If in doubt, don’t go out

Fog and mist have been in the air roundabout Brighton Beach and the pier. Two days ago, the Brighton RNLI responded to TWO fog-related emergencies on the same day: a paddleboarder near King’s Esplanade disappeared into dense fog, and a spear fisherman was reported missing east of Brighton Pier. Both incidents, the RNLI says, ‘underscore the disorienting effect of fog around the pier and the importance of caution during such conditions’. ​

Mid-morning on 26 March, the RNLI logged a report of a lone female paddleboarder near King’s Esplanade who had disappeared into fog and who had not been seen for over 15 minutes. An onlooker raised the alarm after losing sight of the paddleboarder, who was not believed to be wearing a life jacket. The lifeboat launched at 10.13am, and, finding visibility to be extremely limited, the volunteer crew used onboard radar to navigate safely. However, the paddleboarder was later located ashore and safe, and the crew were stood down.

A second call came in at 2.45pm - a missing spear fisherman was reported by a fellow diver east of Brighton Palace Pier. The diver had not resurfaced since 2.25pm and there were fears for his safety due to the poor visibility and the presence of jet skis in the area. The lifeboat was preparing to launch, the RNLI says, when it was confirmed the missing diver had been found safe and well, sitting on a ledge beneath the pier. He, too, had raised concerns about the behaviour of nearby jet skis in low-visibility conditions.

New lifeboat operations manager Charlie Dannreuther said: ‘Fog can make the sea incredibly disorientating - both for those in the water and those trying to spot them from shore. We’re relieved both people were found safe, but these calls show how important it is to check the forecast and be fully prepared before heading out.’

The RNLI offers this safety advice for foggy conditions:


Avoid going out in poor visibility - check the forecast and tide times before heading to the coast;


Always wear a suitable flotation device, such as a life jacket or buoyancy aid;


Carry a means of calling for help, such as a mobile phone in a waterproof pouch or a VHF radio;


Tell someone your plans and expected return time.

If in doubt, don’t go out.

Crow’s toes gripped the wet pebbles

Crow on the Beach

Hearing shingle explode, seeing it skip,

Crow sucked his tongue.

Seeing sea-grey mash a mountain of itself

Crow tightened his goose-pimples.

Feeling spray from the sea’s root nothinged on his crest

Crow’s toes gripped the wet pebbles.

When the smell of the whale’s den, the gulfing of the crab’s last prayer,

Gimletted in his nostril

He grasped he was on earth.

He knew he grasped

Something fleeting

Of the sea’s ogreish outcry and convulsion.

He knew he was the wrong listener unwanted

To understand or help -

His utmost gaping of his brain in his tiny skull

Was just enough to wonder, about the sea,

What could be hurting so much?

This is Ted Hughes, one of the most influential British poets of the 20th century, known for his stark, elemental imagery and exploration of nature, violence, and myth. Born in Yorkshire, England, he became Poet Laureate in 1984 and was widely recognized for collections like The Hawk in the Rain and Birthday Letters. His work often delved into the primal forces of life, influenced by folklore, shamanism, and a deep reverence for the natural world.

Although there is no specific connection between Hughes and Brighton, this photograph of a crow on the Brighton pebbles seemed to lead me directly to Hughes’s poems. Crow on the Beach, as above, comes from Crow: From the Life and Songs of the Crow, published by Faber & Faber in 1970 (which can be freely borrowed online at Internet Archive). 

The collection is considered a pivotal work in Hughes’s career, marking a shift towards a darker, more fragmented style. It was originally conceived as part of a collaboration with the American artist Leonard Baskin and reflects Hughes’s personal grief following the death of his wife, Sylvia Plath. Crow is said to present a chaotic, amoral trickster figure that challenges religious and existential narratives, embodying survival, destruction, and rebirth. See the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography for a more detailed analysis of the work. Meanwhile, here is another poem from the collection.

Crow and the Sea

He tried ignoring the sea

But it was bigger than death, just as it was bigger than life.

He tried talking to the sea

But his brain shuttered and his eyes winced from it as from open flame.

He tried sympathy for the sea

But it shouldered him off - as a dead thing shoulders you off.

He tried hating the sea

But instantly felt like a scrutty dry rabbit-dropping on the windy cliff.

He tried just being in the same world as the sea

But his lungs were not deep enough

And his cheery blood banged off it

Like a water-drop off a hot stove.

