Tide, wind and sun persuaded us that lunch at Blackpool sands was the destination. But we had not checked the Dartmouth district entertainment schedule.
Our mid morning break was at Western Combe cove, which has been entirely cleared of sand by the winter storms.
But the narrow steps up to the coast path were still intact.
Then on under the cliffs to Blackpool, with the rocky contours picked out by the bright March sun.
Our destination was full of dogs, enjoying their last weekend of access to the beach with a ceremony of some sort, where the barking of the dogs was vastly overpowered by the voice of the master of ceremonies, borne by the wind half way back over the sea to Dartmouth. So we queued for our refreshment and then retreated to the steep shingle shore to listen to the repeated sharp grating of the pebbles under the bursting waves, so unforgettably described by Matthew Arnold in ‘Dover Beach’.
tim p