Brighton Speed Trials

The Brighton Speed Trials, widely recognised as the world’s oldest motor race and a truly unique part of British sporting heritage, would have been unfolding this weekend were it not for the Brighton & Hove Car Club having permanently axed the event in 2023 - because of mounting costs and growing safety concerns. In 1905, Sir Harry Preston, a visionary entrepreneur (see Brighton Beach as runway), persuaded Brighton’s town council to surface the road by the beach with the then-novel material of tarmac, creating a perfect strip for speed contests at a time when the car was still a freakish newcomer.

The very first trials ran from 19-22 July 1905 as part of Brighton Motor Week, with cars heading west from Black Rock to the aquarium and motorcycles contesting over a standing start mile. The spectacle drew over 400 entries, including Charles Rolls - later of Rolls-Royce fame - and the indomitable Henri Cissac, a Frenchman who set world records for both the flying kilometre and standing mile, chalking up speeds then considered sensational. Dorothy Levitt, the pioneering ‘fastest girl on earth’, made her mark as well. The appetite among the motoring and local population was enormous, but grumbling ratepayers challenged the cost and, after just one memorable week, the Trials fell silent for eighteen years. (The image above is from Wikipedia, and the image below from the Brighton Toy Museum.)

When the starting flag dropped again in 1923, it marked the beginning of a golden era. Now running eastwards, and organised by the Brighton and Hove Motor Cycle and Light Car Club, the Speed Trials attracted hundreds of entrants and ever-growing crowds. By the early thirties, the realisation that Madeira Drive - owned by the Corporation and not subject to national bans on racing - enabled the sport to continue in Brighton even as prohibition bit elsewhere. Legendary duels were fought out on the seafront: Sir Malcolm Campbell, in his supercharged Sunbeam Tiger, pipped John Cobb and his giant Delage in 1932, surging past the finish at 120mph and etching a new car record into the event’s folklore. Motorcycles quickly claimed their share of headlines, too, with heroes like Noel Pope pushing the flying half-mile to ever-more astonishing speeds.

Throughout the twentieth century, the Brighton Speed Trials became known both for their intense spirit of competition and the intimacy of the experience. The course, framing the roar of engines with the sweep of the Channel and overlooked by the terraces, allowed crowds to get close - sometimes breathtakingly so - to drivers and machines that spanned everything from cherished hobby cars to fearsome engineering feats. The event was not without its perils or its interruptions: racing bans, war, the 1970s fuel crisis, and persistent debates about safety and cost all threatened its future. In 2012, a fatal incident led to a fresh council review, and it was only after vigorous campaigning that the Trials returned in 2014.

The enduring appeal of Brighton’s unique sprint lay in its accessibility to amateurs and legends alike and its position at the heart of the motoring calendar, frequently described as the most important speed trial in Britain. It survived for generations not just as a contest of speed, but as an event with a fierce and affectionate following, a living pageant of engineering, camaraderie, and spectacle. By the early 2020s, the Trials continued to draw large fields and fast cars, but mounting costs - new road layouts, revised safety standards, security measures, and logistical demands - combined with financial losses led to their reluctant cancellation after the 2023 edition. Although the event ended with immense sadness from participants, organisers, and supporters, the Brighton Speed Trials’ place in sporting history remains assured. (See also My Brighton and Hove, Wikipedia and Autosport.  For some 1947 photographs see Dacre Stubbs Photo Collection.)

New plans for King Alfred

Brighton & Hove City Council has set out detailed proposals for a new King Alfred Leisure Centre on the Hove seafront, with an estimated budget of up to £65 million. Willmott Dixon has been named as the preferred contractor, and the council intends to keep the current centre open for as long as possible while building takes place. The plans will be reviewed by the Place Overview & Scrutiny Committee on Monday 22 September 2025 and then by Cabinet on Thursday 25 September. If approved, the next steps will include public exhibitions, an online consultation, and submission of a full planning application by the end of the year. Construction is not expected to begin before early 2026, and the new centre is currently forecast to open in spring 2028.

