Basketball upgrade for beach

A newly refurbished basketball court on Brighton Beach officially reopens today, following a major upgrade funded by Brighton & Hove City Council with support from Foot Locker and the Hoopsfix Foundation. The court has been extended in size and features a vibrant pink and blue design by Sam Sure of Half Decent Day. New equipment includes regulation-size Perspex backboards, spring-loaded rings, and a fresh playing surface with FIBA-standard markings.

The court’s relaunch (on this rather misty day) is being celebrated with a free public event, including coaching sessions for children, exhibition games, a slam dunk show, music, and giveaways, and will be followed by a new schedule of regular tournaments and competitions set to take place at the site (in partnership with Hoopsfix).

The improvements were guided by a public consultation in which over 500 people participated. The overwhelming majority supported the upgrades, with 98% requesting new hoops and 86% asking for a larger court. In response, the court was lengthened by four metres and widened by two metres to better serve the growing number of basketball enthusiasts in the area.

Council leaders and project partners have praised the collaborative effort. Councillor Alan Robins said the court’s popularity reflects the national rise in basketball participation, especially among young people. Sam Neter of Hoopsfix described the court as one of the UK’s most iconic.

Brighton’s most prominent basketball connection is the Brighton Bears. Originally established in 1973, the team became a powerhouse in British basketball, playing under the Brighton Bears name until 1984 before relocating to Worthing and becoming the Worthing Bears. The team returned to Brighton in 1999, competing at the Brighton Centre - just a short walk from the beach - and quickly re-established itself as a top-flight team in the British Basketball League (BBL). 

Under the leadership of coach Nick Nurse, who later led the Toronto Raptors to an NBA championship, the Bears enjoyed a successful run from 2001 to 2006, winning the BBL Championship in the 2002-03 season and the BBL Cup in 2004-05. It gained international attention in 2006 by signing NBA Hall of Famer Dennis Rodman for a brief stint. The franchise folded later that year, and efforts to revive elite basketball in Brighton faced challenges, with the BBL favouring Worthing Thunder for a franchise slot. However, the Bears’ legacy lives on through a new club established in 2014 in nearby Lancing, West Sussex, initially called the Sussex Bears but since 2022 known again as the Brighton Bears. See also Wikipedia.

Upside Down Houses on a roll

The Upside Down House on Brighton Beach stands out as a unique tourist attraction, thoughtfully designed and built as a temporary experience for visitors. This quirky structure was the brainchild of Tom Dirse, CEO of Upside Down House UK Ltd, who first introduced the concept in Bournemouth in 2018. Since then, the idea has expanded to six locations in the UK (with four more managed by a partner company). Indeed, the concept seems to be on a roll worldwide with topsy-turvy houses opening from the US to Thailand, Estonia to South Africa.

Brighton’s Upside Down House opened its doors in May 2019, perfectly positioned on the seafront between the i360 and the bandstand. Its vibrant turquoise exterior complements the iconic colours of the city’s coastline, making it a striking feature along the promenade. Inside, it features a variety of themed rooms - including a kitchen, dining room, bathroom, bedroom, music room, and vault room - all with furniture and décor attached to the ‘ceiling’ for surreal photographic opportunities. The interior design is said to draw on Brighton’s diverse cultural, music, and arts scene, with elements such as a bespoke gaming area, a jukebox, a vintage bicycle, and a replica Mona Lisa.

The attraction appears to be part of a global trend of topsy-turvy constructions, with similar installations found across Europe, North America, Asia, and beyond, often as standalone tourist sites or within amusement parks and museums. Apart from at least ten in the UK there are certainly 20 more well-known ones worldwide (though the actual number is likely to be higher).

My own (un-modified) upside down photograph of Brighton’s Upside Down House inspired me to collage together a few photos found online of other similar attractions. I’ve modified those pictures by rotating them through 180 degrees, and then slightly cropping/straightening the results. Locations:  Orlando, USA (top right), Broederstroom, South Africa (bottom right), Szymbark, Poland (top left), Tartu, Estonia (bottom left). Incidentally, the original Upside Down House concept is credited to the one at Szymbark which opened in 2007 as a tourist attraction and a social commentary on the communist era.

A seaside romp

Here is the ninth 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 features a person lounging in a green-and-white striped deckchair, positioned on a pebble beach. The figure is shown from behind, legs outstretched, with arms resting on the sides of the chair. Beside the deckchair are a blue-and-white beach ball, a yellow spade stuck upright in the ground, a black bucket, and a sandcastle. In the background, the sea appears deep blue, and above it, dramatic blue-grey clouds sweep across the sky, adding a slightly moody atmosphere.

A limerick starter

A sandcastle, flagged and grand,

Was built with much toil on the sand.

But the tide, with a smirk,

Would undo all that work

And leave wet chaos where art used to stand.

A Seaside Romp (with apologies to Jilly Cooper)

Clarissa’s deckchair had collapsed again.

‘Bloody vintage chic!’ she shouted, flinging a sunhat with all the grace of a woman three spritzers into a Tuesday. The Brighton sun was out, her ex-husband was back in town with a woman who looked like a sentient yoga mat, and someone had just tried to charge her £9.50 for hummus on toast.

She glared at the sea. It glared back.

To her left, a man lounged shirtless in a deckchair so smug it looked like it paid private school fees. He had a bucket, a spade, and calves like minor deities. She knew the type. Retired banker. Probably called Giles. Probably knew how to pitch a tent and your body confidence into chaos.

‘Nice pail,’ she muttered.

‘Inherited it,’ he replied. ‘Passed down through four generations.’

She looked him up and down. ‘You from London?’

‘God no. Tunbridge Wells. But I did a stint in Shoreditch. Gave it all up for sea air, spades, and spiritual clarity.’

Clarissa raised an eyebrow. ‘Spiritual clarity?’

He glanced at the spade between his feet. ‘Tried celibacy. Lasted a bank holiday weekend.’

