I do like to be beside the Seaside - Writing from a weekend at Corsica Hall, Seaford July 1993

Writing from a weekend at Corsica Hall, Seaford, East Sussex
9 July – 11 July 1993

The Weekend

The idea of a writing weekend came in the autumn of 1992 when members of Shorelink (then Bexhill Creative Writers) were participating in a Making a Magazine workshop led by Mike Hayler of QueenSpark Books.

An informal network began to emerge between the ABE Writing and Publishing Project, the Centre for Continuing Education (Sussex University) Shorelink and QueenSpark Books.

The aim of the weekend was to encourage and develop confidence in beginner writers, launch the new ABE writing groups in Lewes and Brighton and create a mini federation of writing and publishing groups in the South East region. The weekend was publicised through ABE tutor organisers in East Sussex, QueenSpark Books and ABE groups who already belonged to the Federation of Worker Writers and Community Publishers (FWWCP). Funding for the weekend came from the FWWCP, South East Arts and East Sussex County Council.

The weekend lasted from the night of Friday 9th July through to Sunday lunchtime and was attended by 36 residential students, 4 day students, 4 workshop convenors and 2 organisers.

The workshops on offer were:

– Autobiography and Personal Histories
– Poetry
– Storytelling from Images
– Drama

The workshops ran from 9 o’clock on the Saturday morning to 5 o’clock in the evening with a two hour break for lunch. The workshops were strenuous and demanding but gave participants an opportunity to explore the creation of a piece of writing in depth.
In their follow up reports all of the convenors spoke of the sense of warmth, trust and mutual support that was established from the very beginning of the weekend.

Lorna Jones says…

‘I feel sure that it has been, for many of those who attended, a springboard for their confidence, writing skills and personal empowerment’.

Helena Uren…

‘The students were motivated, good humoured and supportive of one another’.

The participants were willing to let themselves feel vulnerable, although many of them had not met until the weekend.

Mike Hayler…

‘The group was an interesting mixture of 14 people with very different histories and various sources of difficulty with the written word’

All the workshops developed trust and group atmosphere from early on; people were introduced to new and chal¬lenging ideas and most started to work on new work, new writing.

WHAT STUDENTS SAID

‘Everything was organised very well and there were no complications – it was very natural. Right from the moment we came in we felt welcome. I could not wish for a better welcome’

‘We worked hard but at our own pace. It was relaxing but productive. We got on well as individuals and worked well as a group. It was great to be able to go and write on the beach. And we all felt confident enough to stand up and read’

‘I was more at ease when I was with a teacher who had spelling problems. Everyone was so friendly. I have gained confidence which I lack’.

‘Instead of the tutor always being in control I would like people with reading and spelling hangups to conceive their own workshop’

‘The weekend was too short and I would have liked to learn more but in my opinion what I learned I shall treasure forever’

‘It has been a great weekend so far and should be done far more regularly. It could serve as therapy which would help to get many local writers out of their shell’

‘This weekend was the best one I have been to so far’

‘Worth £40. A lovely weekend’.’

This booklet contains some of the work written over the weekend. Some of the writers have added to or developed their work further. Some people have written about the weekend and wished for that to be included. Each writer was sent a copy of their work for final editing and approval prior to inclusion in this booklet.

The book has been put together by Stephanie Buckland, Mike Hayler and Angela McKay. With thanks to Sue Long and Nick Osmond.

We hope it will be a memory and a celebration of a few very special days by the seaside.

The Autobiography Workshop

As a child, I lived with my father and mother and my five sisters and three brothers in a farm. The farm was in a remote village far from the city.

My father used to send me and my sister to look after the cattle like cows, oxes, sheep, goats, horses and donkeys, from morning to midday.

In the afternoon, my brothers come to relieve us after lunch, my sister and I go to collect fire wood and water to far place about one hour walk from our house. Then I help my mother with the house work.

It was a very hard life but there was also some enjoyment too. In the evening we all sit around the fire and my grandfather used to tell us stories. Sometimes when there is a full moon we used to sing and dance until we were too tired to move. I still remember the warm fire, the fresh air, the full moon and the bright stars, children running and dancing and singing, the older people eating, drinking and laughing yes it was very hard work in the day, but it was also like Christmas every evening. I was happy.

