The wreck of the Atlantique

On a stormy June night in 1860, Brighton Beach became the stage for a maritime tragedy that left one man dead and a French vessel stranded in the surf. The Atlantique, a coal-laden ship bound from Bowness to Marseilles, was driven hopelessly off course by days of violent weather. As the gale intensified, she struck the beach behind the Albion Hotel, within sight of the town’s esplanade. 

The wreck became the subject of local newspaper reports and a dramatic engraving in the Illustrated London News (1860-06-16: Vol 36 Iss 1036). A copy of the original edition, but with an imperfect image, can be freely viewed online at Internet Archive. A much better image - of which this is a screenshot - can be found at the Regency Society website (the digital image being owned by the Society of Brighton Print Collectors).

Here is the brief article that appeared with the picture in London Illustrated News.

‘The terrific gale which blew on Saturday week was felt in its full force at Brighton, and two vessels - the Transit, of Shoreham, and the Atlantique, of Nantes - were driven on shore. We give an engraving of the wreck of the latter vessel, from a sketch taken on the Pier Esplanade by Mr. E. Nibbs, of Howard-place, Brighton. The following details of the disaster are from a local paper.

The wreck of the Atlantique, of Nantes, took place last night, and, unfortunately, there was loss of one life. Between eleven and twelve o’clock the vessel was seen driving towards the shore, until at length, just at the turn of the tide, and during the height of the gale, she struck the beach at the back of the Albion Hotel, carrying away part of the groyne, and the sea began to beat furiously over her. Captain Manby’s apparatus was called into requisition, and rockets were thrown, by means of which a rope was thrown over the vessel and communication with the shore established. The captain and some others threw themselves into the sea, and got safely to shore. One young man, however, was carried away by the sea and drowned, his body being found not far from the spot about an hour afterwards. The rest were saved by means of the ropes of the ship and the exertions of those on the shore. The exhausted and weatherbeaten men, including the captain, five men, and a boy, were taken to Mr. Payne’s Marine Hotel, where fires were prepared and every kindness shown them. The Atlantique was bound from Bowness to Marseilles, laden with 210 tons of gas coal. She was driven considerably out of her course by the heavy gales of the previous Sunday and Monday, and, after encountering much bad weather, on Saturday, the 2nd inst., was forced helplessly on the Sussex coast.

South-East History Boards has a transcript of the local newspaper report on the inquest into the death of Celestin Pruneau, First Mate of the Atlantique. 

An attempt was made to refloat the Atlantique, the same source reveals, but this failed - the salvors sold her cargo of coal, the purchaser being the Brighton & Hove Gas Co.

Jet skis not great whites

Jet skis - not great whites - are a familiar sight slicing through the waters near Brighton’s Palace Pier, though sometimes they can become so frenzied it is difficult to tell the difference! The main operator offering these central seafront sessions is Simply Good Times, an events company that runs guided jet ski safaris directly from the pebbles. Riders gather just west of the Palace Pier, where they’re kitted out in wetsuits and given a safety briefing before heading out onto the open water.

Prices for these beach-based safaris can appear surprisingly low - sometimes advertised from around £55 per person - but that figure typically reflects group bookings where participants share jet skis and ride in rotation. Rather than operating as a solo rental service, these sessions are designed for hen and stag parties, birthdays, and corporate outings, where the focus is on shared fun and accessible thrills. The jet skis themselves are similar to those used by professional outfits at the Marina - modern, powerful, and fast enough to send a cold plume of salt spray over the Palace Pier's ironwork.

For those seeking a full hour solo on a jet ski - with uninterrupted ride time and private guidance - providers like Lagoon Watersports at Brighton Marina may be a better fit, albeit at a higher price point (around the £150 mark). But if you’re after a taste of jet-powered freedom without leaving the beach, and you don’t mind sharing the ride, then Brighton’s central Jet Ski Safaris offer a rare blend of speed, salt, and spectacle - apparently, with deckchairs and doughnuts waiting when you return.