A beach ball bounced over - thrown by a child named Persephone whose parents were arguing about NFT art - disturbing the moment. Clarissa and Giles were both on their feet, cheeks flushed, knees dusty, bucket and spade forgotten . . . ready for the next moment.

Later, as they lay entangled in a damp windbreak and the faint honk of chip fat and regret, Clarissa sighed.

‘Do you believe in fate?’

Giles considered this. ‘Only if it brings wine.’

She smiled. ‘Fetch the bucket. I’ll go get ice and Cava.’

The tide rolled in and the fizz fizzed (for want of fireworks).

The faintest and purest blue

It is 110 years since Eric Cyril Egerton Leadbitter published his first novel, Rain Before Seven, partially set in Brighton where the ‘dazzling sea [. . .] tumbles in white foam over the shingle’ and where the sea can be ‘washed [. . .] to the faintest and purest blue’. Little seems to be remembered of Leadbitter, though he seems to have abandoned a promising literary talent for a career in the civil service.

He was born in 1891, possibly in Hexham, and educated at Shrewsbury, but his early life and education are otherwise barely documented in public records. He began a literary career during World War I, publishing a series of novels that reflected the themes and styles of his era: Rain Before Seven (1915), The Road to Nowhere (1916), Perpetual Fires (1918), Shepherd’s Warning (1921), Dead Reckoning (1922), and The Evil that Men Do (1923). Wikipedia lists only these six novels for him, and, similarly, the British Library catalogue has only these same six titles.

Thereafter, Leadbitter built a distinguished career in the British civil service. Who Was Who lists Tunbridge Wells as his place of residence. In 1937, he was appointed Commander of the Royal Victorian Order (CVO), an honour recognising his service to the Crown. His most significant administrative role came in 1942, when he was appointed Clerk of the Privy Council, a senior position he held until 1951. During his tenure, he was knighted as a Knight Bachelor in 1946 and, in 1951, was promoted to Knight Commander of the Royal Victorian Order (KCVO), reflecting the high regard in which he was held within government circles.

On the personal front, Leadbitter married Irene Lloyd in 1918, though there seems to be no public information regarding his family life and whether he had children. He died in 1971. 

Rain Before Seven was first published in 1915 by G. Allen & Unwin. The story follows a young boy named Michael as he prepares to leave home for the first time. The narrative explores Michael’s emotions and experiences leading up to his departure, including his relationships with family members, his imagination, and his fears about the future. The book is divided into three parts: The Idle Apprentice, Obscurity and Enlightenment, and the US edition (1920) can be freely read online at Internet Archive. Incidentally, several books with the same title have appeared over the years, most likely because of the popularity of the traditional weather lore ‘Rain before seven, fine before eleven’.

The following extract about Brighton is taken from Leadbitter’s Rain Before Seven, chapter XXVI entitled The Prodigal Brother.

‘Brighton is a most deceptive town; the hints that it gives of its past are as little to be relied upon as those of certain of its lady visitors when they are in reminiscent mood. To a visitor who is enterprising enough to explore them, the little by-streets that lead from the Western Road appear to belong to a past when the town slept the sleep of gentle Georgian cathedral cities, untainted by the neighbouring metropolis. There are strangely huddled little houses that might date from an innocent youth that touched hands with the medievals. Nevertheless, as every Londoner and many natives know, a century ago nothing except a fishing village lay at the foot of the cliffs where Brighton with her flaunting pride now stands. Evil fairies attended her christening; George of ill-repute was her sponsor, and she has never thrown off the shadow of her early influences. Brighton with all her witchery is the British Paris; she is the pleasure suburb where Londoners pursue their vices in secrecy. But who can resist the witchery of the air? the dry and sunny wind, and the dazzling sea that tumbles in white foam over the shingle? Not, at any rate, a group of young people who were passing along the front one sunny April morning, a year later than the events recorded in the last chapter, with the brisk and ecstatic walk that vouches for an early bathe behind, and a voracious appetite for a breakfast to come. The previous day had been stormy, and mists of rain had washed the sea to the faintest and purest blue. On the foreshore, a few figures were bending over the pebbles, searching for the small treasures that a heavy sea like that of the preceding day usually unearthed. The party on the promenade stopped to watch them, and one of the girls asked her companion what they were doing.

“I don’t know much about it,” he replied, “but I have an idea they are called beach-combers, or something. They rake up old sixpences and things among the stones.”

“How exciting! I suppose they are always hoping to find a wonderful buried treasure. Rosie!” she called to an older girl who was behind her, “what do you say to having a shot at it?” ’

[NB: The portrait of Leadbitter has been screenshot from the National Portrait Gallery website.]

The eye as old as time

Found just east of the Palace Pier, half-submerged in the pebbles and facing out to sea, a strange piece of driftwood has captured the imagination of beachgoers. At first glance, it’s a gnarled, salt-bleached log - but closer inspection reveals something far more curious. Weathered hollows and ancient cracks form what many claim resembles a vast, watching eye.

Locals have taken to calling it ‘the eye as old as time’, and the name has stuck, partly for its poetic ring, partly because the formation feels oddly deliberate. Smooth rings surround a deep hollow, like iris and pupil, worn not by carving tools but by tide, time, and wind. The shape is uncanny, as though the beach itself is peering out from beneath the stones.

One long since retired fisherman - Silas Finn - recalls a local legend claiming that whenever such an eye appears on Brighton Beach, change is coming. He remembers a similar shape washed ashore in October 1973 - just before the terrible barge accident that destroyed the pier theatre - and another just before the Great Storm of 1987.

In the past, most have dismissed the legends but others have theorised ‘the eye as old as time’ is part of a vast, submerged creature of folklore, returning infrequently and briefly to survey the coast. Others consider it marks a shift in the beach itself - that Brighton’s shoreline, long tamed by groynes and breakwaters, may be awakening to older rhythms.