There are times I dream of my village life.

Zen Getachew

My First Experience of Brighton.
By Delia Dumighan

When I first came to this country I was overjoyed to know that I was going to stay in a seaside town that reminded me of my own town of Naples. After I had been introduced to the family I would be living with, I wanted to see the town. I aimed for the seafront. Although it was August, the promenade and beach seemed deserted. It made me feel nostalgic for my own town. The only comparison I could make was the smell of the sea. In my home town of Naples there would have been lots of people on the beach and swimming in the blue sea under a bright sky. Here, to me, the sea seemed grey and sad. After a while spent in England I got used to the weather and changed my mind about Brighton. Today Brighton is just like home. Brighton at the time seemed to me to be a nice, clean town compared to Naples. Unfortunately, over the years it has become just as bad as Naples with rubbish and dog-mess in every corner. But in the thirty five years I have been in England, apart from spending five years in Durham, I have always lived in Brighton.

My name is Patrick Iddenden.

I was born in 1957 in the House of 57 Staione Road Shelford Near Gilford. When I was about three my Famley and I went on hoilday to Lyme Regis. My mother tort me how to swim. She told me to kick my arms and legs and I will swim. I went to Shelford Primary School. I used to run away from school so I became backwood reading and wirting. When I was about 5 yours old I started smoking.

There was my mum and dad and my 4 sisters. My mother brot me a new pair sandals. I went down to the Vilage streme, my dad came down the lane, I took my sandals off. I was sailing them under the brige. When my dad saw what I was doing with my sisters there he kick my barskside all the way home, he did it for sevrle days. Becose of being so norty he kepte me in the garden and when he was away I started to dig a big hole in the bottom of the garden. My friend was going to build a swim¬ming pool with me. When my dad came home at the end of the week he said it was a good Idea and filled it in with all the rubbish.

First School Days.
By Terry Thompson.

When I first went to School I was five Years old. I did not go to nursery school. The School was just around the corner from my house. I walked to the School with my mother. She held my hand because it was a busy road and we had to cross it. My mother took me all the way into the classroom to meet the teacher, who was a woman. The teacher took my hand but I pulled away from her as I did not want to leave my mother. She said I must go. My mother just went away as she thought this was the best thing to do. I started to cry and I cried all day.

Now I am older I agree but it was hard for me at the time. The teacher took me to hang my coat up on my peg. I knew it was my peg as it had my name on it. Then she took me to the classroom to meet the other children who were all sitting at desks in rows. She stood me at the front of the class and told everyone my name. She also told them it was my first day. I sat near the front. The teacher sent me with another boy to fetch the milk to the teacher. Everyone got a bottle of milk. We used to push a straw through the top. I soon found out that we would get a bottle of milk every day.

As it was my first day I was allowed to go home early. A neighbour took me home. After that day my mother used to wait for me by the school gates to take me home for my tea.

Seaside
By Carol Brown

The wave starts so far away.
In the distance the huge swell is rushing to get nearer

As the wave begins its height, it seems to stand still for a moment.

No sound.

As I watch the wave begin to rush down, from its great height. Picking up strength and power as it forces it’s way to the shore line.

The white cliffs standing so white in the winter sun light. Drawing you to the deep mauve and yellow flowers that are living in the cliffs secret places.

Suddenly the seagulls are alert, screaming in angry panic.

The distance between the powerful foaming water is so near the cliff.

The suspense of the sea fighting the cliff.

Who can win?

The wave now foaming with strength crushes against the root of the cliff.
Causing the cliff to tremble, shedding white chalk into the dangerous water.

Silence falls, the golden sun hidden by the black clouds. The hidden wind picking up in strength, separating the green blades of grass, crushing the delicate petals, so they
stand no more.

No sound.

No movement.

Trees, grass, flowers, birds, are taut, alert in fear.
The foaming powerful energy of water has one vast try at revenge.

One last crush against the cliff.

The cliff trembles.
Making a wailing sound of pain.
As the edge of the cliff falls.

The wave gushes in delight and takes it back on the return tide.