Jet skiing began in the 1970s with Kawasaki’s original stand-up Jet Ski, and since then, personal watercraft (PWCs) have become a popular form of coastal recreation in the UK. As of 2021, there were an estimated 12,000 to 15,000 jet skis in use across the country, with around 1,200-1,400 new units sold each year (see this government briefing paper). In 2023, UK legislation brought PWCs under the Merchant Shipping Act, following safety concerns and a rise in accidents. This means jet skis are now legally treated as vessels, subject to maritime rules and heavy penalties for misuse.

These photos were shot last weekend from the Palace Pier; and the AI image of a great white is taken from StockCake.

Liminality

Order and chaos
Ebb and flow
Sand and pebbles
Persp and ective

Rags and angles
Shapes and shades
Trussels and tresses
Scaff and olding

Mud and iron
Wet and dried
Gull and nets
Indus and trial

Pilings and mussels
Maze and mops
Weed and feathers
Perp and endicular

Nuts and bolts
Ropes and rods
Lines and curves
Encrust and ation

Rusts and reds
Black and greys
Salt and ripples
Limin and ality

Guest: Brighton Beach, Brooklyn, New York

Brighton Beach, Brooklyn, is arguably the second most famous Brighton Beach in the world. Named in the late 19th century by developers, it quickly took on a life of its own. The name refers not only to the beach itself but to the surrounding neighbourhood, a vibrant enclave that has evolved dramatically over time.

Originally marshland on the southern fringe of Brooklyn, in the 1870s, Brighton Beach was transformed - initially by the energy of entrepreneur William Engeman - into a fashionable destination. The grand Brighton Beach Hotel, built on 400 pilings driven into the sand, opened in 1878. It promised New York’s affluent classes an elegant retreat by the sea, with live orchestras, gas lighting, and fresh ocean breezes.

By the late 1880s, however, the hotel faced a serious threat: the Atlantic Ocean was steadily eroding the shoreline, bringing waves perilously close to the hotel’s foundation. To save the structure, in 1888, Engeman’s son (also William) invested in a remarkable engineering feat: the entire building, estimated to weigh eight million pounds, was lifted onto 112 railroad flatcars laid across 24 tracks and moved approximately 600 feet inland using six steam locomotives. The operation, completed over ten days, was hailed as the largest building move of the 19th century and ensured the hotel’s survival until its demolition in 1924. Much more about the local history can be found at this Coney Island website or Wikipedia.

Since 1878, the area had been linked by rail, making day trips to the beach feasible for the city’s growing middle class. Nevertheless, as the early 20th century progressed, the resort atmosphere began to wane, and Brighton Beach became more of a year-round residential community, though still offering summer relief to generations of families who could not afford more distant holiday vacations. The sandy shore, gently sloping into the Atlantic, was less garish than neighbouring Coney Island and drew a quieter crowd. The famous Riegelmann Boardwalk, dating from 1923, which connects Brighton Beach to Coney Island westward and Manhattan Beach eastward, became - and has remained - a place for promenading, gossiping, and people-watching.

Brighton Beach gained a new identity in the 1970s and 1980s with the arrival of thousands of Jewish immigrants from the collapsing Soviet Union. The beach was suddenly lined with voices speaking Russian, Ukrainian, and Uzbek. Delis and dumpling shops sprang up alongside the boardwalk, and signs appeared in Cyrillic. The neighbourhood gained the nickname ‘Little Odessa’, but the beach never lost its public character. It remained open to all, from families playing dominoes under beach umbrellas to sunbathers from across the boroughs. Hurricane Sandy in 2012 brought flooding and damage, but the community and city worked to restore the coastline, reinforcing dunes and shoring up flood defences.

Neil Simon’s semi-autobiographical play Brighton Beach Memoirs brought some attention to the locale. Published in 1982, it was set in the 1930s. In 1983, it received the New York Drama Critics’ Circle Award for Best Play. Some 40 years later, in 2024, the beach stepped into a brighter spotlight with the release of Anora, an Oscar-winning film that made effective use of the location’s gritty warmth and visual character, with scenes filmed on the boardwalk and beach.

Check out Brooklyn Magazine’s Insider Guide to Brighton Beach if you’re planning a visit.

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.

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.]

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 queen of ’em, ‘Old Martha Gunn’

Martha Gunn, the most famous of Brighton’s dippers, died 210 years ago today. It’s impossible not to read about the town’s history without coming across Martha, and it’s clear that she was something of a celebrity, despite her relatively humble work. Today the so-called Queen of the Dippers can be found in many much-reproduced images, on postcards and in local histories, and she even features in popular rhymes. 

