Saturday, February 8, 2025

The Green Gecko

The alien, who had chosen to disguise itself as a small green gecko, was experiencing some serious second thoughts. It had picked the shape after extensive research into Earth life forms (which largely consisted of an out-of-date wildlife documentary narrated by a man who sounded like he personally disapproved of evolution). The gecko, it had concluded, was small, unassuming, and possessed the ability to stick to surfaces. What it had failed to account for, however, was Brighton Beach. 


[With a nod to ChatGPT, and apologies to Terry (Pratchett). See also The Red Spider.]

Instead of warm, welcoming jungle, the alien had landed amongst an inhospitable terrain of sharp pebbles, aggressive seaweed, and something that looked suspiciously like an old shoelace with ideas above its station. Worse, a blustery wind kept trying to dislodge it, sending it skittering across the stones like a very confused lizard-based pinball.

Its mission was simple: assess Earth for potential invasion. But already, the gecko-alien suspected it would have to file a very different report than planned. The locals - seagulls, mostly - were vicious, psychotic creatures with a talent for aerial bombardment. The sea was clearly attempting to eat the land, and what little it had not consumed was covered in bizarrely shaped pebbles that, if you squinted just right, looked disturbingly like screaming faces. The crowning glory of the place, however, was the Great Knotted Thing.

The gecko-alien eyed it warily.

A mass of black seaweed, dried kelp, and an alarming amount of turquoise string had somehow assembled itself into a tangled, eldritch horror nestled between the stones. A strand of something - possibly rope, possibly something worse - twitched ominously in the wind. The alien extended a cautious claw to poke it and immediately regretted the decision as a strand of the Thing looped itself around its leg with unnatural enthusiasm.

There was a long pause.

The gecko wiggled.

The Thing tightened its grip.

On its home planet of Glorp Minor, where everything was logically structured and neatly categorised (right down to the appropriate screaming frequencies for different bureaucratic mishaps), this kind of unexpected development was unheard of. Here, however, the world seemed to be held together by inexplicable chaos and questionable knots. It was terrifying. And, in a small and entirely unwelcome way, a little thrilling.

The gecko-alien redoubled its efforts. It had faced the horrors of intergalactic space travel. It had spent three days trapped in a malfunctioning disguise generator and lived to tell the tale (although it now had a deep and lingering fear of being turned into a sentient teapot). It was not about to be bested by some uppity string.

After several frantic minutes, during which it somehow ended up even more entangled than before, the alien made a decision. It took a deep breath, deactivated the disguise, and stood up in its full tentacled, many-eyed glory. The Thing twitched once in defiance before wisely deciding to let go.

The alien sighed, turned on its communicator, and made its report.

‘Mission assessment: negative. This planet is a health hazard. Also, the local flora appears to be sapient, aggressive, and organised. Recommend immediate evacuation and strong intergalactic warning signs.’

With that, it activated its emergency teleport, leaving behind nothing but an untied knot, a very confused seagull, and a Brighton Beach that was none the wiser about its close brush with conquest.

Friday, February 7, 2025

A rumble below the cocktails?

There’s a right construction bustle going on along the Madeira Drive beach front near Yellowave and Sea Lanes. Most of it stems from the work - now well under way - on Phase 1 of the Madeira Terrace restoration. See Madeira Terrace restoration - hurrah!. But there are also road works that have just started on the narrowest stretch of Madeira Drive; and, at the Jungle Rumble cafe, the owners are extending their roof terrace over the Volks Railway! 


Since the start of works on the central 28 arches of Madeira Terraces there has been much activity along the seafront road, especially in and around the new commercial centre focusing on Sea Lanes and Yellowave. But that little area has got even busier with digging up of the road to allow a new electricity cable to be run from the nearby substation to the construction works area under arches. ALS Civil & Mechanical Engineers is responsible for the works, presumably sub-contracted by JT Mackley & Co.

A little further along is Jungle Rumble, a cafe and mini-golf establishment; both are next to the council’s popular Peter Pan Playground. The cafe, in particular, has grown in recent years, with a roof terrace in 2022, and the winning of an alcohol licence. See Brighton and Hove News


Now, as these photos show, the cafe looks to be nearly doubling the size of its roof terrace. And, it is doing this by extending its roof out over the Volks railway lines. Time will tell whether rooftop cocktail drinkers might experience a rumble below. (Aerial image is a screenshot taken from the Jungle Rumble website video.)


