Down To The Sea

Writing with children

In my post last week I mentioned the fact that I am working on a special project with a class of Year 5 pupils who attend the school where I began my teaching career back in 1983. We spent a day looking at a handful of poems, one by Michael Rosen, others by Wes Magee, James Reeves, John Foster and finally one by me. The poems had one thing in common- they all focused on the sea in some way. This is because the Dorset Museum is holding an exhibition to mark the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the birth of Jane Austen. The exhibition is called Down To The Sea.

Weymouth and Lyme Regis became resorts during the late 17th and early 19th Centuries. In the case of Weymouth, the spot was made popular because George III used to sea bathe there. There’s a wonderful painting of him, complete with a wind band and a liveried footman entering the water. The band are fully clothed! Behind him on the esplanade there are canons being fired in celebration. There’s at least one bare bottom on show and you can imagine the fun the kids had interrogating this snapshot of history. We discussed who, at the time of Jane Austen came to towns like Weymouth and why. We talked about our own experiences of going down to the sea.

We have so far written list poems, ones about King George bathing and others about what we leave behind us after a visit to the sea. In passing we have discussed alliteration, assonance, onomatopoeia and much more. We have talked about the importance of verbs in poems. They need some guidance about line breaks but these children are just brilliant and also very insightful. Next week we have our final session where they put their will bring their talents to responding to artwork done by some of their Year 8 colleagues who have also been exploring the idea of down to the sea. Expect haibun, haiku, list poems and imagism. Meanwhile here are the two poems I wrote to try and demonstrate some of what I wanted them to do.

Things I Left Behind At The Beach

A pearl earring that must have fallen out

while I was swimming.

I watched a hermit crab tug it

into the safety of its shell;

my winter skin. The sun and the salt sea

have crisped it to a light brown.

According to my friends I am looking well.

Maybe I believe them.

There’s a single drop of my blood

on the razor shell that lived up to its name,

edges sharper than broken glass. It has joined

my essence to the essence of the sea.

At the water’s edge there is a small piece

of my heart, disguised as a pebble.

It rolls with the tide, a tiny longshore drift.

I try to not to feel its tug.

My sense of adventure has saddled up

a sea horse and even now is giddying

and galloping through sea grass, while

I sit quietly at home.

A Day At The Seaside

We go down to the Esplanade; the sun is shining, the sky a perfect shade of blue. The air is fresh,    still has that Spring nip in it but there are people everywhere:  children digging,    scooping sand to build moats and castles,  lollipop sticks and seaweed for makeshift flags.  There are dogs living their best lives on the beach, charging along the shoreline,  running for balls and frisbees,  fetching bits of driftwood for their people to throw.  We find a kiosk, order coffee, sit at a picnic bench, watch the world go by.   Little boats with white sails tack across the bay, a man and woman wince into the sea, flinch at every little wave as they step out further, further out until - yay! yay!  They take the plunge, all shrieks and whooping.   We walk on towards the pier and ice-cream.   Maple syrup and pecan, Madagascan vanilla, chocolate chip, crammed in crisp, caramel flavoured cones.  Seagulls eye them, we use our free hands to ward them off.  Sea-side morning, everything  buzzing; blue, sunny, glistening, nippy.  April by the sea.

Skipping seaside song

the scents and flavours of spring

mingle on the beach