Danger At Beacon Cove Part 4

The image of Agatha Christie as a daredevil was not one I expected to find when I visited her hometown. It may well be I am overestimating the dangers of Beacon Cove. But without knowing more about this sheltered strand of beach filled with a plethora of rocks and boulders, and observing the way the ocean interacted with the shore at different times of the day, let alone in different seasons, I'd be leery of swimming there. Wouldn't you?

Agatha Christie wrote an astonishing number of books during her lifetime. 
When it comes to being a writer, and knowing what she was about, she totally nailed it. In terms of her storytelling ability, she got everything right. Her books and stories represent the epitome of the literary art form. She became, in every sense of the word, the author all others can only aspire to become. That's quite an accomplishment for a modest young woman to achieve in the male dominated 

Each day, Agatha Christie faced the daunting task of filling the empty page. In all likelihood, she started all those stories without knowing exactly what their final shape would be. Through braving each day's unknown dangers, she completed the rough drafts of those manuscripts. 

But she didn't stop there. Christie carried each and every story through the entire revision process. With each rewrite, she massaged and refined her stories into their ultimate, finished form. Then she battled her publishers to get her stories, told her way, into the hands of the public. 

All told, her publishing record suggests a life of constant struggle to create, to refine, and perfect. It tells of battles waged and won, and sometimes lost. Her vast, storytelling legacy paints a portrait of an exceptionally brave woman. 

Let others contest the dangerous waters of Beacon Cove. As for me, I'm content to remember the beauty I found there, and the pleasant afternoon I spent sketching what I saw. The memory of that experience, and how it colored my perception of her, will add greater depth and meaning the next time I open one of her books, and savor the results of the hard-won battles she fought over the final, finished pages. 

In fact, maybe I'll pick up one right now. How about you?

Dragon Dave

Danger at Beacon Cove Part 3

Standing up in the amphitheater, gazing down at Beacon Cove

There's a simplicity of style to Agatha Christie's books and short stories that belies the deep structure she built into her fiction. Sadly, that easy readability does not apply to her autobiography. Instead, Christie wanders along, relating reminiscences as she saw fit, whether they followed or backtracked in time. This is a real shame, as unlike her mysteries, it makes the narrative more difficult to follow. I started her autobiography a year ago, and enjoyed the portion I read. Then life through me a curveball, as it always does, knocked me out of the book for one reason or another, and I never came back.

Google "Agatha Christie Beacon Cove" and you'll find photos of this beautiful beach from a hundred years ago. Do a little digging, and you'll realize that Beacon Cove was a Women's Only beach during the author's childhood. She would have used one of those Victorian wheeled bathing machines to enter and exit the water! It's hard to imagine a bathing machine rolling up and down Beacon Cove without constantly breaking a wheel or axle on the boulders. Perhaps the city regularly trucked in sand to make the beach flatter back then. Either that, or Beacon Cove has suffered a great deal of erosion since Christie's childhood. But alas, that was over a century ago.

Do a little more online investigating, and you'll discover that, as a child, Christie didn't just wade into the water and squeal. She didn't just splash around with her friends. She liked to swim, really swim in the ocean. She saved her young nephew from drowning once, when he got into trouble at Beacon Cove. Later, during her world travels, she even took up surfing, and became one of the first British women to do so. When a particularly strong wave ripped off her swimsuit once, she crept out of the water when no one was looking. After she dressed, she went off to the shops, bought another swimsuit, and got back on her surfboard. 

I admire Christie for the way she wrote her fiction. Even if her autobiography has proven a  tougher sell, what I've learned online has made me want to delve back to it. She seems like a writer who didn't just sit back and observe life going on around her, but one who continually tested her limits. 

I wonder if she ever surfed at Beacon Cove?

Dragon Dave

Danger at Beacon Cove Part 2

According to the city of Torquay, Agatha Christie's hometown, Beacon Cove was one of the writer's favorite bathing spots. It's not hard to see why, given the beauty of the surrounding scenery. Nor on the afternoon we visited were we alone. A mother and her child joined us to share this quiet spot, sheltered by the wind, in tourist-popular Torquay. Like me, the woman sat on one of the large boulders, appreciating the scenery while her child played. Like my wife, the boy enjoyed exploring this rock hound's paradise.

