Charting the elsewhere

Found on Brighton Beach: It lay on the pebbles as if dropped or blown ashore. The tide did not seem to have expelled it in a tangle of kelp; there was no fraying, no evidence of long immersion. Its weave was tight, its colours - burgundy, ochre, olive - arranged in intricate, purposeful shapes. 

If you examined it closely, you might think of Kashan or Samarkand, the way the patterns interlocked like conversations in a crowded tea house. Yet the dyes were wrong for Persia, the silk too fine for Turkestan. I brought a friend of mine - a textile historian from the university - to examine it. She knelt on the pebbles, and did something unusual: she sniffed it. She said she had caught the faintest trace of myrrh and woodsmoke, and beneath that, the sharper scent of a salt that does not belong to any sea in Europe. She suspected the carpet had crossed more than geography - that it had come from a coast where the tides are measured in centuries.

By the third day, I noticed it was moving very slowly - not dragged or blown - a measured distance westward, towards the West Pier’s blackened skeleton, aligning itself, pattern-wise, with the central ruin. I continued to observe, day by day. No one touched it. No gull tugged at its fringe. Yet, I was sure, the carpet was creeping, pebble by pebble, as if drawn to the pier’s iron bones.

I say no one touched it, but I was not a lone observer, A wizened old soul, clearly more at home on the pebbles than at home, had begun to use the textile as a kind of marker for taking photographs. Several times a day he would approach the textile very gingerly, never stepping on it, but aligning his tripod according to its position - seemingly to photograph across the sea to the horizon. 

One evening, it was dusk, I asked him what he was seeing, what he was photographing. He showed me on the camera’s display: faint, translucent outlines above the waterline, shapes like hulls or wings. The textile, he claimed, was a magic carpet, a base from which the invisible could be photographed - vessels, for example, from elsewhere.

‘What do you mean, ‘elsewhere’, I asked a little too sharply. His only reply was to look westward into the sky, where Venus was shining in brightness.

I returned at dawn the next day, and at dusk, and then again the day after, but the old soul was gone, and the weaving too. I stood for a while each time, scanning the sea and sky. Once, I fancied I saw the faintest glimmers just above the horizon - a shimmer too steady for cloud, too high for a sail - but I’m sure that was my imagination.

Perhaps, I thought, the carpet’s origin lay not in any country but in the seam between countries, woven from places that exist only in the moments they are crossed. Its destination was always the next seam, wherever that might appear. And its purpose on Brighton Beach had simply been to open, for a brief span, a doorway into the atmosphere - one the old man had managed to capture with his camera.

For those few days, Brighton Beach and its piers had been a port again, as in days of old - not for excursion steamers or motor launches, but for travellers charting the elsewhere.

Guest beach: Brighton Beach, Duluth, Minnesota

Brighton Beach in Duluth, Minnesota, at the eastern end of Kitchi Gammi Park, is built on a rocky Lake Superior shoreline steeped in more than a century of history. The city established the area as its first dedicated tourism campground in 1922, offering auto tourists public lakeshore access. In the early 1930s, cabins were constructed - four in 1930 and five more in 1931 - to accommodate overnight visitors.

During the mid-20th century, as Duluth’s harbour shifted from an industrial zone into an area for leisure and tourism, Brighton Beach benefited from the same ethos, retaining its popularity as a local recreation spot. The 1960s saw several fierce storms that reshaped much of Duluth’s shoreline, including Brighton Beach, prompting later efforts at shoreline reinforcement. Plans for enhanced public access culminated in the 1980s and 1990s with the construction and eastward expansion of the Lakewalk, built in part from rocks excavated during the construction of Interstate 35. By 1991, the Lakewalk linked downtown Duluth to Brighton Beach, establishing it as a vital gateway to Lake Superior and a beloved picnic, ship-watching, and stone-skipping destination.

Though no longer a campground, Brighton Beach remains beloved for its cobblestone terrain, ideal for agate-hunting, wading, ship-watching and picnicking along the nearly mile-long lakeshore stretch that marks the eastern terminus of Duluth’s Lakewalk. 

Discussions about renovating the site began around 2015, but after severe storms in 2017 and 2018 caused major erosion and repeated damage to Brighton Beach Drive, planners shifted toward what officials called a managed retreat strategy in 2019: relocating public infrastructure inland and stabilising the shoreline rather than rebuilding in place. The City of Duluth embarked on a multi-year programme beginning in 2019, guided by a mini-master plan to rejuvenate the beach, extend the lake walk, relocate the road, rebuild shore protection and add resilient landscaping with native North Shore forest plants.

By 2023, shoreline restoration and most park improvements - including installation of picnic tables, grills, vault toilets, recycling stations, pet-waste stands, hammock stands and new accessible paths - were substantially complete. The relocated one-way road and separated pedestrian pathways were fully rebuilt by October 2024. Duluth then officially reopened Brighton Beach in a ribbon‑cutting ceremony at its historic stone pavilion, celebrating the end of the six-year, $6.4 million revitalisation. See the Duluth News Tribune and WDIO for more.