Finally

He turned his back and he marched away from the sea

As a crucified man cannot move.

Return of the Laundry Arch

In the first phase of renovation work on Madeira Terrace (see Madeira Terrace restoration - hurrah!), several arches have now been entirely dismantled, leaving the huge sea wall bare and revealing a building within, a building that, frankly, looks like it’s had some history! A photograph by Allan King on the Brighton Past Facebook group has prompted members to offer snippets of local history and some memories of the place. 

Derek John Wright, for example, says ‘It’s the Laundry Arch. Used by a hotel, located at the end of the tunnel, to dry laundry.’ Neil Pike mentions the Bristol Pub hotel, and Julian Widest suggests it was Chaplin’s hotel. Ovular Sphere has more direct knowledge of the property, ‘Was the studio where my bands The Flesh Happening and Pink Narcissus used to rehearse and record. I also recorded some vocals for my album Fag Machine here. I believe it used to be a toilet.’ Richard Talbot says: ‘That’s Studio 284. The heart of Brighton punk. Occasional venue and rehearsal and recording space. Lovely people ran that.’ Paul Daltrey says, ‘Also used as a gun range at one point.’

Studio 284, in fact, was originally established in 1997 as a recording and rehearsal studio. It occupied a former public toilet block under the terraces (see Brighton and Hove News) and was run by Austen Grayton. A popular venue, it specialised in punk and metal music. In August 2015, however, it was forced to close due to the major structural concerns with the Madeira Terraces. Following the closure, the outfit relocated to Kemp Town and rebranded as BlackRock Subway Studio. It has continued to maintain a focus on providing services for various music genres, including punk, metal, acoustic, reggae, ska, folk, and hip hop.

Meanwhile, the planning application for the renovation work specifically mentions ‘Alterations and repairs to Laundry Arch to enable future operational use with replacement windows and door and a new balustrade.’

I have bathed so often

One of Brighton’s earliest literary visitors was Frances ‘Fanny’ Burney, later known as Madame d’Arblay. She first arrived in the early 1780s, at a time when sea bathing was becoming a popular remedy for health ailments. She became a famous novelist, but was also an inveterate letter writer and diary keeper. Indeed, today she is best remembered for her diaries which were first published in seven volumes. Curiously, although she tells her diary in 1982, ‘I have bathed so often as to lose my dread of the operation’, in all those volumes I can only find one significant reference to Brighton beach and seaside.

Burney was born in 1752 at King’s Lynn, Norfolk, the daughter of Charles Burney, a musician and man of letters. The family moved to London in 1760, where Charles was part of a busy literary circle. Fanny was a precocious child (although her mother died when she was just 10). She was educated at home with the help of her father’s extensive library and of his friends, in particular Samuel Crisp who encouraged her to write journal-letters, in which she carefully reported on the social world around her family. And, it was writing of this ilk that led to her first novel, Evelina, published anonymously when she was only 26.

Evelina was an instant success and led London society to speculate on the identity of the writer - widely assumed to be a man. The Burney Centre biography says Fanny ‘became the first woman to make writing novels respectable’. With Evelina, it adds, she created a new school of fiction in English - a ‘comedy of manners’ - one in which women in society were portrayed in realistic, contemporary circumstances. This new genre would later pave the way for Jane Austen and other 19th century writers. Meanwhile, once discovered as the author of Evelina, Burney was taken up by literary and high society, in particular she became very friendly with the Thrales and Dr Johnson, and would often stay at the Brighton house of the Thrales in West Street.

In 1786, Burney was appointed Second Keeper of the Robes to Queen Charlotte, wife of George III. This position took her to Brighton where the King decamped for health reasons. But she was not happy in court, and was allowed to resign in 1791. Not long after, she married the French emigré Alexandre d’Arblay, and they had one son. She died in 1840. More information is available at Brighton Museums and The Burney Centre.

Burney left behind a rich literary estate of diaries and letters. Heavily edited versions of these were published in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, but it wasn’t until Joyce Hemlow published her landmark biography, The History of Fanny Burney, in 1958 that the full impact of Burney’s contribution to literature and letters began to be better appreciated. All seven volumes of the original Diary and Letters of Madame d’Arblay, edited by her niece and published by Henry Colburn in 1842, are available online at Internet Archive. For information on the more recent Complete Scholarly Edition by Hemlow see Oxford University Press.

Burney first visited Brighton in 1779. Here is a brief diary extract written during that visit.

