Well, yes, I really do love to be by the sea. Given time I expect I could list all the glorious days and weeks I’ve spent at the coast from childhood up. That wonderful feeling of coming home in the back of the car, or the Sunday School coach, sleepy, crumpled and pleasantly toasted. Not approved of now, but it felt good at the time. Later, even better, were the beaches to be shared with growing children and grandchildren. Miles of wide, empty Hebridean sands where we often kept our woolly hats on even when we paddled, and crowded warm south coast beaches where it was fun to queue for ice-creams and souvenirs. I loved them all.
So why did we finally settle for living as far from the sea as you can possibly get on this sceptred isle? Circumstances, that’s what. Family. Responsibilities. And then, I suppose, just habit.
So without the soothing sound of waves lapping on the shore, without the luxury of looking to the horizon and infinity, we’ve had to find our own sea-side substitutes. We’ve got quite good at it over the last quarter of a century. At the end of a hot summer’s day, it’s the sound of water that is so soothing, and we’ve had many a pleasant picnic relaxing in deck chairs beside Claydon Lock, where the lock gates don’t quite fit, so there’s always the gentle sound of trickling water. With a good book and a sinking sun it’s almost as good as the beach.
For larger expanses of water there are the reservoirs, plenty to choose from, and handy to home. Boddington, Nene, Draycote Water, Rutland Water. For some reason, the stillness of the water doesn’t seem to invite idleness. We very seldom just sit and look at a reservoir, even when there are yachts and ducks. It’s a challenge to walk all round in record time, or bike round until we feel we’ve earned a meal with a view of the lake.
We’re not very well endowed in this area with idyllic rivers. Even in the most beautiful bits of countryside the Cherwell is sluggish and uninspiring. But the River Avon; wide and hardly moving as it flows through Stratford, never fails to please. We’ve celebrated so many special occasions there, with picnics, boating, cycling, and walking. We’ve taken people as old as 90 and as young as 6 weeks. Depending on age and inclination we sit and look at the water, or feed the ducks, or splash about in boats, trying to avoid going over the weir and trying to row up to Tiddington. We’ve always managed the first, and never the second. Even without company, when life needs a bit of a lift, a good place to get it is sitting on the terrace of the theatre, hanging out over the river with a comforting pot of tea, watching the swans, and the oarsmen (and women) of varying degrees of competence. Always soothing, it never fails.
Of course we do get the to the sea, when we can, but it isn’t very often. Maybe one holiday a year, and a couple of day trips. But you have to be careful with day trips, unless you start very, very early you might spend more time queuing on tarmac, rather than sitting on sand. Our secret means of getting there in record time, is by going when we know there will be hardly any other cars on the road. Every year we set out shortly before dawn on January 1st, when almost everyone else is still in bed recovering from the night before. Without breaking the speed limit we can be sitting on Bournemouth beach, coffee mugs in hand by 10.30 and enjoy a couple of peaceful hours beside the sea, before the world and his wife, and several of his dogs descend for their New Year breath of fresh air.
So, yes, for a day out I’d opt for water anytime, the bigger the better, the more the merrier. Give me the sea if I can get there, and if not – I’ve got plenty of watery inland alternatives to content myself with.
by Sue Hunter