Martha Killick was born in Brighton in 1726. She married fisherman Stephen Gunn, and they had eight children, though only some survived into adulthood. She gained prominence during the town’s transformation into a fashionable seaside resort, as one of the most famous seawater dippers of her time, known for her robust physique, commanding presence, and no-nonsense attitude. Her work involved physically lifting clients - often wealthy or aristocratic visitors - into and out of the cold sea, using bathing machines. This demanding occupation required strength and confidence, qualities she seems to have possessed in abundance.

Gunn’s fame grew in part due to her association with the royal family, particularly the Prince of Wales (later George IV), who frequented Brighton and is said to have been on friendly terms with her. Gunn’s image appeared on various prints, satirical cartoons, and souvenirs, often showing her in a striped dress and bonnet, sometimes defending the prince or warding off critics of sea bathing. She remained a local celebrity throughout her life and is remembered as a symbol of Brighton’s early days as a health resort. She died in 1815 and was buried in St Nicholas’ Churchyard in Brighton, where her grave can still be seen today.

There’s more information about Martha Gunn at Wikipedia, in John Ackerson Erredge’s History of Brighthelmston (readily available online, at Project Gutenberg for example), and in John George Bishop’s ‘A peep into the past’: Brighton in the olden time, with a glance at the present (available at Internet Archive). Also, the Sussex PhotoHistory website (run by David Simkin) has good details and a selection of images.

Here’s a slightly saucy (but anonymous) rhyme about Martha (as quoted by Erredge).

There’s plenty of dippers and jokers,
And salt-water rigs for your fun;
The king of them all is diary ‘Old Smoaker,’
The queen of ’em, ‘Old Martha Gunn.’

The ladies walk out in the morn,
To taste of the salt-water breeze;
They ask if the water is warm,
Says Martha, ‘Yes, Ma’am, if you please.’

Then away to the machines they run,
’Tis surprising how soon they get stript;
I oft wish myself Martha Gunn,
Just to see the young ladies get dipt.

And Erredge also quotes this diary-like extract from The Morning Herald 28 August 1806: ‘The Beach this morning was thronged with ladies, all anxious to make interest for a dip. The machines, of course, were in very great request, though none could be run into the ocean in consequence of the heavy swell, but remained stationary at the water’s edge, from which Martha Gunn and her robust female assistants took their fair charges, closely enveloped in their partly coloured dresses, and gently held them to the breakers, which not quite so gently passed over them.’

A godly spell

Golden liquor drizzled through the sky

Drizzled over all the pier, and the sands

Must be from the feast of gods, we sigh

With too much nectar on their hands

Lucky Bacchus at the table, Odin too

Chinking vessels, slurping mead

Sniggering at the glitter goo

That dazzles us, and feeds our need

What of the myths and sagas that they tell?

Should we rap on sequinned pebbles

Emblazoned as they are in glistening swell  

Or simply take a photo of such a godly spell.

More shingle and better groynes

Brighton & Hove City Council is set to launch the next stage in an extensive sea defence initiative aiming to bolster the city’s resilience against coastal erosion and flooding. The forthcoming phase of the Brighton Marina to River Adur Flood and Coastal Erosion Risk Management (FCERM) scheme will focus on fortifying the coastline from Kings Esplanade in Hove to Southwick Beach.​

Scheduled to commence in late September 2025, the project encompasses the construction of new timber groynes, the extension of the beach between the King Alfred Leisure Centre and Second Avenue, and the reconstruction of sea defences at Southwick Beach. These efforts, the council says, are designed to safeguard homes, businesses, and vital infrastructure, including the A259 coast road and Shoreham Port, from the increasing threats posed by climate change-induced sea-level rise and intensified storm activity.​

The council’s cabinet is due to meet tomorrow to approve an increase in funding for this phase, raising the capital contribution from £6.5 million to £11 million. This significant increase is necessary, the council says, because of inflationary pressures over the past five years and the need for additional shingle replenishment to stabilise beach bays. In a press statement, Councillor Trevor Muten emphasised the project’s significance, stating: ‘This scheme is vital for the city, to safeguard homes and businesses from coastal flooding and protect our local economy for decades to come.’