26 May 1779

‘The road from Streatham hither is beautiful: Mr., Mrs., Miss Thrale, and Miss Susan Thrale, and I, travelled in a coach, with four horses, and two of the servants in a chaise, besides two men on horseback; so we were obliged to stop for some time at three places on the road.

We got home by about nine o’clock. Mr. Thrale's house is in West Street, which is the court end of the town here, as well as in London. ’Tis a neat, small house, and I have a snug comfortable room to myself. The sea is not many yards from our windows. Our journey was delightfully pleasant, the day being heavenly, the roads in fine order, the prospects charming, and everybody good-humoured and cheerful.’

And here is a diary entry from three years later - Burney’s only significant mention of the beach and swimming (at least that I can find).

20 November 1782

‘Mrs and the three Miss Thrales and myself all arose at six o’clock in the morning, and ‘by the pale blink of the moon’ we went to the sea-side, where we had bespoke the bathing-women to be ready for us, and into the ocean we plunged. It was cold, but pleasant. I have bathed so often as to lose my dread of the operation, which now gives me nothing but animation and vigour.’

In view of this latter comment by Burney, it is somewhat curious that she doesn’t mention Brighton’s beach or bathing elsewhere. When I asked ChatGPT why this might be, it proposed the following reasons.

1) Burney, like many women of her era, maintained a degree of propriety in her writings. Sea-bathing, particularly for women, involved being physically handled by ‘dippers’ and experiencing an undignified immersion in the sea. She may have found the experience too embarrassing or indelicate to describe in detail. 2) While Brighton was famous for its sea-bathing, Burney’s letters suggest she was more interested in its social scene - the promenades, assemblies, and court gatherings. 3) Once she became accustomed to bathing, she may not have considered it remarkable enough to record further. 4) References to bathing were removed by editors if they were deemed too trivial or personal.

(The photograph of bathing machines above is a detail from a larger image found in Victorian and Edwardian Brighton from old photographs by John Betjeman and J. S. Gray published by Batsford 1972.)

Löyly, Leil and Saunacraft

Löyly, Leil and Saunacraft are good for another five years! Earlier this month, Brighton & Hove City Council approved an application by Beach Box Spa Ltd for ‘a temporary change of use of beach for use as a spa/sauna for period of five years’. The company - set up by Liz Watson and Katie Bracher - first offered a single sauna back in 2018, but since then has expanded to three saunas. In support of the planning approval, the council received hundreds of positive comments. 

Beach Box first operated nearby the early Sea Lanes site; but, it was obliged to close down as the Sea Lanes complex developed. In early 2022, it repositioned its saunas a little further east, at the Banjo Groyne (by this time Liz Watson was the sole owner). A temporary planning permit was granted, to March 2023, and then another to March 2025. However, the most recent planning permission will last till 2030, ‘to allow time for a new, permanent location to be found’. Three conditions are attached to the permit: the land to be restored to its natural condition on or before 30 April 2030; operations limited to the hours of 7am to 10pm; and, a prohibition on any use of external loudspeakers (unless otherwise separately agreed).

Leil, the original sauna, was created from a converted horse box. Aspen-lined it has benches on one level and it boasts a snug, grey, felt ceiling. Löyly was built by the Bristol company Saunacraft, and is the hottest of the three, also aspen-lined. It is said to have a woodland cabin feel, and a maple syrup aroma. Lotta was crafted by local sauna builders, Wildhut, and is cedar clad - cedar having aromatic and antibacterial properties. It offers panoramic ocean views and a capacity of 9/12.

According to the council, some 229 letters in support were received in support of planning permission. The contents are summarised as follows:
‘- Provides health and wellbeing benefits
- Economic boost to local area from employment and tourism
- Positive feature on the seafront with benefit to local community
- Fits with other venues in the area
- Facility is well run and accessible
- No harm to neighbouring amenity
- Generates positive publicity
- Location on the beach benefits the sauna experience’

As well as a range of spa treatments and a forest sauna near Battle, Beach Box also offers a busy schedule of sauna events. This one, on 31 March, looks particularly interesting: New Moon Party. ‘A New Moon offers us an opportunity to set intentions and goals, letting go of limiting beliefs that might hold us back and planting seeds for the future. It feels like a breathe of fresh air for the mind! Our trained Sauna Masters will guide you through a journey for the senses, with sauna rituals, leaves and aromatherapy scents. Enjoy cold plunges between rounds to reset and invigorate. A cosy moment around the firepit, to finish, with post-sauna nibbles under the moonlit sky. Let the warmth of the sauna soothe your body, the coolness of the water awaken your senses, and the magic of the New Moon inspire your soul.’

