Brighton buys the Pavilion

This year marks the 175th anniversary of the Royal Pavilion being bought by the town’s commissioners, thanks to the passage of the Brighton Pavilion Purchase Bill of 1850. The acquisition was a pivotal moment in Brighton’s civic history, transforming a royal pleasure palace into a public asset and setting a precedent for municipal custodianship of cultural landmarks.

Though the Pavilion sits a few hundred yards inland, its fortunes have always been bound up with the beach. Built in stages between 1787 and 1823 for the Prince Regent, later George IV, the domes and minarets quickly became the seaside skyline against which visitors strolled and bathed. Engravings from the early 19th century show the Pavilion’s onion domes rising just beyond the fishermen’s boats drawn up on the shingle. For fashionable Londoners coming to the coast, the Pavilion and the beach were inseparable halves of the same experience – oriental fantasy inland, salt spray and sea-bathing without.

By the 1840s, Queen Victoria had little interest in either. She disliked the lack of privacy in a town where crowds gathered on the promenade and the beach in view of the palace windows. When she abandoned the Pavilion in favour of Osborne House on the Isle of Wight, Brighton suddenly faced the risk of losing its most exotic landmark. Had the Crown sold it for private development, the visual dialogue between Pavilion and beach - palace towers looking seaward over fishermen’s nets and bathing machines - might have been lost.

Instead, civic leaders stepped in. The Brighton Pavilion Purchase Bill, passed in 1850, enabled the town to acquire the site for £53,000. It was the first time a royal palace had been sold to a local authority for public use, and the deal secured not only the building but the seafront identity it helped anchor. Just as the beach was being reshaped with terraces, railings, and new promenades, so too the Pavilion was reborn as a civic showpiece rather than a private retreat.

The Pavilion’s story since then has mirrored the life of the seafront. It has housed civil offices, wartime hospitals for troops brought ashore, and now stands as one of Britain’s most visited seaside attractions. Managed today by Brighton & Hove City Council, the building remains part of the same civic inheritance as the piers, Madeira Terraces, and seafront lawns. In 2025, 175 years after Brighton secured its fairy-tale palace, the Royal Pavilion continues to reflect both the grandeur of its royal past and the democratic vision that bound it forever to the beach.

The image at the top is an aquatint engraving by George Hunt after the Brighton artist Edward Fox. The digital image, taken from the Regency Society website, is owned by the Society of Brighton Print Collectors. The other image, a watercolour, is Brighthelmston, Sussex, by JMW Turner which can be found at Brighton Museum. See The Pavilion pivots 90° for more about this picture which, unusually (and wrongly), shows the Pavilion facing the seafront.

Deluge on Brighton

If you’ve ever stood on the promenade and watched a squall gallop in from the west, you already know Brighton can be gloriously contrary. That mix of charm and cheek is exactly what an anonymous 1840s writer - hiding behind the classical pen-name ‘Arion’ - bottled for a Victorian magazine called Blackwood’s. No one now can say who ‘Arion’ really was; the signature was a wink, the voice the point. What matters is the mood: Brighton as a place that can blow your hat off one minute and have you laughing about it the next.

Half a century later, Lewis Saul Benjamin (pen name, Lewis Melville) gathered some of Brighton’s best tales and reprinted Arion’s verses in his 1909 book Brighton - Its History, its Follies, and its Fashion, keeping their quickstep rhythm and salt-spray humour intact. Read today (the book is freely available at Internet Archive), they feel like dispatches from any wet weekend here: gaslights won’t stay lit, the Downs shove you back to town, and everyone looks a bit drowned but somehow game for it. Below is the first half of Brighton in Storm as Benjamin preserved it - proof that our weather has always had a starring role. (This - unattributed - image is dated 1835 and has been used courtesy of Royal Pavilion & Museums, Brighton & Hove.)

Brighton in Storm

So, this is your summer

To meet a new comer!

The sky’s black enough to benight one.

From Mondays to Mondays,

(Above all, on Sundays,)

It pours down its deluge on Brighton.

If I walk on the cliff,

From the sea comes a whiff,

That whirls off my hat, though a tight one;

If I stroll through the streets,

Every soul that one meets

Looks like a drown’d weasel, in Brighton.

If I stir in the day

I’m half-buried in clay,

And, ’twixt sand, salt, and chalk, I’m a white one;

If I slip out at night,

Not a glimpse of gas-light

The tempest will suffer, in Brighton.

