No drop to the beach. Sea edge is
now distant, mounds of shingle hide its view.
But there must have been another
way round it? Sad. Rolling cost of maintenance is
ongoing, millions of pounds, ad
infinitum. Cheaper to flood
to the old harbour and rehouse?
Stunned, I gasped when I saw the
change. But some people wanted it.
When I retired I should have checked
that the beach I once knew well was still there.
I never imagined that the
deep promenade wall would disappear, not gone, but
hidden. Now thousands of tons of foreign
shingle, poured over imported blocks
of granite the size of houses.
Stunned, I gasped when I saw the
change. Some people wanted it.
The drop to the beach from the prom
was twenty odd feet. At high tide the sea
thundered, yes, roared, up the beach, and
ricocheted, into the wall, exploding forty
feet or more into the air, spewing stones
onto the flooded promenade. Cars
parked there, would surely be dented!
Stunned, I gasped when I saw the change.
Some people wanted it.
There was no retrieving of cars
until the tide had turned. The sea slammed the
promenade wall with such huge force;
the thud could be heard in neighbouring properties.
Many a night I have been lulled to sleep
by the rhythmic movement of the
sea. My patch of sea is constant.
Stunned, I gasped when I saw the change.
Some people wanted it.
I often stop there and admire
the scene below. The beautiful colours,
the complex movement, and I smell
the salt. See the swirling sea in all its moods,
rippling along the groynes, listen,
as stones hiss sliding back and forth,
along the glorious sea edge.
I gasp at the beauty of the
water’s edge. Stunning, always there.