Ye olde Victorian lampposts

Brighton & Hove Council has recently launched its project to restore five Grade II listed lampposts of different styles and condition. Although the initial pilot project is small, just five columns, the £4m scheme should see 80 restored in time - returning ‘our seafront lighting to its former glory’. The most prominent examples are the 66 identical lampposts installed along the seafront in 1893, stretching both east and west from the Palace Pier. These cast iron structures feature elaborate decorations, including foliage, acanthus, and ribbed mouldings. The wide, basket-shaped capitals support twin lamps suspended from ornate brackets. While originally gas-powered, they were later converted to electricity. 

The new project  - with the participation of Historic England - focuses on careful refurbishment and, where necessary, replication of damaged or missing parts, ensuring the 80 lampposts maintain their historical accuracy. The meticulous process, the Council says, involves expert metalwork and craftsmanship to preserve the original character of the iconic structures. The restoration aims to enhance the aesthetic appeal of the seafront and historic areas while ensuring the lampposts continue to provide effective and energy-efficient lighting.

The project is expected to take several years to complete and will cost in the region of £4m. Some of the funds are being covered by the council’s Carbon Neutral Fund, but the council is also taking advantage of capital funding and money remaining from a project to install LED lights in the city’s street lighting.

The council has provided more detail on the work. Each column, it says, has been individually logged so that, once restoration is complete, they’ll be placed back in their original location. A company called Cast Iron Welding Services will transport the columns to its foundry restoration facility, There, it will remove many layers of lead-based paint, disassemble/inspect the columns, repair any fractures and apply a new exterior coating/paint to protect the columns. New energy efficient LED lamps will be made for each column by CU Phosco.

Tom Foxall, Regional Director at Historic England, said: ‘The historic lampposts along the seafront, with their decorative twin pendant lantern lights, are an iconic feature of the promenade and a reminder of Brighton & Hove’s heyday as a Victorian seaside resort. However, many are in poor condition due to corrosion from the sea air. We have worked in partnership with a specialist metal conservator and Brighton & Hove City Council to identify the best way to restore the lamps, preserving as much of the original materials as possible. I’m delighted that the pilot project to restore five columns of different styles and condition is now underway, which will inform how the rest of the columns will be restored. It’s vital that we protect and appreciate our seaside heritage.’

Meanwhile, a description and list of the city’s old lampposts can be found on its Heritage Assets web pages. There are, apparently, over 5,000 cast iron street lights in the city, with most of them (not the elaborate seafront columns) falling into one of nine types - as in the council’s photo montage below.

A dash of Venetian elegance

Cecconi’s, known for its refined Northern Italian cuisine and style-conscious decor, has just opened its new Brighton Beach venue to the general public, bringing what, some might say, is a dash of Venetian elegance to the Sussex coast. Situated on the first floor of the Soho House buildings within the Grade II-listed terrace on Madeira Drive, the restaurant has views across the beach and towards the Palace Pier. 

However, a word of warning to the general public: Cecconi’s remains a rather exclusive venue. Having walked all the way round the Soho House premises on Madeira Drive, I’ve no doubt the restaurant is inside somewhere but I could find no trace of Cecconi’s from the outside, no name, no sign, no menu.

Cecconi’s was founded in 1978 by Enzo Cecconi, the youngest-ever general manager of Venice’s famed Hotel Cipriani (which nowadays offers rooms starting at $1,400 per night!). The first restaurant opened in London’s Mayfair, quickly becoming a hotspot for those seeking a theatrical dining experience and authentic Venetian cuisine. In 2005, the restaurant was acquired by Soho House (‘a club for creatives’), a move which led to a rapid expansion of the Cecconi’s brand, with a first UK location outside London at Bicester Village, and thereafter some 15 or more venues, from Miami to Mumbai, and Istanbul to LA. 

Among the cicchetti on offer in the Brighton Cecconi’s is ‘whipped ricotta, chilli honey, oregano’, a snip at £10, while ‘spaghetti, native lobster, tomato, chilli’ will set you back £40. Open Table has mostly positive reviews, such as ‘a lovely spot for lunch, the staff were really warm and friendly. It’s very easy to enjoy the wine and the views!’ Another diner, though, noted: ‘Beautiful location. Food is ok. Restaurant staff were wonderful but bar staff very moody and abrupt.’ Happy dining, if you can find the entrance!

