Fishermen, tradesmen, and early walkers—usually elderly—are generally the only characters to be seen in the very early hours of the morning in Salcombe during the summer months. The holidaymakers take a slow start to the day, luxuriating in the opportunity to stay in bed just that little bit longer unless excited toddlers persuade them to get up and out on the sands. The latest risers are teenagers and young adults wasted from the previous night’s partying or from late-night escapades on the beach, which have left them in need of extra sleep.
Not so on the morning of the Estuary Swim. By 6:30 a.m., black rubber-clad figures are creeping out of front doors, closing them softly behind. From Devon Road, Shadycombe Road, Church Street, Buckley Street they come—the teenagers joined by the elderly and youngsters—streaming up Fore Street, past Whitestrand, past The Ferry Inn, past the Salcombe War Memorial, and down onto Cliff House Gardens, where they gather—not in their twos or threes, not in their tens or twenties, but in their hundreds.
The atmosphere intensifies, the Harbour Master and his team are at the ready, and the first boatloads of swimmers are taken across the sparkling waters to Small’s Cove, where they assemble for the big swim back.
All was commotion down in 3 Island Street. Lizzy and Jane were ready, wearing cosy hoodies over their swimwear and carrying beach towels. Lydia was hunting for her bikini top and suddenly confessed that she might have left it on North Sands the day before—how it could have come detached she did not know—so wanted to borrow the bikini that Kitty was wearing, who said she could not because she already had it on, so in the end, Lydia had to wear an unmatching top and bottom. Mary was taking an interminable time getting into her Billabong wetsuit, and they were in danger of running late when they all at last were gathered in the tiny hall.
“Ready at last!” said Lydia, her eyes gleaming in excitement.
Lizzy was just about to step onto the street when her heart stopped.
“Mr Collins! Where is Mr Collins? Mary, did you wake him? You promised you would.”
Mary, already boiling in her wetsuit, would have gone redder if she wasn’t already bright beetroot.
“I forgot,” she mumbled.
The last thing poor Lizzy wished to happen was for Mr Collins to accompany them on the swim, but she felt it would be too unkind to give him the slip, so she raced upstairs and knocked on his door. There was no answer. She knocked again. Still no answer. With caution she opened the door and called his name softly and then a little louder. With still no response, she started to close the door when suddenly from the bedclothes came a snort, a sniffle, and then Mr Collins’s face turned towards her, his eyes opened and then opened wide.
“Elizabeth! My own Elizabeth! Oh, my Lord! You have come! I do doubt the wisdom of your forwardness, but I am prepared to forgive you such is my passion for you!”
He threw back the duvet, inviting her into his hot and enseamed bed.
“Mr Collins! You forget yourself,” cried Lizzy in much alarm. “And you forget that today is the Harbour Swim. I have merely come to wake you, as Mary has quite forgot. We are leaving now, so if you wish to join us, please make haste!”
And with that, Lizzy turned, shut the door, and raced downstairs, her heart beating and her whole being a little shaken by the experience.
“Is he like coming?” asked Kitty, hoping he was not.
In answer to her question, a banging of a door and footsteps were heard above, and Mr Collins appeared, dishevelled but attired in surprisingly brief swimming trunks and carrying the wetsuit Mr Bennet had so kindly lent him the night before.
“Sorry, ladies, to have delayed you, but let us not dally now! I am ready for whatever delights lie before us!”
And with that, the little party hurried to join the throng at Cliff House Gardens.
Once they had paid their entry fee of £1.00, obtained their numbered rubber wristband, and joined the queue for the boats, Lizzy looked around for Wickham. She was disappointed not to see him there but consoled herself thinking he may already be on the far side. Certainly Bingley would already be on the beach with his sisters, as Netherpollock lay that side. It then crossed her mind that if Darcy was going to be there, Wickham might deliberately avoid the event. Her anger towards Darcy intensified at the thought.