Back in February this year, MIX108’s Nick Cooper published photographs and a report about ‘waves of ice shards rippling along the shore’ of Brighton Beach. The waves, he said, were catching the last light of the day in the approach to sunset. Moreover, ‘the noise of the waves and ice shards in the water was pretty soothing and almost hypnotic’.

Huddlestone’s Brighton Story

It is 65 years since John Huddlestone’s series of illustrations about Brighton first appeared in the Brighton and Hove Herald. Beginning in 1960, his weekly cartoon strips traced the town’s story from the Domesday Book to the mid-twentieth century. The feature was so popular that, by the end of its first year, the strips were gathered into a 64-page pictorial booklet titled The Brighton Story, first published in 1961 by Thanet Books and sold for 2/6 (12½p). The original yellow-covered edition is now scarce and has become something of a collector’s item. A blue-covered facsimile reprint appeared in 1999, published by SB Publications of Seaford, which noted that all attempts to trace the author or his heirs had failed.

Despite the enduring appeal of the book, remarkably little is known about Huddlestone himself. He was described by Herald editor Frank Garratt as ‘a Northerner’, who developed an interest in Brighton after reading Unknown Brighton by George Aitchison. Huddlestone had already contributed historical illustrations of Kentish coastal towns to a local newspaper when, by chance, Garratt saw his work and wished aloud for someone with similar ability to do the same for Brighton. That same day, Huddlestone called at the Herald office and offered his services. Garratt, astonished by the coincidence, accepted immediately.

In his own introduction, written in May 1961, Huddlestone explained that he had known Brighton since 1930 and was especially drawn to its rich and colourful history. He claimed descent from the Northern Huddlestone family, which included Father John Huddlestone, the Roman Catholic priest who attended Charles II on his deathbed in 1685. He also recalled being particularly fascinated by the story of Charles’s escape from ‘Brighhelmstone’ to France. His aim, he wrote, was to stimulate interest in Brighton, ‘the oldest and largest and most famous of sea-side resorts’, and the birthplace of what he called ‘a great and happy tradition’.

The Brighton Story rearranges the original newspaper strips by theme rather than date, and omits contemporary advertisements. With Garratt’s editorial support, Huddlestone’s affectionate cartoon history drew responses from readers all over the world and helped to record the town’s unique atmosphere at a moment of civic pride and change. When the Herald closed in the 1960s, its parent company was taken over by Southern Publishing and later absorbed into the Newsquest group, which authorised the 1999 facsimile edition.

Here are two of the pages in which Huddlestone draws and writes about the Brighton seafront.

CU, CU, CU at C2

Tomorrow, next weekend, sometime soon

Summer’s here, summer’s at C2

Come for the rock, stay for the indie 

Dive in the garage, lose it in the jungle

BU, BU, BU at C2

Skanking, moshing, grinding, headbanging

Summer’s here, summer’s at C2

Come for the reggae, stay for the punk

Be the pulse-hungry, feel the sweat-glaze

♡U, ♡U, ♡U at C2

Blue, pink, yellow, green

Summer’s here, summer’s at C2

Follow the streamers, stay with the fashion

Move with the colour, paint with the light

CU, CU, CU at C2

Arches, fans, triangles, feathers

Summer’s here, summer’s at C2

Peer in close, see the mini-peeps

Under the arches, dancing by fairy light 

World’s oldest operating aquarium

Brighton’s aquarium was formally opened on this day in 1872. Designed by Eugenius Birch, the engineer behind the West Pier (see Celebrating Eugenius Birch), it was built below beach level in the Italian Renaissance style and originally featured tanks lit by gas burners behind red glass to simulate sunlight. One of the world’s oldest purpose-built aquariums, it quickly became a Victorian marvel, drawing thousands to its seawater tanks, grand entrance hall and winter garden.

Among its more unusual early exhibits was a cigar-smoking sea lion, and for several decades it hosted regular military band concerts in a specially designed concert hall. In the 1950s and 60s, the centre of the aquarium came alive again as a music venue called The Florida Rooms, known for its nightly jazz performances and packed dancefloor. According to Sea Life itself, The Who played there every Wednesday and helped turn it into a hotspot for local mods.

By the 1920s, the attraction had been renamed the Brighton Dolphinarium and became known for its performing sea lions and dolphins. These shows later became the focus of growing criticism, particularly in the 1980s, as concern mounted over the ethics of keeping dolphins in captivity. The last were relocated in 1990, following sustained public pressure. For more history see Wikipedia and the Sea Life website.

Recognised as the world’s oldest operating aquarium and a Grade II* listed building, Sea Life Brighton combines original Victorian architecture and tanks with innovative modern exhibits, reflecting both its storied past and ongoing commitment to marine conservation. Highlights include the UK’s first glass-bottomed boat experience inside a tank, a 750,000-litre ocean display featuring sharks and a rescued green sea turtle, and the atmospheric Victorian arcade, still in use after more than 150 years. (Credit to Royal Pavilion & Museums, Brighton & Hove for the vintage picture of the building.)

Only for the bravest!

A quarter of a century old this year, the Wild River log-flume ride has become a fixture on Brighton Palace Pier, offering generations of visitors the chance to climb, plunge and get soaked against the backdrop of the Channel.