PS: If you’re over 27, local membership of Soho House will cost you £125 a month, or £2,000 for global membership (both require a hefty £550 joining fee).

Freedom or Kiteboarding on Brighton Beach

As free as the sky

As free as the sea

As free as she wants to be

As free as the wind

As free as the breeze

As free as she hopes for ease

As free as flight

As free as the air

As free as she wishes to dare

Zink Zonk Zunk

This is space/time warping 30 degrees

The air rotating to an acute angle

The sea flowing down and to the west

The breeze churning into a mighty easterly

And she who was as free as . . .

And she who was free . . .

And she who was . . .

And she who . . .

And she . . .

Is taking a last glorious, epic leap - up, up and beyond

Never to be seen again

Sheridan’s Brighton Belle

Thirteen years ago today, the Scottish writer Sara Sheridan launched her most well-known character in the first of the eponymous Mirabelle Bevan mystery novels. Brighton Belle - which can be freely borrowed online - is set in post-war 1951 Brighton. It follows Bevan, a former Secret Service operative who has retired to Brighton after the death of her lover. She works at a debt collection agency, hoping for a quieter life, but is drawn into a complex investigation when a pregnant Hungarian refugee, Romana Laszlo, goes missing under suspicious circumstances. Chapter one opens with this aphorism: ‘Better a diamond with a flaw than a pebble without.’ And the first few paragraphs take us straight to Brighton Beach.

‘Mirabelle Bevan surveyed Brighton’s beachfront from her deckchair. The weather had been so fine the last few days she was picking up a golden tan. 

Well put-together and in her prime, Mirabelle always ate her lunch on Brighton beach if the weather was in any way passable, but out of sheer principle she never paid tuppence for a chair. We did not win the war to have to pay to sit down, she frequently found herself thinking. Mirabelle’s stance against the deckchair charges was one of the few things that kept her going these days. In an act of personal defiance, she carefully timed the coming and goings of Ron, the deckchair attendant, and concluded that it was perfectly possible to sneak enough time to enjoy her sandwich while he tended the other end of his pitch. By selecting the right chair she could have an average of twenty-five undisturbed minutes, which was perfect. Mirabelle’s life these days revolved around small victories, little markers in her day that got her through until it was time for bed.

She loved the beach! There was something soothing about the expanse of grey and cream pebbles, the changing colour of the sea and the movement of the clouds. Mirabelle didn’t mind if it was cold or if there was a spot of rain and it was only during a full-blown downpour or a gale-force wind that she retreated to the steamy interior of the Pier Café. Now she ate her fish paste sandwich with her large hazel eyes on the ocean and her sixth sense switched on in case Ron returned early.’

Sheridan was born in 1968, in Edinburgh, Scotland. She studied English at Trinity College Dublin, and soon set about a writing career with her first book Truth or Dare. She has authored over 20 books, including the nine-part Mirabelle Bevan Mysteries, and several historical novels such as The Secret Mandarin and The Fair Botanists. She says, on her website, that she is deeply interested in diverse readings of history and has worked on projects like remapping Scotland according to women’s history. She is also an occasional journalist and blogger, contributing to outlets like BBC Radio 4, The Guardian, and The London Review of Books. She has one daughter, Molly by her first marriage to Irish businessman, Seamus Sheridan, and she married her second husband, Alan Ferrier, in 2011.

Brighton Belle, first published by Polygon on 20 March 2012, follows Mirabelle as she investigates, with a colleague Vesta Churchill, Romana’s death. In so doing, she uncovers a web of intrigue involving Nazi war criminals, counterfeit coins, and murder! The narrative is said to explore themes of post-war austerity, societal changes, and racism while evoking the atmosphere of 1950s Britain. Other titles in the series include British Bulldog, England Expects, and Operation Goodwood.

It is worth noting that the name ‘Brighton Belle’ is more famously associated with The Brighton Belle, a named train operated by the Southern Railway and subsequently British Railways from Victoria to Brighton. Commissioned as the flagship of the Southern Railway’s mass electrification project, which commenced in January 1931, the world’s only electric all-Pullman service ran daily between London Victoria and Brighton from 1 January 1933 until 30 April 1972.