As of this afternoon, the driftlog still lies where it landed, above the tideline, unclaimed. Children poke at it, walkers sit for a moment, dogs - alas - pee on it, but more than one wizened old soul is sure to hold its gaze, and read into the future.

Korwar’s Percussion Parade

Yesterday, 25 May and the last day of the city’s May festival, Brighton Beach was pulsing with rhythm and colour as acclaimed percussionist Sarathy Korwar led an exuberant 30-piece band in Percussion Parade, a vibrant celebration of multicultural music.

Korwar - an award-winning drummer, composer, and bandleader - is renowned for his innovative fusion of jazz, Indian classical music, and contemporary sounds. Born in the US, he grew up in Ahmedabad and Chennai, India, where he began studying tabla at the age of 10. His early musical influences included Indian folk songs and American jazz artists like Ahmad Jamal and John Coltrane. At 17, he moved to Pune to study Environmental Science but ultimately dedicated himself to music, training under tabla maestro Rajeev Devasthali and expanding his skills to the Western drum kit. 

In 2009, Korwar relocated to London, earning a Master’s degree in Performance from SOAS, University of London, where he focused on adapting Indian classical rhythms to non-Indian percussion instruments. His debut album, Day To Day (2016), released on Ninja Tune, blended field recordings of the Siddi community in India with contemporary jazz and electronic music. His 2019 album, More Arriving, featured collaborations with South Asian rappers and poets, addressing themes of immigration and identity; it received critical acclaim and won Best Independent Album at the AIM Awards in 2020. In 2022, he released KALAK, an album exploring ‘Indo-futurism’ and cyclical time concepts, which was lauded by critics and featured in several year-end best album lists.

For Percussion Parade, Korwar assembled a 30-piece band featuring some of the southeast’s finest young musicians, brought together by Create Music. The ensemble performed music specially composed for the festival, blending influences from futuristic folk, South Asian temple processions, UK carnivals, and traditional marching bands. A large number of spectators gathered nearby the Piazza and the West Pier Spiral to listen to the thunder of drums, the shimmer of cymbals, and the infectious energy of a community united through rhythm. 

Hazel by the sea

Forgive this lapse into the personal but today the most important event occurring across the whole length of Brighton Beach has been a visit by Hazel, Hazel Lyons, my first and most beautiful granddaughter. In keeping with recent family tradition she was carried across the pebbles to be as near to the water as possible and there given a secular blessing on her forehead. As it happens, Hazel is 74 days old today, and I am 74 years old.

I have three sons. Adam is the oldest, born back in 1987. He married Greta last year, and Hazel was born in March (it is her visit to Brighton today, and to the beach, that has moved me to fill this blog post with family photographs). I got together with Hattie in 2007, and we’ve had two boys, JG and Albert, born in 2009 and 2011 respectively. Both were taken to the sea when only a few weeks old - here are my diary entries from those moments.

9 January 2009

‘It was the most beautiful day, the sun shining and brilliant, the sea blue, and the air less cold than of late. Once there, we all three went on to the pebbles, and [. . .] then I took you down to the sea, and dipped your tiny hand in the water, and after that your mother and I crossed some sea water on your forehead and named you Jake Gordon Lyons.’

19 July 2011

‘Today, JG being at nursery, and the weather being fine, we three [Hat, Albert and myself] all cycled down to the beach. This was Hat’s first time on the beach since Albert was born; it was Albert’s first time ever on the beach; it was also the first time he’d travelled with me on the bicycle. There weren’t many people on the beach. I had a swim, and then we took Albert down to the water line, where only gentle waves were lapping, and we baptised him, with a little sprinkle of sea water on his forehead, naming him Albert Zorro Gordon Lyons. Hat took some photos to mark occasion.’

25 May 2025

‘Hazel is such a joy, happy and alert, eyes wide and blue, smiling. After lunch we all bussed down to the seafront, Albert and I sharing pram-pushing duties. Hazel remained asleep as we carried the pushchair across the pebbles, and we let her sleep for a while, but I was keen to take her down to the water, and snap a few photos. She was as calm as could be when I gently woke her and lifted her into my arms. The tide was out so we needed to stand on the sand to get near the water line. Albert asked me if I was going to wet a cross on Hazel’s forehead, I said I was. He suggested instead that I do a smiley face, but Adam and I said he should do it - which he did.’

The Kemp Town Lift

The Kemp Town (or Madeira) Lift was opened 135 years ago this very day. Located on Brighton’s East Cliff, it was built to connect Marine Parade above with Madeira Drive below, offering practical access to the seafront at a time when Brighton was rapidly expanding as a Victorian resort.

The lift was part of a larger project initiated under the Brighton Improvement Act of 1884. Alongside the lift, work began on the Madeira Terrace and Shelter Hall - structures designed to enhance the eastern stretch of the promenade. Construction of the lift began in the late 1880s and was completed in time for its opening on 24 May 1890. It is made up of a three-stage tower with a pagoda-style roof and originally featured a square-faced clock, now missing. Its roof is topped by a dolphin weather vane, and the structure is notable for its ornamental cast-iron framework

The full length of Madeira Terrace, which the lift forms a central part of, was completed in 1897. The East Cliff had already undergone major changes by this time. A sea wall, constructed in 1870 using stone from the demolished first Blackfriars Bridge in London, provided a foundation for further development. The Kemp Town estate, built between 1823 and 1855, had established the area as a fashionable part of Brighton. The lift was designed to complement this setting, with an ornamental roof, cast-iron framework, and panoramic views of the coast.

In 1971, Madeira Terrace and the lift were granted Grade II* listed status by English Heritage, recognising their architectural and historical value. Bizarrely, perhaps, access to the beach level of the lift is via Concorde, a music venue. According to Atlas Obscura, there is ‘chest-thumping music from about ten in the morning onwards’, and the interior of the club is painted black and purple ‘suitably oppressive and doom-laden, even in bright sunshine and despite its sixteen-foot ceilings’. Historically (at times prior to Concorde), the beach level building served as a waiting room and as a cafe.