On Friday 9th July, we were all booked in at Corsica Hall, Seaford. It was six o’clock when we got there. Judy and Jackie were waiting for us at the door and gave us our room keys. After that we had dinner. We went into the bar to get a drink and took them through to the lounge. It was OK but it wasn’t really enjoyable because the room was small and the atmosphere was stuffy.

We didn’t know each other at the time. But when we started to talk to each other things were different. The next day we had our breakfast. After we went in to a room to write. The writing was more exciting but time was wasted by too much talking by the lecturer. I liked all that was put on the board. But there was too much repetition. Therefore, there was not enough time for writing. After we had finished our delicious lunch, we went back to our studies room to practise our writing. Then we went to the beach with our notebooks. The wind was very strong but Mike was brave and encouraged us to carry on walking to find a place to sit to write our notes. Some of us were trying to take photographs. Then the powerful wind blew Sonia’s workshop papers out of her hand, scattering them along the shore. We couldn’t catch them. Eventually, we returned to the hall.

The wind made our journey back much faster. All of a sudden the rain poured down. Thank goodness we were all back in time.

We all started chatting to each other about our writing. At three o’clock we had a tea break. Buffet dinner had been planned for eight o’clock. So we then went to our rooms to relax and prepare for the party afterwards. Everyone was dressed beau¬tifully and with music and dancing we all became friendlier. I went to bed at twelve o’clock and others stayed longer.

Sunday morning, after breakfast, we discussed the writing of books to give us more confidence. This took us up to lunchtime and after that it was time to leave. We had to hand in our keys but couldn’t find anywhere to leave them, one girl collected them and, hopefully, found the manager. We all said goodbye to each other and went our separate ways. I enjoyed the weekend very much and if another one were to be held I would like to go again because I learned more about the planning of writing.

Maria Henriques.

A True Story
By Chris Robinson

In 1966 the doctor said that I had brain damage. The doctors used forceps at Brighton Hospital. I had to go to Glyne Gap Special School when I was 8. I left there when I was eleven. I didn’t learn anything because the teachers never bothered. All they done was let me play. I was like a dummy. I went to a little school with kids, Saxon Mount Special School. Then I had some work experience. It was not very good. I didn’t like it. I lived with my mum and my older sister. My dad died when I was little. When I lived at home I wasn’t very happy. I started to go to Beeching park Training Centre. I met some outside people who helped me to leave home and find a family placement. It is very nice there I’ve got my own room. I felt it wasn’t fair what happened to me. I felt that outside people wouldn’t understand. People who have learning difficulties get on in the world sometimes. It makes me cross because people don’t treat us very well and they don’t want people next door to them like in group homes. That is why you should meet somebody like me. I hope people like us will get accepted in the community. I am a person first. It doesn’t matter what I’ve got because I want to live in the outside world. I want to be treated like a proper human person that’s what I am trying to tell you.

We arrived at Corsica Hall at 6.30 on 9th July. Judy and Jacky were waiting to greet us at the reception with a very friendly welcome. We were given a name sticker, so that everyone would know who we were, which I thought was a very good idea. We were given a folder with the agenda of the weekend and told where to find our rooms. It was like being in a hotel. Once we had settled in we went down to the main hall where a buffet was waiting for us. While we were eating Judy asked us if Carol could join our group as she was on her own. I got on very well with her, we had so much in common. Later we all went into a meeting room to meet the tutors and the other students and talk about the weekend. I was glad that I knew Delia, Maria, Zen, from the Brighton group. Carol, the lady that I met earlier wasn’t staying, she was just coming for the day and going home afterwards. It was quite a nice evening so we decided to go for a walk down to the seafront. When we got back the girls came back to my room for a nightcap. Next morning we went for a walk down to the seafront. When we got back we were really ready for our meal. All the food was excellent. We were all in the Autobiography workshop, so now we have got to look for our class room. When we got there, Mike and Stephen made us all feel very relaxed. They told us a bit about themselves and their experiences and difficulties so that made us all feel a lot better to know they had been the same as us.

They gave us a lot of encouragement before we started on our own writing.

Once we had finished our stories we had to read it out if we wanted to. I wasn’t brave enough to do that so Mike read out my work. It was very interesting listening to all the other different stories.