The facilities would represent a major upgrade. The scheme includes an eight-lane 25-metre competition pool with spectator seating, a separate six-lane 25-metre learner pool with a moveable floor, and a splash-pad designed for younger children. There would also be a six-court sports hall meeting Sport England requirements, complete with spectator seating, as well as a health and fitness offer centred on a gym with at least 100 stations, an interactive cycling studio, and multiple studios for group activities. A café and on-site parking are also planned. The council highlights that the current main pool has only six lanes and the existing gym, fitted into a former café, offers just 31 stations.

The new building would be located on the western side of the site, where the present car park is, allowing the existing centre to operate while construction progresses. Two design approaches have been tested: one is a taller scheme with two underground parking levels on a smaller footprint, and the other is a low-rise version with surface parking spread more widely across the site. Parking capacity is intended to be similar to the current provision of about 120 spaces, though final details will be confirmed at the planning stage.

Delivery will be via the UK Leisure Framework with Alliance Leisure as development consultant (see ‘Big move forward’ for Alfred). GT3 Architects are leading design, supported by Engenuiti on structural and civil engineering, Van Zyl & de Villiers on mechanical and electrical services, and Hadron Consulting providing project management. Willmott Dixon has been working alongside these teams during the pre-construction phase. Funding would come from government grants, council borrowing, and income raised through the sale of part of the site for residential development, with the new centre expected to generate significant revenues in the long term to help offset costs.

The project is the outcome of the council’s Sports Facilities Investment Plan, adopted in 2021, and a Green Book business case developed with national sports bodies and advisors. More than 20 potential sites were assessed, with only two making the shortlist: the current seafront plot and land south of Sainsbury’s at the Old Shoreham Road/A293 junction. Cabinet members agreed in July 2024 to proceed at the existing site. Sport England and Swim England advised against pursuing a 50-metre pool, citing cost and city-wide provision considerations. A consultation in 2024 drew more than 3,600 responses, with a clear preference for keeping the centre on the seafront.

The proposals also emphasise wider design principles. These include ensuring accessibility and inclusivity, such as provision for gender-neutral changing and a Changing Places facility, embedding low and zero-carbon technologies, designing with coastal resilience and long-term durability in mind, and linking the centre with the recently opened Hove Beach Park to create a combined indoor–outdoor attraction on the seafront. The council has made public the above artist’s impressions: pool interior render (with sea views and spectator seating); east elevation at dusk; and south elevation at dusk.

Seafront heritage lighting

Brighton and Hove City Council has announced - via its Facebook page (with video) - that the first of the city’s Victorian seafront lampposts has been lifted from Madeira Drive for specialist restoration. It seems to have taken more than a dozen operatives to do so. Meanwhile, the local newspaper has uncovered that it cost the council £36,000 to clear away tents from the terrace at this same spot - there were more than a dozen operatives for that operation too!

The first of five cast-iron columns was dismantled and removed from Madeira Drive last Wednesday (10 September). It will now be sent to Cast Iron Welding Services before being refitted early next year with a new lantern made by lighting specialists CU Phosco. The council says five columns are being restored in this first phase of the Seafront Heritage Lighting Regeneration Scheme, marking the start of long-delayed work to safeguard the Grade II listed structures. 

Many of the ornate posts, dating back to the late 19th century, have stood in poor condition for years.The lampposts were first installed when the resort was at the height of its Victorian popularity, and their deterioration has come to symbolise neglect along all of Madeira Drive. Their return next year will be the first visible sign of progress in a wider programme to restore the full line of heritage lighting. (See also Ye Olde Victorian lampposts and Progress on the Madeira arches.)

In fact, I witnessed the operation on Wednesday morning. There were more than a dozen operatives at the site (close to the statue of Steve Ovett). I had a similar sense of there being a surfeit of manpower during the operation to remove squatter tents on the terrace at this same spot a month ago - see International shutdown services. Indeed, the Argus reported a few days ago that that operation had cost the council £36,000!

The Pirates of Brighton Beach

On a bright morning when the sea heaved lazily against the shingle, five pirates - long since stranded on the Sussex coast - emerged from their hideout near the Palace Pier. No longer raiders of the Caribbean, they had been reduced to guardians of Brighton’s beach, their adventures woven into the chatter of gulls and the hum of amusement arcades.

