Deciding in a Democracy

I learnt to swim as a young boy while on holiday in the seaside town of Margate on the Kent coast in England. Rather than brave the waves in the open sea, I chose the beach lido that was refreshed by seawater on the turning tide. Swimming came easy — the salt water kept me buoyant, and the lido walls kept the waves out. Returning to London after my holiday I decided that I wanted to go swimming again — but there were very few swimming pools in London at the time. Finding somewhere to swim was difficult. However, my friends and I got to learn of a swimming pool within reach by bus. It was said to have the warmest water in London. After a journey of some three miles we arrived at the New Cross ‘baths’. There were two separate entrances to the baths: one for men and boys, the other for women and girls. The changing cubicles were rudimentary and were set along the edges of the pool — the men and boys on one side, the women and girls on the other. The noise inside was a cacophony of splashing and laughter mixed with the shrill whistles of the attendants, who seemed to be struggling to maintain a sense of order among the joyous chaos. There was no diving board but part of the fun involved lots of jumping in at the deep end. My most vivid memory is of the warmth of the water. The folk tales were true. The water was as warm as a bath. It was so inviting that it made you want to swim for hours and never get out.