Thursday, February 6, 2025

Five years since Covid-19 hit Brighton

It is five years to the day since the first confirmed case of a coronavirus was registered in Brighton. Five days later the virus was officially named Covid-19 by the World Health Organisation. On 9 March, only eight persons in Brighton & Hove had been confirmed as contracting the virus. On 23 March the government announced a widespread lock down regulated by fairly draconian rules. Though the news hardly connected directly with Brighton Beach, the fact is that we - my wife and two children - navigated sanely through lock down largely thanks to daily early-morning trips to the pebbles.


In 2021, the Argus published an article reflecting back on the start of it all.

Today marks one year since the first confirmed case of coronavirus in Brighton and Hove. On 6 February 2020, the government announced that a British national had contracted the disease. About an hour later, it was established the patient was from Brighton.

For most, the virus was nothing more than worrying news reports from China - images of medical personnel in hazmat suits dousing down Wuhan’s streets with disinfectant. But, a few days later, those jarring images were being taken in the city. Footage appeared of a bio-hazard technician as he cleared the County Oak Medical Centre. The Carden Hill GP practice had been closed because of an ‘urgent operational health and safety reason’. Soon after, another coronavirus case was confirmed to be a Brighton and Hove resident and the story exploded. National and international media descended on the city, asking whether the country was ready for a pandemic as further cases were confirmed. The city became the nation’s opening fight with the virus. It was a first-glimpse of the UK’s battle with Covid-19, which has now claimed more than 100,000 lives across the nation.’

Later, it was established that the virus had not been passed to anyone in the city at the time, but that four individuals had caught the virus from in the French Alps. Moreover, the Argus reported: ‘The diligence of the so-called “super spreader” who promptly identified himself as a potential virus patient, as well as the track-and-trace efforts from Public Health England, had saved the city from becoming the centre of an epidemic. The Lombardy region in Italy would soon prove how devastating a localised outbreak of the virus can be.

The five photos above are of my family at roughly monthly intervals. The first one - on the left - was taken two days after lock down, as some kind of spontaneous response to Covid-19. I’m not sure why I staged it - and the subsequent photos - in that way, though it’s likely I wanted to landmark the astonishing and deadly turn of events suddenly impacting all our lives. 

Here are two entries from my personal diary.

11 February 2020

‘The Coronavirus, now officially called Covid-19, continues to cause headlines, and particularly here in Brighton, as this city has become the British hotbed for the virus. Two surgeries have been closed, and several schools have reported that some individuals are self-isolating. As yet, there doesn’t seem to have been a case that was actually contracted in this country, but it’s early days. Some tens of thousands of people have been infected, and over a thousand have died. But, equally, there are thousands dying from ordinary flu across the world, and it’s quite difficult to keep a sense of perspective. At present, it seems every individual who gets the virus in this country is being tracked, and helped, but we’re talking a dozen or so cases, what happens when hundreds and thousands have the disease, then it’s no longer containable, and everyone must take pot luck.’

Saturday 18 April 2020

‘Half of humanity under social distancing curbs’ reads one headline this morning. Another, more local and of intense interest to us, reads ‘Coronavirus: Brighton council closes Madeira Drive to cars’. Most likely this will bring an end to our early morning jaunts to the beach. We’ve had four weeks of near-daily visits to the seafront, during which I’ve done my yoga exercises, Hat has exercised or run, and the boys have practised skateboarding and football. I might try to find alternative parking - on Marine Parade perhaps - but even if I do we’re going to be spending 10-15 minutes walking either way, and there won’t be a place to skateboard or football probably. Alas. The Council says it’s proud to be taking this action, aimed at giving those doing exercise more space - i.e. along the road as well as the pavement (which is already one of the widest in the city).’

Wednesday, February 5, 2025

Guest: Brighton Beach, Menasha, Wisconsin


Brighton Beach in Menasha, Wisconsin, first gained any notice in the late 19th century when Curtis Reed opened a resort hotel there in 1887. The Brighton Beach Hotel, built in 1899, became a focal point for social activities, hosting picnics, band concerts, and other outdoor events. The hotel underwent two renovations but ultimately closed and was demolished in 1927 due to competition from other local attractions like Waverly Beach. David Galassie’s blog Menasha has some excellent local history posts, one of which includes an advertisement from the time of the hotel; and The Wisconsin Historical Society has several relevant old photographs. This post also includes two screenshots from Google Maps.

