In the days before Health and Safety cosiderations, an afternoon's fun could be climbing on to the stone breakwater on the beach and then diving off it into the sea.
The Life of a Breakwater A walk on the sharp shingle led to where The dry, smooth surface felt warm to our feet, The pale grey stonework embedded in the beach. Those steps so broad and long led down into The calm sea. We paused, luxuriating Where the Summer sun caressed the concrete And the water washed languidly over The next step, a shallow paddling pool Of sun-warmed water. But then, the cold sea Brought a shiver as the sun hid its face With dark clouds predicting a future state. After long years, seen only at low tide, There are jagged teeth covered in green slime; This monument, discarded by progress When the old beach was sculpted and renewed, Lies hidden under the restless waves. High tide splashes along the shoreline and The smell of the sea air never changes.
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