A seaside town in winter

The once happy and joyful seaside town was now a ghost town. Desolate, deserted and desperate for people to play with again, for children to laugh and splash about in the sea, to build castles in the sand and throw beach balls to one another. Instead, the beach was bare and abandoned, lifeless and still. As I stood at the edge of the sea, the wind whipping my hair about my face and howling viciously around me, I found it hard to picture this violent scene a couple of months ago when the sand glistened like a million diamonds in the hot summer sun and the sky was a beautiful blue, so calm and clear. Now it was a different story. A seaside town in winter is a whole new world.

The wind was crisp, cold and cruel, knocking people’s hats from their heads and sweeping sand into their eyes. Under the pier I saw a young girl, a victim of the wind’s cruelty, chasing after her scarf that had been whisked away and stolen from around her neck. She tripped and tumbled over rocks and pools of water in the sand where children had been digging in the summer. Litter danced around with the leaves and the dryer sand further up the beach, as an old couple huddled together on they’re morning stroll along the promenade, scarves covering their mouths to protect they’re necks from the biting wind. The heavy rain clouds drifted slowly over head, dark grey and rumbling as they passed. A weak, orange sun hung low in the sky, cowering into the sea in the distant horizon, intimidated by the grumbling, angry clouds that moaned as they rolled along in the dull sky. A fine mist cloaked the town like an eerie, ancestral spectre, watching, waiting in hope that one day, the sun will once again burst through the clouds and the miserable, dejected seaside town will be content and full of life once more.

The sea was a hungry lion, pouncing and snatching all that lay upon the brown, soggy sand. Lollipop sticks, fish and chips wrappers, sun cream bottles, broken buckets and spades, all drawn into the large mouth of the hungry beast. Crashing against the shore, small waves washed the night’s debris onto the land and cowardly backed away before anyone saw who had left the discarded wreckage scattered about on the silent beach. I sunk into the sand as I walked and it squelched underfoot as I did so, grey and soggy, oozing through the cracks in the souls of my shoes and soaking my socks. A young woman was having the same trouble as I was; she padded slowly across the boggy, coffee carpet trying to keep up with her puppy as he bounded along the coast, free and happy. Out to sea I spotted a small boat, being dragged by the current further and further into the horizon, sure to have no escape when the shore is no longer visible, trapped forever in the watery grave.

Shops stood lined up along the promenade like soldiers ready for inspection. They were dead to the world, unresponsive and motionless, bordered up with paint peeling on the doors, thick layers of dust sat on the window sills and each were labelled with ‘closed’ signs.... hung from the inside, showing they were useless and pathetic excuses for seaside shops because they held no joyful surprises inside in winter, only broken bits and pieces caked in dirt and grime. Gulls shrieked and circled overhead like vultures, searching for unwanted food left about on the pavement. They dived through the air when they spotted a fish and chip wrapper, (still containing a couple of chips) perched on the edge of the low wall that surrounded the beach. They all squabbled over it and flapped about angrily at each other, meanwhile I glanced over to the uninhabited fairground. The rides sat still, sleeping and wrapped up in their winter jackets, hibernating and awaiting the return of the cheerful visitors that will enliven the seaside town once again with their ecstatic faces and colourful clothing. The horses on the merry-go-round creaked and rattled in the strong winds and were beginning to rust from the endless days of heavy rain that had hammered against their bodies. Rollercoaster’s looked unsafe in winter. The darkness combined with the noises of the rides in the wind, made the fairground a frightening scene to look upon, like something out of a horror movie. All signs scream ‘don’t go in’ but something draws you inside, pulls you into the trap as you feel you need to investigate the forsaken place, to find what lurks within the grounds ready to pounce.

The night was drawing near. Enclosing around me, changing the atmosphere from slightly angered to spiteful and enraged. The wind was harsh, throwing the litter about and chucking it at passers by. The sea crashed merciless against the eroding cliff face, stealing chunks of rock as it striked repeatedly. The cold air was bitter, as it wrapped itself around my body, ripping any warmth I had left from me.

A seaside town in winter really is a whole new world. A different scene completely, with mixed emotions. Ruthless, vicious and vindictive, something you could never imagine if you were to stand on a beach in summer with the sweat dripping from your face in the heat of the sun and small children laughing and playing in sand and water around you. A seaside town in winter is a fascinating scene to gaze upon.