The sky is vast and clear blue, and the sea is shining all the way to the horizon. It is endless, and eternal, and open, and it lifts the heart. I see a distant ship, making its way towards the edge of the world, and beyond, determined and sure of itself. Imagine being on the deck, the wind and the spray whipping you, off to who knows which exotic port in some remote and sun-baked land. ‘They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters’ – it’s been going on for as long as there have been people, and it stirs us all to see it.

Somebody starts singing, ‘The sea, the sea, the open sea, the blue, the fresh, the ever free.’

I’m not the only one crying. We were all as good as dead, and now here we are. Look at us. The Helpers can make no sense of this, I’m sure.

In a few minutes we are parked on the Promenade. Everyone stands, but before we are allowed off the bus, one of the Helpers calls for silence.

‘It’s most important we all stay together. We have one Helper for every five of you. We will assign you each to one of us, and that Helper is your point of contact all day. Understood?’

‘Yes, Miss,’ we chorus, and everyone giggles.

The Helpers look bemused.

Off the bus, and it’s hot, though there’s a fresh breeze. Perfect English seaside weather. The beach is crowded. We walk a short distance, looking for the perfect spot. At last, somebody decides we’ve found it, and we start to set up our base.

The Helpers have carried hampers of food. We’ve brought the usual paraphernalia, too – towels, books, lotions, hats, extra cardigans and so on.

I notice two of the men conferring. I can guess what they’re up to. Sure enough, they sidle over to one of the Helpers, and after a short negotiation head off towards a bar. The Helper goes too. In a few minutes they reappear and the Helper is carrying a crate of bottled beer.

I sit in a deckchair facing the sea. The tide is coming in, and the waves are big enough to make a satisfying roar as they break. I raise my face to the sun. I feel like a flower opening to the warmth. My eyes are closed.

‘May I sit next to you?’

I open one eye. It’s Winifred, of course.

‘Be my guest. I mean, yes, please do.’

She sits. She says nothing. I wait.

I’m drifting off to sleep when she pipes up.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘What don’t you understand?’

‘Any of this. We have driven for an hour. All of you were excited. Now look.’