Next week will mark the 24th anniversary of my last swim. This morning I walked along La Zenia Beach and I peered out to where I went in for a dip on that hot summer’s afternoon in 1999. Once more I scanned the surface of the sea, looking for the tip of a rock which I know is there somewhere. Like every other time since then, my eyes have failed to locate it.
It was the first week in July. We had opened what was to become Spain’s best known pub, ‘Paddy’s Point’, on 4th June. My wife, Pamela, had just arrived out to join the fun after breaking for school holidays on 1st July.
I was under ‘fierce pressure’. The pub was flying, but there was still a bit of work being done and we had a staffing issue. The Dublin guy I appointed manager failed to turn up and the man I gave his job to was, by his own admission, not up to it. Yolanda, Oliver, and Irish students were carrying a huge lump of the workload in those crazy first few weeks.
Pamela’s first day, and she headed to the beach after lunch. I am not a person for lying on the beach, but I promised to join her for an hour later on. As soon as I finished what I was doing I found where she had adjourned to at the furthest corner and most secluded part of the beach. We chatted for half an hour, and sort of resented it when a noisy bunch of Spanish teenagers decamped close by.
It was time to leave and as always a cool dip in the sea would be the last act; a temporary respite from the blazing sun.
I am not much of a swimmer. The length of a pool would be the top of my game. We had taken swimming lessons shorty after we married, but like so many other things I attempted – I wasn’t great! There was a red flag flying that day … but sher what had that to do with me … only going in up to my waist.
That’s the way we were, and where we were, when the wife said; ‘don’t go out any further; we better go back.’ We both turned and started wading back to shore. She was about 2 metres ahead of me, when I decided to immerse myself under the water to cool my head. No more than 5 seconds, but when I surfaced I was surprised that there was no ground under my feet. No panic and I started swimming to catch up with Pamela but then the realisation hit that instead of closing the gap it was widening and I was drifting backways. ‘Pamela I’m in trouble’, I called.
Now, I was very fit; doing loads of walking, working and still playing competitive squash, but I was already getting tired. Pamela must have called out to the youngsters on the beach to get help. I didn’t see or hear this; but that 14 year old girl that we resented being beside us, put her two fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle. I was aware of a crowd gathering and funny what goes through one’s mind. I decided I wasn’t going to make a scene or entertain them in any manner!
I suppose I was less than a hundred metres out. I remembered from the swimming lessons that the coach recommended that if you are in trouble in the water, turn onto you back and float. But I knew if I tried to do anything at all, it’s down I was going.
It was then that the pointed tip of a rock touched my left arm. It was about two feet above the water. I threw my arms around the tip and clasped my legs against it. The waves did their best to pull me away and a couple of times I thought I was losing the battle. The rock was slippy and terribly rough, and If there was any doubt in my mind as to the precariousness of my situation, the fear I detected in the eyes of the first lifeguard to get near me after about ten minutes, left me in no doubt. He was roped to his companion and he tried throwing me a yellow yoke on a rope but I couldn’t grab it and I continued to cling on where I was. Eventually, he got close enough that I could grasp his hand and they pulled me in. The applause from the spectators wasn’t for me …
Both Mrs Youcantbeserious and I were in shock. The first thing I said to her was; ‘you can put the black suit away.’ Her reply was; ‘don’t you ever make a joke like that to me again.’ There wasn’t a bit of skin left on the inside of my arms and my legs were patterned by jagged cuts from the rock that saved my life.
I looked for it, but I never saw that rock again. For the previous eleven years, at least one person drowned on that beach every year, but there was no fatality that year. I believe I was meant to be the one for 1999. Thank you, again God!
Pamela and I vowed we would never tell anybody this story, but I am telling you now, because I don’t want you or anybody belonging to you to take chances with water. Remember, I was no reckless teenager and it nearly got me.
In the summer of 1970 I worked at a mine called ‘Pipe Lake’, in Manitoba. Lots of lakes and lots of bored miners. We used have safety demonstrations underground once a month and obviously this cost the company a lot of money while machines were idle. But unexpectedly we were all brought to surface for the June safety meeting, where we joined all the surface and office staff. The mine manager addressed us thus: ‘Mining is a dangerous game and we have safety demonstrations to help keep you alive. Statistically, one of you here will die in a mining accident every two years. Statistically, two of you will die this summer from drowning.’
Maybe it was our boss’s words, but nobody drowned while I was there and my wish is that this article might do the same for a reader. 85 people drowned in Ireland last year. Schools are out, holidays are happening and a dip is so inviting in this heat. Just use your head – instead of putting it underwater!
Don’t Forget
The best safety device ever invented is taking care.
