As a child on the Solway Coast we could find what we called ice cream cone shells: elongated swirls of pale shell that looked just like miniature cones. Alas, this must have been a thing of the 1960s; the colony must have departed. But you can still find what McMum called baby's ears.
I realised that nobody likes anyone's shell collection, apart from the person who has collected them themselves. Resisting the urge to look for the perfect cockle, I stuck to collecting a handful of these tiny things. They seem so mysterious: what is the point of being so beautiful if you live under the sea where the sun can't catch you?