“Stay close.”

I’ve spent a lifetime working on water safety. Not because it’s a nice hobby — because I can’t look away. Thirty years of swimming lessons, in just about every teaching system this country has. Fourteen summers on the poolside as a lifeguard. And from day one, I’ve been chair of the NSWZ.

And no, I’m really not the only one who sees this. Ask any lifeguard, any instructor, anyone from a rescue crew — they all nod. We all see the same thing. The only thing that barely changes is anything.

Because do you know what the real problem is? It isn’t the swimming lessons. It isn’t too few rescue crews. It isn’t too few signs or flags. They’re all there.

It comes down to something far smaller. To that one moment on the towel when a parent thinks: ah, she’ll stay close.

That’s where it goes wrong. And that day, I didn’t see that moment just once.

Not ten minutes after that rescue, I spotted her. Four years old, I’d guess. Pottering across the beach all on her own, not a parent in sight. No one holding her hand. Completely free, completely at ease, and utterly unaware that this might be a problem.

I nudged my partner. She’d already seen it too, as it happens — she comes from the swimming world as well, so we both have the same antenna switched on. She walked over, sat down beside her, struck up a little conversation.

Why didn’t I do it myself? Honestly? A man in his forties walking up to a strange toddler on a crowded beach — that invites trouble. Unfairly, but that’s just how it works. So my partner did it. Problem solved.

Then her little brother turned up. About seven, three years older. Came walking over from the towels, on his own, clearly sent to fetch his sister. No hurry, no worry on his face. For him, this was apparently the most normal thing in the world.

And five minutes later? She was pottering about on her own again. Not straight into the water, no. But not near anyone watching her, either. Because there was no boundary. And the last time hadn’t had any consequence — so why would she stop.

Don’t get me wrong, I understand those parents. I’m one myself, with two kids. A day at the seaside with small children isn’t a holiday, it’s work. Sunscreen, the little tent, the buckets, hunger, the loo, sand in everything — and at some point you just want to sit on your backside for five minutes and do absolutely nothing. Completely human. Nothing wrong with that.

But “stay close” — a three- or four-year-old can do nothing with that. That’s not an instruction, it’s a fog. Close to what? How far is far? And meanwhile that sea just keeps glinting away. It foams, it moves, it pulls at you. For a toddler, that’s irresistible.

Children that age live entirely in the now. They don’t wander off because they’re being naughty. They just go and look. They test. They follow whatever grabs their attention. And the water gives nothing back — no warning, no signal.

Drowning doesn’t look the way it does in films. No splashing, no screaming. It’s silent. And it’s fast.

And that’s exactly the part nearly everyone gets wrong: drowning doesn’t look the way it does in films. No splashing, no screaming, no arms thrashing above the surface. It’s silent. And it’s fast — often half a minute, sometimes less, and regularly right next to people who haven’t noticed a thing. The sea doesn’t call for help on your child’s behalf. It simply waits.

Rescue crews — brilliant, truly — those people are worth their weight in gold and they do their job perfectly. Flags, signs, all good. Children learning to swim, earning certificates, absolutely right.

But the moment just before that — we almost never talk about it. Those five minutes on the towel. That “ah, she’ll stay close.”

That’s where it goes wrong. Not in the water. Before it.

Nothing complicated. Three things, they cost nothing, and they work everywhere — Noordwijk, Spain, the pool round the corner, doesn’t matter.

1. Make the boundary visible. Not “stay close,” but “you can go as far as that flag, and not one step further.” Point it out. A three-year-old understands a flag. “Close” means nothing to them.
2. Agree out loud who’s watching. Out loud. “I’m popping to the bag, you keep an eye out now.” Don’t silently assume the other person is watching — because then, in a moment, no one is. That happens more often than you’d think.
3. Act on it when it goes wrong. If your child crosses the boundary and you let it slide, that boundary is gone. Done. Exactly what happened there — no one did anything, and five minutes later she’d wandered off again.

So that little girl was wandering about on her own again five minutes later. Not into the water. But not near her family, either. No boundary, no consequence.

It turned out fine that day. But “it usually turns out fine” — you can’t build safety on that.

And no, I’m not writing this to make parents feel rotten. I’m writing it because after thirty years I still sit on a beach like that with the same knot in my stomach. Frustration, a bit of weariness, and honestly just plain sadness. Because it all begins with realising that those five minutes — yes, even on a day off, even when you’re completely wiped out — can be the most important moment of your entire day.

*The water has all the time in the world. It just waits.*