If I ride on the Downs

A hurricane frowns—

I’m off, ’tis quite useless to fight one;

On one of those days

I fairly missed stays,

And came by the life-boat to Brighton.

For my dreams of gay gambols,

My waterside rambles,

Serenades, promenades, to delight one;

With an old telescope

In my window I mope,

From sunrise to sunset in Brighton.

Then, as for the shows,

I see none but wet clothes,

Umbrellas, and faces that fright one;

Fat squires with lean daughters,

By salt and spa waters

All come to be plump’d up in Brighton.

A tremendious rough day

‘This has been a tremendious rough day. I never saw anything half so grand as the sea looked. Indeed, there cannot be a grander sight than a rough sea. It looked like a large hilly plain, moor than like a piece of water. The waves rolled mountains high, and when two of these waves met, sometimes it was with such violence that the water flew into the air out of sight, foaming and frothing like a boiling furnace.’ This was written today in 1937 by William Tayler, a servant and footman on holiday in Brighton with his employer. Despite bad spelling, his observations on Brighton Beach - written down in a diary - are all the more precious an historical record because of his relatively low status.

Born in 1807, Tayler grew up with many siblings on a farm in Grafton, Oxfordshire. He was the first of his family to go into gentlemen’s service, initially for a local squire, and then for a wealthy widow in London, a Mrs Prinsep who lived in Marylebone. Also in the household was the widow’s daughter, and three maidservants - he was the only manservant. Mrs Prinsep died in 1850, and William moved his employment several times thereafter, rising to butler, and eventually being able to afford to rent a whole house in Paddington.

At the beginning of 1837, Tayler decided to keep a diary, to practise his writing.

1 January 1837

‘As I am a wretched bad writer, many of my friends have advised me to practise more, to do which I have made many attempts but allways forgot or got tired so that it was never atended to. I am now about to write a sort of journal, to note down some of the chief things that come under my observation each day. This, I hope, will induce me to make use of my pen every day a little. My account of each subject will be very short - a sort of multo in parvo - as my book is very small and my time not very large.’

And for the rest of the year, almost every day, he wrote short entries. The manuscript was first edited by Dorothy Wise and published - with the title Diary of William Tayler, Footman, 1837 - by the St Marylebone Society in 1962, but has been reprinted several times since then. There are extensive quotes from Tayler’s diary in my book, Brighton in Diaries (History Press, 2011) including the following:

18 July 1837

‘Went on the pier. This is a kind of bridge brojecting into the sea a quarter of a mile. It’s a great curiosity as it’s hung on chains. People can get from that into the boats without going into the water at low water.’ (Picture credit: Royal Pavilion & Museums, Brighton & Hove.)

19 July 1837

‘I get up every morning at half past six and goes out on the beach looking at the boys catching crabs and eels and looking at the people batheing. There are numbers of old wimen have little wooden houses on wheels, and into these houses people goe that want to bathe, and then the house is pushed into the water and when the person has undressed, they get into the water and bathe, and then get into the wooden house again and dress themselves, then the house is drawn on shore again.’

29 July 1837

‘This has been a tremendious rough day. I never saw anything half so grand as the sea looked. Indeed, there cannot be a grander sight than a rough sea. It looked like a large hilly plain, moor than like a piece of water. The waves rolled mountains high, and when two of these waves met, sometimes it was with such violence that the water flew into the air out of sight, foaming and frothing like a boiling furnace, and the wind blows a mist from the waves that regularly pickle the streets, houses and everybody and everything from the salt water. It’s ruination to clothes. My hat is as white as though I had rolled it in the salt tub. The fishermen nor no one elce dare got out with boats such weather. Many of the people were obliged to put up their shutters for fear of haveing their windows broke by the wind blowing the stones and gravel about. I have seen many wimen with their peticoats over their heads. Most of them keep at home, and it would be as well if they was all to do so such a day as this.’

5 August 1837

‘The water very rough. A man rideing his horse in to wash it, the waves came and knocked them man and horse both down in the water. They both scrambled up again and got out, but the man lost his money.’

12 August 1837

‘Went by the water’s side and saw some fishermen bring a very curious fish ashore. They called it a sea monster. It was as big as a donkey and about eight feet long and a mouthfull of teeth like a lion. They erected a tent and showed it for a trifle each person.  They often catch some of these creatures which are of no use other than make a show of, as long as they can keep them fresh.’

