The blessing of the sea

Brighton’s seafront witnessed a striking fusion of ritual, performance and protest this afternoon at the annual ‘Blessing of the Sea’. Clergy in white robes stood at the Doughnut Groyne beside the Palace Pier, leading prayers over the waters while a banner proclaimed ‘The sea is rising and so are we’. A few feet away, the Red Rebels of Extinction Rebellion moved in silent procession, their scarlet veils lifted in slow gestures of lament and warning. The scene unfolded beneath a cloudless August sky, the green bronze ‘Afloat’ sculpture framing both the pier and the gathering of worshippers. (See also Hamish Black’s Afloat.)

This year’s service was announced by the Diocese of Chichester on Instagram and widely shared on local forums such as Anthony Murley’s post to the Brighton & Hove Notice Board. Organisers called it both a Christian rite and an act of ecological witness, recognising the sea as a source of sustenance, beauty and peril. The clergy’s words of blessing were joined by calls for responsibility toward the coast at a time of rising tides and intensifying storms.

The ceremony is not without precedent. Brighton’s fishing town ancestors sought blessings over their nets each spring, a custom enshrined in the 1580 Book of all the Auncient Customs and revived in the late twentieth century as the ‘Blessing of the Nets’ on the beach by the Fishing Museum -  for more on this, see the Brighton Seafront Heritage Trust and My Brighton and Hove. Meanwhile, the city’s Greek Orthodox community has long marked Epiphany with the ‘Blessing of the Waters’, casting a cross into the waves from the pier. Today’s event consciously draws on both traditions, updating them with a climate-conscious emphasis suited to Brighton’s identity as a coastal city where faith, protest and performance often overlap.

What emerged on the groyne today was therefore more than symbolic: it was a reminder of the continuing link between the sea and the city, between prayer and protest, and between past traditions and present anxieties.

The Seafront Office

Brighton’s Seafront Office is the hub of activity and safety along the city’s shoreline, based at 141 King’s Road Arches on the lower promenade. From this base, the Council’s team oversees maintenance of the seafront, the running of lifeguard services, first aid posts, bookings for beach huts and boat lockers, as well as enforcement of bylaws across the Brighton Beach stretch of coast and as far east as Saltdean. The office also deals with lost property, provides safety advice, and coordinates outdoor events, filming, and ceremonies at the Bandstand.

The role of the office has always been wide-ranging, but recent months have brought significant changes. This summer the RNLI launched its first ever beach lifeguarding service in Brighton and Hove, taking over from the council’s own operation. (See RNLI to take over beach safety). Ten RNLI units now cover beaches between Hove Lagoon and Saltdean, providing a daily service from May to September. The RNLI describes its crews as highly trained and it emphasises the strong partnership with the Seafront Office - ensuring quick responses to emergencies on both land and sea.

The arches that house the Seafront Office itself are also undergoing a major transformation. In July the council secured £21 million from the Department for Transport to support the next phases of the seafront arches restoration - see More support for King’s arches. This funding will help rebuild the section around King’s Road playground and Shelter Hall, including the arches that contain the office and the lifeguard store. The refurbished structures are being designed with concrete cores, improved ventilation, and energy-efficient heating, but will retain their traditional brickwork frontage.

At the same time, the area around the i360 is being reshaped. Work on the surrounding arches and public spaces is nearly complete, bringing new shops and food outlets into use. Together with the continuing restoration of the arches and the arrival of the RNLI lifeguards, these developments highlight the central role played by the Seafront Office, balancing heritage, safety, and the daily life of a busy seaside city.

The Seafront Office also maintains a regular presence on social media with posts on Instagram and Facebook. Here’s a cute little video that takes you inside the office for a tide time booklet: ‘Planning a trip to the beach? Or a dip in the sea? Our tide time booklets help you stay safe and make the most of your visit! Learn how to read tide tables to avoid getting caught out by rising water. Pick up your copy from the Seafront Office.’

