To the locals it’s just the 'Cly Hole' or the clay pit, a relic of the village’s industrial past, of clay extraction. Abandoned for many years it has become the daytime haunt of solitary fishermen and the night-time gathering place for youths. Young people who aimlessly mooch, partying when they have money for drink or just clowning around with the un-self-consciousness of teens who think that no one is watching. Until this last year no sane female would have ventured there. But Covid changed all that. With sports facilities closed women reclaimed open water spaces across the UK and began to peacefully co-exist with other water users.
On a warm August afternoon the Clay Pit beckons us four middle aged women as a haven of peace. We all work in the local primary school and have worked throughout the pandemic, either teaching online or volunteering in the hub schools. For us, like most others in the UK, the last six months have been far from normal. Despite being key-workers we have often faced criticism from those who needed to work from home and struggled to care for their children. Working in the hubs with children of key workers we’ve risked our own health and that of our families, often feeling under-valued in the process.
Schools re-opened fully at the start of the Autumn term and during masked, socially distanced chats we realised that many of us had a new shared pastime. And a perfect local venue.
Unusually we are straight out of school when the bell rings and we head off down the rutted track and across the parched grass. The gap in the trees is only clear to those in the know and we cautiously make our way down the steep incline. Perfectly symmetrical and fringed by trees, the Clay Pit is pancake flat tonight. It’s impossible to gauge the depth. Rumours abound of an abandoned car being sunk in the centre and pikes more than four feet long have been caught here. Who knows what lies beneath? At least by now the pair of swans know that swimmers mean no harm and they keep their distance. Who cares? The day is clammy, pupils have been challenging and we’re all getting used to the new normal.
As a pupil support worker, I’ve worked alongside these teachers for a good few years and we’ve never been more than work colleagues. Relationships have been professional, cordial, but nothing more with breaks taken at different times and little opportunity to socialise. However, at the water’s edge, once we start to strip off, down to our swimsuits, work is forgotten, and status doesn’t matter. We ignore the imperfections, the bulges, the cellulite and the menopausal hair growing in unwelcome places. We are accepting and equal.
Stepping cautiously, splashing shoulders then plunging forward, we share a sense of release. After the first gasps and breathlessness the conversation begins as a trickle. As our bodies adjust our minds relax and once the stresses of the day are washed away, politeness too is swept away, problems are shared, and friendships are forged.