Irish Jesuit Province

At the SeasideAuthor(s): Emily HughesSource: The Irish Monthly, Vol. 69, No. 816 (Jun., 1941), pp. 309-311Published by: Irish Jesuit ProvinceStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20514900 .

Accessed: 15/06/2014 00:35

Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at .http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp

.JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range ofcontent in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new formsof scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org.

.

Irish Jesuit Province is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to The Irish Monthly.

http://www.jstor.org

This content downloaded from 91.229.229.210 on Sun, 15 Jun 2014 00:35:52 AMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

809

At the Seaside

By EMILY HUGHES.

cc \ EARLY-THERE, NEARLY-THERE, sang the train, going at a rhythmical gallop through deep cut tings w*ith walls of green grass. In no time at all they

would be at the station of that beloved seaside town. It was hard to believe that it had been lyinlg here all through the dark, school going winter, lying quiet and sunny, ready to take up again where it had left off last August, the long, enchanting story of summer. It was another world; it might almost be on some other planet, so different was it from the city which was only twenty-five miles away. Another world, with the sea dancing and crashing about its ears, w'itlh fields of green silk behind it, and a windmill-yes, there was the windmill, glimpsed from the carriage window, stationary and expansive against the breezy blue sky. The train changed its song to " Practically-there, practically-there ", and a moment later, with a triumphant

There and a shrill puffing whistle, drew up at the station. Tlhe road to the town was long, and ran between wide fields;

already the sea-smell was in the air, and the dust on the road was not so much dust as sand. In little groups the new arrivals strolled down the road, laughling as tihey recognised their luggage passing them by on rattling carts. The well-remembered land

marks began-the windmill again, even more impressive at close quarters; the humming telegraph poles, the stile, the national school, the town itself. New Street, Cross Street, Church Street opened ouit in a familiar maze. The houses were small, the streets wide and leisurely. Sunshine and the scent of melting tar and the sea-breeze swept cleanly along their length. Here

This content downloaded from 91.229.229.210 on Sun, 15 Jun 2014 00:35:52 AMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

310 THE IRISH MONTHLY

was the Obelisk, just as it had looked last year, with its iron rail ings plastered wit-h announcements of long-gone circuses. What a pity they hiad not becn here on April 21st and 22nd, when the

Merry Alacks " tad been performing at the Amtusements

h[all! Or even if they had been here in the first week of May, they would tiave been, in companv with the crowned heads of

Euirope, part of thie world-wide audience of Billy Carillo's Stuipendouis Circutis. Bult it was of no uise to repine about these lost ovportunities; there was so mluch to see, so mueh to do.

Trhis was the time for the elders to couint over the pieces of luggage and exclaim at what bad been unaccouintably left behind; to look dubliously at the furniture of the bedroomiis, to sweep all the landlady's photograplhs and ornaments from the sitting-roon

mantel.piece into somIe safe draver. to wvorry abouit getting in (oal, and1 nmilk, and other mnundane anid uininteresting natters. 'rThe child of the partv considered hilmself in the way in the house; the sunlight and soft nmtirmiur of the sea added much to this con viction. He slipped ouit with a wvooden spade rather shame facedlv tucked under his arm. There was a small pebbled garden in front, with a path ouitlined by drv, white sea-urchins, and the railings were painted white also. Thick dark green veronica bushes thrtist their glossy leaves ouit through the white bars, and their small pliumes of pturple flowers. The leaf-buds could be opened and opened for ever, he believed, if you had fingers small enough. His head bent over one of them, he

wandered on to the strand. First the sand was piled in high grey drifts, in which harsh grass and saltv sea-violets grew. He sank up to this ankles in it at every step. Long garlands of seaweed,

dry and black, curled and crackled under his feet. Here there were green garden seats, provided at regular intervals along the strand by a benevolent Local Improvements Committee. Then lhe cam-te to the tide mnark-, firm ".olden sand decorated with wide

This content downloaded from 91.229.229.210 on Sun, 15 Jun 2014 00:35:52 AMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

AT THE SEASIDE 311

scarves of shell and pebble, white, brown and pink. There were miles of strand, and in a kind of fever to make some use of some of it, he began to dig a castle. But this did not last long. The tide

was far out, and he walked out after it, shoeless and sockless, his

spade trailing behind him. Oh, the wvide, level world of sand that stretched away from him at every side! There were legends of people walking out to the Islands when the tide was far out like this, and being caught by it on its return, and ihaving to stay there all night. He paddled through warm shallow pools on the ridged sand. Already his arms had taken on a kind of crust of sand and salt, that was the very essence of the seaside.

He came uipon a fisherman with a lhorse and cart, digging for ground-bait with a real spade, not a wooden one. The sand he dug up, wet and heavy, stood at first in a conical pile, and then, oozing water, gradually settled into a flat, liquescent mud-pie, and finally became one w'ith the rest of the strand again. The child looked on, fascinated. He followed with his eye the long parallel track of the cart-wheels and the cupped holes made by the horses' hooves, leading back to the towvn over the shining damp sand. There in the dim distance, were ihome and tea, but it was too early to go in yet. He heaved a sigh, and did not know

why he had done so. le did not know that this golden after noon would remain with him all his life; he did not know that this was [happiness.

This content downloaded from 91.229.229.210 on Sun, 15 Jun 2014 00:35:52 AMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions