Charli Mills is back in the saddle and her prompt this week is
May 11, 2016 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story, using the power of erosion. It can be natural, cultural or something different. Is the force personified or does it add to the overall tone? You can use the word in its variations, or avoid the word and write its action.
I’m very conscious of erosion. Even as a small child holidaying on the north Kent coast I was aware of cliffs crumbling. There was a hotel at Beltinge, near my grandmother’s – the Miramar – where I saw the remains of the tennis courts, part of which was now in the sea. That seemed ineffably exotic to a ten year old.
Moving to Hampshire in 1969/70 we lived a mile from the sea where, at Hordle Cliff the self-same erosion took place. I experienced it first hand one day when, chasing the family dog, the path gave way and I tumbled down the cliff side. Happily, luckily, the cliff sloped rather than plummeted so I rolled and bounced and ended up embedded in a rather unwelcoming shrub. The shrub was not amused.
The upside to erosion, as far as I could ascertain was the prospect of fossil discoveries. These never amounted to much more than sharks teeth but the possibilities left open a space for continued excitement.
Nowadays, I spend some time on the Suffolk coast, the scene of the sign Charli highlights in her post.
The town of Dunwich was once a thriving medieval port but the erosion has rendered it little more than a pub and a few houses. The rather beautiful Abbey clings precariously to the edge of the cliffs and the churches that once announced the town as something important are under some tonnage of seawater.
However if you go further down the coast by a few miles the self same forces that are removing from the landmass are adding to the shingle cuspate at Orford Ness creating a spit of some length and a unique environment for the bird and wildlife.
The Yin and Yang of erosion.
But, of course, erosion isn’t always a physical thing, as Mary is discovering. Last week Rupert helped rescue her baby and this week, she’s seeing him differently.
The Insidiousness of Love
‘Oh Rupert, it’s me.’ Mary held the phone tight to her ear. ‘I thought you’d like to know Charlotte is fully recovered.’
Mary squeezed her eyes shut, willing him to speak but the silence echoed. ‘Would you like to come round for supper?’
‘This is really kind. You didn’t need to.’
Mary thought he looked like a naughty schoolboy; all he needed was a cap to turn in his hands. She smiled and hugged him. He tried to step back but she held on. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been terribly mean.’
He smiled. ‘Worn you down, have I?’
If you want to catch up with Mary, Rupert and the rest, click here.