The lift structure - like the rest of the terraces - has suffered from long periods of neglect. The lift was closed in 2007 due to safety concerns. It reopened briefly in 2009 after structural repairs, but further deterioration led to more closures. In 2012, Madeira Walk and the upper deck were also shut. Limited restoration in 2013 allowed a temporary reopening, but by 2023, the lift had once again been closed indefinitely due to shaft damage.

Over the years, attempts have been made to maintain and manage the lift, including a period of operation by Concorde. However, ongoing maintenance has remained a challenge. In 2019, over ten tonnes of lead and copper were stolen from the lift and surrounding shelters, worsening its condition. As of March 2025, Brighton & Hove City Council has launched a new restoration project for the eastern seafront - see Madeira Terrace restoration - hurrah! and Progress on the Madeira arches.

Charles II and Pepys on the quarterdeck

23 May 1660: the day Brighton made its first appearance in a diary (albeit not by name), and not just any diary, but THE diary - the one kept by Samuel Pepys, the most famous diarist in the English language. That day, aboard a ship bringing Charles II back from exile to claim the throne, Pepys listened spellbound as the King paced the quarterdeck, recounting a harrowing escape that had taken him - nearly a decade earlier - through the Sussex coast and within a pebble’s toss of Brighton Beach.

Pepys’ journal entry for that day overflows with drama. The King and a retinue of royals had boarded the fleet in the Netherlands, greeted with ‘infinite shooting off of the guns.’ The King, rather than playing the aloof monarch, surprised Pepys by walking ‘up and down,’ full of energy, and launching into vivid stories of his flight from the Battle of Worcester in 1651.

After the Royalist defeat at Worcester, Charles II was a fugitive in his own country. Hiding in priest holes, haylofts, and famously in an oak tree at Boscobel, he eluded capture for six weeks. Travelling in disguise, he trudged through mud ‘with nothing but a green coat and a pair of country breeches,’ his feet rubbed raw by peasant shoes. His journey led him through Sussex, staying in Arundel and Beeding, and then - on 14 October - to ‘another place’. Although not named, the place was certainly Brighthelmstone, as Brighton was then called.

According to the King’s own account, recorded by Pepys in a later narrative, he met his escape vessel’s captain, Nicholas Tettersell, at an inn - most likely The George in Middle Street. The ship lay waiting at Shoreham. Although Tettersell recognised Charles immediately (‘he is the king, and I very well know him’), he agreed to help, later earning a royal pension and the honour of having his ship, Surprise, renamed The Royal Escape.

There, in that Brighton inn, surrounded by loyalists and strangers alike, Charles drank beer, smoked tobacco, and gambled that he could trust the landlord - who quietly knelt and kissed his hand. At 4 am, they rode to Shoreham and boarded the small vessel. As Charles later told it, he lay low in the cabin until the tide rose enough to carry them across the Channel to safety.

That same escape would later inspire two commemorations: the 615-mile Monarch’s Way long-distance footpath tracing his route from Worcester to Shoreham, and the annual Royal Escape Race - a modern yacht event retracing his dash to France.

So what of Pepys? His diary began on New Year’s Day 1660 and ran for nine momentous years. He was aboard the ship that day not just as a chronicler, but as part of the Admiralty team. That his journal should contain Brighton’s earliest known diary mention seems fitting, given his flair for blending personal anecdote with sweeping historical detail. He wrote of that 23 May - 365 years ago today - ‘The King . . . fell into discourse of his escape from Worcester . . . made me ready to weep to hear the stories that he told. . .’

[This article was largely sourced from my book Brighton in Diaries (History Press, 2011). The topmost picture was created using Bing, and the lower picture is a copy of a 1911 print - Samuel Pepys and King Charles II - by Robert Spence found on the website of The Australian National Gallery of Victoria.]

The Golden Gallopers

We are lucky to have the GGs on Brighton Beach, better known as the ‘Golden Gallopers’, a fairground ride that surely captures the spirit of traditional seaside entertainment. 

This carousel was built in 1888 by Frederick Savage, a pioneering 19th-century English engineer and inventor who transformed the world of fairground machinery. Savage, based in King’s Lynn, Norfolk, developed steam-powered systems for carousels, including the ‘galloping horse’ mechanism that gave ride-on horses their signature rise-and-fall motion. His roundabouts were exported around the world and laid the foundation for what became known as the golden age of mechanical fairgrounds.

The Brighton carousel originally toured the North of England before being exported to the USA by an American collector. After some years abroad, it returned to the UK and eventually found a permanent home on Brighton beach. Over the course of its history, the ride has undergone a number of restorations, including a key rebuild by Savage’s company to convert it from a ‘dobby set’ (with stationary horses) to a full galloper ride using overhead cranks and a rotating platform. The original steam engine was removed in 1949, and the carousel has since run on electric power.

The carousel has been operated on Brighton beach since 1997 by Owen Smith - Smith’s name is proudly painted on the ride’s canopy, and he continues to manage its seasonal appearance and upkeep. The carousel typically operates from Easter to September and is dismantled each winter for protection. A notable feature of the ride’s operation is its annual rebuilding each March, when it is reassembled on the beach. This process has been documented in a sequence of photos by Tony Mould, who also recorded the names of all the carved horses, each one individually painted and named - see My Brighton and Hove. (However, these photographs are my own.)

Today, the Golden Gallopers carousel remains a much-loved landmark on Brighton’s seafront. It stands, one might say, as a living tribute to Frederick Savage’s mechanical ingenuity and to the commitment of its current operator, who ensures the carousel continues to delight new generations of visitors with the colour, motion, and music of a bygone era.

