My son went to the beach with his friends and never came home

I turned to my son, Joe, with open arms.

‘Come on then,’ I said. ‘We both know you’re not going to give me a hug in front of your friends.’ 

He was 17, and we were just about to leave the house on Wednesday May 31, 2023 so I could drop him at the station for a day out with his mates. 

He rolled his eyes, the way all teenagers do when their mum’s being ‘embarrassing’, but still proceeded to pull me in tight for a strong and solid hug

Had I known then that this would be the last one we’d ever have, that just hours later I’d be getting a phone call saying that he’d died from accidental drowning, I’d have brought him closer, held him for longer and, in all likelihood, never let him leave the house.

But, of course, I didn’t know. How could I? It was the last thing I ever suspected could happen to him.

Joe knew exactly what he wanted out of his life: To be happy, healthy and a famous chef to boot.

And as a regular gym goer, strong swimmer, with a part time job as a trainee chef at Southampton Football Club, and coming to the end of his first year of chef training at college, he was already part of the way there.

So, when he told me he and a group of friends were going to Bournemouth during May half term 2023, I didn’t think anything of it. He deserved to let off steam.

Besides, as resident ‘dad’ of the group, I knew he’d be sensible.

Sure enough, that morning, as I was answering some work emails, Joe raced around the house booking train tickets for his friends, confirming plans while making sure there was enough sun cream and a spare phone charger packed in his bag.

After hugging at the front door we jumped in the car, picked up his best mate and I dropped them off at the station.

I’d barely brought the car to a stop before they leapt out of their seats and started running for the train. ‘Bye then!’ I called out of the window after them. ‘See you later! Love you lots,’ they both replied.

My day continued as normal from there: I finished work, had lunch with a friend and had sporadic contact with Joe. He texted once while on the train, then again when they arrived and I also saw he uploaded a picture to Snapchat and Instagram but that was it.

At 3.45pm, I fired off a text to Joe saying that I hoped he was having a good day. I didn’t know it then but, that was around the same time Joe was being dragged under the water.

At 4.27pm, I first learned of the incident when my phone rang.

It was Joe’s number so I answered cheerfully expecting to hear his voice. Only, the person on the other end was a girl – one of his close friends who I knew

‘There’s been an incident,’ she said quickly, tripping over her words in what I now know was a state of panic. ‘The lifeguards are with Joe but that’s all I know, and I had to tell you.’

My brain could barely keep up. What had happened? Why was Joe with the lifeguards? What was the incident? He was OK though, right?

Joe’s best mate got hold of me soon after and he told me that Joe was on the beach, that paramedics were working on him, but that he didn’t know if he was OK. 

‘They’ve said you need to come to Bournemouth as soon as you can,’ he told me.

I was worried, naturally, but all I kept thinking was that Joe was young, fit, strong. Whatever was wrong, he’d come out the other side.

More calls followed – I had to update my husband and our other son that something was going on – and the police also called me to confirm Joe’s name and date of birth. When I asked if he could give me any update the officer simply said: ‘I’ve got a lot of casualties I’m dealing with. I’ll get back to you when I know more.’

That word, casualties, stuck with me. But I never for a moment believed Joe would be one of them.

At 5.41pm the police called me again, this time from the hospital, and once again I begged for an update: ‘What’s the situation? Please tell me what’s going on. I need to know.’

An A&E doctor then took over the phone and asked if I’d already left home. I hadn’t as I was waiting for my husband to get home. That’s when he said there was ‘no need to hurry’.

I didn’t understand. Gently, he said: ‘It’s too late. We can’t do anything more for him. I’m really sorry to tell you Joe’s died.’ I literally fell to my knees and sobbed.

The grief was instant. My heart broke. My boy, who left home healthy and strong that morning, was suddenly gone and our lives would never be the same again

The hours that followed are somewhat of a blur: I called around to tell people the news, each person being more confused than the next about how this could happen, and my husband and I spent the entire 45 minute car journey in stunned silence. Still none of it felt real.

However, when we arrived at the Royal Bournemouth Hospital, and I saw Joe laying there like he was asleep, with sand in his hair, yet cold to the touch, it suddenly became very real.

This had happened. My son had died.

Between his friends’ accounts and the inquest in October 2024, we slowly pieced together Joe’s last moments over a number of days, weeks and months.

At 3.15pm Joe and some of his friends entered the water in the designated safe swim zone and close to the lifeguard station. For 30 minutes they’d laughed, splashed, generally just enjoyed themselves and were only waist high in the sea. Then, out of nowhere, the sea became chaotic.

Waves – which had been just waist high – became ever stronger until one larger than his head hit Joe, sweeping him under the water and out to sea.

During the inquest at Dorset Coroner’s Court, Detective Chief Inspector Neil Third said that at 3.45pm an intense rip current took hold of the sea.

A rip current, I later learned, is a strong current caused by a change in frequency of the waves, which can quickly drag people away from the shallows of the shoreline and out to deeper water.

Dr Simon Boxall, an expert in physical oceanography, estimated that on that day the flow could have exceeded 6mph, which he said was a ‘significant speed’.

‘An Olympic swimmer wouldn’t be able to swim against that sort of flow’, he added.

In short, because of how quick it all happened, Joe, despite his youth and fitness levels, never stood a chance.

Between the first lifeguard running into the water and the first ambulance arriving, there is roughly a 30 minute window where Joe is completely unaccounted for. I don’t let myself think about what he was going through at that time.

What I do know is that the RNLI rescued eight people from the water that day and that, just after 4.15pm, Joe was found unresponsive, face down in the water and rushed to shore on a jet ski

That’s when lifeguards and paramedics began working on him. That’s when my phone first rang.

I took some comfort in knowing that Joe was briefly revived by the Dorset and Somerset air ambulance team on the beach, his friends not too far away, but it still didn’t change the outcome.

My boy, along with a 12-year-old girl called Sunnah, were the tragic victims of what the coroner called an ‘unexpected anomaly of nature’ and their deaths were officially ruled an accidental drowning.

Since then, Joe’s friends, family, all of us have all been trying to move forward. But with every birthday, Christmas, anniversary and milestone his friends reach, there is always a massive hole in our lives where Joe should be.

For my husband, eldest son and I, one of the hardest things has been trying to work out how we live as a family of three when we’re meant to be a family of four. Suddenly things feel different and wrong.

Perhaps one of the only things that has kept me going is my determination to ensure Joe’s story helps others.

At the end of the inquest, the coroner said she was concerned that public education water safety messages – including the RNLI’s Float to Live campaign – were not more widely known about. And I couldn’t agree more.

We need mandatory education in schools over water safety, we need to teach our children about the dangers of rip currents – especially as they are a major cause of accidental drowning and account for over 60% of RNLI lifeguard incidents in the UK – and everyone should know the water safety code.

Because if this can happen to Joe – who was following the rules and a strong swimmer – it really can happen to anyone.

All I want is to bring my son back, to hug him one more time, but I can’t. So, if telling his story, raising awareness and hopefully, one day, getting water safety onto the national curriculum can help even one person, then I hope it’s a legacy he would be proud of.

As told to Emma Rossiter

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

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