Annemarie Austin

This is no country for young women – the old on one another’s arms, ice in the air, etcetera ...

Cheap-rate, off-peak, out-of-season, they come in charabancs – coaches too new a term – and debouch on the sea front, chorused by snapping, masticating wind, savoured with sauce of rain.

The town half-wakes for them: one putting-green, an ice-cream stall, flurry of drab...