SandCastleS

 SandCastleS

By Chris Mathews    

        The first time I saw the sea I thought I was standing on the very edge of the world. I asked my dad, “does it go on forever, or just tumble over the rim in a great waterfall far away?”

“No, but somewhere over there is another land, thousands of miles away. They speak a strange language and it’s so hot some of them don’t were clothes.”

“But why is the sky so big, it’s much bigger here than in London.” My dad turned away with a chuckle and set up the deck chairs. I had only just turned six and this was my first holiday, the first time out of London. I loved the train ride down to the seaside, the whole world flashed by like a film seen through the windows of our carriage. It’s a shame they don’t have steam trains anymore.

Thundering, great waves crashed onto the beach. Warm soft sand squelched between my toes, like stepping into warm boots on a cold snowy day. There I stood, looking out over a vast expanse of gold, wriggling my toes, enjoying the sensation.

My older brother ran ahead, leaping for joy and shouting excitedly. With a cricket stump, he wrote his name in the sand in giant letters. He looked up at an aeroplane miles above us and shouted, “It’s me - Stephen - I’m on holiday - in Littlehampton!” But the plane just ignored him, and flew on. He ran into the breaking surf without bothering to change into his trunks. Turning back to me he shouted,

“Come and splash in the waves it’s wonderful!” Mum shouted something about changing into swimming trunks… but the rest was lost in the wind, anyway, he was having too much fun to listen. I stood there amazed at the sight.  Stephen was almost nine, he had seen the sea before, but to me it was astonishing. Andrew was only four and still just a baby!

Back home, we sometimes sailed pond yachts on the Round Pond in Kensington Gardens, but, compared to this, that seems like a puddle. Staring at the vast blue ocean, I asked of no one in particular,

“Where did all that water come from.” Dad laughed and said,

“That’s where all the rain goes, silly.”

Finally, Stephen’s infectious joy overtook my amazement, and I too ran out into the sea, but only up to my ankles. It was freezing! I drew back quickly as a cold wave rushed at me splashing my knees. I fell over. Funny how you can’t keep your balance when the water is moving beneath you.

Dad set up the wind brakes, umbrellas, towels and a tablecloth. Mum laid out a thermos, sandwiches and little cakes. Dad tied the corners of his handkerchief to make a sort of sun hat, we all laughed at him, but he didn’t care. He just sat back in his deckchair smiling at the sun, and eating a sandwich. Mum handed me a bucket and spade, but my older brother was already building a sandcastle. I dropped to my hands and knees, which plunged deep into the warm soft sand. It was like the golden-brown sugar my mum used for baking. I was allowed to help in the kitchen sometimes. Andrew tried a mouthful of sand, pulled an ugly face and spat it out.  Stephen built a big mound like a hill.

“All castles have to be built on a hill, because the invading army gets tired out climbing it, and then they can’t fight!” He made a flat top by pounding the mound with his spade.

I too began to build. Soon, six round towers and a wall around enclosed the space inside. Stephen said, “we need a portcullis, and a drawbridge to keep invaders out!”

My dad called out, “you’ve got to have a mote; every castle needs one to defend itself against invasion.” So, we dug a trench all the way around, which slowly began to fill with water.

“Perfect, it looks like a real castle now!”

After eating sandy sandwiches and drinking too much Tizer and Ginger Beer, Dad made some flags out of lolly sticks and sweet wrappers.

Two boys from further up the beach came to join in, one said, “we can be the Saracens - I’m Suliman the Magnificent and this is a Templar fortress. You three can be medieval knights. We are going to build Trebuchet’s to break down your castle.”

“What’s a trebuchet?” I asked.

“Big wooden siege engines” Said one with a mouthful of cake mum gave him. “The Saracens used them to throw big rocks to smash the castles walls.” These boys were much older than me.

My dad solemnly said, “kneel, Sir Stephen.” And placed the red and white bucket on Stephen’s head, he knighted him there on the sand with his spade. “Take this mighty sword and with your fellow knights defend my kingdom.” Andrew sat inside and was given the title, “Keeper of the Kings Castle.”

Soon, some of the towers began to collapse, my brother shouted,

“Quick, repair the south turret, reinforced the drawbridge, rebuild the walls!” We all pattered down the wet sand to compact it. But the incoming tide did more damage than the tiny stones those boys flicked from their lolly stick trebuchets. The tide was coming nearer.

Dad said, “you need to build a dam against the waves.” We all worked franticly to save the castle. But the sea lapped into out feeble mote, and undermined the towers, which slumped back into the sand. Mum shouted above the sound of the surf, “quick dad, get your camera and take a picture.” But eventually the inevitable happened, as waves washed away our childhood.

Finally, dad said looking at the remains, “sorry boys, you can’t stop the tide. Just ask King Canute, he should know. Remember your Sunday School lessons, the wise man builds his house upon the rock, but the fool builds his house upon the sand.”

Running down to the beach the next day I saw that, nothing beside remains round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare but the lone and level sands stretch far away. Only a few lolly stick flags were left sticking up out of the sand.

Looking at this grainy black-and-white photograph now, three proud little boys stare grinning back at me, I try hard to remember who they were. On the back was written Littlehampton 1962. I wonder where those boys are now.

 

© Christopher Mathews, May 2026