British Beaches Brushing up on...

"I must go down to the sea again to the lonely sea and the sky.

"I left my shoes and socks there, I wonder if they're dry."

Spike Milligan wrote that,

and I think its meaning is as true today as it's ever been.

Inspired by those words, tonight we shall look back on how we have

chronicled this island's fringes on film.

We were going to call it Coast but frustratingly there has

already been a series called that,

so I suggested Danny Baker Meets Sandy Shore

but I'm told that just sounds like a talk show that nobody wants.

So we decided on...

The sea we know is a harsh mistress.

The land it follows must be her long-suffering lover.

So where does it leave that bit in the middle, the beach?

Sometimes it's part of the sea, sometimes it's part of the land.

Sort of a one-night stand in this topographic menage a trois.

Over the next half hour we finally intend to hold this shifty stretch

accountable and say, "Come on, beach -

"quit sitting on the fence, wet or dry?"

And who the hell do you think you are?

Ever since the first humans crawled from the oceans

hundreds of years ago, we've realised what a terrible

blunder that was and have been trying to get back, but we can't.

We traded our gills for lungs and apparently evolution has a stricter

returns policy than Amazon after you've taken the shrink wrap off a

DVD before realising you've already got that one on the shelf upstairs.

They should make the covers of them Fast And Furious films completely

different from each other so you don't waste your money like that.

Sorry, we seem to have veered off topic a bit!

Anyway...we've accepted defeat

when it comes to living in the ocean once more and so,

simply get as close to it as we can these days and, well, hang out.

Like Mick Webb, who's masterminding the biggest hole in Margate,

the grown-ups tend to say they're only doing it for the kids.

It's...uh...for the kids really I suppose...well, me!

I like it as much as the kids. I don't know, it's freedom, isn't it?

You're stuck in the house, you know, in the row of houses.

Looking over the next door neighbour's garden and that

and there's a sort of freeness, you know,

you sort of just do what you like - kind of run down to the beach.

Everyone wears funny hats and that. If you were sort of walking down

your high street like it they'd say, "Look at that funny person there."

But they just don't bother, do they?

When you're out down the seaside on holiday or anything.

Now, normally... What's the time now?

We'd be sitting down eating our Sunday roast. You know?

It's clockwork, you know?

Half past eight, nine o'clock, it's breakfast.

Half past one is dinner. 5:30 is tea.

Kids to bed, and we're down there to watch Stars On Sunday

kind of thing, just as it ends.

And, this is the difference, right, we have a cheese roll,

we get on the old... Get on the old...train, come down here,

we go home tonight and we'll not even have our roast tonight.

Oh, blow it, we won't have it. The kids, what do you want, kids? Something quick and go to bed.

We've done something different.

The beach attracts young and old alike

and somewhere among them are Mr and Mrs Burchill.

We seem to make for the beach every morning automatically.

Straight down to the beach. Collect our deckchairs. Sit down.

The reason we pick the same spot mainly is because we are rather

near the litter bin and they do love picking up little bits

on the beach and running backwards and forward to the litter bin.

They think they're being so clever tidying up the beach.

When I say I'm rather lazy, I just sit.

Dennis digs the hole bigger and bigger.

As fast as he's digging it, Toby's filling it in.

I like to look at people and wonder. What they do for a living.

If they're on holiday. Where they come from.

If they're enjoying themselves

and what type of people they really are when they're out of swimsuits.

Well, I know who two of them were. It's Ron and Russ Mael from Sparks.

# This town ain't big enough for both of us... #

Hello.

Here in Great Britain there are many places that one can enjoy

the sport of shore fishing, and it's the technique of long casting

that we've come here to have a look at.

And who better to explain this than that great exponent of long

casting, Leslie Moncrieff?

How about that?

That was Leslie Moncrieff and we hadn't buried him

up to his knees, you know.

He was in fact just kneeling

and all of this was done just to prove the point that you don't

have to be high-wired and handsome to send that lead winging

way out 100 yards or more over the ocean.

