Beach behaviour.

A JCB, clearing shingle from the footpaths, creates temporary shingle 'dunes' which are immediately colonised by homo sapiens maritimus.

The storm hits Brighton seafront.

Down with seafront & other signs!

The Western Esplanade, Hove has its own special appeal to many residents which is entirely different from the razzmatazz of Brighton's lower promenade. Its informal atmosphere with fewer distractions from the sea, shingle and sky provides an ideal environment on a fine day for a leisurely stroll or jog.

Anticipatory pleasure was also provided by the approach to the seafront walk from Kingsway where on several of the paths, the sea, horizon, and sky is framed by tamarisk with the simple picture often completed by a passing boat. That was how it use to be before, a few years ago, the Council stuck up this obtrusive sign, blotting out a big chunk of the view.

Of course one NEVER sees anyone reading the sign, which is no surprise, since the amount of useful information provided is negligible. Most of it is in the tone of a bossy nanny. "Do not jump. Do not dive". The sea can be rough, the beach can be steep, don't go into deep water if you can't swim. - And does anyone really not know to dial 999 in an emergency, or to stay out of the sun if they don't want to get sunburned?

The Council has recently gone to some efforts to reduce the number of estate agents' signs in sensitive areas producing a vast improvement in the appearance of some historic neighbourhoods. It should also look to put its own house in order. There is surely a vast excess of unnecessary visual clutter in our urban environment, including traffic signs, that nobody takes any notice of whatsoever. I sometime think it should all be swept away so that we can start again with the really essential ones which, because of the lack of visual competition, would be all the more effective.

Chain Pier remains

A photo taken on 11th August, at one of this year's extra low tides, shows rock-like objects but no wooden stumps. This can be compared with last year's photos which can be seen here. The absence of stumps may mean they have finally succumbed to the sea, or that the level of the mud has shifted, or that the tide is not low enough.

Early photographs of the Chain Pier at low tide show the second cluster of piles out from the shore surrounded by some kind of artificial platform. It seems likely that this was intended to protect the relatively soft piles, or the foundations, from scouring action by the sea and that what we can still see today is the remains of this platform. One can speculate that there may be quite extensive remains of the first set of piles (out of shot in the picture below) deeply buried in, and protected by, the shingle beach which has built up by about 15 feet over the past 100 years.

It is disappointing that the plaque on the Madeira Terraces which once recorded the position of the Chain Pier has now disappeared.  However the plaque to its designer and engineer, Sir Samuel Brown,  can still be seen on Chain Pier House in Marine Parade.

A Strange Occurrence

It is a summer’s day on Brighton beach. One of those days that Brighton seems to do so well. A slightly hazy sun, warm pebbles, high tide and a sleek, flat sea which still manages to send in the occasional swell to suck at the steeply shelving pebbles.

A few yards away to one side of where I am sitting a young family is encamped. Father, mother and a toddler. With the arrogance of my teenage years I mentally classify them  as day-trippers. The mother, wearing a sun dress, has been paddling with her daughter and is now sitting on a rug, legs outstretched to the sun. The father looks much less comfortable even though he is seated in a low beach chair. He has removed his suit jacket, tie & collar, rolled up his shirt sleeves, pushed his braces off his shoulders but kept on his highly-polished black shoes. He still looks too hot. Their child plays a few yards away at the waters edge with a small bucket.

All seems right with the world. I sink back on my elbows and squint into the shimmering distance. Suddenly there is a shriek and from the corner of my eye I see the mother's arms fling out and the father jump to his feet. I look down the beach and see nothing but the retreating, sucking surf. The toddler has disappeared. The father is crashing down the pebbles, braces flying, and I simultaneously notice the child floating, face down, a yard or two from the beach making feeble movements with her arms.
                                      * * *
This was over 60 years ago but what happened next cast a lasting impression in my mind. First let me relieve you - the child did not drown. Indeed the father did not even get his shoes and socks wet. He came to a pebble-ploughing halt at the water's edge and shouted and gesticulated to a bather who was standing waist-deep nearby. The bather with two or three strides reached the child, lifted her easily out of the water and conveyed her to her father's arms.

After a few tears, a towelling and dry clothes the child seemed little worse for her experience. Between the parents very few words were spoken and those that were, too quiet to distinguish, but my side-long glimpses of their body-language suggested that relations were very strained. How could it have been otherwise? What demon can have possessed his priorities in those critical seconds such that he put his new shoes and personal comfort before the life-threatening need of his child; or any child?

Soon afterwards the mother gathered up her daughter and pushchair and set off alone up the beach. He hurriedly collected up the remaining possessions and followed. To this day I can see their retreating backs. I know nothing more about them and never will. A small incident and the world kept turning but a day by the seaside had been ruined. . . . Did their life as a family survive?

First published in Issue 11 of 'Regency' magazine June 2009.

Brighton beach

This great bank of shingle stretching from the Peace Statue to the remains of the West Pier and beyond is about 15 feet deep where it meets the lower promenade. It has built up over the last 100 years as a result of the construction of groynes, particularly the large masonry ones during the 19th century.  These groynes intercept the west to east longshore drift and trap the shingle.

An imaginary observer from the early 1900's, standing at the end of the Norfolk groyne where this photo was taken, would hardly recognise this scene. As well as wondering at the changes in the skyline and the missing West Pier, he would be confused by the absence of  the long seawall, now buried in the shingle. The capping of this wall is still visible as a kerb along the southern edge of the lower promenade.