First was Barrel-Bill, a thick-armed brute with a scarred face and a fondness for rum. He never went anywhere without hefting a barrel on his shoulder, claiming it contained both his fortune and his doom. Most suspected it was empty, but none dared ask.

Then came Laughing Redcoat, flamboyant in a tattered scarlet jacket, with a grin as wide as the Channel. He wielded a cutlass with careless joy, and though his jokes were bad, his laugh carried across the pebbles, unnerving fishermen at dawn.

Their captain was Hook-Hand Harrigan, grim-eyed in a sea-blue coat. His iron claw clicked ominously as he muttered plans of reclaiming the sea. Some said his hook had been forged from the ironwork of the ruined West Pier.

Lurking in the shadows was Skeleton Sam, a half-dead wretch who had once been left in chains inside the cliffside caves of Kemptown. He bore the look of a revenant, bones showing through ragged clothes, always watching the tide as if waiting for some ghostly ship to return.

And finally there was Dandy Jack, a sly rogue with rings on his fingers and a sky-blue hat perched rakishly on his brow. He fancied himself a gentleman pirate, though his pistol was always primed. He had a talent for mimicry, and often mocked the mayor and council from atop the railings of Madeira Drive.

Their tale took a turn one evening many years ago when the tide receded very low, revealing the barnacled hulk of a shipwreck just east of the Palace Pier. The townsfolk gathered, whispering of treasure. Barrel-Bill declared the wreck to be theirs, ‘by the rights of piracy and the law of the sea!’ Laughing Redcoat clapped his hands with glee, Hook-Hand Harrigan sharpened his hook against the railings, Skeleton Sam let out a ghastly rattle of breath, and Dandy Jack simply grinned, tipping his hat.

But as they set upon the wreck, Brighton’s beach stirred with more than seaweed. Out from the tide crawled shapes of old sailors, long drowned, their bones glittering with salt. Skeleton Sam greeted them like kin. The others froze.

The undead sailors demanded their ship back. Harrigan stood firm, barrel raised, cutlass drawn, pistol cocked. Yet the ghosts would not fight - they demanded a trade.

So it was agreed: the pirates would guard Brighton’s beach forever, keeping watch over the pier, the pebbles, and the restless Channel, so long as the townsfolk kept their memory alive. And to this day, on windy nights, when the sea roars and the pier lights flicker, you might just glimpse Barrel-Bill’s silhouette or hear Laughing Redcoat’s laugh carried on the air. 

Juvenile herring gull

Found on Brighton Beach: a boldly barred feather from a young herring gull, and, nearby, the bird itself resting among the shingle. Juvenile herring gulls are clad in mottled brown plumage that provides camouflage against pebbles and sand, with dark bills and pale streaked heads. They will not gain the crisp grey-and-white adult plumage until their fourth year, passing through several transitional stages. The feather on the beach is part of this annual cycle, dropped as the bird grows and moults, each stage revealing a closer resemblance to the adults wheeling above the seafront.

Herring gulls (Larus argentatus) are common residents of the Sussex coast but their numbers in natural colonies have declined sharply, leading to a Red List status despite their success in towns and on rooftops. They begin breeding at about four years old, laying two or three eggs in late spring, with both parents sharing incubation and feeding. The chicks fledge after five to six weeks but remain dependent for a while, learning to forage on intertidal invertebrates, fish, carrion and discarded food. A bird that survives its first winters may live for decades, and ringed individuals have been recorded at over 30 years old.

The multitude of gulls seen loafing on Brighton’s pebbles are rarely nesting on the shore itself. Instead, most come from colonies established on rooftops throughout the city. Since the 1970s herring gulls and lesser black-backed gulls have increasingly used chimneys, ledges and flat roofs as substitutes for cliffs, taking advantage of the protection from predators and the ready supply of food in urban areas. Thousands of pairs now breed across Brighton and Hove, while natural cliff colonies remain further along the coast at Newhaven, Seaford Head and Beachy Head. The young birds you see on the beach may have been raised only a few hundred metres inland, above hotels, flats and shops lining the promenade.