After lunch we went for a nice walk. We all went back to the class and Mike said, that we would all go down to the seafront. When we got down to the seafront, Sonia’s papers blow right out of her hand, as it was so windy. We were all trying to catch the papers. It was quite cold and miserable but how we all laughed. We didn’t stay out for too long and were quite pleased to get back to our classroom. We all got ourselves settled for some more writing.

I started to write about my trip to New Zealand. As I was working, a list came round about ideas, one said are you waffling? I looked down and thought ‘yes I am, as usual’, I talk like that as well. I just came over so emotional I just had to get out as I was going to cry, so I went for a walk. When I came back the others were reading out their work. Mike asked me to read my work out but I couldn’t I still felt very upset with various things going on in my head. I listened to all the other people reading their work which I enjoyed very much. I went up to my room where I couldn’t stop crying again. After a while my friends came up to see how I am.

In the evening the different classes were going to show or read what they had been working on.

I quite enjoyed the evening but felt that some of it could have been done on the Sunday morning. I felt quite bad as I couldn’t read my work out. Everyone else did something so I felt a bit silly as usual.

Later in the evening we had a social evening where we had a good dance which I felt I could relax then I’m funny like that. It was my fortieth birthday on the Sunday so at twelve o clock everyone sung happy birthday to me. Which was very emo¬tional for me. On Sunday we went for a nice walk before breakfast and afterwards all the groups met for a meeting of what had been happening over the weekend. I felt quite lost with what was going on and wished one of our tutors from the ABE class had been able to come so that I could have talked to them about how I was feeling. We went in to have another lovely meal.

Well I have really enjoyed the weekend and have felt I have gained quite a bit from the course and made a lot of lovely friends. I felt quite strong about coming on the weekend. As soon as I saw the leaflet about the writing weekend something told me I had to come. I had come back from N.Z early to come on the weekend which is why I got choked up. Now I am looking forward to our next get together.

Gillian Dodd

Ryan’s Beach Party
By Angela McKay

Ryan’s flat was just five minutes from the front, we all, twenty five of us, left his compact bedsit at the top of the house and when we reached the bottom of the stairs we found bits of wood in a small neatly arranged pile for us all to take bit by bit to the beach.

It was one o’clock at night and the beach was deserted, the horizon disappeared into the blackness but the illuminations lit up the pebbles. We eventually arrived in drips and drabs with our wood. Found a spot and heaved the drawers, parts of hygena units, driftwood and things that used to be something into a pile. The girls stood back wondering how this pile of debris was going to come to life. Ryan produced matches from his second-hand worn jeans and the girls still wondered if this was going to be enough. With obvious basic experience, half drunk he scrunched some Sunday Supplements together and threw a match into this huge cocktail of burning matter. The lot started to take light and the fire became fierce as the boys kicked the wood into the centre and made the flames jump around the rest of the wood.

The heat exuding from the bonfire was overpowering. The pile of fire spat black ash into the air and got into the way of our eyes.

Ryan’s best friend rolled up his trousers and announced to the rest of the huddled crowd that he was going for a paddle.

Nobody followed him and he was alone as he gingerly placed the soles of his bare feet on the hard stones that sloped down to the edge of the lapping, rasping Brighton sea.

Gayla, a French au pair, was burnt out on whiskey and made a clown of herself in front of the fire and her friends. Come two o’clock, I was beginning to feel the cold and on the outside of the drunken huddle of party people. I hugged the whiskey-ridden and affectionate French au pair goodbye and said a polite farewell to the host and received a handshake and a half shut eye stare.

The promenade was bare and the only traffic on the roads was the odd empty taxi. I flagged down a black cab and gleefully jumped in. I immediately blurped out my destination and asked the driver for heat. The taxi driver was chatty and offered warm wit and warm heaters directly below the black leather back seats that I was clinging to, as he sped along the deserted Brighton streets, home.

The Poetry Workshop

I went into poems with Sean and I did not know how to write them down on paper. We had to say are name and where we came from. It was a small goup of people what was viry nice. Sean make it so enjoyed and I found that I could write poems. The Evening I read out some poems what we had done. I found that I had confidence thanks to Sean. I glad that I came.

Sandra Young.