The initiative is a collaborative effort involving Brighton & Hove City Council, Adur & Worthing Councils, Shoreham Port Authority, and the Environment Agency. Each partner is responsible for financing and executing works within their respective jurisdictions, ensuring a unified approach to coastal defence across the vulnerable shoreline.​ Phase 1 of the FCERM scheme was completed in early 2024, delivered detailed designs, planning, licensing, and initial construction works near Hove Lagoon and Southwick Beach. With Phase 2, the focus shifts to constructing new groynes and replenishing shingle at Kings Esplanade, as well as rebuilding depleted sea defences at Southwick Beach.​

The construction timeline has been planned to minimise disruption, with works along Kings Esplanade slated from late September 2025 to May 2026, avoiding the peak summer season. Efforts will be made to ensure that seafront businesses remain operational during this period. Subsequent works at Southwick Beach are scheduled to begin in 2026, with completion anticipated by April 2027.​

The 24 April council meeting can be followed via a livestream, and an agenda is available here. The (rather dated) image above is from Googlemaps.

The Crimson Banner

Here is the sixth 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 shows a ship, a galleon perhaps, with large white sails, a bright yellow sail at the stern, and a deep red hull. The sea is rendered in shades of turquoise, teal, and white, representing waves. The sky features soft pastel clouds in pink, purple, and blue, with a crimson pennant flying at the top of the tallest mast. The overall style is vibrant and stylised, with bold black outlines separating the coloured glass segments.

A limerick starter

A vessel once sailed through the pane,

Though how it got in, none explain.

It’s stuck there in hues,

Of purples and blues,

Forever becalmed in a frame.

The Crimson Banner (in the style of Robert Louis Stevenson)

The wind had a salt tang to it that morning, and the gulls wheeled in lazy circles over Brighton Beach. I had gone down early, before the town was fully awake, drawn by a dream that had clung to my waking mind like seaweed on a boot. In the dream, I had seen a ship - not of this age, but one from tales of treasure and peril - its sails full-bellied and a crimson banner flying high.

To my astonishment, that very vision met me on the seafront, not in the sea but in glass. Set into the round window of a crumbling bathhouse on the Esplanade was a stained-glass panel of a proud galleon with billowed sails, riding a crest of jade-green waves, the red pennant aloft as in my dream. The window caught the morning sun like a gem, and I stood spellbound.

‘You’ve seen her too,’ came a voice, old as rope and salt.

I turned. A man sat hunched on a nearby bench, his beard tangled like kelp and his eyes sharp beneath bushy brows.

‘I - I don’t know what you mean,’ I said, though my heart beat strangely.

‘She was called The Mirabel,’ he said, nodding toward the window. ‘Built when pirates still thumbed their noses at the navy. She set sail from this very coast with treasure enough to buy all Brighton. Never returned.’

‘What happened?’ I asked, stepping closer.

‘Some say storm, some say mutiny. I say she still sails - beneath the waves, mind you. Waiting for the one who remembers.’

The man rose, reaching into his coat. He drew out something wrapped in oilskin - a compass, brassy and old, its needle spinning wild until it settled true north.

‘I’ve watched that window forty years. Every spring tide, I look for the sign. And now you dream of her, lad. The sea remembers.’

I took the compass. It felt alive in my hand, pulsing with the mystery of tides and stars. I didn’t protest when he pressed it into my palm. The man tipped his cap and walked away, limping up the stony beach and vanishing into the mist that had begun to gather.

I turned back to the glass ship. The sun had risen fully now, and in its blaze, the red banner in the window glowed like fire.

That evening, drawn by the whisper of gulls and something deeper, I followed the compass along the beach. At the edge of the water, as the tide pulled back with a sigh, something gleamed beneath the surf - a coil of rope, the curve of a mast, the barest suggestion of a deck.

And the banner. Red, like a blood memory, fluttered once - and vanished.

Some say Brighton’s just a place of deckchairs and chips, but I say look deeper. The sea holds its secrets. And sometimes, just sometimes, it offers them back.

