Many of us may remember a charming novel from the past, “The Fortnight In September” by R.C. Sheriff, about an ordinary family, the Stevenses, who are going on the much anticipated holiday to the seaside on the south cost of England, the West Sussex town named Bognor Regis*. As one of the Paris Review critics, Lucy Scholes, has pointed out,
“The novel’s premise is brilliantly simple. We accompany Mr. Stevens, an office clerk, his sweet but nervous wife Flossie, and their three children—Dick, who works for an auctioneer; Mary, a dressmaker’s assistant; and schoolboy Ernie—as they ready themselves for their summer holiday and take the train from London to the coast. Once there, they enjoy their getaway. Nothing in the story surprises. Nevertheless, it’s an absolute delight from start to finish.”
—And with each day going I can’t but think that the actual storyline, the barely existing plot, the arcs of the characters—everything reminds me of our own desire to reach Cromer, the excitement, the hardly-believe-I-am-here first two hours and even days, the delight of seeing the same things in the same places all over again yet the quietly building sorrow that everything might change whether we like it or not.
