In a break from the norm of my hectic creative life, this weekend I went to the HRH Festival in Great Yarmouth with my husband and a few friends. We’ve had a smashing time, discovering lots of new music*. Being more of an autumn person than a lover of hot, sunny weather, I love visiting the British seaside at this time of year and the festival is an additional excuse. It’s organised by Chic Festivals, who also organise Sci-Fi Weekender, where I performed earlier in the year doing some stand-up in the same show segment as magician and actor Victor Dorobantu (Thing, from Wednesday), and also hosting a panel on writing with author guests Paul Eccentric, Bryony Pearce and Anna Stephens, which was a proper giggle. I’ll be back there in March for more author talks!
Anyway, I have an affection for GY. In some areas it is a bit run down, and some people might not see much beauty or culture there beyond the flashing lights of the arcades (if you search for Trip Advisor reviews, “Great Yarmouth – What a Horrible Place” comes top), but I always seem to see wonderful things in places that others may miss. The writer in me loves to observe and reflect; the comedian in me loves to reveal these things to others in a funny way.
We arrived at our campsite in the tail end of Storm Ciarán. Although we were about a mile away from the sea front (much closer to the Yare estuary), the whipping winds on Thursday night, along with the thinness of the caravan shells, made it feel like we could almost be on the beach, listening to crashing waves sounding. A strange mix of comforting and disquieting. I wonder how many campers actually noticed. Maybe sounder sleepers didn’t hear a thing! We were much further north up the coast than the areas where the amber warnings had been issued, nonetheless the weather was horrible. It was going to be rainy and miserable again on Saturday, but there was a brief respite on Friday, so the gang headed to the seafront to experience the traditional fish and chips, crazy golf, and 2p arcade machines. Three of us also headed to the beach for a stroll.
The tide was not too far out, so we made our way to the foaming breakers that lapped against the shore. Before we got there, we almost stumbled into a steep drop, disguising the sea’s level like a ha ha in a formal garden. As the of the sand crumbled beneath our shoes, we realised that we were standing on a sort of sand cliff, previously carved out by the violent waters during the storm. We jumped a couple of feet down to the actual shore and turned to examine the phenomenon. You could see the exposed layers in the eroded sand.
Just like last year, as we got close to the sea’s edge, we could see a seal swimming about. They are rather dog-like when they stick their noses out of the water, so you have to squint a bit to see if they really are seals. Then of course, they dive under and don’t come back up for ages, if at all, which confirms it. The one we saw this year looked particularly big and dog-like. Possibly a black labrador, we thought. We saw it swimming off in the direction of the pier, so decided to walk in that direction to see if we could spot it again.
As we walked, we thought we would do a 2-minute tidy. It’s not a horrendously littered beach by any means, but there were shampoo bottle lids, and plastic shoes, and things that have no place being in the sea. I noticed something bright yellow lying among the shells and stones and laughed. Instantly recognisable, it was the lid from a Smarties tube. It was slightly split, but otherwise could have fallen on the beach yesterday. However I knew it was old, because it was round: the tubes have been hexagonal for years. I put it in my pocket, thinking, I’ll look that up later.
A few paces on, and my friend cried out. She’d spotted another one! Again, pristine, but with the old Rowntree logo on it. My husband remembered immediately that Nestlé had taken over the brand in the 90s, so we oohed over the find, wondering if this was a 90s, or even 80s lid!
We went to the nearby American diner – ironically for a cup of British tea – where I was able to don my specs and look up the lids on the old web. There are many sites built by collectors of these things. Some of them are very clunky to navigate, and perhaps someone with a bit more expertise or familiarity with the cataloguing sites may be able to correct my research, but I think I have been able to date these little bits of plastic.
The lid on the right has the word Smarties written twice around the edge of the lid separated by two pudgy dots. Due to the colour and lettering style I think this lid would have been available on packs between 1995 and 1997.
The Rowntree one: the logo is slightly pudgier than the original 50s one in this shape plus it has a letter on the back. The tab needs to be facing you to read the logo and away from you to read the letter. So, given these clues, I believe this lid dates back to…
…drumroll…
The 1960s!
Wow, what incredible vintage finds on the beach! And also, how awful, because at the end of the day they are just pieces of rubbish, too. It just goes to show how plastic gets everywhere. Usually though, if the plastic had been exposed to the waves I expect lids of this vintage may have already started wearing down to become ‘mermaid’s tears’. However, I think they must have been buried deep in the sand and only now become exposed by the storm. Maybe if we collected enough Smartie lids on the beach we could get them to spell “environmental disaster”. Although I haven’t made a terribly good start as I just have “tb”. That’s awful enough, I suppose.
Well, we continued our walk, under the boardwalk and out again, and saw two dog walkers ahead of us on the sand: one with a poodle, and the other with a little pug. Neither looked like they could be the head of the swimming creature we had seen.
Then, just behind the little pug, we saw it! It had come up onto the beach and was lifting its head, sniffing the air and having a good look round. A very distinctive seal shape, indeed. I couldn’t get my phone out in time to take a better picture than this (posted in video format below), alas, but it’s definitely a seal. A big one, too!
“Did you see that seal?” I said to the pug’s owner, as the seal disappeared back under the waves.
“Oh, there’s hundreds of them round here,” he said shrugging, then, pointing at the pug said, “He doesn’t like ’em. Always barks at ’em.”
Nothing so mundane to me. I thought it was a magical sight. I was very glad to have seen it. It’s awful that they should have to share their domain with our old caps, shoes, cans, and bottles, and all the rest of the detritus we’re spoiling the world with. We can’t leave it up to the seals to sort it out themselves, can we? What are they going to do, go flipping mad? That’s dolphins.
That poor seal. It’s never going to survive unless it gets a little crazy.
If you would like to find out more about the 2-minute beach clean campaign, you can do so here.
* New music, then. My favourite bands from this festival that I saw were Adam and the Metal Hawks, The Howling Tides, Gypsy Pistoleros, and Punk Rock Factory, who all gave excellently entertaining performances. I also liked the very hair metal band White Tygër from Birmingham and the Black Country. Basically I spoke to them for all of two minutes and then my accent came back thicker than gray pays and bacon. There were so many good bands. Sad I missed The Darker My Horizon and Muddi Brooke, but maybe next time?