“The summer resort deluxe”
BRIGHTON BEACH
On Beautiful Winnebago Lake
The Best Beach. The Best Fishing.
The most accessible Resort in the State of Wisconsin

Fine Steamboat Landing
3 cent fare from Menasha, Neerah and Appleton.
Half hourly electric service in each direction making
connections [with other] railroads
Furnished cottage to rent with electric light, water works, telephone.
Cabaret, dancing and a score of other entertainments
Write for reservations, etc.
P.O. ADDRESS - MENASHA, WIS
JOSEPHY STEIDL., Prop
.

Following the hotel’s closure, the area transitioned into a residential neighbourhood. Over time, several elegant residences were constructed by wealthy and influential residents: the Dr. Harold O. Hansen Residence, built in 1937 at 1045 Brighton Drive, being the most noted. This Colonial Revival-style house, constructed for $12,000, replaced a more modest structure and initially served as a fishing and hunting retreat. 

Today, Brighton Beach continues to be a desirable residential area, with homes available for sale and rent along Brighton Beach Road, many with frontages on to Lake Winnebago. While the original resort is long gone, the area still offers recreational opportunities close by at the Municipal Beach: Located at 1515 Brighton Beach Road, this 1.4-acre parcel provides public access to Lake Winnebago. The beach features an unsupervised swimming area, with a water depth ranging from 2 to 9 feet (Lake Winnebago only has a maximum depth of 21 feet).



Tuesday, February 4, 2025

A catshark that is a dogfish

Found on Brighton Beach: a small-spotted catshark (Scyliorhinus canicula) often called a dogfish. No, it’s not sunbathing, it’s dead, probably having been scavenged (yet not consumed). Sunlight does, though,  cast a warm glow on the fish and its pebble resting place.

The slender, elongated body has a pale, creamy underside and is covered in small, dark spots. Its gills can be seen through the open mouth, and its pectoral and dorsal fins are clearly visible. The tail appears slightly curled.

The small-spotted catshark is a small shark, so named due to the dark spots and blotches covering its skin. Individuals typically grow to around 60-70 cm in length, though some can reach up to one metre. Like all sharks they have very rough skin, covered in hard ‘dermal denticles’ - which literally means ‘tiny skin teeth’. If rubbed the wrong way, the fish feel very coarse like sandpaper but this provides them with an effective chain-mail like protection. 

Catsharks are predators and feed on crabs, molluscs and other small fish. When threatened, they curl up into a donut shape - probably to look bigger and harder to eat! They are highly common around the UK, harmless to humans, and live in sandy, gravelly, or muddy seabeds. As with all sharks and rays, their egg cases are known as mermaid’s purses; these have tendrils that anchor them to seaweed or rocks until they hatch.


What about this odd confusion of names? Wikipedia gives several other names for the small-spotted catshark: sandy dogfish, lesser-spotted dogfish, rough-hound and morgay (in Scotland and Cornwall). In the early days of animal classification, naturalists like Linnaeus initially grouped most sharks under the Squalus genus (Latin for shark). Over time, scientists refined their classification, moving this particular species into the Scyliorhinus (catshark) genus in the early 1900s. However, fishermen have traditionally used the term ‘dogfish’ for any common or abundant small sharks, regardless of their actual scientific classification. 

So, if you like, you can be both a dog(fish) person AND a cat(shark) person at the same time - though not a catfish, which is something entirely different!



Monday, February 3, 2025

Arnold Bennett in Brighton

Here is Arnold Bennett, the most successful British author of the early 20th century, writing in his diary exactly 115 years ago today.

3 February 1910

‘The other morning I watched the sea-gulls helping the scavenger to scavenge the remains of the daily fish market on the beach. Rain. Strong wind. They could not alight. They had a lot of balancing and steering to do. They dived again and again for the same bit of offal, missing it, till they got it. Then each prize-winner sailed off against the wind with difficulty towards the Palace Pier, and out of my sight somewhere; but some seemed to swallow the piece en route. I was watching them alight in the water the other day; all did exactly the same; a planing descent, then, close on water, 2 or 3 half-flaps, a raising of the head, and they were afloat.’

