From Conan Doyle's poem:
Her cheek was wet with North Sea spray,
We walked where tide and shingle meet;
The long waves rolled from far away
To purr in ripples at our feet.
And as we walked it seemed to me
That three old friends had met that day,
The old, old sky, the old, old sea,
And love, which is as old as they.
As seen on Britishspeak
In a gale I went to "where tide and shingle meet", a going out sort of tide. I can see I have a lot to learn on how to use my new phone, and it might have been better to wait for a less windy day (not in the foreseeable future), but I think you'll agree it doesn't "purr in ripples" at my feet.