Victory in Japan day

Victory over Japan Day, or VJ Day, marked the formal end of the Second World War when Emperor Hirohito announced Japan’s surrender on 15 August 1945 - exactly 80 years ago today. For Britain it was the conclusion of six years of global conflict that had brought bombing raids, rationing and separation into everyday life. In Brighton the news spread quickly, and by early evening the town centre was thronged with people eager to take part in a final wartime celebration. After years of blackouts and restrictions, the streets were suddenly alive with light, noise and movement, as locals embraced the moment with the same gusto they had shown three months earlier on VE Day.

The backdrop to Brighton’s celebrations was still visibly shaped by the war. The seafront had been fortified for much of the conflict, its beaches fenced and mined, piers partially dismantled, and coastal waters patrolled against the threat of invasion. Even in August 1945, ordnance still washed ashore, and the task of clearing wartime defences was only just beginning. Yet on VJ Day night, these reminders of danger faded into the background as bonfires flared along the shoreline. At the bottom of West Street, just yards from the beach, a huge blaze was fed with anything combustible, while other fires sprang up on the shingle itself, sending sparks into the Channel air.

In the heart of the town, thousands jammed the streets from the Clock Tower to the seafront, singing, dancing, clapping and cheering. Fireworks appeared from nowhere, buses and cars attempting to pass were swarmed with revellers, and the air filled with the shrill of whistles and the beat of improvised drums. The atmosphere was one of unrestrained release, a communal letting-go after years of anxiety and hardship. 

Eighty years on, today, Brighton is marking the anniversary with a Service of Reflection at St Helen’s Church in Hangleton. According to the council, the service will honour the thousands of Allied POWs and civilian internees who endured immense suffering during the Asia-Pacific conflict’. Personal testimonies from local residents, either recounting their own experiences or those of relatives, will form a heartfelt part of the commemoration - all told a quieter, reflective event far removed from the wild, good-natured chaos of that night in 1945. Here is a first hand account of that day, recorded by a young Tony Simmonds in his diary. 

‘We decided not to go out as early in the evening as we did on V. E. Day but at 7.15 we trooped out heading for the Clock Tower. Even by 8 o’clock the fun exceeded even that on V. E. Day. Where all the fireworks came from remains a mystery - never before have I seen so many people jammed together in two streets. It was impossible even to guess how many shouting, singing, dancing clapping uproariously happy people were there. Every bus or car daring to invade the area was banged and rocked and “fireworked”. No bus left the area without its boards being missing - still they make a nice bonfire.

The first big bonfire was lit in a patch of waste land near the Prudential - on this was dumped all the material used to begin a fire at the top of West Street - a fire soon put out by Police. I think I led the “Boos” that followed this action. Still the other bonfire soon made up for it. Denny and I now went off again up to the Clock Tower giving repeated blasts in our whistles - what hooligans - but still, even old men were blowing whistles and shaking rattles and every old dear was waving a flag. Then about 11.30 the fun really began.

A huge bonfire was lit at the bottom of West Street, every moveable piece of wood in the area was dumped on this fire. The Sports Stadium, the Odeon, Sherrys and the Harris Grill were all stripped of their advertisement boards - time and time again. The police tried to stop it but they hadn’t the slightest chance against such a crowd. Then the N[ational] F[ire] S[ervice] arrived. In course of ten minutes, every moveable article on the lorry was dumped onto the fire - from hose pipes to doors. As a retaliation one Fireman drenched the crowd with showers of water.

The fire was as high as the buildings when Denny and I left at 12.30. On the way home we saw other huge bonfires on the beach and smaller ones in almost every street - and around each bonfire danced hilariously happy people - men, women and children. That ended the most glorious evening of my life - the crowds weren’t riotous - on the whole very little damage was done - but just supremely happy that the greatest of all wars was over.’

Images from this diary as well as the photograph above (which actually dates from 18 August 1945) are used courtesy of Royal Pavilion & Museums, Brighton & Hove. Further information about Simmonds and his diary can be found at Victory in Europe Day and in my book, Brighton in Diaries.

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