Bennett was born into a large family in Hanley, Staffordshire, in 1867. Aged 16, he left school to work for his solicitor father, but in 1889, he escaped to London where an interest in journalism led him to become an editor, and then editor-in-chief, of a magazine called Woman. His debut novel - A Man from the North - was published in 1898, and gave him sufficient confidence, a couple of years later, to give up his day job and become a full-time writer. 

From the outset, Bennett adopted an unmistakable style, aligned to the French realists, aiming to depict a real and gritty - rather than romantic - view of life, with all its everyday and banal activities, not least when connected with poor social conditions. At the turn of the century, he moved to Paris, then buzzing with literary and artistic talent, where he stayed for the best part of a decade. During this time he met and married Marie Marguerite SouliĆ©. 

In early 1910, Bennett and SouliƩ stayed for a few winter months in Brighton at the Royal Albion Hotel as the guest of its flamboyant proprietor Sir Harry Preston. Bennet had done all his research for a new book, to be called Clayhanger, and he used his time in Brighton to write most it, averaging about 1,000 words a day. The novel was published before the end of the same year, and, by early 1911, he was writing a sequel, Hilda Lessways, part of which would be set in Brighton.

Bennett’s authorial skills were put to use during the war, by the end of which he was in charge of propaganda in France. He separated from his wife in 1921, and the following year became involved with Dorothy Cheston, an actress, who bore him a daughter. Though he continued to churn out novels, their critical reputation declined during the 1920s, his literary style coming to be seen as old-fashioned. Nevertheless, his non-fiction was much sought after, and he was famously the highest paid literary journalist in England, with a weekly column in the Evening Standard. He caught typhoid on a trip to France and died in 1931.

Bennett began keeping a diary in 1896, and continued to the end of his life. The excellent journals, which were inherited by Dorothy Cheston, are said to contain over a million words. They were edited by Newman Flower and published in three volumes by Cassell in 1932-1933, titled The Journals of Arnold Bennett 1896-1928. In his introduction, Flower says Bennett’s diaries show him in the manner of a modern Pepys; elsewhere, though, they are considered to have been inspired by the famous French diaries of Edmond and Jules De Goncourt, themselves very influential in the realist/naturalist movement.

Here is another extract from Bennett’s diary written in Brighton.

5 January 1910

‘This morning at 9:45 I began to write ‘Clayhanger’. I felt less nervous and self-conscious than usual in beginning a book. And never before have I made one-quarter so many preliminary notes and investigations. I went out for a little recess, and at 1:30 I had done 1,000 words, which was very good for a first day.

We went to the Aquarium after tea, and heard mediocre music, and saw first-rate fishes, etc., living long under highly artificial conditions. The seals and alligators seemed to be intensely bored and sick of life, but perhaps they weren’t. Then I came back and wrote half an article for the ‘Nation’ about the Hanley music-hall.

Earlier in the afternoon I went out and viewed the shore, and the launching of fishing boats. All kinds of activity in progress, spoiling to be described. But now that I am on my novel I am tied up again for six months from anything really swagger in the way of description.

Weather misty. No visible round trace of the sun. The hotel is haunted by barrel organs. In fact in various ways Brighton seems to be what London was. Its architecture is old Belgravia and Tyburnian.’

And, finally, here is an extract about Brighton not from the diaries but from Bennett’s novel Hilda Lessways:

‘The putting-on of brakes took her unawares. The train was in Brighton, sliding over the outskirts of the town. . . Hilda saw steep streets of houses that sprawled on the hilly mounds of the great town like ladders: reminiscent of certain streets of her native district, yet quite different, a physiognomy utterly foreign to her. This, then, was Brighton. That which had been a postmark became suddenly a reality, shattering her preconceptions of it, and disappointing her she knew not why. She glanced forward, through the window, and saw the cavern of the station. . .

Her first disappointment changed slowly into expectant and hopeful curiosity. The quaint irregularities of the architecture, and the vastness of the thronged perspectives, made promises to her romantic sense. The town seemed to be endless as London. There were hotels, churches, chapels, libraries, and music-shops on every hand. The more ordinary features of main streets - the marts of jewellery, drapery, and tobacco - had an air of grandiose respectability; while the narrow alleys that curved enigmatically away between the lofty buildings of these fine thoroughfares beckoned darkly to the fancy. The multiplicity of beggars, louts, and organ-grinders was alone a proof of Brighton’s success in the world; the organ-grinders, often a man and a woman yoked together, were extraordinarily English, genteel, and prosperous as they trudged in their neat, middle-class raiment through the gritty mud of the macadam, stolidly ignoring the menace of high-stepping horses and disdainful glittering wheels. Brighton was evidently a city apart. . .’ 