It's skill that counts, skill.

Well, we shall be seeing plenty more of Leslie in a minute.

You know, the one thing his presenting style had

-going for it was that outstanding cardigan.

-Hello.

Now he's covered it up, he's lost me, but I'll be honest,

televised fishing loses me.

Staring at some boring man with a pole in his hand might be all

right on election night but it's not great TV.

It might be better radio, actually,

because every angler has an entertaining yarn.

Out on the pier, Reg Schafto is on the countdown

to lift off his 17th cast of the morning.

What was the last fish you caught?

Uh...last fish was last Sunday, an eel.

Weighed exactly a pound. Was a nice fish.

-What happened to the eel?

-Oh, that got eaten for supper.

That went down a treat.

My mother-in-law ate that - she loves them.

She's coming up to...she's 87, and she loves an eel.

-Had anything lately?

-I had a nice eel last Sunday.

Exactly a pound, it went. We weighed it when we got it home.

-Nice fish.

-This easterly wind isn't helping to...take a bite.

-The water's a bit thick for it.

-Mother-in-law enjoyed it.

-What? The water?

-No, the eel.

Yeah - wasn't going to be anecdotally derailed there, was he?

Mind you, that was his 17th cast of the morning,

which sounds like the rehearsals for that Spice Girls musical.

Leslie Moncrieff will have many rods to show you.

He's a bit of an expert - in fact, he's an engineer

and he designs his own.

So, without more ado,

let's look at Leslie's rods and the way he casts.

If you can imagine 300-400 anglers along this beach,

all casting their average distances of between, say, 60 and 80 yards,

it's quite obvious that they're throwing a weight pattern

in the water

and, of course, the fish react to vibration

and they're not going to move and come closer in

to the source of the trouble.

They're going to move out.

It's here people like Leslie Moncrieff

and other good casters,

they push the fish out to them,

we can reach them, we can catch them.

One of the greatest difficulties I have

is following this terrific speed Leslie creates

when he casts like this.

But one of the things the TV camera can do for you

is to slow this action down.

HORN BLOWS

Now, let's have a look at this in slow motion.

WHOOSH!

And that's the action that Leslie puts into it

that gives you the power - or gives him the power -

to send that terminal tackle winging out over the ocean

at something over 100mph.

That noise you heard ruining his performance there

was a departing train evacuating thousands of overexcited onlookers.

To save us the same exertions,

let's move on to something less demanding -

the historic coastal carnage of the Mods and Rockers.

For all you kids watching BBC Four right now,

let me explain what this was.

Today, you might buy Grand Theft Auto or Assassin's Creed

and hunt down your cyber enemies online.

Well, back in the '60s, there was no internet

so everyone had to arrange to meet on Margate Beach

and do it manually.

When they came off their bikes,

I asked them first how they saw the Mods.

Well...

By the way they dress,

the make-up and that they have on them and the eye shadow,

and high-heel boots and that...

Why, sometimes I fancy them meself.

They think you're a poof.

That's they way they look at you,

as if to say it, you know.

Some people got hurt, thrown off the promenade,

trying to stop the fight - do you think that's funny?

They shouldn't have jumped in.

If you were, say, in Clacton or Brighton at Whitsun,

and a fight started, what would you do?

I'd stand and watch it.

They go..."Pooh! Mods!"

So you just say, "What's the matter?"

They say, "Pooh! Mods!"

Fancy going out with a Mod, and everybody looks at you -

you wouldn't know if you were looking at the girl or the bloke.

She is SO hot.

They say one of the reasons that you people wear boots

is because it helps you put the boot in.

No, I've never yet seen a Rocker put a boot in.

You've got to have it off with somebody,

and who's there, you have it off with.

You've got to have a fight?

Well, what do you do if you don't have a fight?

Oh, don't be so ridiculous, mate.

There's hundreds of things you can do.

You could...

WHOOSH!

All right, fair enough. You win.

So you want a row, then?

This beach - it's one of the five at Newquay -

has all of the hazards that go to make a killer beach.

