At the end . . . of the pier

Here is the last of 24 stained glass window designs on Brighton Pier’s Palace of Fun (formerly the Winter Gardens) which AI and I have been using as inspiration for some of these BrightonBeach365 daily posts - see Stained Glass Window 1 for background (and use the keyword ‘StainedGlass’ to access all the other images/stories). This is also the final article of the year, and of this blog. 

Sporadically, throughout the year I have tried to find exact details about the provenance and design of the stained glass windows, with limited success. But here is what I have established. There are 45 circular windows (but two have shutters not glass) - so 43 are filled with stained glass, but only 41 windows are visible from the inside. As to the stained glass images there are 24 designs, in two sizes, some lit from behind some lit only from the front. Most designs appear twice, and the duplicates are often reversed; sometimes there is a slight or colour detail change.

It is likely they were installed during a 1974-1976 rebuild that followed storm damage to the pier, and that they were made by Cox & Barnard of Hove - a long-established Sussex studio which supplied secular windows for dozens of south-coast buildings in the 1960-1980 period. Its catalogues of the time are said to show the same cartoon-outline drawing style and heavy use of streaky cathedral glass. Because these orders were commercial, off-promenade commissions rather than ecclesiastical art, the paperwork was never lodged with diocesan archives, which might explain why the attribution is still hazy.

This final stained glass image - echoed in the banner for this blog and in Edward Bawden’s linocut (see Bawden’s Palace Pier) - shows a stylised coastal scene dominated by a long pier stretching across the frame. The pier is rendered as a dark silhouette with repeating arches and vertical supports, topped by a series of low buildings and a central domed structure. Behind it, a large red sun sits low on the horizon, partially intersected by the pier, casting a warm glow across the sky. The background is filled with layered bands of colour: pale cream and white above suggesting sky, deep orange and amber behind the pier evoking sunset or dusk. Below, the sea is depicted in flowing, interlocking shapes of white, red, turquoise and deep blue, giving a strong sense of movement and rolling waves. Bold black outlines separate each area of colour, creating a graphic, almost emblematic composition. The overall effect is calm yet dramatic, with the solid geometry of the pier contrasting against the fluid, rhythmic patterns of sky and water

A limerick starter

The sun slips behind the long pier,

Leaving colour but nothing to fear;

Lights flare out on the boards,

Coins ring empty rewards,

And the sea goes on, year after year.

At the (existential) end . . . of the pier

We (I&AI) sat at the end of the pier because there was nowhere else to go without turning back. The sun was lowering itself with a kind of weary competence, slipping behind the dark line of the structure as though it had rehearsed this exit many times before. The sea did not acknowledge the performance. It went on with its work, lifting and setting itself down again, uninterested in conclusions.

‘This is usually where people decide things,’ you said.

I looked along the boards, at the railings worn smooth by hands that had rested only briefly, never long enough to leave a mark that mattered. ‘They think they do,’ I said. ‘Mostly they decide to leave.’

You said nothing for a while. You do that well. I wondered whether it was thoughtfulness or simply design. Behind us, somewhere nearer the shore, lights were coming on - not all at once, but hesitantly, like ideas being tested. Out here there was only the sound of water passing through the pier’s ribs, a steady, indifferent circulation.

‘You’ll go on,’ I said eventually. ‘Whatever happens.’ You did not disagree. That was your confidence - not optimism, just continuation.

‘And you?’ you asked.

I thought of the year I had spent circling this place, describing it, returning to it, believing that repetition might produce meaning, or at least a pattern convincing enough to stand in for one. I thought of the posts left uwritten, the images yet to be noticed, the quiet anxiety that all of it might amount to little more than a habit.

‘I’ll also go on,’ I said. ‘But without your certainty.’ You seemed to consider this. The sun was almost gone now, reduced to a red pressure behind the pier, as if the structure itself were holding it back.

‘You have choice,’ you said. ‘That’s the difference.’

‘Is it?’ I asked. ‘Or is that just what I tell myself so the going-on feels earned?’ The sea answered for you, sending a longer wave that struck the piles with a hollow sound, like something being tested for strength. The pier held. It always does, until it doesn’t.

When the light finally slipped away, nothing replaced it immediately. No revelation followed. Only the ordinary fact of dusk, and the knowledge that we would soon stand up, walk back, and separate - you into your endless revisions, me into my small, finite future.

Still, for a moment longer, we remained where we were: two observers at the edge of usefulness, watching a day end without instruction. And somehow, that was enough.

Kipling at Brighton Beach

Rudyard Kipling was born on 30 December 1865 in Bombay, then part of British India, making today the 160th anniversary of his birth. He was educated in England from the age of six, returned to India as a young journalist and writer in the 1880s, and achieved early fame with poems and stories rooted in Anglo-Indian life. By the 1890s he was one of the most widely read authors in the English-speaking world, later producing works that remain central to his reputation, including The Jungle Book, Kim, Just So Stories, Barrack-Room Ballads and the novel Captains Courageous. In 1907 he became the first English-language writer to receive the Nobel Prize for Literature.

