Her first paddle in the Firth

©Peter Tilbrook

I’m standing on the raised beach, idly watching a family of three small girls playing excitedly on the sandy shore. Barefoot, they run up and down to the distant waves, their long hair streaming behind them, their shouts and cries carried to me on the breeze.

Half close my eyes and I’m transported back more than fifty years.  I’m on holiday in Donegal, Ireland, with my two elder sisters. We’re on a chilly beach, the sea some way off as the tide is out. We’re wearing bobbly nylon swimsuits that tie around the neck, our short hair parted down the middle, held back by two kirby grips. My sisters dance and prance, play hopscotch and race to the sea’s edge and back, daring the waves to catch them. They’re calling to me.

Rooted to the spot, shivering not just from the chilly wind, I’m scared stiff. I’m gazing at the many worm casts blocking my route. How can I join in the fun and games? How can I paddle and splash as I’ve longed to do all holiday, without treading on these repellent structures? For I’m convinced that each one contains a coiled up worm ready to do something terrible to me if I touch it with my bare feet. I’m frozen with fear and revulsion, aware that I’m being babyish, yet unable to conquer this irrational dread and join my sisters.

Then two people – possibly my parents – take my arms and fly me down towards the others, my feet retracted like an aircraft’s wheels. The relief is palpable: the sand is smooth again beneath the water. I am paddling. For the moment I feel safe, though my earlier dread of the worm casts is soon replaced by fear of the seaweed swirling around my ankles and the prospect of sea creatures touching my toes.

I can smile now at my dimly-remembered childhood terrors. Watching these carefree girls on the beach today I’m glad that my own children and now two of my grandchildren have had the privilege of living by the sea in Cromarty. For me, an urban child, the sea and the shore represented both mythical magic and unspeakable fears. For my family, however, it’s a familiar environment – one that brings only confident pleasure, not irrational dread.

Childhood terrors – by Fran Tilbrook, 31 years in Cromarty.