Rampion’s giant turbines

This month marks ten years since a major turning point in the UK’s green energy journey - and in the future of views out to sea from Brighton Beach. In May 2015, confirmation of a £1.3 billion investment unlocked the start of construction on what would become the Rampion Offshore Wind Farm - a pioneering renewable energy project off the Sussex coast. A decade later, Rampion has not only reshaped the region’s horizon but also played a key role in reshaping Britain’s energy future.

Back in 2015, the announcement by E.ON, with backing from the UK Green Investment Bank and Enbridge, signalled more than just a financial commitment. It was a bold vote of confidence in the potential of offshore wind, then still an emerging sector. Construction began in 2016; by spring 2018, the turbines were fully operational, delivering power to the National Grid.

Situated 13km off the Sussex coast, Rampion was the first offshore wind farm in the south of England. With 116 turbines generating up to 400 megawatts - enough to power around 350,000 homes - it demonstrated the viability of large-scale wind energy in the region. Its name, chosen by public vote, nods to the round-headed rampion, the county flower of Sussex.

Today, Rampion stands as a landmark project - visible most especially from Brighton Beach - and a vital contributor to the UK’s renewable energy mix. Looking ahead, the proposed Rampion 2 expansion aims to nearly triple the wind farm’s generating capacity. With an estimated cost of £2 billion, the project received government approval in April 2025 and is expected to begin construction in late 2026 or early 2027, aiming to be fully operational before 2030. The extension will add 90 turbines, each up to 325 meters tall - surpassing the height of the Eiffel Tower - and will provide clean electricity to over one million homes. (The photo below is from the Rampion website.)

The visual impact of Rampion has been a topic of discussion - see The Guardian. While some residents and visitors appreciate the turbines as symbols of progress and find them majestic, others express concerns about their prominence on the seascape. The developers have engaged in public consultations to address these concerns, including reducing the number of turbines and adjusting their placement to minimise visual intrusion. Meanwhile anyone wishing to get up close and personal to the turbine giants can take a tour with Brighton Diver - costing just £45 for a two-three hour boat ride.

The Brighton fixer

Here is the eight 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 features two jockeys riding brown horses, both in racing posture. The jockey in the foreground is wearing a pink top and white pants, while the jockey behind is dressed in a red top and white pants with a yellow helmet. The background shows stylised green fields, a blue sky, and white clouds, with a prominent red circle in the sky, possibly representing the sun or a race marker. 

A limerick starter

Two jockeys sped off in a dash,

Each hoping to pocket the cash.

Their horses, inspired,

Look secretly wired -

Did someone spike oats with panache?

The Brighton fixer (in the style of Dick Francis)

I saw it again this morning. The stained glass roundel above the old betting shop door on Brighton seafront. Two jockeys, mid-gallop, frozen in coloured glass - one in rose, one in red. Odd thing is, I know them both.

The one in rose? That’s Charlie Fielding. Dead two years now - trampled under six hooves at Plumpton. Officially an accident. Unofficially, I never bought it. And the other jockey? I’d bet my last losing slip it’s me.

I retired after Charlie’s death. Couldn’t ride without seeing him in my periphery. But I still walked the beach every morning, boots crunching shingle, past the piers and peeling Victorian arches. That’s when I noticed the stained glass, installed suddenly in the old Seagull Tote, long closed and boarded until recently. No artist’s name. No sign. Just that image - and the past, staring back at me.

That morning, a figure was watching from inside. A flicker behind the coloured panes. Curiosity overrode my better sense. I crossed the promenade and pushed through the warped wooden door. It creaked open.

Inside was dim, the salt air clinging to dusty formica. A single bulb buzzed above a folding table. And sitting at it, with a bookmaker’s ledger open in front of him, was Julian Kemp.

He’d trained both Charlie and me once. Slick, silver-haired, with a fondness for quiet threats and sudden debt. He didn’t look surprised to see me.

‘Thought the window might bring you in,’ he said, without looking up. ‘It’s good, isn’t it? Custom commission. Memory’s a powerful lure.’

I didn’t answer. My eyes scanned the room. Beneath the table: a floorboard pried loose. Inside, stacked neatly - old betting slips, laminated, coded. Duplicates of Charlie’s last race. And photos. Surveillance. One showed Charlie arguing with Kemp, another showed Kemp at a late-night meeting with a farrier who’d been banned from every course south of the M25.

Charlie had known something. Tried to back out. And now the glass showed him forever racing to a finish he never reached.

‘You killed him,’ I said quietly.

Kemp smiled like a man remembering a clever joke. ‘He wouldn’t play ball. But you? You stayed loyal. Fancy another ride, Ben?’

He nodded toward a fresh set of silks on a hook: rose pink, like Charlie’s.

I picked them up, felt the weight. Then turned, sharp and fast, and cracked the brass hook against Kemp’s temple. He crumpled silently.

I left him tied with his own power cable, his precious stained glass glowing behind me as the dawn caught the curve of the beach.

I’d call the police once I reached the pier. First, I stopped and looked out to sea.

This time, I wouldn’t be part of the finish line.

Hove Beach Park opens

It’s big news for Brighton Beach that Hove Beach Park has been officially opened - by the mayor Mohammed Asaduzzaman and council leader Bella Sankey. Stretching from the King Alfred Leisure Centre to Hove Lagoon, the new park - the first in the city for 100 years, claims Sankey - has been built across Hove’s Western Lawns, an area which for a century has been little more than a series of lawned rectangles. 

The first section of the £13.7m park - opened last September and included a skatepark, pump track and roller area. Since then the council has added padel and tennis courts, gardens and new pathways, and an outdoor sports hub, café and public toilets - see Not the Mary Clarke Park. The existing croquet and bowls lawns have also reopened - a sand sports area is expected to follow by August.

In a press release, the Council quoted Sankey as stating: ‘This project has been evolving since 2018 through the work of local community organisations, particularly West Hove Seafront Action Group and West Hove Forum. Working in partnership, we identified underused facilities and green spaces on the seafront and developed a plan to reinvigorate this key area of the city. The result is a linear park with attractive spaces, better biodiversity and a range of recreational activities for residents and visitors of all ages to enjoy.’