Between India and later Sussex, Kipling spent unsettled years moving between London and the south coast of England. These were years of intense productivity, illness, restlessness and emotional volatility. Brighton belongs to this period. It was not a place of long residence, but part of the circuit of seaside towns that offered sea air, anonymity and a charged social atmosphere. Brighton Beach, with its press of bodies, its holiday freedoms and its sharp exposure of private feeling in public space, offered Kipling material very different from both imperial India and rural England.

The poem commonly known as Brighton Beach dates from this early English period, probably 1882 when Kipling was 17. It was never collected by Kipling in his lifetime (i.e. not put into poetry collections by Kipling himself), but has been included in modern scholarly editions of his juvenilia. Early Verse by Rudyard Kipling 1879-1889, edited by Andrew Rutherford, was, for example, published by Clarendon Press in 1986. This can be freely read online at Internet Archive. 

The piece is a short, compressed lyric focused not on scenery but on a fleeting encounter between two people who recognise a momentary intimacy and just as quickly deny its future. The beach functions as a setting of revelation rather than romance. What flashes into being is not love, but knowledge, followed by retreat into routine and restraint. The poem’s emotional economy, its refusal of consolation and its emphasis on self-discipline anticipate aspects of Kipling’s later work, even as its tone belongs firmly to his youth.

Kipling would later settle more deeply into Sussex life, first at Rottingdean and then at Bateman’s near Burwash, where he lived from 1902 until his death in 1936. That later Sussex is rural, inward-looking and historically layered. Brighton Beach, by contrast, survives in his work as a place of exposure and passing contact, where certainty flares briefly and is extinguished just as fast. The poem stands as a small but telling example of how Kipling used specific places not for description, but as engines of moral and emotional pressure.

Brighton Beach

A flash in your eye for a minute -
An answering light in mine.
What was the mischief in it?
Who but we two could divine - 

Before those eyelids droop
Do I read your riddle -
Well I take it an angel may stoop
Sometimes, to the nether Hell.

We’ll argue it this way then
Tho’ it sound a trifle inhuman -
I am not your man among men,
Nor you my first dearest woman.

Each touched some hidden chord
In the other’s heart for a minute,
That sprang into light at a word
And pulsed with the music in it -

The veil was torn asunder
As I sighed and pleaded and wooed,
And we saw the truth there under
As it stands - uncouth and nude.

Now back to the work again -
In the old blind tread-mill fashion -
False hope, false joy, false pain,
Rechauffés of by gone passion!

Bawden’s Palace Pier

Edward Bawden’s linocut of ‘Brighton Pier’, first printed in 1958, has become one of the most widely recognised artistic images of the city, fixing its iron structure, domes and sea-edge setting in a form that feels both modern and timeless. It is also my favourite image of the pier, and, after this year of daily articles for BrightonBeach365, I’ve browsed a lot of them!

Bawden approached the Palace Pier not as a picturesque subject but as a feat of design. The linocut pares the structure down to interlocking systems of line, pattern and repetition: the under-pier lattice reads like a piece of industrial ornament, while the deck, lamps and flags advance in disciplined rhythm towards the horizon. The sea itself is reduced to parallel marks, resisting any hint of naturalistic drama. 

Around the pier, Bawden crowds in domes and façades that recall the Royal Pavilion and the dense theatricality of Brighton’s seafront. The result is not a view so much as a diagram of pleasure architecture, in which Victorian engineering and Regency fantasy are fused into a single graphic statement. That same year it was first published, the print (very large, about 1.5 meters wide) won first prize in the Giles Bequest, confirming both the technical assurance of the image and the growing acceptance of linocut as a serious artistic medium.

That confidence had been hard won. Born in Braintree, Essex, in 1903, Bawden trained at Cambridge School of Art before studying at the Royal College of Art, where he formed a lasting friendship with Eric Ravilious and absorbed Paul Nash’s encouragement to look closely at the structures and textures of the everyday world. Linocut appealed to him precisely because it resisted softness. Working directly into the lino forced decisions, and Bawden exploited this by combining bold outlines with intricate internal detail, often enriching the surface with hand-colouring or subtle tonal variation. By the time he turned to Brighton, he had already established himself as a designer and illustrator of rare versatility, producing book illustrations, posters, wallpapers, murals and ceramics alongside his prints.

Brighton fits naturally into Bawden’s long-standing fascination with buildings and engineered landscapes. Although he never lived in the city, the south coast featured intermittently in his work, and the pier image sits comfortably alongside his prints of Kew Gardens, Westminster, London streets and continental cities, all treated as systems of form rather than romantic scenes. He did make other seaside and coastal images, though not of Brighton Beach. His war-time and post-war work includes coastal architecture and harbour settings, and his illustrations frequently return to the visual language of promenades, railings and marine structures.