A paddle steamer and mixed bathing

 A superb collection of high quality old photographs of Brighton Beach and the seafront - from the James Gray Collection - are currently on display on the Lower Promenade near the i360. The 36 images have been chosen and reproduced by the Regency Society and will remain on show until 27 April 2025. All the panels carry their own captions and can be previewed at the Regency Society website.

In promoting the open exhibition, the Society says: ‘We continually look for ways to share the RS James Gray Collection of historical photographs with the public. This is one of the most adventurous yet. [. . .] We hope many residents and visitors will have a chance to experience these fascinating glimpses of bygone life on Brighton seafront close to their historical settings.’

Here are two of the photos from the exhibition. The caption for the one above reads: ‘The paddle-steamer The Brighton Queen at the eastern landing stage of the Palace Pier, probably in the 1930s. She was built in 1905 and was not just a pleasure steamer. She served as a minesweeper in WWI and in 1940 she was bombed and sunk at Dunkirk on her second trip to rescue British troops.’

And the caption for the one below reads: ‘A Mixed Bathing beach in Hove in 1919. Hove was slower than Brighton to allow men and women to go swimming from the same stretch of beach but by 1919 it had several Mixed Bathing areas, all strictly signposted and enormously popular.’

The Regency Society of Brighton and Hove was founded in December 1945 by a group of local historians, preservationists, and civic leaders with the aim of protecting the city’s distinctive Regency-era architecture from post-war redevelopment threats. Over the years, the Society has played a vital role in campaigning for the conservation and sensitive restoration of Brighton’s architectural heritage, becoming the city’s oldest conservation group and a key advocate for preserving its unique Regency character. 

In 1998, after the death of James Gray, an insurance broker with a passion for local history, the society acquired his extensive collection of historic black-and-white photographs, known as The James Gray Collection. The full collection comprises 7,530 annotated photographs, arranged in 39 volumes by areas of the city - all available to view online.

Night time tragedy at sea

In the early hours of this morning, the RNLI Brighton crew launched to reports of a person in the water near Brighton Palace Pier. In a post on X, the RNLI said it worked alongside Shoreham RNLI, Coastguard Rescue Teams, a helicopter, and other emergency services. Later, Sussex Police announced that a woman, in her 20s and from Lewes, was taken to hospital where she was sadly pronounced deceased. The police confirmed that there were no suspicious circumstances and that this will now be a matter for the coroner.

The tragic news was reported early in the morning by both The Argus and by BBC Sussex. The Argus, in particular, published flight tracking data gathered from ADS-B Exchange (which calls itself the world’s largest source of unfiltered flight data). This shows the path of the coastguard search and rescue helicopter (which began at around 4am before landing on the beach shortly after 6am). The colour of the aeroplane/helicopter icons and/or their trails indicate the aircrafts’ altitudes.

In 2024, at least two people were confirmed to have died on or in the water near Brighton Beach. On 3 September the body of a 53-year-old man from Portslade was found washed up on the beach at Western Esplanade, Hove. On 25 November 2024, a 43-year-old man died after being rescued from the sea off the coast of Hove during Storm Bert. He was taken to hospital but later died. See also 10 years on, remembering Dan and Freddie.

200 black body bags

Ten years ago this month, some 200 black body bags were lined up on Brighton Beach, just east of Palace Pier, in a haunting performance staged by Amnesty International to highlight Britain’s ‘shameful’ response to the escalating migrant crisis in the Mediterranean. The protest came in the wake of a devastating shipwreck off the coast of Libya, where approximately 800 migrants lost their lives. Both The Guardian and the BBC covered the stunt at the time. And Amnesty International, itself, has now revisited the issue with a press release looking at progress made in saving lives in the Med. Nevertheless, according to the International Maritime Organisation more than 30,000 migrants have gone missing in the Mediterranean since 2014!

This photograph was published in The Guardian with credit to Tom Pugh/PA; and the photograph below it comes from the Amnesty website.

Back in April 2015, Amnesty supporters not only arranged the 200 body bags in rows but also zipped themselves into some of them, symbolising solidarity with the deceased. A funeral wreath was placed among the bags, and a banner reading #DontLetThemDrown was displayed prominently.​ Amnesty’s UK director, Kate Allen, was quoted as saying: ‘Until now, the British government’s response has been shameful but finally foreign ministers seem to be waking up to the need to act. EU governments must now urgently turn their rhetoric into action to stop more people drowning on their way to Europe.’