The Blue Seafrog

Maggie had been told - firmly, repeatedly - that there was no such thing as a seafrog. But here it was, on Brighton Beach.

It lay among the bladderwrack, a queer, knotted thing, its four long legs stretched as if it had been caught mid-leap and petrified. The tide had left it stranded among the glistening pebbles, tangled in seaweed that clung to it like old lace. She knelt down, brushing wet strands of kelp aside.

‘A seafrog,’ she whispered.

Behind her, Alfie was balancing a stick on his nose, utterly uninterested. ‘If it's a frog, it’ll be dead,’ he remarked, letting the stick fall and rolling his eyes skyward as if this conversation were a terrible burden.

 

[With a nod to ChatGPT, and apologies to Edith Nesbit (Five Children and It). See also The Red Spider and The Green Gecko.]

Maggie ignored him. She had read enough to know that creatures of the sea were never quite as they seemed. What if it was sleeping? What if, with just the right words, it might wake?

She prodded it. The blue skin was coarse like rope. There was a knot at its middle, a sort of cruel binding, as if some careless fisherman had captured it and then forgotten it here.

Alfie sighed. ‘It's a bit of old cord, Maggie.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘It’s got fraying at the ends!’

Maggie looked closer. The fraying did look suspiciously like threadbare rope rather than amphibian limbs. But something in the air - something in the hush of the retreating tide - made her doubt Alfie’s certainty.

‘You never believe in anything,’ she said crossly.

‘And you believe in everything,’ he replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets and scuffing his boot against the pebbles.

Maggie picked up the thing - dead frog or sea-rope or something else entirely - and carried it with great care toward the sandy pools under the pier by each of its support columns. The water was still, the sort of glassy stillness that made you feel as if something beneath was watching. She laid the thing down in the shallow water, and waited. Alfie joined her.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then, quite suddenly, Alfie shouted.

‘Maggie!’

They both jumped back. The thing in the water was moving. No - not moving. Unraveling. The knotted shape loosened, the ends wriggling like living limbs, stretching as if waking from a long, enchanted sleep. The pool darkened around it, the water began to swirl as though something larger was rising from the depths.

Alfie grabbed her hand. ‘Come away!’

But Maggie stayed, her breath caught in her throat. The thing - once cord, once lifeless - slipped silently beneath the surface and was gone.

Only the faintest ripple remained.

Alfie stared.

‘I told you,’ Maggie said softly.

For once, Alfie had nothing to say.

The tide crept in. The sea took its secrets. And the blue seafrog - if that’s what it had been - remained as much of a mystery to Maggie as it had ever been.

Raving and misbehaving

It’s Tuesday, and Tuesday can mean only one thing on the Brighton Beach club scene: CU Next Tuesday at The Arch. It is claimed that this is Brighton’s biggest midweek clubbing event, and that it has been a staple of the city's nightlife for over 15 years. The organisers, ROX Promotions, promise ‘a night full of raving and misbehaving’ and that ‘Wednesday mornings in Brighton are officially cancelled’.

CU Next Tuesday takes place at The Arch, 187-193 Kings Road Arches, just a step away from the beach pebbles. The event features two rooms of music, catering to various tastes with a mix of hip hop, grime, house, drum & bass, and chart remixes. The night offers a range of attractions to entice partygoers: free pizza and donuts, on-stage games and confetti blasts, £3.50 doubles all night long, free inflatables and temporary tattoos.

Among The Arch’s various weekly themed events are the following: McDonalds Motive with free fast food, Get Your Croc Out celebrating the famous footwear, ABBA x Mamma Mia Night for dancing queens, and Bringing Shreksy Back complete with swamp shots and Shrek-themed entertainment. The venue is known for its commitment to both underground and commercial music scenes, having welcomed in the past notable acts such as Carl Cox, Fatboy Slim, Annie Mac, Stormzy, Skepta, and Tinie Tempah.

The Arch’s atmosphere, the Ticket Fairy says, is characterised by its industrial aesthetics, ‘featuring exposed brickwork and metal fixtures that create an edgy, raw vibe’, The Tuesday session - only for 18+ - usually opens from 11 pm to 4 am, with last entry at 12:30 am; tickets generally cost from £5.50. 

The club has occasionally been in the news. In May 2024, rising rapper ArrDee highlighted - in Time Out - the  venue’s significance in his musical journey, noting that it kept him connected to his roots and the local music scene. Moreover, in April last year, according to Brighton and Hove News, The Arch hosted a notable psychobilly event featuring three bands, including the UK's founding psychobilly band, The Meteors. 

