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 . . .’]