Beach Magic
And Happy International Women's Day
I was planning to write something relevant to today’s date - March 8th - International Women’s Day.
All sorts of things ran through my mind but none of them felt right. I dug through my photos. I rummaged through my memories. I interrogated my feelings. Each idea seemed wrong and then, belatedly of course, I eventually looked into my giant gender blind spot and I instantly realised why.
It’s not for me to say what International Women’s Day is about. This is not my day.
So I will simply say: Happy International Women’s Day to all my Sisters. The current fucked up state of the world is largely due to people of my own gender, and as penis shaped missiles rain down across the Middle East - mainly (as always) on entirely innocent civilians - the symbolism of that utter madness is impossible to ignore.
I know, too, that the current woeful war-fest is just the most obvious and media grabbing manifestation of a far wider and more pernicious problem. The clear eyed rebecca hooper details the wider issues in her excellent recent post: “The Boy’s Club.” I recommend it to you - especially to my Brothers.
And I’m not claiming perfection either. This is not a problem any man can walk away from.
So what did I write today?
Well, today I went back to a piece I started a long time ago and was never able to finish. Sometimes, you just have to let your thoughts find their own way, in their own time.
I recently renewed my friendship with someone who was extremely important to me when we were both “even younger than we are now” - as I am prone to say - a former school friend in fact.
My friend has been reading my work here on Substack and remarked in a message that she is impressed (or was that “surprised” or “bemused” - maybe “impressed” is just what I was hoping she would say) by the range of subjects I find to write about.
Which did make me reflect on that. I don’t usually think of a topic in advance. When I do - as with International Women’s Day - it’s usually a mistake. I write about whatever seems important to me once I start writing, and I often surprise myself, but not all of that - and not all of my past writing - appears here on Substack.
I realise that very few of my poems about parenting, or my children, are here for others to read. My poem “Alice Springs” is one exception.
I think this is because I tend to respect their privacy but (although I have not always been good at it) - my role and my experiences as a parent are vitally important to me - so today I pulled out, and finally finished, a poem I started to write when my children were young and when one of our favourite things to do was to go play on a beach.
Just a few weeks ago I was back at the same beach where I started the poem. This time I was with my gorgeous Son Julian, now very grown up indeed, and his radiant, vibrant Daughter, my Granddaughter Persephone. A week after that I was again at the beach as the sole (hopefully responsible) adult, with Persephone and my other two Grandchildren - Fergus and Hazel - the dynamic and delightful children of my Step Daughter Andrea.
So to me it feels as if I have completed a circuit - an orbit around my own life as a parent.
The photos and words below are my little celebration of that lap. I hope you enjoy them.
Beach Magic.
The causeway curves down
the spine of the beach -
the bright yellow sun
morning hoisted,
lifted high then
rolled down
the ramp
of the
sky.
It is
afternoon
already as I watch
my children tumble out
upon the sand - spilt dice scattered
from a cup - all future potentials and uncertainty.
Foot steps scatter,
random as they run,
leaving shallow
prints for me to follow -
tracking, collecting
discarded shoes and
windblown hats,
bottles and shells -
dreams and driftwood;
treasures of the sea
in strange patterns
and permutations,
all left for me.
This map of my memory has no scale, no North, no South, only the blood Geography of belonging: the plain of the beach, the paths of our feet, the mountain of sand I pile up with my large hands while my children look on admiringly. The moat that I gouge. The high round wall for holding back the sea.... I dig a deep, deep hole way down for my children to watch how the water wells up; dry sand liquifying, now deliquescent, the salt sea appearing below as if through some strange conjury....
The title “Beach Magic” just occurred to me, but is probably inspired by the astoundingly gorgeous children’s book “Magic Beach” created by the Australian author and Artist, Alison Lester. It was an enormous favourite of my children, and now my Granddaughter Persephone has a copy.
If you have a young human who loves the ocean there is no better present:
https://alisonlester.com/products/magicbeachbooks?variant=610720301
Magic Beach was recently named Australia’s best children’s picture book:
https://www.theguardian.com/books/2026/feb/05/alison-lester-magic-beach-best-australia-children-picture-book
thank you:) I love that beach and look forward to similar days when our first granddaughter is finally here! Many of us women do feel great tenderness's for all the good men who carry the stigmata of all the power abuses. We love you and need you. As do the children. XX
Wonderful. I smelt the sea & felt the sand. 👏👏🙏