William Corbett © 2026.
Weymouth Sands
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Weymouth Sands
There’s something about Weymouth in winter that brings back the past. Under a pale December sky the long sweep of empty beach yawns into the encroaching darkness. Along the promenade – gulls turning in the wind – the lights begin to flicker as the afternoon fades. The cold wind whipping off the grey-green sea made the warmth inside still warmer.
My sister and her husband Rob had the Redcliffe Hotel in Weymouth for many years, and some of my happiest memories are of Christmases there. Mum and Dad would be there, my sister and Rob, Louise and David, Ian, Nick and Rowena — everyone gathered around the same table, talking over one another, laughing, eating and drinking, with that wonderful feeling that, for a few days at least, the whole family was together and there was nowhere else any of us needed to be.And then there were the little traditions. At some point there had to be a pilgrimage to the Seaside Diner — known to us, inevitably, as the “Suicide Diner” — for an essential kebab. Not exactly the traditional taste of Christmas, perhaps, but very much the taste of ours.Outside, the wind rattled along the seafront and the dark winter sea rolled onto the empty sands. Inside were Christmas lights, noise, laughter, too much food and the warmth of having everyone together.You never quite realise at the time how precious those ordinary moments will become. You imagine there will always be another Christmas, another dinner, another late-night kebab, another year when everyone will be there.Weymouth Sands is my remembrance of those days — the winter sea, the lights along the shore, the warmth of the Redcliffe, the Suicide Diner, and Christmases past.
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