The outdoor pool I swam in as a child in Folkestone, Kent. I can see now it had fairly cool 1930s-looking changing rooms. But in the early sixties the thirties weren't yet cool; they were too recent, and thus still horribly *dreary.* (Now that I think of it, the early 1960s
were the 1930s, and vice versa, at least in Austerity Britain.) As can be seen, the pool abutted the grim & godforsaken English Channel. The pool water was unheated sea water--a fact that made one's stays in it brief and unwilling.
By contrast: the pool I swam in in the mid- to later sixties--attached to the Buena Vista Apartments, a vast thousand-unit rather down at the heels apartment complex in one of the tackier parts of San Diego.
The pool looks nicer, though, and was. But the apartments themselves became notorious a decade or so after we'd moved away--home to a serial killer who murdered at least five women in the complex.
