Here’s where you can enjoy submitted audio, video, image and poetic answers to “What does the beach mean to you…?“ from Supporters and beachgoers. Please use the send your answer menu to share your impressions of the beach. You can also read people’s text answers here.
This guest answer, from Tim Miller at Shingle Street beach in Suffolk.
This guest answer, from Jasmine at Ko Phi Phi Don in Southern Thailand, was filmed near Shark Point. Jasmine’s photos can be seen here.
Here is Pat’s contribution to the BBC 3 series “Amazing Humans”.
This guest answer is from Nina of Caroline Cottage, at Mousehole in Cornwall.
Emma Gibb, at Findhorn Bay in Moray, Scotland.
Here’s a second poetic eulogy to the beach from Emma, again at Findhorn beach.
This photo of Maroubra beach in Sydney, New South Wales, Australia was sent in anonymously.
This photo of Pin Mill in Suffolk was sent in by interviewee Hazel, beach page here.
This photo of Juist beach in Lower Saxony, Germany, was also sent in anonymously.
This photo of Ardalanish beach, on the Ross of Mull in Scotland, was sent in by Jenny, beach page here.
This photo, of a sunset at West Bay in North Berwick, East Lothian, was sent in by Sue, beach page here.
This photo, of Abersoch on the Llyn peninsula in North Wales, was sent in by Rhys and Debra, beach page here.
This photo, of Findhorn Bay in Moray, North East Scotland, was sent in by Emma Gibb, beach page here.
This photo, of a thoughtful moment at Kingsbarns beach in Fife, was sent in by Rhona, beach page here.
These two photos, showing seaweed on the machair behind the Bay at the back of the Ocean on Iona in Scotland, with a daytime view above and a sunset view below, were sent in by Supporter Wendy, of Argyll Hotel, beach page here.
This photo was sent in anonymously via the send your answer menu.
Here’s a winter photo from Portscatho on the Roseland in Cornwall, with this message – “Hello manonabeach. Thought you would like this photo of stormy seas and snow in Portscatho. Clare.”, beach page here.
Below are three wonderful photos of Largs in North Ayrshire, each sent in by Wilma, beach page here:
A study in blue, looking across the bay at Largs.
A view from Aubery Park.
Thank you, Gareth – your photo from Ballycastle beach in County Antrim, Northern Ireland.
Thank you, Jacinta, at Mooloolaba beach and Buddina Point, Cartwright beach in Australia.
This photo of Marloes Sands in Pembrokeshire was sent in by Rib Davis. Thank you, Rib.
This poem by Rick Howarth was sent in by Liz, from Cornwall:
Remote Cornish Beach in Summer
Who loves those days when the sun is hazed, and the seas unruffled with its mirrored glaze
Showing every ripple and fish that moves in the currents stream swept surface ooze.
And the tide on the beach treads soft and slow leaving hardly a footprint as it goes
Where the dark sand that each sea fall makes is quickly absorbed to its flaxen state.
When the sand is warmly soft and gold and the seagulls plaintiff call is bold
As no other sound competes for space in air as soft a mothers embrace.
And you lay by a bed of scented pinks as rustling reeds their music links
To a skylarks distant worshipping praise to sunlit, happy, palliate days.
And the amphitheatre of the cliffs reduces all the world to this,
Sea, sand and skies sensuous ideal carresses, body and soul to heal.
These poems were sent in by Lesley, from Cornwall:
July in Skye
Calmness becomes you Skye,
the quiet waters of the Sound of Sleat
reach out to your shores,
just a hint of a ripple shows your tidal ways,
your surface a deep mirror
reflecting rare beauty,
boats whose sails remind me
of pressed cotton hankies
glide slowly and silently southward,
their pace in keeping with Skye life.
At way past bedtime dusk arrives,
its half light stays till sunrise at four;
an orange glow rises behind distant hills,
morning glory too tame a phrase
for the dawn of another Skye day.
Crackington Haven, a Cornish coastal cove
that speaks to me in sounds of the sea,
its surfing waves chasing the sand
teasing the pebbled line the land’s behind.
I listen to the wind constantly blustering
its course along the cliff path, high above
you, Crackington Haven. Trying to walk
I can barely stand; I wait a while,
catch my breath and look down at your
beauty that’s breath taking too.