March, March, March Along the Highway.

Tiny soldier crabs, in smart blue and white uniforms…..

Funny how the memories of Shorncliffe are bringing back  glimpses  of such small things. When the tide went out, and the sandbanks stretched out for miles, there would suddenly be a stirring in the sand and these tiny crabs would emerge. To me, as a child, it seemed there were like millions and billions, covering every inch of the sand, wearing their tiny blue crab shells like a badge of honour and  waving their weapons,  white claws, threateningly.  They broke formation, when I approached them, closing around my feet when I wasn’t  looking .I seem to remember that they had a sharp little bite, too, but they weren’t after my blood, they were just doing their drilling and I was Gulliver standing in their midst,  disrupting their Army manoeuvres. 

 A funny moment has surfaced in this memory bubble.  Soldier crabs were not a lot of use as fishing bait. They were too crunchy. Also they were too small to cook and eat, but the seagulls seemed to enjoy them. One day, as I was idly scouting around in the pools, I spied an American sailor with his girl on his arm, meandering romantically along the cliff path.

Always one to spot an opportunity, I quickly grabbed an old small tin, and filled it with complaining and struggling soldier crabs.  I casually sauntered up to the young sailor, and suggested he might like to try his hand at fishing.  Kind young man, he pulled a shilling (about 10 cents) from his pocket. I don’t really think fishing was on his mind that day

 He and his girl went on their way, and I went back to beach combing, feeling a whole lot richer.