The demonstration was timed to coincide with emergency EU talks addressing the migrant crisis. Amnesty International criticised the UK government’s decision to scale back search and rescue operations in the Mediterranean, arguing that such actions contributed to the increasing death toll. The organisation called for a more compassionate and proactive approach to the humanitarian disaster unfolding at Europe’s borders.​

In a statement issued on 1 April 2025, Amnesty revisited its campaign starting with the body bags stunt, and drew attention to the UK’s deployment of HMS Bulwark, which has rescued over 4,000 people. Amnesty, it says, is advocating for ‘safe and legal routes for asylum-seekers, fair responsibility-sharing among European countries, and increased resettlement places to address the wider issues causing these deaths’.

The UK, of course, has been grappling with a surge in small boat crossings across the English Channel. As of April 2025, over 7,200 migrants have arrived via this perilous route, marking a 31% increase from the previous year (though there are hardly any recorded instances of landings on Brighton Beach).

The Turquoise Basket Star

In the twilight world between Brighton’s pebbles and the sea, where the water folds its breath in whispers, there lived a creature of delicate chaos - Gorgonocephalus turquoise. The Turquoise Basket Star.  [With thanks to ChatGPT, and apologies to Jacques Cousteau.]

On our recent trip to Britain’s south coast, we first encountered her beneath the soft veil of the outgoing tide, tangled like a myth among the roots of drifting weed and net remnants. To the untrained eye, she looked no different from debris, a tangle of line left by careless hands. But ah, when she moved. . . 

In the quiet nights, she would unfurl her arms like the lace of a deep-sea dancer, catching plankton on the wing, filtering the moonlight for flavour. Each limb, a miracle of evolution, split and split again - five arms becoming fifty, weaving an invisible net of hunger and grace.

By day, she curled into herself, hiding among rocks and kelp along the Marina sea wall, a recluse of the reef. The turquoise hue was not a warning, not a cry for attention, but the hue of calm itself - like ancient glacial melt or the eyes of a dreaming dolphin. In that colour lived serenity, and in her slow movements, patience.

She did not swim. She did not chase. She waited. The current was her companion. The tide, her twin.

But life near the shore is not so simple. Ropes come drifting in with their own stories. Some are pulled by boats. Some are abandoned by men who no longer remember the creatures they might ensnare. One day, the rope came for her. It embraced her not as a fellow tendril, but as a noose.

She did not struggle. She only curled tighter, as if tucking herself into a last sleep.

And there she remains now, on the low tide sands of Brighton Beach. Not gone, not forgotten. Her arms, still flung wide, hold a memory of the sea. A tale of gentleness. Of hunger fed only on light.

She reminds us that in the tangled ruins of our world, there still lies beauty. And in every knot of line, there may once have been a life as delicate as breath itself.

The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever. Adieu!

 

Brighton waves, Brighton raves!

A sea of enthusiasm for BrightonBeach365

100th post, 265 to go!

Well, it is a hard life!

Brighton Beach is not a place to go crabbing, generally there’s no rocks or rock pools, moreover any kind of fishing from the pier has been forbidden for decades. Nevertheless, of course, there’s crabs out there, in the sea, lurking. Here’s the evidence of one that got into trouble, lost a claw. Oh dear! 

Given the size and shape of the claw, ChatGPT tells me, it could have belonged to a Velvet Swimming Crab (Necora puber) or to an Edible Crab (Cancer pagurus). However, the former has blue-tinged claws with pronounced ‘hair’ on the body and claws; and the latter has thick, heavier pincers with black tips. 

No, this claw most likely came from a European Green Crab (Carcinus maenas). Although native to Europe it is one of the world’s most invasive marine species, having spread to North America, Australia, South Africa, and beyond, where it outcompetes native species and devastates shellfish stocks.

European Green Crabs (Wikipedia image here) are ubiquitous across Europe’s rocky shores, estuaries, harbours, and tidal pools, burying themselves in sand or sheltering under rocks at low tide. They eat molluscs, worms, algae, detritus, and sometimes smaller crabs. They’re also aggressive and territorial, especially during mating season. Moulting is common as they grow, so they shed claws and exoskeleton fragments often wash ashore.

