There was much debris on the high spring tide: seaweed of course, and the occasional tree branch brought down by most unsettled August weather, and one plank. Some of it stopped at Clevedon Beach, some of it continued its journey down the Bristol Channel. But the plank was not a newcomer to these waters; it had already acquired a number of passengers in the form of small barnacles.
We saw it from the water as it nudged at the shore. Hilary, with an eye for useful things, had noticed it, and was already contemplating taking it home with her. Some children helped it to beach, but then abandoned it, and by the time we finished our swim around the Pier, the plank was tentatively moving on down the channel.
The rest of us dressed while watching with amusement as Hilary waded back into the water and dragged the plank properly up the beach, then proceeded to walk along it, heel to toe, heel to toe, from one end to the other. I ambled down.
“13 or 14 feet”, she said. A big plank. Bigger than we’d imagined from a distance: A solid, sturdy scaffolding plank.
“Oh”, I said, “…measuring it! I thought you were just walking along it for fun”. Because I would have.
Hilary had in mind to make a table, and here was a plank, delivered by the sea. But rather too much plank at once. Too long for Hilary’s van. She lamented that she didn’t carry a saw in her van. Chris joined us and said he carried a saw in his car in case he needed to fix the rear lights. We didn’t like to ask.
Chris, however, had not come in his car: he had arrived with Lucy.
“It’s not going in my car.” said Lucy firmly, safe in the knowledge that it would need to be in many more pieces for it to fit in her car, and we were still without a saw between us.
And so we discussed the plank, the barnacles, woodworking projects, scaffolders and the hazards of a scaffolding without an essential plank. And the advantages, with hindsight, of carrying a saw. And though no table was made, we still had good use out of that plank for half an hour’s constructive faffing and an object of contemplation.
We left it on the beach, and I cannot tell you if it ever did become a table, or may yet, in the future.
WaterDrawn 