Outposts of Ocean
Beside the Seaside. Edited by Yvonne Cloud. (Stanley Nott. 7s. fid.) I HAVE always considered that people who frequent so-called " seaside resorts " do so in a spirit of lamentable levity. They no longer feel that reasonable respect for the sea which
kept their forebears inland. They ignore it. They even make use of it, for their health or their pleasure, as a different but equally unimpressionable tribe of holiday-makers uses the high Alps as a geographically well-planned playground.
Familiarity with the fringes of the sea has bred in these seaside enthusiasts a kindly contempt for it. They refer to it patronizingly as the " briny." It has been said that the sea must surely like being called ifiatiurcra. I am very sure that it resents being called the " briny."
I can sympathize with those who experience, at first sight, a decent distrust of the sea. Mr. Max Beerbohm, after his first encounter with the ocean, referred to it doubtfully as " the C.," and suspected that it was unwholesome. He was further prejudiced against it by the prevalence, on piers, of vulgar young women with lovely faces, of whom he complained bitterly that the lower orders ought not to be good-looking, on the grounds that it " brings beauty into disrepute." Mr.
Beerbohm, on this evidence, would be condemned to the category of snobs, pedants and superior persons whom Mr. James Laver denounces in his spirited advocacy of Blackpool. But Mr. Laver at least does the sea the honour of being impressed by it. Alone of the six members of this symposium, he recognizes the majesty and menace of the ocean, and admits that it was the natural cause of alarm and des- pondency in those who beheld it, until the era of disrespect for the great. Mr. Laver ingeniously attributes to the Romantic Movement this change of attitude. He argues that when mountains and seas ceased to be feared as sources of danger, or cursed as obstacles, and became fashionable objects of admiration, the notion of making use of them followed naturally. Mr. Laver seems to find nothing to regret in this.
Miss Antonia White writes about Brighton's Regency splendours in an agreeably feminine version of the Guedalla manner ; and she does her best for its modern charms. The transit from the historical past to the hysterical present is a trifle uneasy, but that is perhaps inevitable, because Brighton must be of all seaside resorts the most self-conscious, forever trying to live up to a tradition of unparalleled raffishness, and forever failing because raffishness in the grand manner is incompatible with pulmans, cafés, cocktails, Brighton rock, aquaria, sun-bathing, and all the other present-day attractions of the seaside.
Southend, on the other hand, has no traditions to speak of. Miss Kate O'Brien does her best to make out a case for an early eighteenth-century vogue for the place, when it was patronized by Queen Caroline and by Emma Hamilton—a sort of feminine retort to Regency Brighton. But the fact remains that Southend is mercifully devoid of any past glories, and having nothing to live up to, is free to be as ludi- crous and as exuberant and as jolly as it pleases—and remark- ably exuberant it would appear to be on Miss O'Brien's showing. She describes its jollity with immense gusto and a most engaging candour.
Mr. Malcolm Muggeridge is more sober in his treatment of Bournemouth, as befits that discreet and opulent health-resort. I am not sure that he has done the place much service by his sly insistence on its pomp and decorum—qualities not usually approved by patrons of the seaside—but his sarcasm is amusing.
Scarborough evokes the sad shade of Anne Brontii, and the less convincing wraiths of Edwardian rakes and dandies and persevering hostesses. It seems that the rugged inhabitants of Yorkshire today rollick on the Scarborough sandsundeterred by these melancholy memories, and plunge into the bitter North Sea with the same hardiness exhibited by the—pre- sumably less rugged—rollickers at Margate. Miss Yvonne Cloud deals handsomely with Margate. As exuberant as Southend, as opulent as Bournemouth, as bracing as Scar- borough, as rich in fun cities as Blackpool, and boasting a tradition almost as impressive as Brighton but less exacting— Margate is clearly an exhibition piece, and should be visited by those who make a point of visiting curiosities. For myself, I prefer to remain thoroughly well inland and, to read this most
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