Copyright oggbashan July 2021
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
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It was the mid-1960s. I had just moved into a flat a year after being at university for three years.
I was almost asleep, worn out by my girlfriend’s passionate lovemaking. We had been together for the last year at university and a year since then, but this was the first time we had been able to be in a bed together since I had moved out of my parents’ house into this basic flat above a shop in Orpington High Street. Before tonight unsatisfactory lovemaking had been in the cramped back seat of my car.
The flat needed work to make it from just a weatherproof abode into a home but I could afford the work and time over the next year or two once my finances had recovered from the setting up of the mortgage and the legal costs. But the location was ideal. It was only one hundred yards from the office where Monica and I work. Although I have an older car, I would only need it for leisure at weekends — when I could afford the petrol, unlike the twenty miles of commuting I had been doing every day. The flat might be large enough but wouldn’t be great for a family. The access was up an external staircase from the back yard where I could park my car. But it was a first step on the housing ladder.
Today, Sunday, Marion and I had been moving my things into the flat. Those stairs seemed to get longer and steeper with each item. She had bought us a Chinese takeaway and insisted that we had to try the new double bed which was the only item I had specifically purchased for the flat. Everything else was either from my bedroom at my parents, or hand-me-downs from the wider family. I was better set up than many of my friends were who were moving, or had, moved. I even had Marion-made curtains on every window.
I had been doing most of the carrying, while Marion sorted and put things away. After the meal I was shattered but Marion wanted to try the possibilities of the double bed. I showered and crawled into bed beside a naked Marion who rolled me on top of her.
Whether she stopped whenever I was at the point of no return or whether it was just that I was so tired, I don’t know. An hour later I still hadn’t come and couldn’t resist as Marion rolled me over and started bouncing on me. I think I came before I went to sleep. I might have done, I don’t remember anything until Marion brought me breakfast in bed on Monday morning.
“I’m pleased we have today and tomorrow off work,” Marion said. “You still look shattered.”
“Do you wonder?” I asked, “Apart from the humping and heaving there was a lot of humping last night as well.”
“And you didn’t perform at your best. You went to sleep. I think today should be a break. How about a trip to the seaside?”
“OK. Where?”
“You’ve mentioned Camber Sands before. I’ve never been there. How about Camber?”
“Depends on the weather. Can you get a paper from the newsagents? They’re two doors away.”
“Weather?”
“Camber Sands can be a literal pain if here is too much wind.”
Monica took far longer than I expected. When she returned I had a pile of items in the hall.
“So much?” she asked. “We’re not going to the Sahara, are we?”
“No, but Camber has few facilities. The toilets are in one place, usually overused and messy. I’m taking a tent because we would need somewhere to change and to shelter from the sun and sand.”
“Shelter from the sand? Why?”
“What’s the weather forecast?”
Marion opened the newspaper.
“Bright sunshine all day. Temperature about 25 maybe 28, medium to strong South Westerly wind.”
“We’ll need the tent, and you have better cover your legs. I’ll load everything and we’ll go via your parents’ house to collect your swimming thins. And — have you still got those old stockings you were going to stuff a cushion with?”
“Yes, why? I was going to throw them out because I found a bought stuffing material was better.”
“If there is a strong wind, tent pages on their own might not be enough.”
Half an hour later we were on the A21. It took half an hour to get through Sevenoaks and another forty-five minutes for Tonbridge, but once beyond Tonbridge the roads were fairly clear. We arrived at Camber Sands main car park at about eleven o’clock. Even then on a weekday the car park was two-thirds full. I unloaded everything I had packed into the car on to a wheelbarrow and we set off to go about two hundred yards from the car park.
We had to carry the wheelbarrow across the soft sand to the wet sand exposed by the retreating tide. Only then could we wheel it. The dry sand was like a mist about a foot high. Marion was wearing sandals and complaining that the sand was hurting her ankles. When we had unloaded she sheltered behind the heap of items as I erected the tent. I filled some of her old stockings with sand and used then around the tent pegs. Inside the tent I had a larger than necessary groundsheet. I attached the edge on the windward side about a foot up from the tent’s lower edge and used more filled stockings to hold it in place. Marion was grateful to get out of the wind and blowing sand.