It looks deceptively flat,

but under the breakers are sudden holes in the sand,

hidden rocks and fierce tide rips that can carry a swimmer out to sea

before he knows what's happening.

You only have to step across the headland there to the next beach

to find holiday madness in full swing.

This is called Crantock Beach

and over there is the perfect place to swim -

flat, calm, smooth sands...

Nothing could go wrong.

But down there, where the river flows into the sea,

it's anything but perfect - it can be extremely dangerous

and there's a very clear notice that says so.

-Are these your children, swimming here?

-Mm.

-Can you read that notice over there?

-Yes, I can read that notice.

-What does it say?

-It says, "Don't bathe in the river."

Do you believe in notices?

Uh...yes, if I see them, I do, certainly.

You really hadn't noticed that one until this moment?

I have just noticed that notice now.

Are you going to do anything about it?

If it says, "Danger, don't bathe in the river,"

maybe we'd better not bathe in the river.

-Will you actually stop your children bathing in the river, now?

-Yes.

-Have you seen the notices here?

-Yes, one over there.

What do you think of them?

Well, provided we keep our eye on him,

I think he should be all right - he's a good swimmer,

he's got a couple of badges.

But I noticed he couldn't actually hold his own against the tide.

He was swimming hard and going slightly backwards.

Yeah, but I'm always here to go in after him.

Have you seen the notices?

-"Danger" over there?

-Yes.

-Yeah.

-What do you think about them?

-I think they're very good. Um...

But she's just been on the side, you know.

We've been keeping a close eye on her.

She's wet up to her neck,

so she must have been...

She'd been on the air bed.

-On the air bed?

-Just on the side, though.

Got this one watching them.

Do you know how easily they can be swept off to sea?

-It does happen on this river.

-It's bad, is it?

-Yes.

-That's why the notices are there.

-Oh...

When you see a notice like that,

that says "Danger, do not swim in the river,"

how do you react?

Um...myself, personally,

I would keep a very strict eye on the children

if they were in the water.

But I wouldn't swim out there myself, no.

But you'd let the children swim?

Not swim, no. They can't swim.

Now don't get me wrong, it's a serious message,

but that reporter would've found out about a far greater beach danger

had he confronted my old man with that supercilious tone.

Then again, it's the little blond kid's movie, isn't it?

He's been part of at least 30 families on that beach

and turning in some BAFTA award-winning scene-stealing.

I'm frankly amazed he didn't he didn't grow up to be me.

Then, something else happens.

There's a beach bag behind our last hectored punter -

look, there it is -

and it's obviously been expertly packed that morning

by a mum, like only mums can, to make sure no sand

gets into the family's towels, clothes and sandwiches.

But watch now at how the dad skilfully repacks it

after locating his lighter.

-No.

-But you'd let the children swim?

Not swim, no. They can't swim.

We keep an eye on them.

-Is the little one all covered with the creams and that?

-Yes.

Yeah - only just mentioning it, we can't tell you what to do.

I say...

Come on, off.

You guys get off.

Don't you know it's dangerous, you lot?

Eh?

That's why we've got that sign up there saying..."Danger."

Yeah?

Do you understand this is dangerous?

If they want to break their necks, they can,

but they're being a bloody nuisance,

because they're running round and round and round in circles.

-He got sand in my girl's eyes.

-Yeah, yeah. Yeah.

OK, then, lads. Righty-ho - yeah.

Now then, um...

-Don't be doing that any more, OK?

-OK.

-Right.

No, no, no - OK?

OK, that's it. Yeah.

Right, that's all dangerous, yeah?

Careful...don't be running any more,

cos sand got into some people's eyes, yeah?

All right...

Lifeboat one.

-RADIO:

-Yeah, lifeboat one, go ahead.

Uh, Peter, seafront five here.

If you could keep an eye on these groynes.

There seems to be a lot of...unnecessary activity.

I'm trying to keep them off,

but they keep persisting, going back, over.