The Sun Rise
By Victoria Mckenzie

Leaving behind the hussel of the day
The cooking, cleaning and washing up,
Not listening to the clock, ticking … ticking on the wall.
Another day past in my day dream.
I watch from my window.
The sea, the rippling wave, the sun rise
The morning breeze.
The aroma of the fresh baked cakes.
The seagulls call to the sound of the waves.
I walk along the beach, in the early morning mist.
And drift into a blissful slumber.

The Wave
By Marilyn McClelland, Victoria McKenzie, Barbara Flanagan, Betty Legg, Ginette Cushing, Sandra Young, Christopher Burke, Sean Taylor.

The beginning of the wave
Curves from down below
Then rises up to the surfers glory
The moment seems so slow
Then it curves into a crescent moon
On the brink of the waters flow

The middle of the wave
Is a mindless mouth
grinding the stones into sand
With the furious roar
Of maddened sea lions
And a torrent of soapy foam
The water rushes,
The water thunders
The water storms upon the beach.

The end of the wave rushes in
Calmly resting on the surface of the shore
Sweeping and scrubbing the shells and sand away
Then silently moving peacefully inch by inch
back into its roaring turbulence.

Round Poem
By Barbara, Betty, Ginette, Marilyn, Sandra, Christopher, Victoria

Until I saw the sea
I did not know
That it could reach the sky
That waves could dance and fly
That white horses gallop towards the shore
And the wind rakes your face like a seagulls claw
And the Sun is fractured into silver showers
As I sit and watch through long Summer hours

Magnet
By Barbara Flanagan

The waves are like magnets
Pulling me to the sea
The sun shining on the water.
Pebbles under my feet
Hard and rough
Where is the sand so soft and warm?

Covered by the pebbles from the sea.

Empress of Solitude
By Christopher Burke

Come take me with you, my Empress of Solitude.
I would for a moment just walk by your side.
We’ll watch the birth of a midsummer morning
And I’ll hear the song of your incoming tide.
Your depths have always held my inmost secrets
You give me the strength that helps me understand
New ways to face the tasks that awaits me
When I return to the realm of the land.

I’ve watched your subjects, heard their jubilation.
An ascendant triumph of power on high.
A mindsweep of morning, of canyon depths calling,
Of whipped clouds, white water and torn tempest sky.
I’ll ride the windstreams that curl your wavecrests.
I’ll throw off the shackles of crude gravity
And merge my being with your endless glory
And stay with you always, my Empress, the Sea

Eastbourne
By Marilyn McClelland.

He sits there on the promenade
The young man with no job.
Because he sits there begging
People think that he’s a yob.

An old lady offered to him,
A large slice of her cake.
Which he thanked her for politely
It made my poor heart ache .

I rummaged in my pocket
And gave him all I could.
Because he had with him his dog,
I knew he must be good.

Seadog
By Sean Taylor

The sea is full of kisses
but not from mermaids’ lips.
It’s a hungry dog that wakes the world
with its salty tongue,
that spits in the sky
and sucks on the stone;
an old wild friend
howling and turning
under a watery sun.

And the seadog’s song is the rattling of beached pebbles.
The seadog’s song is the groan of fat engined ships.
The seadog’s song is the seaweed, the seaweed far below.

The lips of the sea would
like to speak stories
of past times and futures seen.
But it knows no words
so it throws itself
in quiet corners
and rip-tides at desperate cliffs –
self loving, self hating.
And singing like a dog.

And the seadog’s song is the clatter of feeding birds.
The seadog’s song is the hushed pulse of the mist.
The seadog’s song is the water, the water far below.

A sky torn by scissors of the wind
spills cold waves with dawn.
And in one instant that seadog
plays out all that we do best:
doused fish and shells, our imaginations;
bursting rollers, our ideas;
irresistible tides, our smiles;
the watered sun, our honesty;
the driftwood, rounded as our happiest days.

And the seadog’s song is the falling of sun-warped rocks.
The seadog’s song is the open heart of the surf.

The seadog’s song is the sand, the sand far below.

The Drama Workshop

We felt unable to recreate and do justice to the atmosphere of improvisation, experimentation and live performance which took place during the drama workshop, here in print. Therefore we decided not to transcribe the tapes which were recorded during the workshop.

