The day was fading above the Reculver Towers into a milky panorama
as it often did in mid-July

Children were searching for unchartered seahorses in the
orange rock pools exposed by the tide

As their parents sat in front of the beach café and took tea from
bone brittle china cups

Tall girls in black aprons washed up for the final time and watched as
a ghost touched faded graffiti

which read

Nancy, Bob, Roger and me were here in the July of 63