-RADIO:

-Right-o.

Phew...oh, it's hot.

That was patrol-man Peter Crew - the attack dog of Cockleshell Bay.

I don't think I've seen such ineffectual policing

since Top Cat opened a gambling den in Officer Dibble's car.

And talk about a losing battle.

Kids love the beach, they live for it!

From the very first moment

they discover this soft transient wonderland

that starts where the trains have to stop,

it's the only place they ever want to be -

why, I remember my own introduction to it.

I was wearing my favourite yellow top,

and as the coach...

Danny's never seen the sea before.

For Danny, the first in a day of firsts is just coming -

his first time on a beach.

What is it? Feel it.

Don't kick it! Feel it.

-It's lovely and soft.

-Sand!

-Sand. There you are.

That's sand, isn't it? Eh?

We told him he was going to the seaside

and there was lots of sand, like he has in playschool.

But he didn't imagine what the sea was like.

I don't know what his reaction to that is going to be.

Show him how you jump in the water.

Look - like that. You do it.

Danny...

DANNY CRIES

He don't like it.

Very excited, wasn't he, Kath? All the way along in the coach.

He was singing his little songs as best he could

along with everyone else, you know?

But all we could hear was, "Baa-baa, black sheep".

Yeah, it's great.

Here you are, look.

DANNY CRIES

-He won't go on - he's s nice donkey.

-No!

-Look, that little girl...

-I don't want it!

You don't like it - all right, then, you needn't go on.

All right, you watch Kerry on it.

Where do you want to go? Tell Nanny and I'll take you.

Where do you want to go, pet?

Where do you want to go, eh?

Go home.

You want to go home? Don't you want to go in the funfair?

Are you tired? He's been up since five o'clock.

And I had.

In fact, I'd already shot two other documentaries that same day -

Inside Andy Pandy

and Edible Plasticine, Food Of The Future.

Also, no, I didn't want to ride on that donkey.

Enormous, great, toothy brutes -

they've got fur like wire wool if you're wearing shorts.

How did they ever come to be beach fixtures?

Donkeys aren't coastal creatures.

Now, riding on a giant crab, I could understand.

But asses? They're all the same, aren't they?

-Do they have distinct personalities of their own?

-Every one.

That one there, he's just thick -

hasn't got enough sense to know that he if went that little bit slower,

he wouldn't have all the weight of these other donkeys hanging on him.

That one over there, that there's crafty.

That there's a crafty donkey.

That'll sit down and think things up itself.

You know, that sees you walking in the morning

and see you go near the horsebox

and he's gone -

you've got to catch him, you know?

He knows that he's going to work.

You walk in the rest of the time, don't go near the horsebox

and he won't take no notice of you.

You can go up to him, do what you like.

But first thing in the morning, when it's work time, he's away.

You watch the trippers from London coming down weekend after weekend -

what do they get out of it, do you think?

Slow down.

They slow down a little bit.

They sit still.

You know, these people, could you see them sitting anywhere in London?

People just sitting down on the sands even today,

where would they go and sit in London? Hyde Park?

Yeah, Hyde Park.

Or Regent's Park, Southwark Park, Deptford Park,

Green Park, Greenwich Park, Victoria Park, St James' Park,

Battersea Park, Holland...

FAST-FORWARDS

..Parsons Green, Kensington Gardens,

Peckham Rye, Wimbledon...

Thank you. Good note.

That is what we call in television "a production meeting".

SHE SCREAMS

SHE LAUGHS

Over-excited Angela Rippon capsizing in a land yacht.

Sounds like one of those sentences

that use all the letters of the alphabet, doesn't it?

And it neatly leads us

into the unexpected and wonderful world of beachcombers.

These dedicated traders on the tide trawl the sands,

gathering anything that's washed up.

Not like Peter Andre,

but in the sense of flotsam, jetsam and trove.

Police warn beachcombers not to take cargo washed ashore

on the Devon coast.

Work's going on to make a stricken container at sea safe

as hundreds of people descend on the beaches.