After coffee from a Thermos we changed into our swimming things. We ran across the windblown sand to the wet area but some dry sand was still hurting our bare legs. We were pleased to get into the sea as the tide was returning. We swam for about half an hour and was just returning to the beach across one of the sand bars when a small boy stopped us.
“Please can you help me?” He asked.
“Why? What’s the problem?” Marion asked.
“I was playing football with some new friends when the tide came in behind us. They could all swim. I can’t and I was smaller than them. They’ve gone to find my parents, but they don’t know them. They only have my descriptions and…”
He waved his hand in the direction of the crowded beach with hundreds of people visible.
“I’m afraid this sand bar will be covered before they find my parents.”
“OK” I said. “We’ll take you to the beach. I can probably wade. If not? Both of us can swim it, even with you. Hop on my back.”
He climbed on my back. The water was just under chest deep with a current. Marion propped me up against the current but crossing the inlet was easy. We were nearly on the other side when two lifeguards came running towards us. I didn’t really need their help.
“Are you OK, Lad?” One of the lifeguards asked. “One of your friends had more sense than the others. He went to us instead of looking for your parents. If you hadn’t been rescued already we would have got to you in a minute.”
The boy was white-faced but grateful to be on shore.
“Thanks,” he said. “To all of you. I was worried. But here is my father…”
His father was running from about fifty yards away. He was out of breath when he arrived but scooped up his mon. When the father had his breath back he also thanked us.
“It was nothing,” I said. “Your son had sense enough to ask for help and it was very easy to bring him in.”
“But…” The father started to say.
“And if not? The lifeguards would have rescued him in a minute or two.” I continued. “You should be proud of him. He was in danger but he did the right thing. So did at least one of his friends.”
The lifeguards escorted all of us back to their hut and gave us all some strong tea. When Marion and I emerged, the wind was stronger and the wet sand that had been covered by the earlier tide was now dry. Instead of stinging sand a foot high, it was blowing almost up to our waists.
When we got to the tent, we tried to brush the sand that was covering our legs before entering. I started to blow up the double air mattress while Marion found our sandwiches from the cool box. Despite our efforts and using some water from our water bottles, we still had loose fine sand inside the tent. It was much better than it would have been on the exposed beach where even wind breaks didn’t provide much protection because the sand just whipped over the tops.
After lunch Marion wanted to make love on the air mattress. That was a disaster. I had sand on my tool. She had sand inside her. As we tried to couple, it hurt both of us and we had to stop within seconds.
“I can see what you mean about Camber Sands and the wind,” Marion said. “The sand gets everywhere even with a tent.”
She looked out of the tent door, under the canpy of the flysheet.
“The beach is emptying,” she announced.
“I’m not surprised.” I said. “The wind is getting stronger and the sand will be very painful. The café will be overflowing as people try to get away from the wind. It will be a literal pain to strike the tent and get back to the car — but if you put a couple of your old stockings, probably knee-highs, on your legs that might help.”
They did. Half an hour later we were back at my car, having loaded everything and trying to brush sand off our bodies and clothes. We were still uncomfortable as I drove back to my flat. Marion showered first. It took he r two rinses to remove Camber’s sands from her body. I had to lend her a track suit because all her clothes had sand in the material. She put them in a plastic bag after trying to shake the sand off outside the flat’s door.
When I too had showered she said:
“Camber Sands looks great. The swimming is good too. But that sand? It gets everywhere. I wouldn’t want to go back unless there is no wind at all.”
“And that is when it gets very crowded. Unless one if there very early it could be impossible to park or even to get withing a mile of the beach.”
“OK? Is there anywhere better?”
“Some of the beaches on the Isle of Thanet are sandy, but not such fine sand as at Camber. We could try next weekend.”
That night, sand-free, we made love satisfactorily. But we decided we would only go back to Camber if there was absolutely no wind. Sand in our private parts prevented sex and was irritating. The next day we went to Minnis Bay on the Isle of Thanet.
It was over a month before we returned to Camber on a day forecast to be windless. Even so we needed the tent to shelter from the fierce sun. That time we could make love without sand interfering.
Too much sand can be a literal pain.
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Author’s Note: Camber Sands is a popular long sandy beach but the fine sand can be painful in a wind. The incoming tide, sand bars and currents can be dangerous.and several people have drowned there in recent years, cut off by the tide. Other beaches on Romney March such as Dymchurch, Littlestone and Greatstone are also sandy, safer but harder to reach.