Fishing, Sewer Pipes and the Slip: Summer Days by the Sea
For a boy growing up in 1960s Swansea, the long summer days were measured not in hours, but in bus rides to the coast and triumphs pulled from the murky shoreline.
When you grow up in Swansea, you’re never too far from the sea and in our case, that meant The Slip. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t all that clean. But to us, it was the perfect place for adventure. And danger. And periwinkles.
Dad’s Copper Rod and a Fishy Victory
My dad made me my first fishing rod out of copper tubing. I still remember it, solid, heavy, and potentially lethal if swung too hard. On our first fishing trip to the docks, I caught five fish to his four. I’m not sure he remembers it that way, but I do, very clearly.
It was one of those moments you hold onto, not because the fish mattered, but because I felt proud. I had done something properly. I’d out-fished my dad.
The 75 to the Slip
In the summer, we’d catch what I think was the number 75 bus to the Slip, a beach near the Guildhall. It had a footbridge and some gondola-style swings that you’d sit in, facing each other, and pull ropes to swing. You could get them very high, dangerously so. I’m surprised no one was ever launched over the wall and onto the tramlines.
The beach itself was massive when the tide went out, which in Swansea means nearly to Ireland. It exposed all sorts of hidden treasures, not least of which was a sewer pipe that snaked its way out to sea. We knew, even then, that it was disgusting. But we also knew that the best periwinkles gathered there. Why that was, I don’t know. But we went, collected them, and survived. Probably built up immunity to everything in the process.
The bridge to the Slip. The metal crosswalk of the bridge was dismantled over 10 years ago to be repaired. The locals are still waiting. No work has been done so far.
Crabs, Cholera, and Calamine
We caught crabs, played chicken with the waves, and stayed in the water until our lips turned blue from the cold. When we got sunburned — and we always did — our shoulders and noses would be smeared in white, chalky calamine lotion, so we all looked like flaky ghosts running about the beach.
If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that my immune system peaked in 1961, after a particularly triumphant periwinkle hunt at the mouth of the sewer pipe. I’m still waiting for the long-term effects.