Flung Spray and Blown Spume

When I was a kid, I loved John Masefield's poem 'Sea Fever' and today I was reminded of the lines -

'...And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung sprayand the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.' 

In Brighton & Hove we are battening down for what is forecast to be the worst storm for years, with possible hurricane-force winds. Already, about a day before the worst is due to hit us, the winds are strengthening, the seagulls have disappeared, great rollers are crashing onto the shore and spray and spume is leaving the water's edge carpeted in white - like an early shower of snow.

 

For the kids, it was a great oppportunity to play in the spume...

 

 

And for at least one brave (or foolish) adult, it was a chance to paddle in the freezing waters...

 

 

There is something elemental and awesome about the power of nature. It's easy to get lulled into thinking that nature is something that is there for our benefit, that we can exploit it or do with it as we please. After all, we build bridges and roads, dam rivers, reclaim land from the sea, mine oil from the depths, move effortlessly through the skies and the oceans.  

 

And then the tsunami, earthquake, flood or hurricane strikes and we are reminded that we are not masters of our fate. I've sat through quite a few typhoons in Asia, even experienced a couple of (small)  earthquakes in Tokyo, but the most frightening experience I've had was the last hurricane to strike England - the Great Storm of 1987, 26 years ago.

 

I was living in a small block of flats in the centre of Hove then and found it impossible to sleep with the shrieking of the wind and the mysterious crashes and bangs outside. The worst point was when the entire building trembled and shook with the fury of the wind. At least in Asia buildings are constructed to withstand periodic earthquakes, but not, I suspect, in Hove - hurricanes and earthquakes are simply un-English!

 

When dawn eventually arrived I tried to listen to several stations on my portable radio but there was no reception, just crackling and static; I imagine the local transmitters had been knocked out. It felt very much like the end of the world...Later that morning I drove around and saw plenty of felled trees, damaged signs, tumbled walls and, out in Peacehaven on the coast road, several houses with roofs torn off.  

 

I hope it's nothing like that tomorrow. In the meantime, the 124-year-old Palace Pier is majestically surfing the waves..

 

Our other pier - rather, what is left of our other pier - the West Pier, looking like the remains of a giant birdcage, is grimly hanging on. It is even older than the Palace Pier, being built 147 years ago but it was closed in 1975 and, since then, two fires and several storms have reduced the remains to the sad and jumbled mess of girders it is today. There will probably be even less of it by daybreak tomorrow. 

 

 

   But, remember, even in the midst of the storm, we are not alone.