“Do not be alarmed!” consoled Mr Collins, seeing her expression and taking her arm. “The seas might be treacherous, but I will be here to guide you and save you from any peril.”
Mr Collins was attentive to Lizzy from then onwards. He helped her down the steps, nearly causing her to trip and fall; he pushed her onto the boat so that she fell headlong onto the wooden planks; he shielded her from the spray as they crossed, so she could see nothing but the fleshy white of his chest, and he gallantly leapt out of the boat to help her down on arrival—but anticipated the landing early in error, so they both found themselves chest deep in the icy sea. The dramatic change of temperature had a devastating effect on Mr Collins. He was scarcely able to breath and became momentarily paralysed by the intense cold. Seconds later he regained control over his faculties and ran shrieking out of the water, then remembering Lizzy, turned to help her out, pulling her so she fell again into the sea.
At last all were ashore on Small’s Cove and were mingling with four hundred or so other early morning swimmers, all in good spirits, all discussing how cold the water would or would not be and whether it would or would not be advisable to wear a wetsuit.
“My wetsuit!” exclaimed Mr Collins. “I fear I have left it on the launch!”
“I have it,” said Jane kindly. “When you so gallantly leapt overboard, I picked it up, thinking it might be forgotten.”
“Thank you! Thank you!” exalted Mr Collins. “You are kindness indeed. Even Lady Catherine would condescend to agree that you almost have the same excessive kindness for which she is famous! Thank you again.”
“Would you like some help putting it on?” further queried Jane.
“No. It would not be seemly. I can manage myself, thank you,” replied Mr Collins, who proceeded to attempt to squeeze himself into the rubbery outfit. It was challenging. Mr Collins soon found himself unbalancing on one leg, rolling round on the sand, trying in vain to catch the zip strap on his back, and with more help than he would like to admit to, eventually found himself crammed into the all-in-one suit. It was not a pretty sight.
Lizzy, meanwhile, scanned the beach, which now resembled a seal colony with its vast numbers of barking, black-clad figures. Any moment she expected David Attenborough to leap out of the tall pines which surrounded the beach, microphone in hand, and explain the extraordinary annual migration—although, it has to be said, among the black were an equal number of brave souls who wore only swimming costumes and stood shrieking and shivering. Yet there was, indeed, no sign of Wickham. Denny appeared, and Lydia was immediately forthright enough to enquire of his handsome friend.
“Wickham has gone for a run over to Bolt Head. This swim would have been a great pleasure to him, but I am afraid he wished to avoid a certain gentleman.”
Lizzy felt her heart harden against Darcy, as her dislike of him was sharpened by the immediate disappointment. But she was not one to sulk, and seeing her friend, Lottie Lucas, she was able to discuss her griefs, having to drop the subject as Bingley, his sisters, and the detestable Darcy himself joined their group.
“Splendid! Delightful. Absolutely splendid!” enthused Bingley. “I say, what a perfectly splendid event. I can’t wait to get in that sea. Are you a strong swimmer, Jane?” And on enquiring, he angled himself closer to the young lady in question. Mr Darcy similarly seemed to be approaching Lizzy, who feeling he was the last person in the world she wished to talk to, moved away and unfortunately found herself shoulder to shoulder with Mr Collins. Mr Collins, uncomfortable and sweating profusely in the ill-fitting wetsuit, took this as a compliment, and to Lizzy’s horror, put out a rubber paw and held her hand. So shocked was she that she gave out a little squeal, which he took to be a squeal of delight and held more firmly, so despite her discreet wriggling, she was unable to escape.
There was a ripple of excitement across the beach. The Harbour Master had transferred all contenders; from his wooden boat, twenty yards out to sea, he was holding an oar aloft; the sea was choppy but not wild; the tide was high; the early morning sun sparkled: the moment had come.
