Pop is the name of the girl inside

She sells the ginger pop you see!’

Why had her grandmother told her not to sing it? Was it vulgar or was there some hidden indecent Edwardian meaning? What silly things she remembered from childhood. She went on singing. ‘Pop, pop, poppity pop. Must pay attention here, not miss the turning’ – which led by devious lanes to the cliffs from where she would walk to the beach.

‘They all pop in and –’ here was the turning, a lot of cars waiting to get out onto the main road, people hot and sunburned, tired after too long a day on the beach, on their way home to supper, tea or the pub.

As she swung the car into the lane she caught the eyes of a holiday dog hanging his head out of a car window.

‘They all pop out

Pop is the name of the girl inside

She sells the ginger pop you see!’

Matilda didn’t want to think about dogs. Suddenly she realized why her grandmother did not like her to sing the ditty. Miss Renouff, blue eyes and shingled hair, had taught it to her. Grandpa had cast-an appraising eye in that direction. All dead now of course. All popping over for that lot.

The lane twisting between tall banks led to the cliffs. She parked the car in the cliff car park, took out her picnic basket, swung her bag over her shoulder, locked the car.

All round her families with children were packing into their cars, getting ready to leave. Matilda picked her way past waste paper, lolly sticks, torn cellophane and remains of picnics, tipped – but not into the wire baskets provided. She wondered whether to pause, collect a few Coca Cola tins and beer cans and put them into the basket, but the jibe ‘pernickety’ still rankled. She kicked a can with her espadrille and watched it merrily roll.

All the way along the cliff path she met weary holidaymakers returning.

‘Pop, pop, poppity pop, I shall have the beach to myself,’ she hummed, strolling neither fast nor slow, carrying the basket with the Brie, the rolls, the peaches and the Beaujolais swinging along downwards, twisting and turning down from the top of the tall granite cliffs to the beach and the sea sighing gently over the sand to stroke the line of pebbles until they rattled. The tide was up, would soon turn and drag itself out across the sand leaving it clean and smooth for her feet.