The seaside

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;

And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

John Masefield – “Sea Fever”

Years ago on a family holiday in Cornwall, we sought shelter from a filthy, stormy day in a harbourside pub.  As I waited, dripping wet, at the bar to be served, two very weathered, impressively bearded and well-oiled old fishermen were talking about this poem and wondering aloud whether it was written by Keats or Yeats.  I didn’t bother to wade in and set them right.  To have done so would have seemed rude.

But from the first time I read it, I have always loved this poem.  The single, simple reason for this is that I love the seaside.  Not the bright neon lights, arcade machines and ever pervasive smell of candyfloss and chips seaside.  Rather, the secluded, scenic, fresh air of a beach with nothing between you and the horizon but a huge expanse of sea.  I love the sound of the waves, the gulls and the pebbles moving beneath my feet.  I love the smell of the salt air and the wind blowing into my face from the ocean, unhindered by any obstacle.

I love the seaside on a hot day, when there’s nothing to do but wander along a beach and let the sea lap at my toes.  I love the seaside in a heavy storm when you experience big weather in a way that isn’t possible in any other setting.

You might imagine that someone like me with a strong connection to the ocean might be a sailor, a fisherman or at least from a long line of people who were.  Sadly this isn’t the case.  So why, I ask myself for what must be the millionth time, do I live so far from it?

When I say far, it doesn’t get much farther.  The point in the UK which is furthest from the sea in any direction is in a field, not far from the village where I live.  I have lived my whole life to this point in the Midlands and my beloved seaside has always been several hours away by car.

One positive side effect of my unfortunate geographical choice of home is that the novelty of going to the seaside has never worn off.  In middle-age, I am unashamed to admit to a huge competitive streak when it comes to being the one to see the sea first on a journey there!  Being the driver has its advantages in this game.  One of very few with a carful of excited children, buzzing on Haribos. 

That said, I long to live near the coast.  Maybe one day I will, but maybe not.  Perhaps the realities of living near the sea would be disappointing after all that my many hours of fantasy have built it into being?

But one thing is true.  Whatever the future has in store in that regard I will never lose the longing, so eloquently expressed by John Masefield in his poem.  There’s a part of me that simply must go down to the sea again.

I can feel it calling me now.  Perhaps I should pack the car?