Floods in Pool Valley

One hundred and seventy years ago today, on 17 July 1850, Brighton suffered a violent storm - with thunder and lightening - that soon flooded parts of the town, notably Pool Valley, just across the road from the beach and pier. This fabulous image - courtesy of the Royal Pavilion & Museums, Brighton & Hove - was first published by F. B. Mason (Repository of Arts, 120 King’s Road, Brighton) in August 1850. A detailed report of the weather and damage appeared the following day in the Brighton Gazette (available online with subscription) as follows:

‘Storm of Last Evening

A storm of lightning, thunder, and rain of almost unexampled violence broke over Brighton last evening. During the whole of Monday, Tuesday, and yesterday, the temperature had been very high; on Monday the thermometer in the shade reached nearly to 80. Indications of a coming tempest were discernible throughout the whole of yesterday afternoon, and about a quarter to seven it burst, after a few preparatory grumbles, apparently over the centre of the town. The lightning and thunder were terrific; the flashes of blinding brilliancy were followed the next instant by the crash, and the buildings were shaken to their foundations. The rain came down, not in poetic but in literal torrents, and the widest streets were turned into streams over their whole width. Even the most apparently secure roofs were not proof against the attacks of the water; the rain came through in numerous houses, flooding the apartments. In our own office, operations were suspended, and during the height of the storm the probability of the publication of the present sheet assumed a very dubious aspect. The violence of the storm lasted about an hour.

After the above general observations had been written, we learned the following details. Pool Valley, as is known to all the residents of Brighton and to most of its visitors far and near, is situated in the lowest part of Brighton. It is at the back of the Royal York Hotel; and years ago, previous to the construction of the Grand Junction Road, which now forms a barrier between it and the sea, it was constantly overflowed at high tides. Within a few minutes of the commencement of the storm, the water poured from three different sources - namely, from East Street, the Steyne, and the Marine Parade - the streams bringing with them the overflowings of North Street, the Marine Parade, St. James’s Street, and Edward Street, into the Valley; and the result was that Creak’s baths, Strong’s painter’s shop, an adjoining carpenter’s shop, two small houses, and the Wellington Inn were flooded.

The contents of the cellars and shops were immediately floated into the street; and as the storm continued and the accumulated water poured down, two of the three shops at the back of the York Hotel and forming a portion of the building were also inundated. The shops are occupied by Mr Pegg, wine merchant, and his brother, a fishmonger. The third shop, occupied by Mr Donald, farrier, escaped a similar visitation from the fact of its being approached by a flight of steps. In rushing from the Steyne, one of the streams entered and deluged in succession the area of Mr Cordy Burrows, surgeon, the shops of Mrs Streeter, baker, Mr Smith, stationer, and Madame Dorney, milliner, and approached within an inch of the shop doors of Mr Bruce, engraver, and Mr Martin, ornamental hairworker.

When the water first rushed into the Valley an attempt was made to give it exit by keeping clear the sink gratings by means of brooms; but this attempt was immediately and necessarily abandoned. Boats were then brought to the spot, first one, then a second, and then a third, for the purpose of securing the floating property; and as the depth of the water increased and the inmates of the houses were driven to the upper stories to aid their escape, the women and children uttered piercing cries from the windows for assistance. Fortunately, however, the water did not rise to such a height as to render the latter course expedient.’

The text on the image above reads: ‘On Wednesday morning, July 17th 1850, Brighton and immediate neighbourhood was visited with a remarkable deluge of rain, which, descending in continuous torrents, for several hours, speedily converted the low lying ground of Pool Valley, and other parts of the Town, into what appeared, as represented in the above view, an extensive lake.’ Also along the bottom margin are: ‘Published by F.B. Mason, Repository of Arts, 120 King’s Road, Brighton, Augt 19th 1850.’

A poorer reproduction of the image and a brief summary of the weather events, can be found on page 67 of Eileen Hollingdale’s Old Brighton (George Nobbs Publishing, 1979).

Hot but not hottest

As a wave of hot weather sweeps across the UK, Brighton Beach finds itself once again at the frontline of a summer heatwave. Crowds have surged to the seafront, swimmers dot the water, and sunbathers are making the most of the unusually high temperatures. With temperatures nearing - and in some parts exceeding - 30°C this week, Brighton is experiencing its hottest spell of the year so far, mirroring a national trend that has prompted heat health alerts and coastal safety warnings.

