This morning, on a cloudy blustery day, I drove to
Morrisscastle
Beach, Co. Wexford. Through
Kilmuckridge
village we went and on past
Ann
Marie’s Castle Delights bakery and cafe where I’d enjoyed a coffee and cake
the previous day. The cafe is halfway along the road to the beach and her cakes
and buns are delicious. All along the sides of the road are entrances to
holiday home parks, not yet busy as the Irish schools have yet to break for
summer. We parked up, Buttons, my dog and I and then hopped out of the car,
straight into the company of two smaller dogs, returning from their walk.
“Wrap up warm,” said their owners so I fished my rain mac out of the car
boot and slipped it on. The wind was negligible in the car park and on the
wooden boardwalk to the beach but the moment we stepped out from the shelter of
the sand dunes the wind slapped us firmly in the face. I was blown a step
backwards and almost lost my footing for a moment. Peering ahead I could see a
mile or more of rolling sandy beach which presently was acting as a wind tunnel
as it blew a veritable storm of tiny sand granules along its length.
The beach was itself was bordered by grey foaming wild seas on my left and
tall vegetated sand dunes to my right. The lifeguard’s metal hut sat perched on
top of a dune, locked and deserted.
I braced myself, zipped up the rain mac to its fullest and let Buttons loose
on an almost deserted beach. You know, with a bit of sunshine and another
10 degrees you could be in Tenerife. But I knew that was just a bit of wishful
thinking.
We stepped out onto the firm white sand and walked into the teeth of the
gale, knowing full well it would be at our backs on the return trip. Buttons,
now released, scampered along the sand and stopped only to sniff anything he
could find, the detached leg of a large crab, a pink lump of seaweed, a broken
branch and stones, so many stones.
On we walked for about a kilometre, my face growing cold with the chilling
breeze and sore from the sand stinging my eyes. Slowly the figures in the
distance drew nearer and nearer until I had to summon Buttons and put back on
his leash.
There before us was a young Irish mammy and her two toddlers digging holes
in the sand and building sandcastles, all in splendid isolation. Armed only
with rain macs, wellingtons, one bucket and two spades the threesome
squirrelled out a good time from the damp sand in trying conditions. The mother
smiled back at me and there they stood, alone, determined to have a day out
regardless of the weather.
It made me smile and recall my own dear Mum who likewise burdened with young
children, for three months every summer, braved miserable weather to get us all
out onto the beach for a good time, whether we wanted to or not! The
alternative, she knew, was sitting in the caravan and refereeing four boys
knocking lumps out of each other. I know which option I would have chosen if I
were her.
The family were gone by the time we turned back. The sand storm was now
replaced by driving rain and with dark clouds gathering even the dog needed no
second prompting to make a run back to the car. But that’s all part of the
charm of Ireland. This time last year we had a heat wave. Life is never dull or
predictable on this tiny island.