The caricature of Bennett above (by Oliver Herford in The American Magazine) was sourced at Wikipedia, The book cover here is one of many different editions available at Abebooks.

More about Bennett and his diaries can be found in my book Brighton in Diaries (History Press, 2011)


____________________

Sunday, February 2, 2025

It is winter after all


Dawn and a low tide on Brighton Beach

Sands uncovered squelching under foot

Ripples rather than waves gently rolling to the pebbles

Wind but a breeze yet a cold edge to its freshness

It is winter after all



To the east, two piers, one visible through the other

Silhouette structures, rusting geometries

A lone metal detectorist, equipped and earnest

Patterned reflections, dark and grey

It is winter after all




To the west, a rising sun so gold it could be rich

Laying down its lights and beams for all to see

And a column of fiery blazing sand 

Inviting you to walk that way, to burn

It is winter after all

 



 

Saturday, February 1, 2025

Stained glass window 1

In the beginning, piers were built as landing stages for boats, though they evolved into promenades where people could enjoy the sea and the sea air without getting wet. However, there is another way of looking at piers: as the elongation of beaches. In this, I am with Rachel Carson who wrote, in her 1955 book The Edge of the Sea: ‘A pier is but a pathway for those who wish to walk where the land meets the sea, a man-made extension of the beach’s timeless conversation with the tide.’


Thus, just as I have defined the limits east and west for BrightonBeach356 - see How long is Brighton Beach? - I am now stating my intention to consider the piers as part of Brighton Beach, a la Carson!

Moreover, I am also revealing an intention to run a series of posts inspired by the much over-looked stained glass windows in the Palace of Fun building on Brighton Pier. There are 45 windows, though two have slats rather than glass, and there are 24 designs in two sizes. Most designs appear twice, and the duplicates are sometimes reversed or with a slight detail change. 

These beautiful and characterful stained glass designs seem to have been cheapened by their amusement arcade surrounds, and forgotten over time - I can find no evidence of them being designed or installed, I will, however, have more to say forthwith about these windows. Meanwhile, over the 365 days of 2025, AI and I will endeavour to let each one inspire their own daily post. 

A limerick starter

Two windmills stood high on the hill,

Turning round with a whistling thrill.

They spun day and night,

With the sea in their sight,

And they never, not once, stood still!

The Windmills and the Sea (in the style of D. H. Lawrence)

The wind rushed over the rolling hills, bending the grasses with its force, carrying the scent of the distant sea. Mary stood at the crest of the land, watching the twin windmills turning - slow, steady, relentless. They had always been there, just as her father had always been at sea, just as her mother had always stood at this same window, waiting.

Below, the land curved in smooth undulations of green and brown, reaching towards the edge where the cliffs met the vast expanse of blue-grey water. The tide was coming in, waves curling against the rocks with a kind of eternal purpose, much like the windmills.

She had grown up in their shadow, listening to their groaning creak as they spun in the wind, their movements as inevitable as the cycle of seasons. They stood like sentinels, watching over the land and the sea alike. But today, Mary felt a change. There was something different in the air, a charge beneath the steady rhythm of the blades slicing through the sky.

A figure moved near the base of the western mill - Samuel. His presence always unsettled her, a shadow in the otherwise predictable landscape. He was a man of the land, thick-shouldered, hands rough from work, and yet his eyes carried something deeper, something searching.

‘You’re watching the sea again,’ he said as he came closer, wiping sweat from his brow.

She did not turn. ‘The tide’s changing.’

He followed her gaze. ‘It always does.’

She wanted to tell him about the feeling in her chest, the stirring that had begun to take root ever since she had received word of her father’s ship - lost. Not wrecked, not sunk, just. . . missing. Somewhere beyond the horizon. She wanted to tell him that she felt as if the windmills, steady and ceaseless, were whispering something new today.

But instead, she said, ‘One day, I will leave.’

Samuel’s hands tensed at his sides. ‘And where would you go?’

She exhaled, watching the windmills, the sea, the endless sky. ‘Anywhere the wind takes me.’

A gust of wind rushed over them, and the great wooden blades groaned, turning, turning - just as they always had, just as they always would.

And yet, for the first time, Mary felt something shift.