was a royal residence there going back to the late 1700’s which was renovated around 1815.   King George lV was a regular visitor who took part in the wild life that is reputed to have taken place there.   However, Queen Victoria hated it and refused to stay there with her large family.   Over the years the Indian style buildings began to deteriorate and crumble.

In 1966 the city, the residence and other buildings were falling apart and in dire need of restoration.    This was done in the 80’s and truthfully, the vast building is now supposedly back to its former glory.

Enough about that, let us return to my little story:

My first trip was when I had been in London for a mere five months.   I was extremely homesick for my home in Ireland.  It was July 1966 and as I had not seen the sea since I left home I therefore took my fishing tackle with me whilst the others intended to visit the local race course.

Bright and early, at about 7.30am everything started at our police station where most of the people who were going were congregated. Publicans were welcome, and woe betide if one was not invited, be it because he was forgotten or otherwise, because the landlord would be in fear that he was being targeted for a raid by the local Superintendent for after hours drinking or something similar.

We stopped at several pubs in the locality before actually moving off, and the luggage areas of the coaches were loaded, and I really mean loaded, with crates of beer, spirits and food, in particular bowls and bowls of jellied eels.

Drinking started as soon as we got on the coach and because of my inexperience and incapacity to drink spirits, I was very drunk before we even reached London Bridge a mere half hour and five miles away.

I don't remember much after that, other than I did not go to the races but stayed all day on the long pier. It was the first time I had seen the sea since leaving Ireland, and what with the alcohol and the feeling of homesickness, I sat there crying my heart out all day......................

On the return journey, we stopped at a large pub south of London which was owned by a retired police officer.    We drank ourselves sober, then got drunk again.   It was there that I saw my first striptease.   I could not believe my eyes but during the course of the act I needed a pee.   I held on until the really big lady had finished and I ran to the toilet.   As I was returning, there she was in all her glory in a passageway actually putting her clothes on.   I stood and watched and can say quite categorically that ‘it’ was even better than the stripping.

Talking about saving for the Beanos: even for fishing trips, we had to save up. An ordinary boat trip then cost twenty-five shillings, five shillings for bait and five shillings for petrol. Total: almost two pounds........

I was only earning, or at least taking home sixteen pounds a week, so you understand it was comparatively expensive. In the summer, there was an extra special fishing trip to Deal on the South Coast in Kent, by coach with prizes on offer. This cost a little extra...................

On pay-day, I gave Her Ladyship, my wife, two pounds extra to keep safe for the trip. As the day arrived I was really worked up with excitement. We met and left in the coach. I had no extra money for a drink or anything else other than one shilling, which she had managed to keep aside.

The competition was a disaster with little or no fish being caught and when afterwards, the organiser invited us into a local fishermen’s club where beer was on sale, I was truly financially embarrassed.

With a shilling, or five new pence in my pocket, I could I suppose, if I had wished, bought half a pint of beer, but that would only have been a teaser. I saw a slot machine and decided that I would have a go. In went sixpence. I pressed the button. Lots of noises.................. It stopped....................... Nothing. .

In went the other sixpence, my last....... I pressed the button. Again lots of noises. Lots and lots more noises. Locals jump up and shout ˜Press that button there". Not knowing why, I did and then began the magical sound. Loads and loads of money. It just kept coming. Five pounds in two shilling pieces (10p's). I could have cried with delight………..

After about six quick pints of beer, I bought another six bottles for the journey home. I did not feel drunk; I was absolutely delighted and elated.

And best of all, when I eventually got home, I gave Her Ladyship two pounds ˜to get herself something nice".

The end to a perfect day......................

--------------Mike--------------