Beacon Cove is no ordinary shingle beach. Round boulders and sharp rocks sit upon the shingle, or thrust up through the pebbles. Falling down, while walking over such an uneven surface, seems likely, especially after swimming, when your muscles are tired, and your sense of equilibrium has been weakened by all the motion of the waves.  Yet the city of Torquay has built an amphitheater here, so presumably Beacon Cove still proves popular with regulars and tourists alike.

But then, the Roman gladiatorial games were popular too. The masses crowded into amphitheaters to cheer on battles between strong and valiant souls. Inevitably, some of the competitors ended up being carried off the field during the course of their battles. So what could be more fitting than the city of Torquay building a concrete amphitheater where spectators can gather, and watch contestants brave the waves of Beacon Cove? Do modern crowds cheer when a swimmer emerges uninjured? Do the onlookers sigh or weep when a strong wave slams a swimmer into the rocks?

In her autobiography, and in the stories told about her by others, Agatha Christie seems like a level headed woman. The stories she constructed are charming and logical. Today they are regarded as paragons of the Cozy Mystery mini genre, in which violence is minimized, and a point of trauma is immediately followed by a scene in which the reader's sensibilities are soothed and comforted. 

Beacon Cove forms a strange contrast to the popular image of Christie as a woman of quiet, refined sensibilities. But perhaps she came here regularly to experience the thrill, and the danger, of swimming in this picturesque cove. Perhaps she learned how to comfort and sooth the reader by helping those injured by the waves and the rocks at Beacon Cove.

Does that image of Agatha Christie jar with your perception of her? Or does it gel with your knowledge of how adventurous she was, given the dangerous countries the writer visited in her travels, and the less-than-safe archeological digs Christie participated in with her second husband?

Dragon Dave

Danger at Beacon Cove Part 1

I mentioned awhile back that I've been corresponding with a man in prison. Over the course of our letters, I've discovered that he really likes seeing photos of beaches. So in recent letters, I've taken to sharing a photo or two of a particular beach I've visited, and telling him a little about it. For this month's letter, I chose to share with him our visit to Torquay, Agatha Christie's hometown. 

During our trip to England in 2015, we visited Beacon Cove. According to tourist information compiled by the city of Torquay, this was a beach where Agatha Christie liked to bathe. This secluded spot sits well below the level of the road. A series of large, wide concrete steps lead down from the road to the beach, forming a semicircular amphitheater. People can sit down on these giant-size steps, and watch others playing on the beach, or swimming in the water. 

It was the middle of the afternoon the day we visited. Although a cool, strong breeze blew along the coast, the surrounding cliffs sheltered us from the worst of it. Although I was a little tired from our day of exploration, and had already worked on two sketches that day, the rugged cliffs, the colorful rocks, and the trees and plants sprouting from the precarious ledges inspired me. So I sat on one of those giant concrete steps, took out my sketchbook, and over the course of an hour or so, drew this picture. 

While my wife enjoys sketching and painting, she also enjoys wandering along the beach and studying the rocks and shells. She's usually more interested in the rocks she finds than the shells, and tends to take a few home with her as souvenirs. The beaches of England are perfect for her, as many tend to be shingle beaches, meaning they're covered in pebbles rather than sand.

During our trips to England, one thing I can never get used to is the popularity of shingle beaches. Wouldn't you need to wear shoes all the time, whether you were on the beach or in the water? And what happens when you're out enjoying the water, and a wave unexpectedly picks you up and slams you down on the rocks? Doesn't that seem dangerous to you? 

According to the city of Torquay, which has included Beacon Cove on the Agatha Christie Mile, this rock-strewn shingle beach was one of her favorites. Yet I can't imagine her most famous creations, the sophisticated Hercule Poirot, or the brainy spinster Miss Marple bathing here. Can you?

Dragon Dave

Agatha Christie Loves Life

Life in Torquay, England

A thought for today:

"I like living. I have sometimes been wildly despairing, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing."

