First sunny day for a week, but a high wind too, and drama on the beach: huge waves dumping thousands of tonnes of water on the shore, high tide, long swell, bad undertow, and there between the waves two swimmers thrashing about – at first I thought they must be surfers but if they did have boards they’d both lost them in the breakers.
Watching them being swept further and further out, with little chance of being able to swim their way through the hundred feet of dragging white water between them and the beach, it began to look as if we were going to have to watch them drown; people were already running along the beach and watching from the streets above; reaching into my pocket I realised I hadn’t even got my mobile, but then a police car raced up to the top of the breakwater and policemen in high-visibility vests were running down to the huddle of people on the beach.
Long minutes while nothing seemed to happen, and only one swimmer’s head could still be seen, going under then coming up again and sometimes waving an arm; and then finally here came the cavalry, as the coastguard helicopter reared up from behind the beach, swung round overhead while everyone below gestured out into the waves where the swimmer was, then in a matter of a minute it was hovering overhead, winching down the paramedic, who seemed to take only a few seconds to pluck the bedraggled swimmer out of the churning sea.
And off they went, leaving the beach clustered with onlookers and, amazingly, the second swimmer, who had somehow battled his way back through the surf and the exploding waves, to huddle together with his chastened, helpless friends.
