When the Seaside is Off Duty

To those of us who take our holiday in July or August, it comes as something of a shock to catch the seaside “off duty."

This week I have been spending a few days in North Wales and took the

opportunity to run over to one of the big seaside resorts. It was a grey

cheerless day, and as I came out on to the great sweep of promenade, its

emptiness seemed uncanny after the summer crowds. Shoulder to shoulder stood

the hotels and boarding houses, the Belle Vue and Waverleys thein windows ,

blank, their balconies deserted. Not a soul moved in or around the great

mass of the Pier Hotel save a solitary workman. As he climbed his ladder,

paintpot in hand, he seemed to accentuate other than relieve the desolation.

I walked to a vantage point and looked out over the bay of which the town

is justly proud, ‘Two valiant walkers strode where a few months back thousands

had sunned themselves. The famous sands were given over to the gulls, who

struggled over a titbit.

A handful of people near the Pier caught my eye, and with them I hung over

the railing. Two fishermen, wading ashore from a boat, were bringing in a

Chance catch of young codling. They were the only moving things on the whole

sealine and the little group watched them in silence. The brief excitement over, they as silently dispersed.

A Flaring poster at the Pier entrance caught my eye. it advertised a Carnival Dance, -a week hence. Today there was little of carnival about the pier, where a tired girl yawned in the box office, her sole clients some half dozen anglers who, with the instinct of their kind had posted themselves as far apart as possible, down the length of the Pier.

The cold grew more penetrating as the sun sank behind the hills, and I

turned back into the town past sign after sign which read “Closed for the winter

months.” A brightly lit cafe drew me. Here at Least was warmth and life,

But even this was only a brave pretence. Well spaced tables filled but a

quarter of the room, and from behind the curtains which hid the rest cane the

sound of hammering and a glimpse of passing workmen. The waitress made quick

apology for the disturbance. 

‘We shall have ‘ band again when the alterations are finished," she promised,

and sighed a little as she passed among her scattered customers. Tips are few

when only local housewives drop in for morning coffee or afternoon tea.

“The streets were darker and emptier as I came out, and I had an hour to fill.

What more natural than to drop into a Cinema? And yet, what more difficult?

“Matinees are for the summer Visitor, not for the resident, and the imposing

palaces were yet unlighted, “Continuous from 6.30" read the notice, again and

again, Wearily I trudged down the deserted roads. Arcadia offered a boarded

front, Modam Zazrah had left to read the palms of inland dwellers. Even the

automatic machines were hibernating, for my pennice dropped mournfully and |

brought no response.

It was with a feeling of profound relief that I hailed my bus, and left

the town to its well earned winter sleep. Next time I call it shall be when

she is dressed for visitors and her face bears its summer smile of welcome.