“Stay close.”

Water safety has been my life's work. Not because it's a nice hobby — because I can't look away from it. Thirty years of swimming lessons, in pretty much every teaching system this country has. Fourteen summers I stood poolside as a lifeguard. And these days I'm also chair of the NSWZ.

And no, I'm really not the only one who sees this. Ask any lifeguard, any instructor, anyone from the brigade — they all nod. We all see the same thing. It's just that almost nothing changes.

Because you know what the real problem is? It's not the swimming lessons. Not too few lifeguard brigades. Not too few signs or flags. They're all there.

It comes down to something much smaller. 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 spot her. Four years old, I'd guess. Pottering across the beach all on her own, not a parent in sight. Nobody holding her hand. Completely free, completely at ease, and utterly oblivious that this might be a problem.

I nudged my partner. She'd already clocked it herself, actually — she comes from a swimming-education background too, so we've both got that same antenna switched on. She walked over, sat down next to the girl, struck up a chat.

Why didn't I do it myself? Honestly? A man in his forties approaching a stranger's toddler on a crowded beach — that invites trouble. Unfairly, but that's just how it works. So my partner did it. Sorted, no fuss.

Then along came her little brother. Seven or so, three years older. He'd walked over from the towels on his own, clearly sent to fetch his sister. No hurry, no worry on his face. To him, this was apparently the most normal thing in the world.

And five minutes later? She was wandering around alone again. Not straight into the water, no. But not near anyone watching her either. Because there was no boundary. And last time there'd been no consequence — so why would there be now.

Don't get me wrong, I understand those parents. I'm one myself, with two kids. A day at the seaside with little ones isn't a holiday, it's work. Sun cream, the windbreak, the buckets, hunger, toilet trips, sand in everything — and at some point you just want to sit on your backside for five minutes and do nothing. Completely human. Nothing wrong with that.

But “stay close” — a three- or four-year-old can do nothing with that. It's not an instruction, it's a fog. Close to what? How far is far? And meanwhile that sea just sits there glittering. It foams, it moves, it pulls at you. For a toddler, it'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 shouting. It's silent. And it's fast.

And that's precisely the bit almost everyone gets wrong: drowning doesn't look the way it does in films. No splashing, no shouting, no arms waving wildly above the surface. It's silent. And it's fast — often half a minute, sometimes less, and regularly right next to people who have no idea. The sea won't call for help on your child's behalf. It just waits.

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

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.

Nothing complicated. Three things, cost nothing, 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 a step further.” Point it out. A three-year-old understands a flag. “Close” they don't.
2. Agree who's watching. Out loud. “I'm just popping to the bag, you're on watch now.” Don't silently assume the other person is keeping an eye — because then, before you know it, nobody 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 — nobody did anything, and five minutes later off she wandered again.

So that little girl was wandering around alone 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 touch of despair, and honestly, plain sadness too. Because it all starts with realising that those five minutes — yes, even on a day off, even when you're absolutely shattered — can be the most important moment of your entire day.

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