Sisters on the seashore

The Isle of Wight is a 15-minute ferry ride across the English Channel from Portsmouth, which is located on the southern coast of England.

While visiting my sister Diana on one of the many trips to my homeland and family between 1972 and 1999, we sat in her kitchen with our morning tea and biscuits for our usual morning gab session of "Do you remember?"

The subject of our family summer camping holidays on England's sandy beaches came up.

Diana said, "It's a beautiful day. Why don't we take the train to the Isle of Wight?" I agreed.

Diana is 18 months my senior and we were very close as children and through our young adult years. We walked hand in hand to and from school when I was 5 years old. She already knew the ropes as she enrolled two years ahead of me. She was born wise and observant. I lost out on those two attributes which through our years together caused me to lean on her for guidance.

Together we played in our back garden, did our homework; made doll clothes and later our own clothes on our mother's treadle sewing machine; went to the local cinema on Saturday afternoons to see American-made films; dabbled with water colors and sculptured plasticine animals and figurines.

As we matured, we talked at night in our double bed and giggled until Mum called upstairs to tell us to blow out the candle and get to sleep.

At ages 10 and 12 years our mother enrolled us in ballet classes. Diana's interests in ballet were nil. For me, it was a dream come true.

I presume our mother wanted Diana to accompany me because she didn't want me to walk alone to classes on Saturdays and after school. My guardian made such a fuss after each class that I eventually attended alone.

We both married during WW II. Travel became difficult and neither of us were able to attend each other's small Registrar's Office ceremonies.

Diana and her son Keith lived with us in a large house in Bovingdon, Hertfordshire, during her husband's tour of duty in the Middle East.

We recalled being together and found laughter and a few tears of the daily trials of food rations, blackout and enemy Buzz bombs that zoomed overhead in daylight to a destination we knew not where and neither did the bombs that dropped when fuel ran out.

Long before our day trip to the Isle of Wight I was ready and waiting for Diana.

Periodically she would say, "Let's have another cup of tea."

I lost count of how many cups of tea I made before I asked, "Do you have any buckets and spades. We'll need them to make sand castles."

She found her grandchildren's in her back garden. I think back to when we walked to get to our destinations laughing and talking continuously. Now, though I walk short distances, she uses a walker.

Buckets, spades and snacks in hand we boarded a train at Beckenham Station to Euston Station in London.

While walking from one platform to another, Diana said, "Each time I come to this station I think of the night you left for America. My heart skips a few beats."

"Mine skips beats, too, when I think about it." I added.

My sister continued, "It was October. We rode the train from Watford. Keith and David were with us. They threw their little hats into the rack above our heads. Do you remember that?"

I didn't. I remember the darkness and David's fascination with steam swirling out from under the train and the troops that were already singing, 'It's a long way to Tipperary.' Mum and Joan met us on the platform."

To say more would have chocked me. Leaving my family and my country that night was heart wrenching. I left a piece of my heart with them and took part of theirs with me.

We boarded the second train to Portsmouth that journeyed through rolling green hills, farmland sectioned with hedge rows, and distant village church spires dotted the landscape.

A few jovial passengers commented on our buckets and spades. Diana, always quick with a comeback, replied, "We're a couple of kids going to the seaside to make sand castles."

The essence of ocean reached us long before we caught a shuttle train to the Portsmouth ferry that crosses the English Channel to Ryde on the Isle of Wight. Cluster of white on sailboats fluttered in a soft breeze; on the horizon, Hovercraft passenger boats appear to float through aqua whitecaps, on their way to and from the coasts of England and France.

Ocean waters are one of my loves of God's creations. I lapped up the beauty and scents of sea while we watched from the deck railing and partaking of another cup of tea in the cafeteria.

A shuttle train waited to deposit passengers on the solid ground of Ryde. The first item to do on this Island, approximate circumference 300 miles, was to window shop on the narrow main street, untouched by modernization and a cafe for lunch. Totting our sand tools we drew more attention while being served sausage rolls, a cream-filled pastry, and coffee for a change of beverage.

A warm sea breeze touched our faces, as we walked along the promenade side of stately, narrow, five- and six-story hotels, built during Queen Victoria's reign (1897-1901). They are still as they were then. Across the street the ocean, ebbing out, called us. Our bare feet squished in wet sand; we filled our buckets and made a tall castle with a moat; sea water seeped into it; I found a piece of driftwood for the drawbridge while Diana found shells to border the castle grounds and seaweed for shrubbery.

Our day at the seaside was nearing its end. The short May Day darkness was descending. I suggested that we start back to the ferry train. "Before we go I want to walk out to the waters edge. " Diana said. "I'll go across the street to the park with our play stuff and wait for you by the seawall." I told her. She sauntered to the oceans edge. She turned. I beckoned her in. Time for the ferry train and bus to Euston Station was drawing nigh and we still had to walk back along the promenade to the depot. Diana I knew was reluctant to leave this tranquil seaside area of the Isle of Wight. Darkness had fallen by the time we backtracked our journey by bus and train to her front door.

That day with my sister Diana, whom I miss daily is tucked away in a special place with the piece of her heart I took so long ago.