There is a long history of performance at this site starting with The Zap in 1984. A pioneering venue it was credited with regenerating Brighton’s seafront in the mid-1980s and in launching the careers of many young artists. It hosted an eclectic array of performers, including comedians, musicians, and artists, and was known for its innovative approach to alternative culture as well as for its acid house nights. The premises underwent various changes of brand in 2005-2014 before reopening as The Arch. See Wikipedia for more on Zap’s, and also for some background on the original See You Next Tuesday band, complete with an explanation of its (x-rated) name.

Happy birthday Passacaglia

Happy 27th birthday Passacaglia, the giant iron sculpture to be found on Brighton Beach not far from the old fishing quarter. Created by Charles Hadcock and installed on 17 March 1998, it has become an iconic part of the local landscape, inspiring photographers, climbing children and passersby. The sculpture is said to be in the shape of ‘a giant wave crashing on the beach’ - indeed, one could imagine the curved form having been inspired by Hokusai’s 200 year oil woodblock print The Great Wave. But no, it seem Passacaglia was directly inspired by a musical element from Peter Grimes. 

Hadcock was born in Derby, England, in 1965, and was educated at Ampleforth College Cheltenham College of Art, and the Royal College of Art. His sculptures, he says, reflect ‘an interest in geology, engineering and mathematics, and are enriched by references to music and poetry’. He established his first studio in 1989 in Bermondsey, London, where he worked until his practice outgrew the space. In 1999 he moved to Lancashire and established a large studio complex at Roach Bridge Mill ‘to facilitate the physical and conceptual space necessary to develop his sculpture’.

Throughout his career, Hadcock has gained recognition for large-scale sculptures. Passacaglia was constructed from recycled cast iron. The sculpture's surface is ‘a tapestry of tiles, some flat and others curved, creating a dynamic interplay of light and shadow’. Brighton & Hove Council’s text states: ‘The tiles have textured surfaces that resemble Yorkstone paving, some are curved and some flat which gives the sculpture the shape of a giant wave crashing on the beach. The reverse side of each tile reveals the nuts and bolts of the sculpture which was constructed by Hadcock on location in 1998.’ Only a few years later, in 2004, a crack appeared in the base tile, necessitating the work be dismantled - reinstallation took place in 2007.

Encounter gallery online has the typescript of a long interview with Hadcock which includes the information I’ve not found anywhere else - i.e. that Passacaglia ‘is directly inspired by the passacaglia in Peter Grimes by Benjamin Britten’. Britten’s most famous opera, Peter Grimes, is set in Aldeburgh which has a long pebble beach - not dissimilar to Brighton’s - and it tells the forlorn tale of an outcast fisherman’s trials at sea and in society. (NB: Passacaglia is defined as an instrumental musical composition consisting of variations usually on a ground bass in moderately slow triple time.)

Hadcock’s website provides stunning photographs of many of his other notable works, and Wikipedia gives more biographical details about the sculptor.

The secrets of Silas Thorne

Here is the fourth of 25 stained glass window designs on the Palace Pier which AI and I are using as inspiration for some of these BrightonBeach365 daily posts - see Stained glass window 1 for background. This image depicts a lighthouse standing tall against a deep blue and red-toned sky, possibly representing dusk or dawn. A bright full moon is visible near the horizon, and the lighthouse’s beacon shines in a sweeping beam across the scene. Below, stylised waves and rocky shores complete the coastal imagery. 

Limerick starter

There once was a lighthouse so grand,

In a window, not out on the sand.

Though it shined with great might,

It had one major plight - 

No ship ever saw it firsthand!

The Secrets of Silas Thorne (in the style of John Buchan)

The salt-laden wind whipped at my tweed coat as I stood before the small, circular window in the vestry of St. Nicholas Church. It was a peculiar thing, a stained-glass lighthouse, nestled amongst the more traditional depictions of saints and biblical scenes. The colours, a swirling vortex of deep blues and fiery reds, held an almost unsettling energy, the lighthouse beam cutting through the glass like a celestial sword.

‘Odd, isn't it?’ A voice, dry as parchment, startled me. Reverend Ainsworth, a man whose face seemed etched with the same lines as the ancient stones of the church, stood beside me. ‘Not quite what one expects, is it?’