There must've been about 40, 50 people outside that container.

As soon as it was open, more and more people came

to have a look exactly what was in there.

When they saw it was BMW motorbikes,

there were hundreds of people at the container.

No whiskey galore, but wine casks aplenty washed up on the beach.

Many of the most portable and expensive items

have been finding their way off the beach this morning -

steering wheels, exhaust systems among them.

Quite a lot around here, trainers and that.

About my size, I would think.

And, eh...probably, when they're dried out,

they'll be fine.

Good girl...

Morecambe Beach is Madge's favourite place

so her owner, Ken Wilman, brings her here every day.

So when she started sniffing at what appeared to be a piece of rock,

at first, Ken didn't take much notice.

But when he looked more closely, it struck him as odd.

The smell of it, the feel of it, the weight of it...

It just got me...I was just curious.

In Google, I put "whale vomit"

and up came ambergris.

As soon as I saw the pictures of it,

I came straight back down to the beach,

picked it up and brought it home.

And he's delighted he did - as unlikely as it seems,

whale vomit is worth thousands of pounds.

I've spoken to companies in Europe

and I'm potentially holding over 100,000 euros.

One of the most distinctive things about it is the smell -

really quite unpleasant and musky.

So it's surprising it's mainly used for perfume-making.

He found an interesting rock

and went straight home and Googled "whale vomit"?

How would you make THAT connection?

I googled "whale vomit"

and all it said was, "Did You Mean Pinocchio?"

And if whale vomit really is worth more than gold,

why aren't we raising thousands of them

in farms all over Britain,

plying them with bad kebabs and cider

then just waiting for them to cough up the cash?

Well, Prime Minister? Well?

Besides, not everything you find bobbing about on the ebb-tide

is equally as desirable.

Nudists today demand more and more of the world's coves and shorelines

upon which to plonk themselves down naked and stretch out.

Which is why you should never eat a whelk without washing it first.

The nudist argument, just like a full and luscious rump,

divides itself into two, often warring, halves.

What is there about nudists which you think...?

I'm telling you, it'd attract the wrong class of person.

Hooliganism, give extra work to the police,

drinking and everything else.

You'll get all the scoundrels out of hell coming.

-I'd shoot the

-BLEEP.

-Why?

-Because it's disgusting, that's what I think it is.

The worst thing they can do - you'll bring all the riff-raff

-out of Hull, Leeds and all over, into the town.

-Why?

And they'll be breaking in all over the place, and crime.

No comment.

I don't think I'd like to meet a party of nudists.

Among those whom Hornsea can thank for liberalising the human form

is a former mayor of the town, councillor Mrs Sylvia Wood.

I myself have sunbathed in the nude -

not in this country, admittedly.

And I think it's a delightful sensation.

You have freedom of movement, you have no clammy, wet costumes

and I can't see anything wrong with it at all.

The family join me, sunbathing in the nude

and it is a family thing.

Overseas, they think nothing of it.

In Germany, I've done it,

and I've found there's nothing wrong with it.

Yes, it's pleasurable,

and I often bathe off this coast in the nude.

But I take my trunks off in the water

and hang 'em on one of these horrible projections

that have been here for years.

Disgusting.

Disgusting.

Doesn't worry me - I'm all for things like that.

Whatever you want to do.

Whatever your thing is, you do it, I think.

I'm a bit broad-minded, so I don't care.

Hang on! I know that face!

# Don't tell me not to live

# Just sit and putter

# Life's candy and the sun's a ball of butter

# Don't bring around a cloud to rain on my parade... #

Do you propose to come down here regularly?

I'd like to, yes.

What do you say to those in Brighton

who believe there shouldn't be a naturist beach?

Well, if they don't want to take part,

they don't have to and we won't annoy them.

It's just nice to be able to come down and be able to go for a swim.

There have been unofficial beaches around the place, where we've gone,

but always, we've got the worry of having to cover up

if anybody comes along, but here, you get to be quite open.

You're not worried about the watching world?

