My childhood holidays 'doon the watter' inspired my writing

The Herald Scotland

a day ago

During the Second World War, my maternal grandmother, Ellice Gray, was evacuated to Whiting Bay on the Isle of Arran. Packed off with her younger siblings, Anne and Bill, she spent four formative years attending the village school, swimming in the sea, and trapping rabbits in the hills. Years later, when we asked for stories of this extraordinary time, she told us how she'd once secretly followed her mother to the boat as she returned to Glasgow, then sat under the pier, listening as the steamer puffed away. That poignant image – of a little girl surrounded by coastal architecture, missing her mother, but determined not to show it – has become part of my creative DNA.
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This deep family connection to Arran meant that every one of my childhood holidays was spent on the island. My brother and I would clamber for hours through the morning rockpools of Lamlash, hunting for crabs with the sun (and, often, rain) on our backs.
For a pair of suburban children, this was an electrifying dive into a wild world. Unlike a still, placid loch, the sea was thrillingly alive, and its protean smells – clean salt, sour seaweed, and bright, fresh tides – filled our lungs and stirred our hearts. We were never happier than when we were outside, skinning our knees to a soundtrack of breaking waves and the chime of swinging masts.
Author Martin Stewart (Image: Martin Zephyr) Thirty-plus years later, I can still find those sensory memories: the sudden lurch of a shoogly rock; the quick shock of a foot plunged into icy water; the sharp nip of barnacles against the skin.
For Scots, the seaside has always held a special appeal. From the dawn of the railways until the mid-60s, hundreds of steamers were loaded like troop ships in the dockyards of the Clyde, as generations of holidaymakers headed 'doon the watter' to relax and play on sandy proms.
That instinct to rush to the country's edge at first glimpse of the uncommon sun – like bugs scattering under a kitchen light – remains deep in the bones of Glaswegians. For so many of us, summer and sunshine still means a trip to one of our beautiful beaches and, when we escape the city for the coast, we are following a long and noble tradition.
Scotland's seaside towns offered eighteenth-century workers much longed-for escape. Factories and chimneys gave way to pavilions, piers and playgrounds under expansive skies; the waves' vastness a thrilling contrast to closed-in, industrial lives. There were ice creams, postcards, buckets and spades. Beachfronts thronged with putting greens and crazy golf; evenings meant vinegary chips, eaten with sand between the toes.
Towns would compete to provide guests with ever more exciting experiences, their architecture – sprung up in service of summer visitors – dedicated not to productivity and work, but to entertainment and fun. This transition encouraged the release of working tension, and provided respite from obligation and social norms (not for nothing does the term 'steaming drunk' comes from the golden age of Clydeside steamboats!)
(Image: Zephyr)
While we have lost some of that architecture of pleasure – notably the outdoor swimming pools that once speckled the shoreline – plenty remains. Bandstands, promenades, pavilions and winter gardens that once catered for summer tourists still stand in many traditional Scottish seaside towns. The newly-restored train station at Wemyss Bay – winner of the 2023 World Cup of Stations – provides a glimpse into the heyday of the seaside Scottish holiday, its magnificent glass roof covering passengers all the way to the ferry terminal. It is impossible to stand on its glorious concourse and not picture throngs of happy tourists, shuffling eagerly towards the waiting boats.
The romance of these seaside spaces has inspired much of my writing, most recently the first in my new series for children, Sandy Fin Operation Splash Landing. The importance of a screenless childhood, of being outside and exploring our beautiful coastline, fills my imagination – something I want to share with my younger readers in the guise of madcap, rollicking adventures.
We must cherish Scotland's seaside towns. Next time the sun makes one of its irregular appearances, take a trip doon the watter. Get yourself a 99, roll up your trousers, paddle in the sea. Then, as the sun sets over your fish and chips, think about the magic that built these places, of the excitement and pleasure they've brought to generations – and wiggle the sand between your toes.
Sandy Fin: Operation Splash Landing written by Martin Stewart an illustrated by Santy Gutiérrez, published June 2025 by Zephyr, £7.99 available from all good booksellers.