A Seaside Resort at Night

The sand is still warm, the tiny grains run in an out between one's toes. Children, the patient and tired donkeys, the boatmen with their "trips round the bay, only fifty pilasters" cry have all gone. The little boy who spent the morning building a castle is asleep. And the sea, silver under the summer moon, laps gently at its walls. The shrieks and laughs from a group of bathers float across the sands. A man throws a stick far out into the waves and his dog retrieves it, covering his master with salty spray. On the jetty, an angler bats his hooks and waits.

The night sea is busy. Boatmen and fishermen prepare for the next day. Nets receive careful attention. Heavy diesel engines pulsate softly in the dark as a trawler noses its way out of the harbor for a lonely night's fishing a few miles off shore, its cabin and masthead lights glimmering faintly. Out at sea, are the light ships and maker buoys, stationary amongst the numerous moving lights of ships. Freighters and   tramps, trawlers and liners pass quietly in the night. The rest of the harbor is still. Yachts stripped of their sails swing and yaw in the tidal currents, and softly bump together. Cabin crusers are deserted, their owners being day time sailors only.

As the night wares on in the resort, small shopkeepers begin to put up the shutters. The fun fair stops as numbers dwindle. Coffee bars and ice cream parlors remain open to catch the last lingering trade. Dance halls are also late to close but last of all are the discotheques. As the first trawlers dock and the men set up the stalls for the morning fish auction, the last of the holiday makers slowly wend their way to their hotels and loggings. Only the litter blows low along the streets and even this will be gone by daybreak, swept up by the street cleaners or carried into the sea