This jewelled coast does not shine, for its gems are coated with grit.
Bryant A. Loney
I went to the seaside this week, although I can never quite see the Northeast coastline of England as the seaside. That word conjures up a vast expanse of soft golden sand and a gently rippling clear blue sea. But, instead, Northeast beaches are of sterner stuff. Coves of firm, brown, shingly sand with, even on gentle days, a sea of rumbling, tumbling waves.
Then there’s the wind. My visit was on a beautiful cloudless sky day, and fortunately, there was only an offshore breeze, so it did not have the scythe-like effect it might have had coming off the sea. I much enjoyed my trip, however. Looking out over the vastness of the North Sea, I felt comfortable and relaxed, although not so much that I stood still in one place for too long! It was the weather for strolling, not standing.
My destination on this occasion was South Shields. A town that sits just south of the mouth of the Tyne as it spills into the North Sea. It must be over 40 years since my last visit, yet as I walked towards the dunes that border the beach, the streets felt familiar and triggered memories of trips to the seaside of my younger days.
On one occasion, a visit to South Shields ended with a trip to Casualty, as we called A&E in those days. It must have been the mid-sixties, and relatives from Glasgow were on a visit to my family. One of those, Uncle George, was walking on the beach barefoot when he saw what he thought was a pebble. Being minded to kick it into the sea, he took a giant swing of his leg only to painfully discover the pebble was a partially buried rock. One broken big toe later ….
Even though I’m happy looking out over the sea, I have a phobia about water immersion. That comes from an incident on the beach of another seaside town, Seaburn, a bit further south along the coast from South Shields. I was six or seven and paddling at the water’s edge when one of those rumbling, tumbling waves came along. It knocked me off my feet and into the water, pulling me out to sea. Fortunately for me, my father, alerted to my predicament, came to rescue his bedraggled son. However, the event left me with a psychological ‘scar’. Its effect means I cannot get too close to any large body of water without a racing pulse and a quickening in my breathing. Even sitting in a deep bathtub can cause me concern.
Travelling further south along the coast, we have the town of Seaham. Again, a childhood memory from its beaches is of rescue. But this was as a family when a turning tide caught my parents off guard and saw us wading ankle-deep through caverns from the cove we had occupied, as it became water filled. I recall some of that journey to safety I took on my brother’s shoulders.
A happier memory of Seaham comes from a few days before I left the
Northeast in July 1974. My friends and I decided that a fitting farewell to Harry would be to streak along the beach in the late evening. Fortunately, there were very few people around.
I’ll pay more visits to the coastline over the coming months, but you’ll be relieved to read that my clothes will stay firmly on ….
Your weekly musings are like a good old-fashioned letter. A joy to read.
I really enjoyed this! And I am so relieved to hear that it is not just me who can feel intimidated of the body of water in a bath. I have no idea where my fear comes from personally, but after reading this I certainly understand why you would stay well away from it!