According to the Met Office, Brighton recorded its hottest day of the week earlier this month, part of a broader trend of increasing summer extremes. The warmest day ever logged in Brighton remains 19 July 2022, when temperatures spiked to 35.7°C. That same day also marked a historic national milestone: the UK’s all-time record high of 40.3°C was reached in Coningsby, Lincolnshire.

The photograph above was taken yesterday afternoon (while the sun was taking a break from scorching); and the photos below were taken in July 2022 (the one on the left sourced from The Argus, the one on the right from Sussex Live).

In contrast, this June’s heat is not yet record-breaking for Brighton, but it is consistent with the increasing frequency and intensity of heat events in southern England. Coastal towns like Brighton are experiencing earlier and more sustained summer heat spells, driven by both global climate shifts and regional atmospheric patterns. The BBC reported a few days ago that temperatures were well into the high twenties, triggering yellow health alerts and packed beaches from Bournemouth to Blackpool. 

But while the sunshine may tempt thousands to flock to Brighton Beach’s iconic pebbles and cool waters, safety experts have been urging caution. The RNLI issued renewed warnings, especially in light of the growing crowds and warmer air temperatures. Despite the heat, the sea around Brighton remains relatively cold - a dangerous contrast that can lead to cold water shock. ‘Air temperatures may feel warm, but UK sea temperatures are cold enough year-round to trigger cold-water shock,’ warns Chris Cousens, RNLI Water Safety Lead. ‘Big waves and strong rip currents can overpower even the most confident swimmers.’

The RNLI’s Float to Live campaign is being widely promoted across coastal communities. The advice is simple but proven to be life-saving: if caught in trouble, tilt your head back, submerge your ears, stay calm and float - don’t try to swim immediately. So far, the technique is credited with saving at least 50 lives.

Statistically, the risk of accidental drowning increases fivefold when air temperatures rise above 25°C, according to research from the National Water Safety Forum and the Royal Life Saving Society (see Swimming.org). With that threshold breached in Brighton this week, the RNLI warning is especially timely - particularly for teenagers finishing their exams and heading to the beach to cool off, sometimes without awareness of the dangers.

However, as I write, the forecast is for temperatures to fall, to around 20°C for the next week.

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.’

If in doubt, don’t go out

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

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

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

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

The RNLI offers this safety advice for foggy conditions:


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


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


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


Tell someone your plans and expected return time.

If in doubt, don’t go out.

Cuttlefish and their bones

Walk along Brighton’s pebbles and you’ll soon find yourself kicking out at brilliant-white oval-shaped objects that seem to be littering the beach. If you pick one up, it feels unnaturally lightweight. These are cuttlebones, as everyone knows, the internal shells of cuttlefish. They are not the most useful or interesting of beach finds, though they can be ground into powder for polishing, and jewellers have made moulds for casting metals. Today, most commonly, they serve as dietary supplements for pet birds. However, A.Z.L, my 13-year old son, likes turning them into art! This is his Cuttlebone Helter Skelter. Other artists like to carve them into shapes and scenes.

Each spring and summer, common cuttlefish (Sepia officinalis) migrate to shallow waters to breed, leaving behind thousands of eggs hidden among rocks and seaweed. Shortly after spawning, the adults die, and their remains drift with the tides. Their soft bodies decompose quickly, but the cuttlebones - made of lightweight, porous calcium carbonate - float on the water’s surface before washing ashore.

The prevailing southwesterly winds push them toward shore, where they land on Brighton’s pebbles rather than sinking into sand. Unlike driftwood, which might get swept back out to sea, cuttlebones tend to linger, their ghostly forms drying in the sun. Sometimes, you’ll find them with strange marks - tiny holes left by hungry seagulls pecking at the last traces of flesh.

Cuttlefish are fascinating creatures, according to Wikipedia, sometimes called the ‘chameleons of the sea’ due to their incredible ability to change colour and texture in moments. They use this skill to mesmerise prey, communicate with each other, or simply disappear into their surroundings. Though they have eight arms like an octopus, they also have two longer tentacles that strike out to snatch fish, crabs, or shrimp. Despite their intelligence and complex behaviour, their lifespans are surprisingly short - most live only a year or two before nature takes its course - adding another cuttlebone to the Brighton shoreline.