We have tried to give the reader a taste of the drama sessions by printing Helena Uren’s report and some comments from the students who took part.

We started the day with confidence building, group based drama game. All the work was planned with the seaside theme in mind. Once a group feeling had been established, we moved on to pair work and improvisations, changing partners with each exercise, in order that people could really get to know each other. Several sketches were set up by the end of the morning session as work to be developed during the afternoon.

The second half of the day was used to record the work done in the morning and to work on group improvisation.

The recordings and a piece of live drama were presented in the evening session to the rest of the ABE group.

I was delighted with the group dynamic of the workshop. The students were motivated, good humoured and supportive of one another. We had a lot of fun and they also developed enormous confidence through the day.

I consciously decided not to use any writing in the workshop, but to encourage them to develop scripts from spoken improvisations.

Helena Uren

The Weekend
By Alan Davis.

We arrived at about 19.00 hours on Friday night was met by Jackie and Judy, who were members of the staff. We were then told which room we will be staying in and to collect the keys, and the programme for the weekend. Then went to the dining room for which a cold buffet had been lay on for us. After we had eaten we all meet in the lounge to welcome us, and run through the weekend programme and to meet the other member of the groups which come from Manchester, Halifax, Brighton and local groups, then four of us went for a walk along the sea shore and over the cliff. On Saturday we started our work shops, I was doing drama, I had not done this before and was a bit worried, but Helena Uren who was running the workshop, soon put our minds at rest it was a very good group we all mix in together none of us had meet before. The day went very quick finish the day about 17.00 hours with a buffet tea in the coffee bar and there was a wedding reception in the dining room. In the evening was for reading from the work which had been done in the day, from all the groups it was very good, a lot of hard work went into it and we end by having a social with music to finish off a good day. Sunday we had a meeting with feedback on the weekend and what next and planning for the future. Depart at 14.00 after lunch. End of a good weekend.

‘Very enjoyable, Helena was a good drama teacher. I felt very relaxed and everything was good.’

‘I enjoyed the way each of us helped it evolve’.

‘I enjoyed the warm up games. They relaxed us and created a sense of fun. The morning session had a sense of purpose, building up gradually towards improvised dialogue.’

‘I’d like to try Drama with Helena again. She is a lovely warm person and an attentive tutor.’

‘We started by playing games and were gradually led to role-playing and improvisation which was difficult but productive (and a laugh!).’

The Story Telling from Images Workshop

As a group we were given a selection of objects to inspire creative writing.

I choose three items. Two pieces of wood, one shaped like a snake and another which was an odd shape, it was knarled and twisted. Also a large stone with tiny holes in it.

Julie Fountain.

The Lost Tribe By Peter Goode

A forgotten world
I see the
dance
dance
dancing
As a flute
passes passes the sea shells.
Their coral sea hear at
the dance of the sea shell.
Waves breaking down.
Hear the music of a thousand
of a thousand civilisations.
To hear the blue mosaic,
And the blue man on his blue horse
To the green waves, waving
Pearling sad the music of our
ancestors is in our souls
in our selves.
Even to us
Pounding the waves and peace
to flower the music.

Darkness
By Julie

The darkness surrounds me. I am aware of another life but now my body is encased by a virgin skin. I slide with ease across the barren landscape savouring the unfamiliar sensations. The oppressive atmosphere makes me travel with speed but I do not know what I search for. The rocks ahead are rugged. My wet skin slithers and contorts across them. Pitted stones inhabited by creatures sink deeper, afraid. I hear them speak, sensing their fear. Propelling me further into the unknown.

The atmosphere is repugnant. It spreads fear inside my soul. Out of the darkness, the twisted body half man, half animal emerges with muscular legs stout with hoofs, the fierce contorted face full of menace, his bulbous eyes catch my quick movements. The creature, now ridged, suddenly plunders across, his hairy knarled hands cutting through the cold air catching my tail. His grip holds me tight whipping me quickly through the air. I hit the ground half stunned. Barely breathing I lay, fighting for my life. The grip tightens further and again I am unleashed through the air. My body cracks as I hit the cold surface. The creature holds the tail of its prey but can only watch as brutally, I fall out of my skin.

I lay there motionless, my former laboured breathing, moving to a gentle stillness. Slowly Returning to life and leaving my nightmare.

