Our favourite beach has been destroyed

‘Ukraine Family – Welcome You,’ said the ungrammatical sign at the entrance to the car park of our favourite West Sussex beach.

We had arrived for a sentimental visit that might be our last here if the house sale goes through. But Climping was unrecognisable.

Oh, there was the sea, milky blue and churning, beneath a deep blue sky. A few windsurfers bobbing. And there was the vast expanse of sand, dotted with beachcombers, the tide way out.

But the rest of it was like a bomb had hit. Vast mounds of shingle had risen up like statues of mythical creatures, boulders were blown back. On closer inspection, the wooden groynes we used to shelter beside to eat our picnics had vanished – every single one of them, all the way down the beach as far as the eye could see.