Over time, these bones have found strange uses beyond the sea. For centuries, people have ground them into powder as a polishing agent, while jewellers have used them to make moulds for casting metals. Artists have used them to carve objects of beauty - see Stephen Hughes’ work in South Africa’s Highway Mail. Today, most commonly, they serve as dietary supplements for pet birds, providing much-needed calcium for beak and bone health. 

Cuttlefish, of course, also have ink stores used to deter predators, but they also have long served man for different purposes, as a dye (to make non-iridescent reds, blues, and greens) and for food (to darken and flavour rice and pasta).

Snapshots of Storm Eunice

Storm Eunice, which hit Brighton four years ago today, was an extremely powerful extratropical cyclone with hurricane-force winds. A red weather warning was issued on 17 February for parts of South West England, with a second red warning issued on 18 February, the day the storm struck, for London, the South East and East of England.

Eunice is considered to be have been one of the most powerful storms to impact the south coast of England since the Great Storm of 1987. It set a new record for the fastest wind gust recorded in England at 122 mph (196 km/h) at The Needles, Isle of Wight. A Getty Image photo of Brighton Pier was shown on the BBC website (coincidentally, very similar to my photo above). Elsewhere in the country, the storm caused the deaths of three people.

The storm wreaked havoc across a large swathe of Western, Central and Northern Europe; millions of people were left without power across affected areas, and many homes had sustained damage. The UK was particularly hard hit, with 1.4 million homes left without power at its peak.

On the day, Brighton and Hove City Council issued a news release: ‘Brighton and Hove’s beaches can be extremely dangerous in stormy weather with violent waves coming from different directions, coupled with freezing temperatures and high spring tides. Our seafront team patrol the 13km (eight miles) of our seafront and look out for the safety of the public but we urge people to keep well away from high waves and rough seas.’

From my personal diary, 18 February 2022

‘Eunice has come and gone. I cycled down to the sea front which was quite a challenge (but on returning it was like being on an electric bike!). The sea was furious, with enormous waves rolling in so high that they were at the level of the pier, and if you’d been standing on the pier boards, the sea would have been washing over your feet. The pier was, of course, closed. Large danger signs were out on the beach, deterring people from getting too close to the surf crash. There were quite a few people around, not enough to call it a crowd, and most of them were taking, or trying to take, photos. Sheltered on the east side of the pier, it was fairly comfortable to stand and watch the roaring, boiling sea, and the foam ride along the pier sides, and under, but on the west side, it was too windy, and too wet, as sea spray was more often than not filling the air. Very exciting to see. I took a few photos myself, but was afraid of the camera getting wet.’

#palacepier #BrightonBeach365 #BrightonBeach #Brighton #BrightonLife #VisitBrighton #BrightonUK

The beaching of ‘Athina B’

Forty-five years ago today, Brighton Beach saw one of its most astonishing spectacles on record: the beaching of the merchant vessel Athina B, just east of the Palace Pier. Having suffered engine failure, the 3,500t vessel remained on the pebbles for a month, becoming a tourist attraction, and needing a police presence to deter looting. After the cargo had been removed by a mobile crane, she was refloated and towed to a scrapyard, Medway Secondary Metals, Kent, where she was scrapped. Her anchor, however, was eventually presented to the local authority, and given a plinth on the promenade close by where the ship had been beached.  

The Athina B had had a mixed history. Built in Hiroshima and named Kojima Maru, she was launched in 1968. She was then re-named twice before being reflagged (Greece) and re-named yet again, Athina B. 

The vessel had left the Azores on 1 December laden with 3,000t of pumice (which has widespread uses in agriculture, construction and manufacturing) heading for Shoreham-on-Sea. On route, however, she developed faults with the generator, gyro compass and radar, and stopped at La Rochelle for repairs. She arrived at Shoreham on 20 January but high winds meant she was unable to enter the harbour. Her engines failed, and a Mayday call was issued. Four lifeboat missions were required to rescue the crew and the captain’s family. Coxswain Ken Voice led the operations in the Shoreham lifeboat, Dorothy and Philip Constance, and was later awarded the RNLI Silver Medal for his bravery. The vessel, herself, began drifting east, eventually beaching on the pebbles five miles east of the harbour entrance.