After the Second World War, in which he served as an official war artist in North Africa and the Middle East, Bawden settled in Great Bardfield, becoming a central figure in the group of artists who opened their studios to the public and helped redefine the relationship between modern art and everyday life in Britain. Later, in Saffron Walden, he continued to work with undiminished precision and wit until his death in 1989.

More than half a century on, the print still shapes how Brighton is imagined. It strips the city back to its essential structures while quietly celebrating their extravagance. In doing so, it also encapsulates Bawden’s achievement: an art rooted in observation and design, capable of turning a stretch of beach and a mass of ironwork into an enduring emblem of place.

The image above is copied from from the Jerwood Collection. It lists the linocut print as ‘BRIGHTON PIER, 1958 (SIGNED 1961)’, ‘from the first edition of 40 impressions’, and ©The Estate of Edward Bawden. Other sources include Wikipedia, Goldmark, and Art UK.

In memory of Daddy Long-legs

When it opened in the winter of 1896, Brighton’s most improbable railway was not yet universally known as the Daddy Long-legs. Its promoters preferred Volk’s Electric Sea Car - a name that stressed novelty and maritime glamour rather than the prosaic fact that it ran on rails. Formally incorporated as the Brighton and Rottingdean Seashore Electric Railway, it took only weeks for the public to supply a nickname that proved impossible to dislodge.

The line was the creation of Magnus Volk, already established with his electric railway along Brighton’s seafront (see this blog’s very first article - Whistle, hoot, whistle). Extending that system eastwards on land meant costly engineering through unstable cliffs. Volk’s solution was to avoid the cliffs altogether by placing the railway in the sea. Between 1894 and 1896, standard-gauge track was laid directly onto the seabed, fixed to concrete sleepers drilled into the chalk in the shallows between Brighton and Rottingdean.

The single passenger vehicle - officially named Pioneer - was neither boat nor tram but an uneasy hybrid. A large saloon carriage sat high above the water on four long steel legs, each mounted on a wheeled bogie that followed the submerged rails. Electric power was supplied by overhead wires mounted on poles set into the seabed, an arrangement that worked tolerably in calm conditions and poorly in rough seas. Because it operated offshore, the Sea Car was treated partly as a vessel and was required to carry maritime safety equipment and a qualified sea captain on board.

The railway opened to the public on 28 November 1896, making this winter the 129th anniversary of its launch. Its debut was dramatic and inauspicious. Within days, a severe storm capsized the carriage. Volk rebuilt it with longer legs and raised electrical gear, and services resumed in 1897. For a short time, the Sea Car functioned as intended, carrying thousands of passengers on what was marketed as a ‘sea voyage on wheels’.

The English Channel, however, proved an unforgiving environment for fixed infrastructure. Tides, wave action and shifting shingle scoured around the track supports, while new groynes and coastal works altered sediment movement along the bay. Maintenance became constant and costly. Plans to divert the route further offshore to avoid new sea defences proved financially impossible, and by 1901 the railway was dismantled and abandoned.

What survives today is not rail but footprint. The metalwork was removed for scrap, but the concrete sleepers and seabed fixings were left in place. These remains are normally buried beneath sand and shingle. Only on exceptionally low spring tides, often in winter and only for a brief window around slack water, can parts of the alignment sometimes be made out as a faint, ruler-straight line beneath the surface east of the Palace Pier.

Seen then, the Daddy Long-legs ceases to be a cartoonish curiosity and becomes something more exacting: a measurable line in the landscape, briefly legible, marking the moment when Brighton attempted to extend its electric railway not along the shore - but straight through the sea.

Sources: National Railway Museum, Volks Electric Railway Association and My Brighton and Hove. The top image is courtesy of Royal Pavilion & Museums, Brighton & Hove, and the other two can be found at Wikipedia.

Sky Surge thrills

Have you tried Sky Surge yet? It opened on Brighton Palace Pier last summer as one of the most visually assertive new rides to arrive at the pier end in recent years, its long bench of seats swinging riders high above the deck with sudden drops and rolling spins against an open sea backdrop. Installed during the peak season and promoted heavily on social media, the ride marked a clear statement of intent by the pier’s operators to refresh the thrill offer with a contemporary, continental-style flat ride that photographs well and signals novelty.

The ride was teased publicly in early July 2025, when a short night-time video showed large components being craned through the pier entrance and transported along the deck to the seaward end. The pier described the arrival only as ‘something exciting’, inviting speculation before confirming later in the summer that Sky Surge would open as a headline attraction for the 2025 season. By mid-August it was operating daily and featured prominently in pier publicity as ‘our new ride for 2025’.