Installed in May 2000, Wild River is a standard two-drop model manufactured by the French firm Reverchon and was part of a wave of new attractions brought in to refresh the pier’s appeal at the turn of the millennium. Each boat carries up to four passengers, climbing to a peak before plunging into a splash-filled pool, and riders are almost certain to emerge wet, if not drenched. The pier’s own publicity calls it ‘a big thrill. . . only for the bravest of riders’.

Height restrictions require passengers to be at least one metre tall, with those under 1.2 metres riding alongside a paying adult. Pregnant visitors, those with neck, back or heart conditions, vertigo or mobility issues are advised not to ride, partly because evacuation in the event of a stoppage can involve a steep walk down from the track. No loose footwear or hats are allowed, and single-ride tickets currently cost £6, though unlimited-ride wristbands are available.

For many visitors the Wild River has been a cooling interlude between the pier’s faster, more intense attractions such as Turbo (see Loop-the-loop). One teenage reviewer in 2019 recalled the slow incline to the top, the plunge into ‘icy depths’, and how on a hot day it was ‘a blessing . . . refreshed with cool water’, prompting repeat rides among their group. Others remember it as a reliable family favourite, where the excitement comes as much from the shared anticipation as from the splash itself.

More elaborate log‑flumes elsewhere in Europe include Phantasialand’s Chiapas in Germany - an Intamin‑built ride with three drops, intense theming and a steep 53° plunge - often ranked among the world’s best for its immersive design. In the UK, Blackpool Pleasure Beach’s Valhalla is another standout: an indoor, multi‑effect flume combining fire, snow, audio‑animatronics and two lift hills, though it is far more theatrical than Brighton’s modest version.

100 years ago, 200 years ago

Exactly 100 years ago today, the Brighton & Hove Herald reported that a 49 year old visitor from London had died in the sea at Brighton Beach. Encouraged by his son to swim, the father appeared at first to have drowned, but it was then established that he had died from heart failure caused by shock. The same edition of the Herald carried a feature - ‘From our files of 1825’ - giving a snapshot of Brighton Beach events exactly 200 years ago.

Brighton & Hove Herald, Saturday August 8, 1925

SAD BATHING FATALITY - Visitor’s Death from Shock.

Within a few hours of his arrival in Brighton on Sunday for a holiday, Mr Robert Dargavel, aged 49, a steel and copperplate engraver, of Cavendish-road, Balham, London, had a bathe in the sea, which proved to be fatal. At the time, it was thought that death was due to drowning, but evidence at the inquest on Tuesday by Dr. H. A. Baines, of Cannon-place, showed that the deceased was suffering from inflammation of the lungs and pleurisy, and that death was due to heart failure from shock.

The circumstances of Mr Dargavel’s death were unusual. His son, Mr Leonard Albert Dargavel, a motor driver, told his father that he proposed to have a bathe, and his father said that he would bathe too. The son swam out some distance and saw nothing more of his father until his body had been brought ashore. Mr John Taylor, a boatman and coxswain of the Brighton lifeboat, when bringing in a load of passengers, saw the deceased standing in shallow water some yards from the shore. A few moments later he saw the deceased fall. Mr Taylor ran into the water, and, with the assistance of another boatman, Mr George Bert Souch, of Artillery-street, brought Mr Dargavel ashore.

Mr Taylor, assisted by Mr Souch, immediately commenced artificial respiration. Shortly afterwards, P.C. Henry Tindall arrived and took over the task. This officer continued the process for about twenty minutes, and, with the assistance of Sergeant W. Cook and P. C. A. Hobden, it was continued for about an hour, two methods being tried.

Dr. Baines, at the inquest, paid a warm tribute to the manner in which the work of artificial respiration was attempted so assiduously and efficiently by the police. If there had been any possible chance of deceased’s life being saved in that way, said Dr. Baines, in all probability it would have been saved.

The Borough Coroner (Mr W. D. Peskett) expressed his gratification at this latest testimony to the services of the police. In the course of the evidence, it was revealed that Mrs Dargavel, widow of the deceased, who had travelled to Brighton with her husband and son, was on the beach when the body was pulled ashore. The son told the Coroner that his father had not been very well at times, but had not had medical treatment, and had been able to attend to his business.

A verdict to the effect that deceased died from natural causes, produced by shock, was returned.

Here also are three verbatim notices from the same page of the 8 August edition of the Herald

Brighton & Hove Herald, Saturday August 8, 1925

BRIGHTON 100 YEARS AGO - From our Files of 1825.

Lady Byron disembarked here on Tuesday from her yacht. After a stay of a few hours, her ladyship sailed for Southampton.

On Sunday last 4,200 persons visited our inimitable Chain Pier.

Yesterday morning two strange boats with no persons on board were perceived in the offing. A boat from the shore secured them, when it turned out that they had broken from their moorings and drifted from Worthing during the strong gale.

NB: Both images above are used courtesy of Royal Pavilion & Museums, Brighton & Hove. The top image is dated c. 1925; and the lower image is dated c. 1825.