What is the typical sound of the seaside in summer? Not seagulls,
the happy cries of children on the beach or musicians on the pier.
No. It is the sound of little children wailing. Either they have got
sand in their eyes, or their big brother has borrowed their 
spade
when they hadn’t lent it, or they want a piece of plastic tat
from a seafront tat shop which their parents aren’t wanting
to carry home.
Whatever
the cause, the little ones wail inconsolably, causing noise pollution
which infects everyone within a hundred yards, and they carry on,
and on. Some parents do have the knack of diversion, finding a dead
starfish on the beach to distract the wailer. Some dispense justice,
wresting the spade off the older brother, who then sulks. Some give
in and buy the plastic tat, which is probably broken before they get
back to the car.
But
in many cases, the child carries on for quite a long time, until exhausted.
Wailing is an interesting form of behaviour. One can understand that
in our evolutionary past it would have attracted the help of adults
when the child was lost in the bush or hurt or felt threatened. But
now it seems to be almost totally counterproductive.
Parents
often clearly find wailing seriously irritating and embarrassing,
and it can be quite disastrous for the child in consequence. Billy
Connolly has done some wonderful cameos of parent-child relationships.
“If you want to cry, I’ll give you something to cry about”,
says the parent, giving the child a wallop. Which, of course, adds
to the child’s discomfort, and the episode spirals upwards with
misery increasing for child and adult alike.
Back
to the seaside. Visiting the seaside is meant to be a pleasant experience
for children. Dad would probably prefer to be sitting with a beer
in the shade, rather than trolling around in the heat, but he’s
put the children first, and now the little kid is yowling and the
older ones are silently rebellious. Mum is having to carry everything
and think ahead about what clothes the children will need and where
they’ll eat and go to the toilet. She’s embarrassed by
all the noise and the people looking at them. And they’ve all
got the prospect of the drive home, stuck in a jam for mile after
mile. They all feel like howling, but only the uninhibited little
one does.
Part
of it is no doubt the strangeness of the situation. Little children
may never have seen crowds like that before. They may not have sat
on a beach, dug sand, tasted it or got it in their hair. They have
nothing familiar around them except their family, nowhere to retreat
to. No wonder the experience is threatening and causes breakdown if
it starts to go wrong.
Of
course, the seaside is not the only place where this happens. Supermarkets
on a Saturday morning are good places to witness yowling. Shopping
is not a favourite activity for children, who are expected to be good
(i.e. passive) and who keep having to stop touching things put at
child level.
Children’s
play barns are specifically geared to keep little children busy while
their parents have a drink, but they are also a prime site for little
bullies to surprise other children by doing nasty things to them.
More wailing.
Crying
is obviously acceptable when it is an indicator that a child needs
attention. Everyone rushes to help a little child who has fallen over
and hurt their knee. But when it carries on, and on, we become less
sympathetic and start to question their parents’ parenting abilities.
The sentimental view of little children gives way to irritation.
It
isn’t helped by the lack of inhibitions of little children,
who are quite happy to spit their food out in cafes or ask why a lady
has a moustache. Putting a little child in a strange public place
is a recipe for embarrassment if the child is observant and inquisitive.
Which
makes the seaside an interesting place to watch and observe –
the little kids’ behaviour, their families’ responses
and our own reactions. Thank God for summertime, but as the song Summertime
says, “Hush, little baby, don’t you cry”. It will
make us all feel better.