Holiday
By Sandra Simpson.

It was a very hot day in Florida. Everyone on the beach were enjoying them self either building sand Castles playing ball or just being generally lazy and appreciating the good weather.

Tourist from all over America and abroad were on their way to Florida for a Vacation.

Sammy and Jim with their Four year old daughter Lauren were on the flight from Manchester, England to Miami U.S.A. They were all very excited about this trip. None of them have ever flown before. So it was a new experience for them.

Jim was having a new experience back home with a girl he had met when out with the lads one evening, things were getting rather serious between them and Jim had promised Sue his young lady he would finish with Sammy this coming week.

Sammy had no idea what was going on in Jim’s life. She Loved him now as much as she did ten years ago when she married him. Sammy was really excited. She was pregnant again and she had found out from her doctor the Tuesday before the flight and had decided to tell Jim and Lauren on holiday. Sammy had felt an atmosphere between herself and Jim but decided that a holiday was what was needed. Lauren was really excited about this adventure. Going on holiday with her parents on a plane, it was all too much, Lauren was sitting in between her parents. She was getting tired.

The air hostess looked over at them and so Lauren was getting restless and suggested to Sammy a drink would be nice for Lauren. Sammy agreed and also a blanket to cover her up with.

Lauren had Slept for four hours. The plane had just got to the bottom of the runway it had taxied up to the building before She recovered completely from her long sleep.

Everyone was getting up from their seats to get off. Jim had stayed seated looking out of the window, looking out of the Window thinking of Sue, if only he thought, Lauren was getting very impatient to leave the plane she slipped her Finger out of her Mother’s hand and started to creep in between the other passengers leaving the plane. Sammy shouted Lauren’s name. But there was so much noise and activity going on in the plane the child did not hear or want to hear her Mother. Sammy shouted at Jim Who was still sitting in his chair day dreaming. “Lauren has run off’. Jim got out of his seat immediately and went over to one of the Air Hostess. She asked Jim and Sammy to Sit down, and disappeared in to the Crowd. She was asking the passengers to sit down. When every one was seated there was Lauren standing at the doors of the plane ready to be the first off. Jim and Sammy were so happy to see her. They could not scold her.

All three of them got off the plane together went threw the airport to the Customs, picked up their Luggage and went on their way to the hired car. Jim had Lauren on his Shoulders and an arm round Sammy’s waist “I love you both” he said and meant it. This was going to be a perfect holiday. And it was. Jim was over the moon about the arrival of a new child.

The Surf Raised its Voice
by Fitzi Lewis

We’ve reached the far end,
arriving with little more
than our spirits.
Hoping the words from our pens
will reel like rolling waves,
washing clean the sands
and pebbles of our thoughts.

The green countryside
spun from our eyes,
rocks bulged in whiteness
stare across the bay.
I ponder their future
and the mysteries surrounding
the sea.

Ocean-going vessels moved fast
slowly deceiving my sense of sight,
sinking in to oblivion.
Buoys changed places,
waves utter with angry hisses
against boulders. Nimbus cloud,
the warning watery clear.

Rain arrowed down in hardened drops,
cold winds grew stronger –
sea fowls blown to roost.
From the blackness
the sea had spoken
a language we understood;
no friendly arms extended.

We sat through vigils, not knowing
the day or night, till an ecliptic sun’s
final path dispelled the mist and peeped
through our tear-filled windows.
A calm drifted out, across windswept
beaches and lonely streets
A million chimneys billowed smoke.

On hills among the bracken,
shrubs breathe freely in the cool sea breeze.
We breathe clean fresh air
gliding in from the indigo,
picked at twigs bleached
by vapouring salt
and English winters.

Seaside Memories
Some group writing by Fitz, Lorna, Peter, Doris, Dorothy, Sandra and Julie.

The little girl waved at the dark figure on the sand, and the dark figure waved back. She moved quickly, short steps, then looked again, her new friend was still there, her name was Rose she was only four, they both started to paddle in the sea the waves splashed against their little toes they started to laugh and giggle.

With my friends we have quite some fun, laughs and happiness the best of all, and a great big sea shell came along and opened up its mariner and showed a world of pearl. It seemed a really good thought but it might be the perfect dream, I wish that dreams could come true, the good ones I mean, I do not like bad ones.