--from Agatha Christie: An Autobiography

The Romance of the Seafront: Part 2

Like Deauville and Trouville, Agatha Christie's English hometown of Torquay offers romantic views along the seafront. My wife and I wandered along the above stretch of seafront on our second day in Torquay. It was pleasant to stroll along, take photographs of the sea, wander through the occasional park, or climb down the stairs to the beaches we passed along the way. It offered us a nice little walk to stretch our legs, before spending the afternoon in the Torre Abbey museum.

With its palm trees, and all the sails out on the water, you might easily believe you were visiting a tropical island. But this is England, and even though it was summer, we saw few bikini-clad ladies lazing on the beaches, or families frolicking in the surf. Still, it was a lovely day, and Torquay offers a nice mix of old and new architectural styles. I especially liked this circular walkway, that corkscrews from the seafront road to the beach.

On our first day in Torquay, we had not yet located an inexpensive place to park. So we stopped in this carpark at the edge of town, and paid for an hour or two. It was such a scenic place that, after eating our lunch, I got out my pencils and started drawing. It was the first time I worked with my Prismacolor pencils, and sadly, it shows. But the main problem was that I simply didn't have time to do the vista justice, not at the parking rates they were charging, and not when there was so much of Torquay we had yet to visit.

One of my goals for the year is not only to do more sketching, but to finish the sketches I've started. Hopefully, I can do this sketch justice, by imbuing it with the sense of romance that tempts us to leave our comfortable homes, and travel great distances to such exotic locales. I loved that little place by the sea, the boat bobbing in the water in front of the island, and the waves wash gently against the rocks. I can imagine Arthur Hastings and Bella Duveen standing there, holding hands while they ponder their future together. I can also see Hercule Poirot standing on the ramp, holding onto the guardrails, and gazing out at the lovely view. How about you?

Dragon Dave

Agatha Christie's Favorite Bathing Spots

In the Agatha Christie's Poirot adaptation of "Murder on the Links," Captain Arthur Hastings goes out one morning to swim, or bathe, in the ocean. There he bumps into Bella Duveen, the glamorous singer who so entranced him in the lobby of the Hotel Du Golf. When she tells him that the water is freezing, he abandons his swimming plans and instead treats her to breakfast in a warm restaurant. 

Later, after Poirot leaves for London, Hastings meets up with her again. As they walk along the seafront, she convinces him to allow her to tag along to the Police evidence room, where she can see all the items catalogued by Inspector Giraud as he investigates the murder of Paul Renault. He thinks it will all be terribly boring for her. She convinces him that, while she's fascinated by murder, she also enjoys his company.

Deauville, a jewel of the northern coast of France, owes much of its heritage to tourism. The city is renowned for its swimming and bathing opportunities. Over 150 years ago, a series of hydrotherapeutic baths were constructed. Today, visitors are still drawn to its famous pompeian baths.

Agatha Christie loved vacationing in France. Hence, Hercule Poirot often travels there during his storied career. Still, she never lost her love for Torquay. Her childhood home, locating on a stretch of coastline known as the English Riviera, offers beach lovers many places to enjoy an invigorating swim or a relaxing soak. According to one guidebook, Beacon Cove was one of the places Agatha Christie returned to again and again. With its sparkling azure waters and rugged coastline, its easy to imagine her loving this place.

Perhaps that's what drew me to capture this place in more than a photograph. While my wife wandered along the shore, hunting for interesting rocks and shells, I sat down with my pencils and hurriedly sketched out what I saw. The ocean breeze grew cool and bracing as the afternoon waned, but I didn't mind. For an hour or so, I immersed myself in one of Agatha Christie's favorite bathing spots. 

Afterwards, instead of swimming, my wife took me out to a warm restaurant for dinner. But then, she's occasionally admitted that she's fascinated by my sketching, and that she enjoys my company.

Dragon Dave

A Conversation at the Quay

No more beautiful sight exists in Torquay than the quay itself. Ships come and go in the azure waters, and the shore-side roads are bordered by restaurants, hotels, and shops and kiosks selling every manner of goods every associated with a pleasant, seaside holiday. My wife and I strolled past these businesses, our attention divided by the tantalizing items for sale, the ships in the harbor, the people swimming in the water gently lapping against the shore, or playing in the pebbly sand, and our fellow human and canine walkers. Yet we had come with an interest in mind beyond that of most tourists. This was Agatha Christie's hometown, and as we walked, we saw not only what is today, but also tried to picture our surroundings as the great author would have seen them, decades and yes, even a century ago.