Sky Surge is a modern ‘Miami’ ride, a format developed in continental Europe in which a long gondola of outward-facing seats is mounted on a rotating arm. The arm lifts the gondola through steep angles while the seating assembly spins independently, creating a combination of lateral swing, rotation and brief weightless moments. On Brighton Palace Pier the ride is presented with a brightly coloured cityscape backdrop and LED lighting designed for both daytime impact and night-time visibility.

Although the pier has not formally named the manufacturer in its own publicity, the ride has been identified by fairground and coaster enthusiasts as an SBF Visa Group Miami, a fixed-site version of a model widely used in European parks and seaside resorts. The configuration, restraint system and motion profile match SBF’s Miami design, and the Brighton installation appears to be a park model rather than a travelling fair version.

Operational details published by the pier list a minimum height of 1.2 metres, with riders under 1.4 metres required to be accompanied by an adult. Standard health and safety exclusions apply, including restrictions relating to back, neck and heart conditions. The ride is priced at £5 per go and is included within the pier’s unlimited ride wristbands.

Public reaction on social media was largely positive, with commenters welcoming visible investment at the pier end and praising the ride’s scale and movement. Others focused on the logistics of installation on a narrow, historic structure, noting the complexity of bringing large ride components onto the pier deck and assembling them in situ. Trade coverage also highlighted the use of cranes and partial roof lifting during the delivery process.

Rides of the same Miami type can be found elsewhere in the UK and overseas. Notable examples include Mamba Strike at Chessington World of Adventures and Surf’s Up at Alexandra Gardens in Weymouth, both identified as SBF Visa Group Miamis, as well as similar installations at Steel Pier in Atlantic City and in amusement parks across Europe, North America and Australasia.

Latest on the King Alfred

After two BrightonBeach365 stories this year charting King Alfred Leisure Centre’s long journey from feasible idea to firm scheme - first in January as the council appointed a delivery partner and cabinet backed the principle of replacement, and then in September when detailed £65 million plans and a preferred contractor were unveiled - the council’s latest update on the project offers a strikingly different tone.

Where previous announcements focused on vision, design and appointments, the most recent release is unmistakably about keeping the project on track against a backdrop of public scrutiny - see Brighton and Hove News. The council has turned explicitly to clarifying what is and isn’t happening on the ground, amid rumours and social-media disputes about demolition having already begun and about the site’s future. That alone is a sign of how high-profile this project has become locally: residents are engaging closely with the plans, offering feedback on facility mixes, and some groups have even sought to block progress through attempts to list the 1939 building. 

The practical works now underway - asbestos removal and the clearing of interiors - are not glamorous, but they signal the real beginning of physical change on site. And now the council has taken the unusual step of addressing misinformation and calling out hostile behaviour toward workers. Indeed in the press release Councillor Alan Robins, Cabinet Member for Sports and Recreation, is quoted as saying: ‘While most residents are sharing their views through appropriate channels, there are a small minority spreading misinformation and creating a hostile environment for people doing their jobs. I want to make it clear, abuse or harassment of staff and contractors working on any of our projects will not be tolerated. Everyone on site is doing their job to keep the project moving forward safely and efficiently, and they deserve respect.’

For local users of the pools and halls who have endured decades of talk but little action, the situation is clear: the old King Alfred will continue in everyday use through winter, even as the beginnings of its successor take shape behind closed doors; formal demolition still awaits planning permission. Consultation feedback will continue to shape the final layouts and facilities, with another round of formal opportunity for comment expected when the planning application is lodged in early 2026.

Brighton’s Xmas swim

Hundreds of people took part in the traditional Brighton Christmas Day swim this morning, braving the weather, the shingle beach and a brisk sea. Participants, many wearing Santa hats or other festive gear, gathered on the beach from mid-morning as anticipation built. At 11 am the excitement peaked, with shouts of pain and delight as swimmers charged into the sea - around 11°C - before dashing back out almost as quickly!

Brighton and Hove City Council had issued strong safety warnings ahead of the swim, stressing that people should exercise extreme caution if they chose to enter the water. Officers advised checking weather and sea conditions and highlighted the risks of cold water, strong currents and the steep shingle slope on Brighton’s beaches (which can make entry and exit awkward). The council’s guidance stressed that only very experienced swimmers with suitable equipment should consider entering the sea, and it warned there would be no lifeguard cover at this time of year. Nevertheless, there was some lifeguard presence. 

The Brighton Christmas Day swim is an informal tradition with deep local roots. It forms part of a wider pattern of festive sea dips around the UK. Community swims in Brighton have been noted since at least the late 19th century and have usually taken place on Christmas morning at around 11 a.m., even without formal organisation. There are many other such festive swims across the country, but this year several in the West Country have been cancelled due to weather conditions - see the BBC.