Ocean’s heaven, nothing beats a ‘bathe’ in the sea

I’M READING a book called The Sea Change by Elizabeth Jane Howard. Much of it is set on a Greek island where the characters go on a rather tense holiday. You can practically smell the wild thyme and feel the sun on your shoulders as you read it.

It was written in 1959 and one of the things that dates it is the way the characters talk about “bathing” in the sea. These days we’d say “I’m going for a swim” or even “I’m going for a dip” though that is a tad Famous Five. But no, these 1950s people “bathe”. It sounds therapeutic, gentle, cleansing, not very sporty.

Next week I’m off to Cornwall. Whatever the weather I’ll be in the water every day. But it’s not a golden Poldark-type beach where we go. Unless you want to break your leg you must pick your way over sharp slippery rocks and pebbles that catch your instep inflicting a particularly awful agony. Jelly shoes are a must but you can still turn an ankle.

Once you’re in far enough the good part starts as you – deep breath – give yourself up to the opaque water that’s the colour of grape skins, or turquoise if the sun’s out. Fronds of seaweed brush your limbs. At least you hope it’s seaweed.

Swimming pools are lovely too but they encourage sportiness, swimming up and down, doing your prescribed number of lengths.

In the sea you flail your arms around and wallow, turning on your back to float aimlessly, contemplating the sky, the meaning of the universe and what you fancy for lunch.

Bathing, not swimming.