It was the sand that first attracted me. A child of Kent knowing many pebbles this soft golden Essex sand broke all my preconceptions of a UK beach.  The North Sea wavelets rhythmically sweep it from flat expanse to rippled undulation, and back again.  The groynes and concrete slabs are undercut, leaving reflecting pools and pockets of water. It is far enough away from large human populations to be quieter than more accessible beaches.

These unique qualities have brought it love.  It is used for baptisms.  It makes you feel exuberant and well in spirit and physique.  It changes every day.  It never changes.  Like best friends, the sea and the beach need each other – the sea comes in and washes the beach and the beach just lies there, waiting for the next big pamper-day; they are inseparable, interlocked, co-dependent, an eco-system; and so, after time here, we come to understand how we are, what we are and where we are going.

It’s free to park so cars line the Esplanade like gleaming beetles roasting in the sun.  A kaleidoscope of infinite parasols bloom for a day along the shore.  After a busy summer holiday, the bins are rammed – the beach feels used, and it will be, again and again and again.  Skim boards, buckets, spades, balls and picnic chairs are the debris piled up and left behind.  The council cleans and tidies and it becomes immaculate again.  Engineers succeed in retaining the beach, they save our collective hoard of golden sand, logically barrier-building in a predictably shifting landscape.

I once found a note in a mother’s diary that mentioned finding a cottage by the sea; to know that these sanctuaries do exist is important for seeking and finding sanity in a hectic world – I dream Mile 194 will still offer that reality for people in the times to come.

By Jane Ostler-Barnett