Not really, no!

The only difference I can think of, the nudist families,

is that part of the beach

seems to stay a lot cleaner

and there seems to be less litter than on the main part of the beach.

Other than that, they're like any other normal family.

This is just a few frustrated old people

HORN SOUND-EFFECT

that...obviously have got Victorian values.

How likely is it that they will actually stop nudism on the beach?

I don't think they will.

I think the minority that want it changed is so small that...

..the National Trust and everybody else, the Home Office,

aren't interested.

And I think we've got a strong case to continue here.

When you say the beach attracts undesirable individuals,

what do you mean by that?

Well, individuals such as...

..men with spanking marks on their bottoms.

What?

I'm not entirely sure

where this murky tide of twisted opinion has drifted us.

I'm sorry you had to hear that.

And while I'm apologising, yes - I saw it.

The old boy who introduced...the old boy.

The director told him and told him

not to move a muscle once we were rolling

and what did he do?

This is just a few frustrated old people

that...obviously have got Victorian values.

Just once more - and this time,

if you press the red button on your remote control,

you can see the footage uncensored.

This is just a few frustrated old people...

Ha-ha - no, you couldn't, and shame on you.

It is, though, revealing just how over-zealous seaside societies get

in protecting their littoral zones from the wrong sort of person.

Like King Canute in reverse,

they stand with their backs to the ocean

and command the onrushing human tide to stay out.

It's a social stand-off as old as the waves themselves

and may the archives show that many of their former targets

are these days, in all probability,

respectably retired to bungalows by the sea themselves.

You tell 'em, Grandad!

# Can't employ you cos you've got long hair... #

Yes, hard times in Newquay, it seems, for the few remaining beatniks

still holding out in this Cornish stronghold

against a very determined urban district council

which has taken some quite unusual steps

to drive out its long-haired visitors.

At the height of the season,

there were perhaps 40 or 50 beatniks here in this north Cornish resort.

Do you think this conspiracy

of shopkeepers and cafe proprietors and innkeepers

to boycott a certain group of people, certain members of the public,

do you think this could stand any very close legal examination?

Probably not.

What action do you take

when any of these beatniks come into your pub here?

I look them over and if I think they're very dirty,

I ask them to leave.

Do you have to do that very often?

I've done it a couple of...dozen times.

How many complaints have you received from holiday-makers

about these beatniks?

Quite frankly, not a great number.

Among your other duties, you're the council treasurer.

Now, what has Newquay lost or suffered

by the arrival of these beatniks?

I would say nothing.

# I wish to the Lord that councillor would die

# Keeps on telling 'em stories about me... #

And do you think it's a good life, being a beatnik?

Oh, yes. I think it's an excellent life, thank you.

Why? What makes you say that?

Well, you have the freedom, a certain amount of freedom.

You can do what you like. I could leave here tonight

and I can travel to Penzance, Land's End or anywhere I like.

Not that you CAN leave here tonight -

I'm told you've GOT TO leave here tonight.

Only this part - they can't very well

make us leave the town completely.

Well, how has this organised disapproval of beatniks affected you?

It hasn't affected me...well, it has, but not very much.

I'm still here, as you can see, one of the few who are still here,

because I can just make a living by playing at barbecues and things.

Well, there we leave Sue, Paddy and Eric,

who are apparently ever so cross down in Newquay in Cornwall.

We began with an ode to the beach and we'll close with one.

It was the renaissance man Gyles Brandreth who penned this.

He wrote it after losing his beloved Border collie Ambrosia

during a winter walk high on the wild cliffs

above the raging sea near The Lizard in Cornwall.

After several hours of lonely, fruitless search,

he eventually located the exhausted animal

on a small stretch of sand near an abandoned smugglers' cave

and, setting himself down in the sodden sand,

holding the shivering creature to his own sobbing breast,

he composed the following poem of thanks to the merciful Fates.

I'd like to do it in its entirety for you now.

O! Wet pet!

Good night.

Where do you want to go, eh?

Go home!