Into the Blue

I was overwhelmed and struggling to breathe in a world of total blue. Wherever I turned the same, almost stifling and choking,  sensation threatened to snuff out my young and, to me as it seemed, very promising life. I was not sure if I was actually in a dreamlike state or living a nightmare. The blue swirl that engulfed me had a blackness beyond and this only made me more confused and disorientated.

Was I upside down,on the ground or suspended in the air? I could not be at all sure.

It all became very clear when I realised that I had inadvertently rolled over in my sleep and wedged my head into the loose folds of cloth forming the inner compartment of the family tent.

Outside I was conscious of a storm in progress. Through the outer canvas of the tent I could see a bright light coming very close to my head. If I had not become aware of where I was that light may have been construed by my very imaginative mind as some divine guidance out of the predicament I had found myself. A comforting and shining path out of the blue tinted darkness.

The concentrated beam was from the headlights of the VW, which  Father had driven onto the very outer edges of the tent to stop it, and us, from being whisked away over the cliff and out into the Atlantic Ocean in the fierce and unpredictable Scottish gale.

Father had been very busy in his quest to save the family.

In addition to the full weight of the offside wheels of the car the skirts of the tent were also weighed down by large boulders which must have been collected from some distance given that the cliffs and headland were mostly of a light sand and dune grass.

In most weather conditions the tent, a large blue one with outer living area and two sleeping compartments, was sufficiently anchored to the ground by pegs and guy ropes. Most camp sites were in sheltered fields and such measures as had been necessary on the clifftop had never materialised before or indeed never did subsequently. Father had acted heroically with the thought of protecting his wife and small children although on his head count prior to venturing out into the violent night half of me was apparently missing within that blue shroud of light and airy cotton weave.

I welcomed the calmer morning light as though I  had just been newly born and looked upon my surroundings for the first time in due wonder, awe and relief. Breakfast was already arranged on the rickety camping table. Bright circles before my eyes were the gawdy Tupperware plates and bowls into which I poured more than an equitable portion of Cornflakes but only a spit equivalent of slightly tepid UHT milk.

It was going to be a good day, no, a great day. From the wide opening of the tent door I could see down on to the beach of Arisaig Bay. The white sand, our joyous playground,  from the previous few days of our camping holiday was a dull, damp colour and strewn with driftwood, seaweed and a scummy, sawdust flecked foam.

I had been very scared during that tempestuous night but fortunately my life had not really been in peril. A tent, flappy at the best of times, only becomes more agitated and exaggerated in proportion to wind strength. No one in the family remarked about my struggle with the tent lining and perhaps the folds of material had served to suppress and absorb any screams or exclamations of imminent death that had felt so real to me at the time.

Neglecting our duties of tidying up our sleeping bags, pyjamas and table settings us children streaked down the shallow dunes towards the lapping waters of the bay. We had work to do.

Confused marine life had to be repatriated to their rockpools. Distressed, naked scuttling hermit crabs had to be matched to hastily vacated storm lashed shells. Uprooted boughs of seaweed re-planted in the crevices of the rocky islet outcrops. Smooth, salt specked and grainy pieces of shaped wood gathered and placed above the tide line. Interesting pebbles pushed deep into pockets to be discovered some time later and carefully handled and marvelled at.

That is unless they were considered by our parents to be the reason why the twin tub washing machine, shortly after our return home, choked and broke down involving some considerable cost to repair.