The little girl waved at the dark figure on the sand and the dark figure waved back. All the dreams were surging towards her from the horizon, wave after wave, good dreams and bad, nothing could stop them from reaching the shore, where she stands, small and alone, speaking to her shadow.

The huge dark water will one day overwhelm, but leave her standing. She will not drown, and somewhere far far out, still rolling in, comes the wave which brings the world of pearl

We travelled down from London after the dust and grime of the city. It was twelve midday when we got to Dover, the sun was very hot, we got out of the train and walked towards the sea. There were a lot of people enjoying themselves, laugh¬ing and talking, eating candyfloss and ice creams.

In the nice warm summery month of June.

The beginning of a perfect dream, please can I stop here for a fortnight?

It is a shattered dream I’m afraid. The place is fully booked, you cannot stop here for a day.

I am disappointed but life goes on, some day my dream will come true.

I always knew I would return to the sea, and I kept the dream, and washed it now and then, like the shells on the bathroom windowsill.

I would savour the special moment and deeply breathe in the sea air again.

In the forties people used to appreciate the sea more so then. Now we take it for granted.

The end of rationing coupons and the beginning of sweets and fruits.

Which brought on the other problems on the health of children who were always fascinated by the sweets, creating a young generation overcome by bad tooth and gums.

War was bad but people made the best of it. And now we have peace and often we make the worst of it. When no one else is trying to destroy us, we begin to destroy ourselves. So everyday should be special, because life is precious.

Little babies on the beach with mothers

The work of twelve months

After a lot of sacrifices and hard saving they finally made it to the sun and are making the best of it.

Lots of fun and games for everyone on the sand.

Sometimes she dreams of lying peacefully alone on the sand.

She closes her eyes for a moment engulfed in the warm
glow of the sun,
the waves crashing,
transporting the waves.

Slowly towards her.

She feels so relaxed and calm,
her holiday has been really good,
but she feels that going home is what she needs to do.

Back to the family.

To the unseen, to the unknown, to the unborn, and the uncreated.

Although there were adults on the beach with her the child seemed so lonely by the serious look on her face. She wanted to play with the other children, but they would not let her.

Lorna bit her lip. She wanted to tell the adults, so that they would intervene, but that would make the children hate her even more. She sat down alone, digging her hands in the sand, the grains running through her small fleshy palms. One of the other children saw her sitting there, and went over to her. Sat down beside her. She did not say anything but started to play with the sand also. Lorna got up and started to run towards the sea. The other little girl, whose name was Jane started to run after her, they splashed each other in the sea, which helped to break the lie between them.

She saw the waves coming then swam and swam and went back to the beach where they had played in the sand and put their hands into the white rabbit’s pocket and pulled out time.

For kids on the beach playing in the sand and pulling out certain things from a white rabbit’s pocket there may be more than this. It’s like Alice in Wonderland. A beach of pure magic.

Cave born deckchairs and children, not dinosaurs, bathing beauties and babies.

In the beach – sun everyone was enjoying themselves. They all seemed so happy like one large family. But one little girl sat on her own, nobody talked to her.

It’s always other people who are together. It’s easier to look ‘together’.

She was given an ice cream. The soft creamy texture melted in her mouth, the moment lingered, the ice cream started to melt it was running down her hand but she did not notice, her mind was on what was going on around her. She was seven and came from Manchester, her name was Lisa. She was a bright child but could not mix with other children of her own age. Lisa enjoyed being by herself, watching and listening to what was going on.

Round Poem

Doris tried to sit on the sea
wall, but she fell forward.
It was the noise which had startled
her, a loud squawking, close to her
ear. She looked around but
could see nothing, now only aware
of the searing pain in her leg.
And Judy saw Doris fall and walked over
to her, saw that her leg was bleeding,
then Judy asked her name, Doris was
crying with the pain so she could not answer.
Did some one hear her crying and run to her rescue?
And they were lost sisters that were born as
twins and they healed the future.
They may not have been totally lost but temporarily
parted. They were overjoyed
to see each other again.
So all’s well that ends well.
Doris soon got better I’m glad to say.