Brighton and Hove News reported on the opening ceremony last Friday, as did BBC Sussex. In celebration of the opening, several events were organised over the weekend: padel games with coaches on hand, an introductory bowls session, a jam session in the skatepark and pump track area, and a croquet drop-in session.

Rotten decking anniversary

It is, today, the 10th anniversary of the day the news broke - in The Argus, where else - that the leg of a teenager (ironically called Megan Wood) ‘went plunging’ through the Palace Pier wooden decking. The story has been immortalised by the National Piers Society which includes the event in its potted history of the Palace Pier. I can find no other source for the story so I will have to rely almost entirely on (i.e. plagiarise) the Argus piece (inc. its photographs).

According to the Argus reporter Adrian Imms, Wood, a 19 year old from Portslade, was out for a stroll with her friends on the Palace Pier when the mishap occurred, and she saw her leg go through a slat in the pier up to above her knee. She said: ‘I just trod on a bit of wood and it fell straight through. I was just in shock at this chunk of wood missing. It could happen to anyone - imagine if it was an old lady or a child who fell through. I never want to go on the pier again.’

Wood told the Argus she had been going to the Palace Pier with her boyfriend Declan Dexter for years. Dexter, 20, who volunteers for the RNLI, added: ‘It’s a shame really because we have been going on there since we were kids.’ The pair took a taxi to A&E in a taxi, where it was confirmed Wood had not broken any bones but may have done some nerve damage, and that there might be some bleeding in the muscles of her leg which could take two or three weeks to heal. Afterwards she told the Argus: ‘It still really hurts and is bruised. The doctor said it would get worse before getting better.’ 

Anne Martin, general manager of the pier, was quoted by the Argus: ‘We have had no direct contact with the young lady concerned and have only been advised by a third party. We are waiting to see how we can resolve this unfortunate incident. Our health and safety consultant has provided us with a report and we are satisfied that this is an isolated incident.’

The National Pier Society website - in its potted history of the Palace Pier - confirms that the pier undertook a health and safety investigation and this had shown the incident to be an isolated one. Nevertheless,  the previous May something similar had occurred. Again according to the Argus, Fakhouri Sami Yassan, a Brighton resident put his leg through the decking and also ended up at hospital where he was treated for cuts and bruises. Yassan was quoted as saying: ‘I was lucky that another piece of decking didn’t give way or I’d have fallen straight through.’ 

I am Brighton

This day seven years ago, Century published Dorothy Koomson’s The Brighton Mermaid. Said to be a gripping thriller, it follows the story of teenagers Nell and Jude who find the body of an unidentified young woman on Brighton beach. On her right arm is the tattoo of a mermaid, and below it are etched the words ‘I am Brighton’. The narrative shifts between past and present as Nell tries to uncover the truth about her death and the disappearance of Jude 25 years later. 

Koomson is a Brighton-based British novelist and journalist, widely regarded as one of the UK’s most successful Black authors of adult fiction, with her books translated into over 30 languages and sales exceeding 2.5 million copies in the UK alone. Born in London to Ghanaian parents, she wrote her first novel at age 13 and later earned degrees in psychology and journalism from Leeds University. She began her professional writing career in women’s magazines before publishing her debut novel, The Cupid Effect, in 2003. Her third novel, My Best Friend’s Girl, became a major bestseller, and The Ice Cream Girls was adapted into a successful television drama. 

The Brighton Mermaid - first published on 17 May 2018 - is said to be fast-paced and thrilling, and to explore ‘the deadly secrets of those closest to you’. Here is the moment, right at the start of the book, Nell is narrating, when the reader is first taken on to Brighton beach. It is 1993. 

‘From the promenade, I’d spotted her down on the beach, the light of the almost full moon shining down on her, and said we should check to see if she was all right. Jude had wanted us to keep going, getting back to her house after we’d sneaked out was going to be tricky enough without getting back even later than 3 a.m., which was the time now. But I’d insisted we check. What if she’d twisted her ankle and couldn’t get up? How would we feel, leaving someone who was hurt alone like that? What if she’s drunk and has fallen asleep on the beach when the tide was out and is now too drunk to wake up and pull herself out of the water? How would we live with ourselves if we read in the paper in the morning that she’d been washed out to sea and had drowned?

Jude had rolled her eyes at me, had reminded me in an angry whisper that even though our mums were at work (they were both nurses on night duty), her dad was at home asleep and could wake up any minute now to find us gone. He’d call my dad and then we’d be for it. She’d grumbled this while going towards the stone steps that led to the beach. She was all talk, was Jude - she wouldn’t want to leave someone who was hurt, she would want to help as much as I did. It wasn’t until we’d got nearer, close enough to be able to count the breaths that weren’t going in and out of her chest, that we could to see what the real situation was. And I said that thing about her being asleep.

‘I’ll go up to the . . . I’ll go and call the police,’ Jude said. She didn’t even give me a chance to say I would do it before she was gone - crunching the pebbles underfoot as she tried to get away as fast as possible.

Alone, I felt foolish and scared at the same time. This wasn’t meant to turn out this way. We were meant to come to the beach and help a drunk lady and then sneak back to Jude’s house. I wasn’t supposed to be standing next to someone who was asleep but not.

She must be cold, I thought suddenly. Her vest top was soaked through and stuck to her body like a second, clingy skin; her denim skirt, which didn’t quite reach down to her knees, was also wringing wet. ‘I wish I had a blanket that I could pull over you,’ I silently said to her. ‘If I had a blanket, I’d do my best to keep you warm.’

It was summer, but not that warm. I wasn’t sure why she was only wearing a vest, skirt and no shoes. Maybe, I thought, her shoes and jumper have already been washed out to sea.