The spectacle quickly attracted tourists, local and from further afield. British Rail advertised special away-day trips to see the wreck and Volks Electric Railway ran a special out-of-season service. Some of the visitors have recorded their memories on the My Brighton and Hove website. Gerry Hay, for example, says: ‘I was a Brighton cop at the time. I came out of the Palace Pier Police box early hours having had a ‘break’, only to see the ship on the beach. Thought it was a bad dream.’

And Mike Robe, who was in fact the captain’s brother-in-law, remembers there were lifeboat crewman injured: ‘It seems a hell of a long time ago now. However, I can remember every single part of it to this day, so it must have made an impression on me and indeed all of us that took part in the rescue. And there were many of us: two Lifeboats and shore helpers, coastguards, police, ambulances, Shoreham Community Centre, and W.R.V.S. Tug Meeching. It was a combined effort by all the services. Many people don’t realise that there were Lifeboat crewmen injured aboard the Newhaven Lifeboat that night.’

Various photographs of the wreck to be found online. The top one above was taken by Clive Warneford and can be viewed on Wikipedia; and the one below it is a photograph donated to Brighton & Hove Museums. 

The aging plaque on the anchor reads: ‘The Athina B was beached in a storm at this point on the night of 21st January 1980. Her crew were successfully taken off without loss of life thanks to the bravery of the men of the Shoreham Lifeboat. In a major salvage operation her cargo was discharged and the ship was refloated on the 17th February 1980. The ship’s anchor was presented by Medway Secondary Metals Limited in whose yard the ship was finally broken up. John Leach - Mayor of Brighton, 26th September 1980’

Après Ski By The Sea!

Snow does not often fall on Brighton Beach; and very infrequently does it settle on the pebbles. Nevertheless, yesterday saw a brief, but flurry-full snowstorm. There was traffic chaos, of course, and children’s joy undiminished in residential streets and parks. It may or may not be widely known but Brighton Beach has the perfect venue for such days.

Located at 127 Kings Road Arches, the family-run Brighton Music Hall boasts the largest beach terrace in the UK with covered spaces. Every winter, the owners say, ‘we like to bring you something new and exciting - join us for Après Ski By The Sea!’. Amazingly, I would say, so far from the mountains, Après Ski By The Sea! features faux fur filled igloos, ski chalets clad with tartans, cushions, alpine backdrops and log fires, the Fallen Fairy bar, and decadent cocktails, alpine treats and dishes. And, of course, a wooden toboggan.

Currently, the venue’s website offers, in its What’s On section, ‘Drag Roasts’ and ‘Funky Fridays’. It is also promising free fizz for early birds who are prepared to make a 15 + booking for Christmas 2025.

As it’s perfectly possible the rest of these 365 days will pass by without further snowfalls, I am taking this opportunity to display the most snowy Brighton Beach photo I have - from April 2008. Although the ragged snowman is mine, the photo of Hattie was taken by a passing stranger, a professional cameraman who asked permission to take it, and then sent us a copy. Unfortunately, I seem to have no record of his name.

Whistle, hoot, whistle

Whistle, hoot, whistle. This first BrightonBeach365 post is my humble contribution to the start of nationwide celebrations to mark 200 years of UK rail travel. The first event took place today at midday: a combined whistle blowing from all available heritage railway locomotives. And the famous Volk’s Electric Railway - which runs along the beach from the Aquarium to Black Rock - took part. The Volk’s Electric Railway Association (VERA) stated: ‘As you know our Volk’s cars don’t have whistles so we will be sounding all available warning devices (klaxons and horns) from the available Volk’s fleet outside the depot at Halfway (Peter Pans) at 12 noon.’

Though not, in fact, going back anywhere near two centuries, Volk’s claim to fame is for being the oldest operating ELECTRIC railway IN THE WORLD (or ON THE PLANET as David Attenborough might say). It was opened by Brighton born inventor Magnus Volk in 1883, passed briefly to his son on his death in 1937, and then, the year after, to Brighton Corporation (which became Brighton & Hove City Council). It’s closed for the winter, but an excellent pictorial essay on the railway’s history can be found at VERA’s website.

This New Year morning has proved an inauspicious start to the BrightonBeach365 project. I could barely cycle down to the sea front because the wind was gusting so strongly, at over 40 mph. On the pebbles it was super-windy, freezing to the hands, mist limiting not-so-distant vision, and monstrous, grisly waves rolling in, threatening DANGER banners put out by the coastguard. 

Whistle, hoot, whistle.