“When I drop my oar, it is the signal to start,” he bellowed. Despite the megaphone, nobody could hear his words, yet despite not hearing his words, everyone got the gist. Almost. The oar had not quite dropped, but everyone knew he was on the verge—the sound of his voice had been enough, excitement overspilled, and the several hundred people who had waited so patiently and with such good humour on the beach now ran at full speed into the water.
The splashing was unprecedented, the battle roar tremendous as bodies large and small, fat and thin, old and young hurled themselves voluntarily into the waves. Lydia and Kitty found themselves at the forefront with Denny and a group of six fit young men. Mary, not wishing to be last, had allowed herself to be swept along with the crowd and was swimming sidestroke in a regular, balanced motion, trying to recite the periodic table to take her mind off the cold. Bingley had made a dash for it with Jane, and they were destined to enjoy a most romantic swim across, with the young man feeling he had fallen in love with a mermaid, so beautifully—in his eyes—did the eldest Miss Bennet glide through the water. Lizzy, meanwhile, was right at the back. Mr Collins had not released his grip of her when the rush began. Being right by the shore as everyone charged in, the pair found themselves near the front, but they were soon overtaken.
“Oh, it’s cold!” shrieked Mr Collins, hopping about, barely toe deep. “Oh my! Oh my!”
“Come on!” insisted Lizzy impatiently.
Mr Collins was forced to let go of Lizzy’s hand, as he could not swim and be noble, being good at neither. Lizzy waded out and struck off, but her kind heart impelled her to turn to see that Mr Collins was now only waist deep and still not swimming but bobbing around on tiptoes, trying not to get wet.
“Oh my! Oh my! I can hardly breathe! Oh my!”
“You can swim, can’t you?” shouted Lizzy.
“Oh my! Of course! Lady Catherine condescended herself to compliment me on hearing that I achieved my Duckling Award at the tender age of six but…”
He tripped and lunged forward into the water. Lizzy was not able to tell if he was swimming or floundering. The buoyancy of his wetsuit seemed to keep him roughly afloat, but they were going at such a slow pace that the other swimmers were moving away.
“Mr Collins, we will never cross the estuary at this rate. Can you not speed up?”
“I…! Oh! I think I have swallowed a fish! I…! Oh my!”
Mr Collins, now progressed to deeper water, was coughing and spluttering and flailing his arms around and indeed looked in danger of drowning. They were out of their depths, and Lizzy had serious cause for concern.
“Oh my! Oh…”
Mr Collins disappeared under the waters.
“Mr Collins! Mr Collins!” She looked around, but there was no sign. She dived under. Nothing could be seen! She dived again. Nothing! It seemed Mr Collins had completely disappeared!
“Help! Help! Over here!” Lizzy waved frantically at the lifeguards who were floating around on surfboards for the very purpose of rescuing anyone in difficulties. But as she waved, she felt a tug on her leg and was pulled underwater. Something black enveloped her, pushing her down, deeper and deeper. As it pushed her deeper, it propelled itself upwards. Lizzy thought her lungs would burst. Almost too late, she escaped the great weight, and freed, swam desperately to the surface. Only moments from death, she managed to gasp in great mouthfuls of air, and even in such desperate straits, she was conscious of the sight of the great black posterior of Mr Collins being heaved onto a surfboard and his plaintive cry of “Oh my! Oh my! I nearly drowned! Oh! Oh! Oh!”
Mr Collins safe and thankfully out of the way, Lizzy now filled her lungs with air and struck out with vigour. She was a fine swimmer and was determined, despite this initial setback, not to finish last. She sped through the water, doing a fast crawl, enjoying the physical challenge and soon catching up with a clutch of swimmers. At the same time, she became aware that someone was swimming alongside her. She paused for breath, and on looking round, to her astonishment saw it was Mr Darcy! He, too, was a fine swimmer and seemed able to talk and swim at the same time with ease.
“I do hope you do not mind me accompanying you, Miss Bennet?”
“You are hardly alone in accompanying me, Mr Darcy. There are at least four hundred other swimmers in the vicinity.”
