Life's A Beach

Caroline McLeod

The village of Gardenstown clings to the cliffs at the edge of the Moray Firth coast. The Firth stretches out before the village, a glittering, sparkling sea which runs as far as the eye can see. As an eight year old it was the best place to go on holiday, it was exotic, unfamiliar territory and it was precisely three miles away from home!

Our holiday home was at our Great Aunt Berta's house. Berta's house was in the village's seatown. For us to be dropped off, we had to be driven along the front of the seatown, which was no ordinary drive. Along your left hand side were the houses of the seatown tightly packed together in a long row, on the right hand side lay a steep drop to the sea. The only thing keeping you out of the water was a thin strip of road just about wide enough for a car. There was no barrier, no fence or edge built up to stop you falling off the other side. Known locally as the seawall, it was a hairy drive and I normally sat in the back with my hands over my eyes until we were safely parked up at the end of the road.

My two older sisters and I had been staying with Berta for a few days; it was glorious with no parents to fuss over us and no annoying little brother to spoil our fun. On this particular day we took to the beach, Berta waved us off and my sisters and I were soon running from rockpool to rockpool, to see what we could find. I could see nothing but limpets and seaweed, but my sisters found everything from starfish to small crabs and took great pleasure in trying to scare me with them, by chasing after me, crab in hand.

We raced each other up to the stream which rushed onto the beach, to see who could jump across to the other side without getting wet. Being youngest I was last to get to the stream and of course landed in the middle of it when I tried to jump across, much to the other two's amusement. We ran back to the sea and paddled and waded, playing games with the waves. All too soon it was time to head back to the house for lunch, but we consoled ourselves with the idea that we would come straight back, after an ice-cream or two!

Walking back to the end of the beach, which took us back up onto the seawall and the houses of the seatown, something very odd happened. My sisters and I were chatting away quite happily when three other girls from across the beach started to shout at us. We hadn't noticed them before then, as the beach had been quite empty all morning. At first we thought they might just be saying 'hello', but it soon became clear that they were shouting rather less pleasant greetings to us. According to these girls we appeared to be alien invaders on their beach. We may have lived only three miles away, but we may as well have come from the moon. The shouts and name calling continued as we walked up to the ramp and we got madder and madder as we started to shout back, 'get lost you stupid smelly pigs', was my retort and my sisters backed me up with equally childish shouts of anger.

As we reached the top of the seawall a full scale shouting match had broken out across the beach. I was furious at being called names and felt brave with my two big sisters around me, who were these girls to ruin my day and how dare they call us names?! I stepped forward ready to give them another lick of my tongue and an angry shake of my fist, as I took my tirading step forward my right foot failed to make contact with the edge of the seawall and I felt myself falling. In my blind fury I had failed to keep an eye on where I was standing and I had unbelievably managed to walk straight off the 15 foot drop. My sisters scrambled back down the nearby ramp and came running over to get me. Meanwhile I shook myself off and tried to take in what had just happened. Luckily I had landed between two great craggy rocks into the centre of a small soft patch of sand. What would have happened if I had fallen slightly to the left or slight to the right, is best not thought about.

Unsurprisingly our tormentors scarpered quick sharp and I was left to limp back to Berta's house with the help of my sisters. I begged the others not to tell about the girls. I felt acutely aware that I had behaved very badly and that I only had myself to blame. On our return, when quizzed about what had taken place, I could think of no rationale explanation and so came up with the extremely feeble and implausible line that I had slipped on a banana. A banana of all things! I was desperate not to get any of us into trouble and I guessed that if the adults found out the truth they might never let us go back, alone, to our fantastic beach playground again.

It turned out that my prize, for trying to shout the loudest with my clever retorts, was a broken wrist. Never has the phrase, 'pride comes before a fall' been truer!