1981 School Magazine

Beach The earthy after-rain scent smelt good at the beach, she thought, pulling on her woolly jumper and flicking her hair back into the gusty ocean breeze. The sun suddenly gleamed through a gap in the clouds and made everything appear a curious shade of yellow, as she walked towards the sea. Her leet crunched through the rain-dimpled crust on the sand so that she left white footprints as she went. In front of her a gull landed momentarily on the smooth wet sand where the foam had only just slid away. She splashed out into the sea a little way but the water was icy and the salt stung her bare legs so she began to walk along the sand where the water covered only the soles of her feet. The cool wind blew her skirt against her legs and her feet made tiny short-lived indentations in the sand. The clouds had dispersed while she walked. Now she could see the clear straight line where the sea met the sky. She looked up at the sky. It was such a thick, soft, blue - she was sure that if she jumped from a cloud she'd drown in it. The sea, though, seemed as hard and as shallow as a sheet of slightly crumpled blue crepe paper. The beach was no longer deserted but she didn't really notice. A huge bulbous redjellyfish was washed up and she squatted, watching its thick gelatinous sides slowly stop heaving and its tentacles lying limp and useless on the sand. The walk had relaxed her. She felt soothed and contented as she looked up and gazed out across the calm ocean. "Ain't he dead yet?" anasal voice asked from behind her. She turned and saw a man in bathers leaning over the jellyfish, but gazing intently only at her. As she looked up he gave her a suggestive grin. " lt's dead", she said flatly, not turning again. But the serenity she'd lelt was shattered so she turned to face the long walk home. Lenore Taylor

Loneliness The echo of many voices

as the hands tick round the clock. The notes of wind upon the glass, or the leel of an early fog. Sitting on the beach at dusk watching the waves roll in. The mournful tone of a violin is in the weeping of a lonely child. J. Gardiner 9C

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