Despite the name, European Green Crabs are not always green, rather they come in a range of colours, olive green, brown, even reddish. Claws tend to be mottled with a granular texture and sometimes tinged with blue or green hues. They are uneven in size with the larger ones used for crushing prey, and smaller ones for more dexterous handling. The inner edges are serrated and used for gripping prey.

The photographed claw (on a piece of nearby driftwood) probably came from a crab about the size of a human hand. It was most likely lost in one of four ways: fighting other crabs (they are very territorial creatures ), autotomy (self-amputation), predation (by birds or larger fish), or moulting mishaps (claws getting stuck between rocks). Well, it is a hard life!

In a silvery sea of time

My struts and columns, battered, beaten, rusted
My arches, beams, joists exposed to every weather
Yet here I am, old, old yet standing, still standing
Proud
Honest
Beautiful
In a silvery sea of time

My bones and muscles, always tired, seeking rest
My ligaments and joints, creaking all day long
Yet here I am, old, old yet standing, still standing
Wrinkling
Watchful
Wizened
With a silvery mop on top

Where gone my dancers, promenaders, those in deckchairs
Gone to winds, and silvery waves, and elemental forces
Yet here I am, old, old yet standing, still standing
Proud
Honest
Beautiful
In a silvery sea of time

Where gone my friends, family and travels
Gone to dust, torn photos and unremembered postcards
Yet here I am, old, old yet standing, still standing
Wrinkling
Watchful
Wizened
With a silvery mop on top

Guest: Brighton Beach, Possession Bay, South Georgia

Brighton Beach, the fourth of this column’s guest beaches, is an outlier in every sense. It is situated along the north coast of South Georgia, a remote island in the southern Atlantic Ocean some 900 miles east of the Falkland Islands. Discovered by Europeans in 1675, the island had no indigenous population due to its harsh climate and remoteness. Captain James Cook in HMS Resolution made the first landing, survey and mapping of the island, and on 17 January 1775, he claimed it as a British possession, naming it Isle of Georgia after King George III.

Throughout its history, South Georgia has served as a whaling and seal hunting base, with intermittent population scattered in several whaling bases, the most important historically being Grytviken. The main settlement and the capital today is King Edward Point near Grytviken, a British Antarctic Survey research station, with a population of about 20 people.

However, I doubt they head to Brighton Beach at the weekend! This lies between Zero and Adventure Points in Possession Bay, on the north coast of South Georgia. The name first appeared on a chart showing the results of a survey by Discovery Investigations personnel in 1926-30 - the Discovery Investigations were a series of scientific cruises and shore-based investigations into the biology of whales in the Southern Ocean, funded by the British Colonial Office and organised by the Discovery Committee in London.

South Georgia is renowned for its rugged landscapes and abundant wildlife, including vast colonies of penguins and seals, making it a significant location for ecological studies and wildlife observation. Indeed, Brighton Beach was so named to reflect the abundance of fauna, as also found on our own Brighton Beach (when the sun shines!). Access to Brighton Beach and other areas on the island is regulated to preserve its delicate environment: the Government of South Georgia & the South Sandwich Islands has designated specific visitor sites (with some locations closed due to environmental concerns). ​The outline map here shows the government’s designated visitor points, each one with a code number. The code for Brighton Beach (POS01) can be found in the partial data box, and with that it’s possible to identify where the beach is located on Google’s satellite map - should you wish to visit.

Bark Europa, a tall ship adventure vessel out of Holland, has visited Brighton Beach at least twice. The expedition leader Jordi Plana Morales wrote an entry in his logbook for 4 March 2019 with this title: Possession Bay - Prince Olav Harbour and holding anchor on a blustery afternoon at Brighton Beach. His record of the trip is detailed (and is illustrated with a photograph, as above). Here’s an extract from the log.

‘Winds varying from 20 to 45 kn and snowfall made for a quiet few hours indoors, while the Europa hold her ground at anchor in front of the so-called Brighton beach. To arrive here we had to sail over a shallow reef that crosses the whole bay, that nevertheless helps dumping down the swell that enters Possession Bay. From time to time a clear area between the low clouds let us have a glimpse of the beach and the surrounding glaciers.’