Make no mistake: for the Agatha Christie fan, all of Torquay is hallowed ground.

I make no claims to being a diehard Agatha Christie fan. I'll admit I've read a dozen or so of her books. For some authors, such as the obscure, mostly forgotten (but nonetheless great) E. F. Benson, that might be impressive. But given the number of books she produced in her lifetime, and her legion of fans who know her stories inside and out, I'm a nobody. Nor can I claim that my motives in reading her are pure, as I've started to read her work in the last few years, having thrilled to the performances of actor David Suchet on the TV adaptations of "Agatha Christie's Poirot." But now that I am reading her novels, I'm finding that what I perceived as sprawling among riches was really just the oblivion of the uniformed. For Agatha Christie's novels possess the riches far greater than those the TV series could ever hope to capture. Her novels know none of the limitations of a tightly budgeted TV production. Her narratives feel no need to keep Hercule Poirot foremost and center. In some books, he hurtles off on boats and trains, and goes to far-flung destinations. In others, he rarely appears. Thus, in the TV productions, even the most faithful show striking differences with the source material. And at times, the resultant shows barely resemble the original stories.

While walking the historic boardwalk, the wind whipped over the water. This forced me to keep my hat tightly strapped down, and its bill pointed down, lest the wind rip it off my head and cast it upon the gleaming blue water. Given the long summer days, and the clear skies, taking off one's sunglasses could only force one to squint. Yet in such a picturesque setting, photographs seemed mandatory. 

We passed by one family, who were taking turns taking photographs of each other with their iPads, as the beauty of their surroundings had exhausted the batteries in their cameras. We offered to take a photo of all three of them with their iPad, and in return, they took a photo of us with our camera. Then we fell into conversation.

When the subject turned to Agatha Christie, and Hercule Poirot, their eyes lit up. Yes, they too were fans, drawn to the stories by the TV series. Yes, they too loved David Suchet's performances, and it was the love of those adapted stories that had drawn them here. They wished to see where the author had lived. They also admitted that, as the TV production for all the Poirot stories had finally wound down, they were being drawn to read her original books. I told them some of the differences I had discovered, between her original stories, and the adaptations, by reading her novels. From their smiles, and the brightness of their eyes, I came away feeling as if they now felt even more driven to seek out those differences for themselves. 

I greatly enjoyed the time I spent in Torquay, and treasure my memories of all I experienced there. While I would have loved to attend many of the events scheduled for this year's Agatha Christie Festival, I suspect the times that would have meant the most to me would have been the conversations with other fans, such as the one I enjoyed with the family on the boardwalk. But then, after we left the boardwalk, my wife and I stepped inside a small shop to look for postcards, and a cheerful, enthusiastic lady behind the counter insisted upon having us taste three or four flavors of ice cream made with real Devonshire cream. In the end, I chose Banoffee, a mixture of Banana and Toffee. Sitting down outside, and watching the people walking past, the bathers swimming or playing in the pebbly sand, and ships parked in or navigating the gleaming azure waters, while we ate our authentic Devonshire ice cream, remains another treasured memory.

Perhaps, Mon Ami, we could even call it a Hercule Poirot moment. For even if the scoops of ice cream in my bowl weren't identically-sized and symmetrically-placed, I'm sure the great detective would have approved of the flavor. 

Agatha Christie's Offensive Masterpiece

Agatha Christie is one of the best selling English writers of all time. Although I read a few of her novels in my youth, my main experience with her until recently has been through TV, chiefly in the ITV productions starring David Suchet as her famous detective Hercule Poirot. Eventually watching the TV adaptations returned me to reading her novels and stories. I found her novels a sublime pleasure, even if the Poirot stories differed radically from the TV versions, and didn't feature such likable characters as the TV versions of Captain Hastings, Miss Lemon, and Inspector Japp. This love affair with her stories led me to visit cities and places strongly associated with her, such as London, Dartmoor, and Torquay, and the creation of a Poirot-themed blog as well.