“I mean swim alongside you?”
“If you wish.”
And Lizzy struck out as fast as she could, but to her irritation, found that Darcy managed to keep up with her.
They were soon overtaking Sir William Lucas, who was swimming at a cautious rate.
“Ah, Lizzy! Darcy!” he puffed. “This sea is full of young people swimming with such style and grace. Allow me to say, Mr Darcy, your young partner does not disgrace you, and I am sustained in my efforts by thoughts of a desirable event, my dear Eliza, that may soon take place.” And he glanced across at Jane and Bingley, who were swimming now at a leisurely pace just to starboard. Darcy was halted in his tracks by this thought, which seemed to strike him forcibly. Uncharacteristically he seemed to lose control and swallow an unwise amount of seawater, causing a temporary spluttering and coughing. Lizzy, wishing to escape, took her chance and swam swiftly on. Yet Darcy, recovered, hastened to catch up again, which to Elizabeth’s annoyance, he did and proceeded to encourage conversation whilst swimming on his back.
“What think you of books?”
“Books? I feel we will be all at sea in our varying opinions of books, Mr Darcy.”
“Then let us discuss our opinions.”
“Opinions? I remember you once saying that once you have an opinion of someone you will not change. You must be cautious about forming those opinions.”
“Indeed I am.”
“And you are never blinded by prejudice?”
“I hope not.”
“First impressions must be most important to you. Oh, sorry!”
Lizzy’s apology came from her error in coming into contact with a rather porky man to her port.
“To what are you alluding?”
“Your character, Mr Darcy. I have heard so many conflicting opinions that I am having trouble making you out.”
“I would wish, Miss Bennet, that you would not sketch my character at present, as I have reason to fear that some may not wish to give you the best impression. Ouch!”
The portly gentleman swerved to avoid Lizzy, and in doing so, hit Darcy in a most uncomfortable spot. Darcy, for the second time, found himself spluttering and gasping—this time in agony, and Lizzy, for the second time, found an opportunity to escape and merged into a group of swimmers just ahead.
“Oh, Lizzy!” came the haughty voice of Lulu. “I must warn you that your beloved Wickham is not all that he seems. Darcy has always been remarkably kind to him—even though he was only a trumped up…”
“That is enough, Louisa!” retorted Lizzy angrily. “Wickham himself told me of his background, which it seems is his only crime, and I will not be prejudiced against him for that reason!”
And with that, Lizzy swam off with as much energy as she could muster, not waiting to hear Lulu’s “Oh, no need to get all moody!” retort.
Swimmers were now starting to reach land on the town side. Faces glowing, hearts pounding, exuberant in their achievement, they climbed the steps out of the sea and into the Cliff House Gardens where they were given a hero’s welcome by waiting friends, a Mars bar, and a prized Harbour Swim Certificate by the organisers. There was no more joyous couple than Jane and Bingley, who had swum together for the whole distance and were now only separated as Bingley, happy to see Jane warm in her towel, went to find his.
“Oh, Lor! Oh, Lor!” Lydia was shrieking. “That was a beast of a swim! I was freezing all the way. My fingers are blue.”
“Not half as cold as I was,” said Kitty. “Look, my fingers are bluer than yours.”
“It was horrible! Horrible!” sobbed Mary. “What a foolish, ill-advised idea. I will never again take to the seas. I nearly died!”
“You will recover, I am sure,” said Jane kindly as she and Lizzy joined the group.
“I say, girls! Girls!”
“Oh no! Mr Collins! Whatever is the matter with him?”
“He looks as if he is going to explode!”
“How did he get across so quickly?”
Mr Collins had been relieved to have been rescued early on in the swim and so avoid the physical exertion so enjoyed by most of the remaining four hundred swimmers. He had been delivered by surfboard back to the safety of Cliff House Gardens and had been able to watch the event, wrapped warmly in his towel, and by eavesdropping on some fellow spectators, had picked up the most extraordinary news, which he was now about to relate to the surprised and shivering Bennet girls.