I leant forwards to have another look at her. I wanted to make her feel more comfortable, to move her head from resting on her left arm at an awkward angle, and stop her face from being pushed into the dozens and dozens of bracelets she wore on her arm. Thin metal ones, bright plastic ones, wood ones, black rubbery ones, they stretched from her wrist to her elbow, some of them not visible because of where her head rested. I wanted to gently move her head off her arm and lay it instead on myrolled-up jacket. I didn’t dare touch her though. I didn’t dare move any nearer, let alone touch her.

Her other arm, the right one, was thrown out to one side, as if it had flopped there when she’d finally fallen asleep. That arm had only one slender silver charm bracelet, hung with lots of little silver figures. That arm’s real decoration, though, was an elegant and detailed tattoo of a mermaid. My eyes wouldn’t leave the tattoo, which was so clear in the moonlight. Usually when I saw tattoos they were a faded greeny-blue, etched into peach or white skin, but this one was on a girl with the same shade skin as me. Deep black ink had artistically been used to stain and adorn most of her inner forearm. I leant a little more forwards, not wanting to get too close, but fascinated enough to want to have a better look. It was truly beautiful, so incredibly detailed it looked like it had been carefully inscribed onto paper, not rendered on skin.

I could see every curl of the mermaid’s short, black Afro hair; I could make out the tiny squares of light in her pupils; I could count every one of the individually etched scales on her tail, and I could see droplets of water glistening on the bodice, shaped of green seaweed, that covered her torso. The mermaid sat on a craggy grey rock, her hands demurely crossed in her lap, smiling at anyone who cared to look at her.

I couldn’t stop staring at her. She was mythical, she was a picture, but she was also like a siren at whom I couldn’t stop staring. In the waters beneath the mermaid’s rock, there were three words in a swirling, watery script: ‘I am Brighton’.

English Teacher on the beach

Later today, Brighton Beach will host English Teacher, the Leeds-based indie rock band whose meteoric rise has captivated the UK music scene. The band will appear at 10:15 pm on The Deep End stage, one of the main venues of The Great Escape, the annual new music festival that transforms Brighton (and part of the beach) into a hub for emerging artists from around the world.

English Teacher formed in 2020 when vocalist and rhythm guitarist Lily Fontaine, lead guitarist Lewis Whiting, bassist Nicholas Eden, and drummer Douglas Frost met at Leeds Conservatoire. Prior to this, they performed under the name Frank, exploring dream pop influences. Their transition to English Teacher marked a shift toward a more incisive and experimental sound, blending elements of post-punk, art rock, and indie.

English Teacher’s debut single, R&B, released in 2021, garnered critical acclaim for its candid exploration of race and identity within the indie rock landscape. This was followed by the 2022 EP Polyawkward, which NME praised as lively art-punk with a lyrical edge. The band’s growing reputation led to a performance on Later... with Jools Holland in November 2023, further cementing their status as rising stars.

Released in April, 2024, through Island Records, This Could Be Texas showcases English Teacher’s distinctive blend of surrealism and social commentary. Produced by Marta Salogni, the album delves into themes of identity, social deprivation, and political mismanagement, drawing inspiration from Fontaine’s upbringing in Colne, East Lancashire. Tracks like The World’s Biggest Paving Slab and Not Everybody Gets to Go to Space exemplify the band’s ability to intertwine poignant narratives with inventive musical arrangements.

The album’s critical success culminated in winning the 2024 Mercury Prize, making English Teacher the first non-London act to receive the award in nearly a decade (see also BBC report). Judges lauded the album for its ‘originality and character,’ highlighting its ‘winning lyrical mix of surrealism and social observation’ and its ‘fresh approach to the traditional guitar band format.’

For more on English Teacher visit their website, or Wikipedia. The video still above is taken from the band’s The World’s Biggest Paving Slab video on YouTube.

Flight of the Langoustine

Walk along the Hove promenade and you can’t miss the large sculptural work - Flight of the Langoustine - by Pierre Diamantopoulo. It’s situated on the Hove Plinth, the second commissioned work to be displayed there after the plinth was launched by Hove Civic Society to ‘bring exciting new public art to the city and showcase a changing programme of the best in modern day sculpture’. The first sculpture Constellation by Jonathan Wright was installed on the plinth in 2018 but now has a permanent home in the Hove Museum gardens.

The Flight of the Langoustine sculpture features four life-size bronze figures captured mid-leap through a broken steel ring, apparently symbolising a collective surge toward freedom. It weighs 2.2 tonnes, stands approximately 3.5 meters high, and cost in the region of £135,000. Diamantopoulo has said the piece was inspired by a mangled lobster pot he discovered on Brighton Beach.

Diamantopoulo says of his work: ‘These androgynous and anonymous figures are often seen flying in defiance or fleeing, challenged by their environment - a metaphor for a precarious state of living or existence. Truly transcending the confines of the ground, the figures are at once profound, frivolous and boisterous, occupying the air like a flock of birds and inspired by modern dance choreography.’ Further details are available online in the Sponsor Pack, a substantial document put together by Hove Civic Society when it first launched its appeal to fund the sculpture, and in the Brighton Journal. 

Diamantopoulo was born in 1952 in Cairo to a Greek father and French mother. His family relocated to England during the 1956 Suez Crisis. Initially pursuing a career in advertising, he worked as a copywriter from 1974 to 1989, directing campaigns which earned him international accolades. In 1989, he transitioned to fine art, establishing his first sculpture studio in East Sussex. In 2000, he was elected as a Member of the Royal Society of Sculptors. Notable projects include Kandi Sky (2008), a 22m-wide painted steel sculpture at Middlesbrough College.

The Flight of the Langoustine was installed on the Hove Plinth for a set two-year period, ending this coming September. However, to date, there has been no official announcement regarding what will happen to the sculpture thereafter, nor what might replace it. The full story of the Hove Plinth with pictures can be viewed here.