‘Indeed,’ I replied, my eyes fixed on the window. ‘Do you know its history?’

‘A tale best told in whispers,’ he said, his gaze flickering towards the shadowed corners of the vestry. ‘It was commissioned by a man named Silas Thorne, a notorious smuggler, some seventy years past. He’d made his fortune running brandy and silks along this very coast. But Thorne, you see, was a man haunted by the sea. He lost his son, swept away during a storm, and sought solace in this . . . peculiar offering.’

The Reverend paused, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. ‘They say Thorne believed the lighthouse in the glass was a beacon, a guide for his lost boy’s soul, trapped in the watery abyss. He’d sit for hours, gazing at it, convinced he could see his son’s face in the moonlight reflected off the glass.’

‘A tragic tale,’ I said, my fingers tracing the cold stone of the window frame.

‘Tragic, yes,’ Ainsworth agreed. ‘But there’s more. Thorne was a man of dark secrets. It was whispered he’d made pacts with . . . less than holy entities. The lighthouse, they say, isn’t just a symbol of hope, but a conduit.’

‘A conduit?’ I raised an eyebrow.

‘To something . . . other,’ he finished, his voice barely audible. ‘They say on nights of the full moon, when the tide is at its lowest, the lighthouse in the glass glows with an unnatural light. And if you listen closely, you can hear the faint sound of a boy’s laughter echoing from the depths of the sea.’

The Reverend’s words sent a shiver down my spine. I glanced at the window again. The moon, a pale disc in the stained glass, seemed to pulse with an eerie luminescence. I felt a strange pull, a sense of unease that settled deep in my bones.

That night, I found myself drawn back to the church, the moon casting long, skeletal shadows across the graveyard. The tide was out, the sea a dark, undulating expanse. I slipped into the vestry, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and incense.

The lighthouse window glowed with an unearthly light, the colours swirling and shifting. I pressed my ear to the glass. A faint sound, like the distant echo of laughter, drifted from the sea. It was a chilling sound, a sound that spoke of loss and longing, of something trapped between worlds.

Suddenly, the glass shimmered, the lighthouse beam intensifying. I recoiled, a sense of dread washing over me. The laughter grew louder, closer. I felt a coldness, a presence, pressing against me.

Then, just as suddenly, it was gone. The light faded, the laughter ceased. The window was still, silent. I stood there, my heart pounding, my breath catching in my throat.

I left the church, the salt wind biting at my face, the moon a silent witness to the night’s strange events. As I walked back towards the lights of Brighton, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had glimpsed something beyond the veil, something dark and ancient, stirred by the haunted lighthouse in the stained glass window. The secrets of Silas Thorne, it seemed, were still alive, waiting for the next full moon, the next low tide, to rise again from the depths.

Palace Pier light and dark

As part of Britain’s coastal defence strategy, the War Office mandated - in May 1940 - the closure of Brighton Palace Pier in order to mitigate risks of invasion or sabotage. Just a few weeks earlier - on 15 March, exactly 65 years ago today - this beautiful postcard of a lit up Palace Pier was mailed by Mr E. Thomas, stationed at Preston Barracks, to his cousin Lil Groom in Bridgend. The striking image can be found in Palace Pier, Brighton by Albert Bullock and Peter Medcalf. Overleaf from that image, can be found another, darker image of the Palace Pier - its polar opposite.

During the war, the pier, once a symbol of seaside joy, underwent a dramatic transformation as it became part of Britain’s coastal defence system. A then-secret War Office paper identified the possible direction and scale of a German invasion, and recommended that the majority of piers around the country should have three spans removed to prevent the passage of troops and light infantry vehicles. The Palace Pier was cut in half by a team of sappers from the Royal Engineers led by Captain Peter Fleming. It was left with a 40 ft wide gap. 

The remaining structures were heavily reinforced with sandbags and defensive barriers. Soldiers were stationed, and anti-aircraft guns were installed, turning it into a lookout and defence post against aerial attacks. The closure also involved deactivating the pier’s lighting system, which had previously required 67,000 bulbs to illuminate its length. These measures aligned with broader national efforts to darken coastal areas, reducing visibility for enemy aircraft and naval forces. 

The war years saw a significant decline in the pier’s condition due to the lack of maintenance and constant exposure to the elements. Resources were diverted to the war effort, leaving little for the upkeep of civilian infrastructure. The pier was not repaired until September 1945, four months alter VE Day. It reopened on 6 June 1946.