Weston Super-Memories

As I logged on this morning I was immediately greeted by the sight of Weston Super-Mare pier ablaze. It took a few seconds to register. As a girl from Bristol, this was an important part of my childhood going up in smoke.

Sentimental as it sounds, I found myself unable to fight off the memories of wind-splatted ice-creams, donkey rides and sandcastles which resembled nothing similar to any form of human habitation. It was the place of seaside cliches, sandy sandwiches included, and the place I learned how to play with other children in a way which didn't provoke them to dig at my toes with a spade. (Sand-filled toe cuts are possibly one of the most cringe worthy forms of abuse, comparable only to enforced paper cuts before a cookery class involving lemons.)

This was the same story for many of my friends and, I'm sure, many other children from the urban South West. I went to a school in Bristol, but many times throughout the 1990s the whole year-load of us would get packed on a coach and driven to the town - usually in the pissing rain. It was here that the pier really came into its own. There was the hall of mirrors in which everyone could get lost, look fat, thin or just generally hideous. There were the machines where we seemed to waste infinite amounts of money getting 'old' pennies in return for our legally tenderable allowances. Then there was a 'moderately scary' ghost train which some of us may have decided to 'spice up' by adorning the route with our own 'superior' poltergeists and cranky witches. Afterwards, fish and Chips followed by disgustingly pink candyfloss always seemed a sensible antidote to the dodgems, but we soon learnt it was just a recipe for being sick at the nearby Sea Life Centre or, better still, on the coach journey home.

It became a bit of a joke, especially once we were teenagers and resented any form of organised fun in general. Weston Sludge-and-Mud was the name given by those of my friends who lived in the area. But what it gave us was an inexpensive taste of freedom which almost everyone could enjoy. The pier provided a bit of history (we were never allowed to go unaware of its Victorian heritage) combined with a genuine opportunity to have fun close to home. At the age of ten we were allowed to run fairly free and were given our first real responsibility for getting back to the coach on time. I suppose in reality if the teachers were at one end of the pier, providing we didn't decide to jump off and swim for it (there were no risk assessment forms in those days), there wasn't really anywhere for us to go. Stay too late on the dodgems and Mrs Denham would soon be chasing you around the circuit.

I can only hope that Michelle and Kerry Michael make good their promise to restore the pier to its former glory so that future generations of children can enjoy its timeless escape from city life - and the wonderful Weston weather.