Progress on the Madeira arches

With all 28 arches, more or less, dismantled, the Madeira Terraces restoration project (phase 1) remains on schedule to finish sometime in the middle of next year. However, Mike, a representative of the construction company J T Mackley & Co, speaking to a small public meeting in the Sea Lanes Club House this afternoon, insisted this timescale was only a target, and that if any of the integral pieces, once dismantled, are found to need replacing - as opposed to strengthening or repairing - this could delay the project significantly.

This project has been a long time in the coming (see Madeira Terrace restoration - hurrah!) but now that it is under way, progress is visible and tangible. It’s almost shocking to see the concrete sea wall - actually built decades before the cast iron terraces were ever planned - with all the turquoise painted cast iron terracing removed. Mike explained that everything has gone reasonably well so far, some aspects easier than expected, others more complex. The final arch (of the 28 being restored in this phase) he said, should be down next week. He also gave some insights into the complex restoration process.

Every piece is being tagged, he said according to a system agreed with English Heritage, before cleaning and stress testing etc. - to ensure the pieces fit back together in the right position. The company does have access to plans drawn for the original construction (in late Victorian times!), but Mike said rather wryly, those plans were never adjusted according to what the builders actually built - making them an unreliable guide.

To date, the major pieces cleaned and tested have proved robust enough to re-use; however, Mike warned, if any, still to be tested, show defects that cannot be repaired, then they will need to be replaced. This is a job that would be carried out by one of Mackley’s partner in this project, a foundry works in Derby (very few places could handle this work, Mike explained) - and could delay completion by months. Among other aspects of the project, Mike talked a little about the rebuilding of the Maderia Lift which, he said was in the design stage and was ‘going quite well’.

The St Aubyns’ performers

Today marks the birthday of the highly successful music hall artist, Vesta Tilley, born on 13 May 1864. In the very last years of her long life, she had a flat in St Aubyns Mansions, King’s Esplanade, a grand late Victorian block that, unusually for most of the seafront, sits on the beach side of the coast road - with uninterrupted views of the pebbles and the sea. Half a century earlier - when the block was still new - another stage performer, Clara Butt, a contralto singer, also resided there for a while.

Matilda Alice Powles was born in Worcester, began performing at the age of three, and adopted the stage name Vesta Tilley by age 11. She was best known for her work as a male impersonator, gaining national fame for her convincing portrayals of men, particularly dandies, soldiers, and comic characters. She became one of the highest-paid and most influential entertainers of her time, peaking during the late Victorian and Edwardian eras. She was especially popular during WWI, when she performed patriotic songs and encouraged enlistment. After retiring in 1920 she published her autobiography Recollections of Vesta Tilley in 1934. She married Walter de Frece, a theatre impresario who later a Member of Parliament and knight, making her Lady de Frece. She lived in St Aubyns in her eighties, and died in London in 1952.

Some 50 years earlier, Clara Butt, born nearby in Southwick in 1872, lived in St Aubyns, then a new block of flats. She had trained as a singer at the Royal College of Music and had studied in Paris and Berlin. She became increasingly well known in the 1890s, particularly for her concert performances and oratorio work in pieces by Edward Elgar (who composed songs specifically for her, including Sea Pictures). She married the baritone Robert Kennerley Rumford in 1900, moving into St Aubyn’s for a few years before relocating to London. Butt toured internationally and - similar to Tilley in fact - was known for her patriotic (and charity) performances, especially during WWI. She was appointed Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire (DBE) in 1920 for her contributions to music and war efforts.

Dating from 1900, St Aubyns Mansions - painted yellow and white - was stuccoed after WWI. During WWII, it became part of HMS King Alfred (the name for the King Alfred leisure centre after being requisitioned by the Navy), but remained semi-derelict for several years after. Blue plaques for both Tilley and Butt were unveiled on the building by Brighton Council in 2011, though they were paid for by the residents and funds from the Brighton and Hove Commemorative Plaques Panel - see the BBC report. See also My Brighton and Hove.

Bring me . . . a sausage roll

[Scene: Brighton Beach. Two seagulls, Eric (taller, dafter) and Ernie (shorter, primmer), are perched near the ruins of the West Pier. With apologies to Morecambe and Wise.]

Eric: [pacing like a detective] I smell something, Ern. It’s in the air. The scent of danger. The perfume of peril. The unmistakable aroma . . . of pastry.

Ernie: Oh no. Not again. Last time you followed your beak, we ended up dive-bombing a hen party from Essex. I still have glitter in places no bird should sparkle.

Eric: I’ve refined my technique! Watch closely - I’ve developed a glide approach known only to the gulls of Monte Carlo.

Ernie: Monte Carlo? You’ve never even made it past Worthing.

Eric: I’ve got continental instincts, Ern. I’m like the James Bond of birds.

Ernie: You look more like the pigeon off the end of the pier.

Eric: That's rich, coming from a gull who’s scared of crisp packets.

Ernie: They rustle, Eric. They rustle menacingly.

[A tourist drops a sausage roll on the promenade. Both freeze.]

Eric: Did you see that?

Ernie: I’m not blind. Unlike your landing skills.

Eric: Right! Formation Gull Delta. You go left, I go elegant.

Ernie: Eric, no. We agreed - no more ‘interpretive flying’.

Eric: It’s not interpretive! It’s graceful. Like a feathered Bolshoi.

[Eric attempts a flamboyant leap off the wall, flaps wildly, and crashes into a deckchair.]

Ernie: Very Bolshoi, that. Nearly took out a pensioner.

Eric: It's all part of the act, Ern. People come to Brighton for entertainment.

Ernie: They don’t come for you flattening their nans!

[They both spot a child waving the sausage roll like a beacon.]

Eric: Right. This is it. All or nothing. If we time it just right . . .

Ernie: Eric?

Eric: Yes, Ern?

Ernie: The kid’s eaten it.

[Both birds stare mournfully at the now-empty wrapper.]

Eric: I blame the economy.

Ernie: I blame you.

[Cue them waddling off into the sunset, wings round each other, humming ‘Bring Me Sunshine . . .’]