“I say! I say! I say! News of the most exciting nature! By chance I have discovered that the nephew of my patroness, Lady Catherine de Brrr, is here! Here in Salcombe! And there he is! Right now! Coming out of the water! Fitzwilliam Darcy! What a fine figure of a man! I will go and make his acquaintance!” Mr Collins rushed off, pushing his way down the slippery steps as swimmers endeavoured to come up the steps. Darcy, only just recovered from his agony in the water, was unprepared for the onslaught of friendliness from Mr Collins, who grabbed him in a handshake and had only just managed to get out the words:
“Lady Catherine would be…” before he slipped and fell from the steps into the deep water, pulling the astonished Darcy with him.
The waters closed over them. Lizzy, whose embarrassment was overtaken by hilarity, now felt a stab of fear as no sign of either man could be seen. Suddenly Darcy emerged.
“Where is the fool?” he shouted, gasping for breath and looking wildly around. Then Darcy disappeared, yanked from below as if by a deep sea monster, and Mr Collins in turn appeared.
“Oh my! Oh my! Save me! Lady Catherine would…”
Mr Collins never finished his sentence as Darcy rose to the surface again, and despite Mr Collins’s efforts to drown him, managed to get them both safely to the steps. The ordeal of a near drowning for the second time in one day had so shocked Mr Collins that he was unable to stand, so Darcy was forced to carry him, in his arms, up the steps. Physically, Mr Collins succumbed like a baby to this mode of transport. Mentally, however, he was quite alert and was not one to miss an opportunity. Recovering slightly, he could see the closeness of the situation was the perfect moment for a little intimate conversation and proceeded to wrap his arms fondly around Darcy’s neck and to introduce himself.
“Mr Darcy, what a fortunate meeting this is. I have reason to believe you are the nephew of my patroness, Lady Catherine de Brrr, who… oh! Oh my! Oh!…”
Darcy, on the verge of exploding, had had enough. He deposited Mr Collins in a blob at the feet of the vicar’s cousins and strode off—not before he had unwillingly overheard Mrs Bennet, who had just arrived on the scene, expressing in the loudest of voices to Mrs Lucas how she was looking forward to a happy event between her eldest daughter and the charming Mr Bingley. The past few moments had been mortifying for Lizzy, but worse was to come. Mary had managed to inveigle herself with the organisers, and to Lizzy’s horror, had volunteered to give a vote of thanks on behalf of the swimmers. Mary had climbed onto a table and was trying to master the megaphone with little success.
“Oh behalf of the…” beep “I would like to…” screech . All the swimmers and their supporters laughed and clasped their hands to their ears in mock horror at the sound.
Mary was encouraged. She had their attention.
“At times like these…” screech “…a song… rousing…”
Mary then proceeded to sing “For those in peril on the sea” down the megaphone. Mary’s voice was weak and tuneless, her choice of song unfortunate; the crowd stood still in amazement at the exhibition. As she was about to launch into the third verse, Mr Bennet stepped forward.
“Jolly good, Mary. Now let us give someone else a go,” and handed the megaphone to one of the organisers. Mary was disconcerted, but cries and hoots of laughter from the crowd diverted her attention. At the far corner of the garden there was a commotion. “They’re coming! They’re coming! Make way! Make way!”
The crowds, wolf whistling and shouting encouragement, were parting and moving into the centre to make a track round the edge of the gardens. And round the track were two girls in full flight, screaming, laughing, waving their hands in the air… and totally naked.
Streakers!
Lizzy stood horrified as the identity of the streakers became apparent. Lydia and Kitty! How could they? As her naked sisters raced past, a whirl of giggling, bouncing femininity, she caught sight of Darcy, who had been transfixed by the spectacle in amazement and disbelief. If her family had planned to expose themselves as much as they could that morning, they could not have played their parts with more spirit.