This central position of the beach being most frequented by visitors, it is also the chief resort, the happy hunting ground of the numerous class who have a keen eye to business. Nearly all of them are vendors of only one kind of article each, and this peculiarity tends to multiply their numbers, the variety of merchandise among the whole being considerable. There are so many—and some of them are strangers to Yarmouth—that, were they not civil, and usually take the first refusal, persistency with frequency would be an annoyance little short of a nuisance. Take a seat and your troubles begin. “Here’s your chocolate creams.” “Buns, two a penny.” “Yarmouth rock, penny a box.” “Apples, penny a bag.” “Hokey Pokey, two a penny.” “Nuts or pears—fine Williams.” “Lemonade, three-a-pence a bottle.” “Pears or grapes, all ripe, buy a nice bunch of grapes, sir.” “Walnuts, eight a penny, fine walnuts.” “Milk, penny a glass.” These and many other solicitations are made to unfortunate visitors whilst reclining upon the sands or occupying seats, reading the morning papers, Conservative, Radical, and Sporting, or engaged in knitting, sewing, or fancy work of some kind, nursing, chatting, novel reading, or lazily watching the ever-changing scene on the Beach, or meditatively listening to the everlasting music of the sea. Fancy the effect of such a succession of interruptions upon a couple who had passed the spooning period of life and were intently engaged in writing, probably letters to their friends, jotting down their impressions fresh from the sands; before subscribing themselves as ‘Yours ozoneously, Jim, or Jemima,’ we can imagine they would be able to lay much to the charge of these itinerating traders.
[Picture: Yarmouth beach in its summer aspect]