QUAM BELLA
The very first sentence in the very first Latin
Reader I ever had at school was, "Quam bella est ora
maritima", - How beautiful is the sea shore.
I forget all else in the book, but that one sentence
has haunted me all my life.
I have gazed breathless over the Mediterranean,
across the wonderful Bay of Naples, with
Vesuvius smoking in the distance and the dizzy
cliffs of Capri at my feet.
I've looked out over the cold North Sea from the cliff-
tops of wartime Whitby in the grey dawn of winter, whilst
guarding our shores against threatened invasion, with a cold
steel rifle numbing my hands, and never a round of ammunition
to put up the spout.
I've walked the firm sands at Blackpool, Rhyl,
Llandudno, Barmouth, Pendine and Lyme Regis,
rejoicing in the salt-filled breeze that whipped
the tops off the breakers.
And I've rested my feet on the springy turf of our Essex
saltings, and looked out over the mud-flats under a liquid
English sky, full of wheeling Curlew.
And always, always this one Latin sentence comes up
from its pigeon-hole in my memory, -
"Quam bella est ora maritima" -
"How beautiful is the sea shore".
Roy Masefield.
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