Ironically, the first book of hers that I remember reading did not feature her famous detectives Hercule Poirot or Miss Marple. It's her bestselling book of all time, the novel she considered her masterpiece, and the one she found hardest to write. While it was released in Britain as Ten Little Niggers, American publishers titled it And Then There Were None. Yet I read a copy of it bearing another title: Ten Little Indians. 

Photo courtesy of the Torquay Museum,
which has devoted a wonderful exhibit
to Christie's life and her stories.

Strangely, I don't remember being all that impressed by it, when I read it back in High School. At the time, it seemed formulaic, and the title (actually, any of the titles) leached any long term tension from the narrative. So it seems odd to me that the novel has been embraced so completely by everyone else in the world, instead of being criticized, lambasted, and universally hated for bearing such racially-charged titles. Given how people often find reasons to slam a work of art for any imaginable flaw, and even generate an uproar sufficient to destroy an author's career, everyone who has read the book must absolutely adore it. Either that, or they love her so much that they're willing to forgive her for such offensive, seemingly inexcusable titles.

Were I visiting Torquay today, I could attend the Princess Theatre. 

Princess Theatre, Torquay, England

There, in recognition of Christie's 125th birthday, I could see a live production of And Then There Were None. 

I could also attend a panel discussing, in part, the making of the forthcoming BBC adaptation of this novel. The production will feature Sam Neill, whom I first saw in the third Omen movie, and went on to star in Hollywood blockbusters like "Jurassic Park," "The Hunt for Red October," and "Event Horizon." It will also feature Miranda Richardson, who may be best known for her role as journalist Rita Skeeter in the Harry Potter movies, but whom I shall always remember for her role of Queen Elizabeth the First, or "Queenie," in the "Blackadder" TV shows. Hopefully, the TV production will make its way over to the states soon.

In the meantime, perhaps I should reacquaint myself with Christie's novel. It's got to be infinitely better than my recollection of that High School reading experience, don't you think?

An Agatha Christie Celebration

Our trip to England in 2013 took us to the Hilton in Brighton, where we attended the World Fantasy Convention. While I enjoyed the panel discussions, readings, and meeting some favorite authors (including Peter F Hamilton), I wished for more interaction with other readers. It can be difficult at times to talk with people about the books you read, as so many people have and still do write wonderful and inspiring stories. Unless you belong to a book group, where you focus on a particular novel, you're often reduced to telling others about books they haven't read, and authors they may not have even heard of. 

Book groups can disappointing for a different reason. To appeal to as many interests as possible, group leaders rarely focus on a single author, or for even a specific genre. And what happens when the group convenes to discuss a particular book? A third to a half of the people will say they haven't finished it, if they even bothered to read it. Then they, and half of those that did, will tell you why they didn't like it. Leaders can also be a pain. They do their research, and then when you share elements of the book you enjoyed, and something positive you took away from reading it, they'll inform you that you're wrong, that they have proof that the author intended to communicate something completely different with his story!

I don't know about you, but I'd love to gather together with other people who like the authors I like, who have read the stories I've read, and want to share how the stories challenged, delighted, entertained, and inspired them. A single-author group, if not a convention, seems an ideal setting for that. And if production companies have adapted the author's stories for TV and movies, so much the better. So much more to talk about! The only question, in the case of a convention, is this: Can you attract sufficient number of fans to pay the costs of such an event?

Thankfully, given Agatha Christie's popularity, this isn't a problem. In fact, people come from all across the globe to see the places she lived and wrote her stories. She grew up in Torquay, a seaside town in south Devon, married her first husband there, and started her career there. After her second marriage, she may have moved away, but she purchased an estate (Greenway) in Torquay, and returned to spend her summers there. So Torquay seems an ideal place to meet to discuss and celebrate her work, given all the associations the city holds for her family and life.

This year's International Agatha Christie Festival takes place in Torquay, and celebrates the 125th anniversary of her birth. There will be lots of events geared toward every age group and interest, and the ten day event kicks off tonight at the Grand Hotel. It's an impressive old building, that looks out over the sea, and I'm sure that tonight it will be packed with Agatha Christie fans. I'd love to fly back to England, and take part in the festivities.

Ah well. At least I have this blog, so I can share my affection for her stories with you.

Related Link
Tonight's Agatha Christie Meet-up in Torquay