Two-faced waves

Martha Pollard

Twice I might have drowned.
The first was near-waveless except the gentle wake left
by my father’s smooth stroke as he swam.
‘That looks easy’ I said in my 4-year-old’s mind,
sliding into the pool where my father said
to stay on the edge.
Two men in the shallow end
weren’t sure at first whether to let me try,
or scoop me out.
I coughed and spluttered with surprise
that I hadn’t been able to reprise
the ease of my father’s effortless glide.

In Cornwall 30 years forward, the waves came again and again,
with no time to catch our breath as each one 
bowled over us before the last had let us go.
We’d lost sight of the marker flags and hit the rip current.
The lifeguard yelled as we fought water and our instincts 
to unstrap the bodyboards we’d attached to our wrists.
The shouts focused us to hold our boards close,
kicking and kicking toward the voice 
to reach the shallows in relief.
We sat so still on the sand, breath returning,
gazing out at a seemingly neutral sea.
When we went back in, we stuck much closer to shore
adjusting ourselves again and again
to stay in the safe waves.

The Science

Rip currents ‘are rapid offshore-directed jets of water that originate in the surf zone’. ‘Drownings, as a result of rip currents, often reach double digits during the summer season in Cornwall.’  We’d hired wetsuits and entered the sea between flags that marked safe zones from known rip currents. As we attempted to ‘catch’ waves, we were looking behind us to place ourselves. By the time we realised our drift, we were overwhelmed by waves and current. Our urge to unstrap our bodyboards speaks of the involuntary drowning response when the arms extend laterally to press down repeatedly to breathe but, as the lifeguard shouted, our boards helped us to safety. The RNLI advises that if you are caught in a rip, ‘keep hold of your board or inflatable to help you float.’

A recent study of drowning behaviour observed that ‘children seemed to jump into the water with great confidence to discover they could not manage the situation and that ‘people seemed to be looking at the person who is drowning without taking action.’ It was 1972 when I first over-confidently got into the water as a four-year-old. I remain grateful to people who noticed and helped, then and later.

The Poet

Martha Pollard is a part-time PhD researcher, writer, counsellor and mindfulness teacher who has supported health and poetry projects that focus on well-being for people living with dementia, family carers and health and social care staff. Her research focuses on meanings of freedom for people who are in caregiving roles and on what best supports liberty, common humanity and community solidarity for all. Her poetry has appeared in local newsletters, one has been published in the special-interest volume Visions and Vocations, and two have been published in the online journal Poems in the Waiting Room.

Next poem: Tyrannical Light by Jasmeen Kanwal