The juvenile on the pebbles is one of many dispersing from nests this season, leaving behind patterned feathers as evidence of their growth. Those fragments are reminders that the familiar gulls of Brighton, noisy and opportunistic, carry complex life cycles bound to the changing fortunes of the sea and the town.

For more information see the RSPB and BTO BirdFacts.

Guest: Anzac’s Brighton Beach, Gallipoli

On the Gallipoli Peninsula in north-west Turkey, there is a beach whose name echoes far from home. Known to soldiers of the First World War as Brighton Beach, it lies on a long curve of sand between the headland of Gaba Tepe and the narrow inlet of Anzac Cove. The name was never official but it stuck, a reminder of how men carried fragments of familiar landscapes into the most alien of settings. More than a century later the shoreline is quiet, its role in the campaign less famous than other places nearby, but it remains part of the story of Gallipoli.

To get there, walk south from Shrapnel Valley Cemetery, rejoin the main beach road and follow it for approximately half a kilometre. Ahead stretches the promontory of Gaba Tepe, and to your right lies the shoreline the ANZAC troops called Brighton Beach - originally designated ‘Z Beach’. In The Story of Anzac, Charles Bean recorded that the 3rd Australian Infantry Brigade - the intended Covering Force - was to land here on 25 April 1915 and advance inland to strategic ridges. But as history shows, the actual landings occurred further to the north.

The terrain facing inland from Brighton Beach was noticeably flatter and less rugged than the dramatic cliffs around North Beach and ANZAC Cove. It’s widely accepted that had the troops landed here, casualties would have been higher: the Turkish guns at Gaba Tepe and artillery further back at a location later nicknamed the ‘Olive Grove’ posed a grave threat to any incoming forces.

In the days following the initial landings, Brighton Beach became something of a logistical backwater. Under heavy shelling and sniper fire, men occasionally risked the water there, drawn to its relative serenity as a swimming area. A stores depot emerged at the mouth of Shrapnel Gully, heaped with supplies and hidden behind stacks of crates, timber, barbed wire and engineering stores. The Indian Mule Cart Company also established base here, transporting supplies inland under hazardous conditions. In one extraordinary incident on 22 May 1915, a white flag appeared at Gaba Tepe opposite Brighton Beach - prompting soldiers to improvise a truce using a beach towel raised as a flag.

Today, Brighton Beach stands in peaceful contrast to its wartime past. The shoreline is open and inviting, framed by gentle slopes and the distant headland of Gaba Tepe. Visitors can walk the same coast road used by soldiers and pause where stores once piled high against the dunes. It is now one of the few officially sanctioned swimming spots on the peninsula, a place where locals and travellers cool off in summer. Families picnic on the sand, tour buses stop nearby, and signs mark the site’s historic associations. The water is clear, the beach is quiet, and apart from the occasional memorial plaque there is little to suggest the noise and danger that once dominated this tranquil corner of the Dardanelles.

The starlings have gone mad

Today marks the 16th anniversary of the publication of The Death of Bunny Munro - Nick Cave’s darkly comic novel partly set in Brighton. One particular passage focuses on the burning down of the West Pier.

Cave, an Australian singer, songwriter, novelist and screenwriter, has been closely associated with Brighton since the early 2000s. Having lived for years in Hove with his wife Susie Bick and their children, Cave was often seen around the city and became a familiar if sometimes reclusive presence. 

Brighton has figured in both his music and his fiction: he wrote and recorded albums here, and its seafront and piers became woven into The Death of Bunny Munro. His time in the city was also marked by personal tragedy, most notably the death of his son Arthur in 2015, after which Cave and his family later relocated to London and Los Angeles.

The Death of Bunny Munro, published on 8 September 2009, follows the disintegrating life of a Brighton-based door-to-door cosmetics salesman. Bunny, a compulsive womaniser and alcoholic, is left to care for his young son after his wife’s suicide. As he spirals into chaos, his grotesque behaviour and addictions clash with moments of tenderness toward his child. The novel mixes bleak comedy, surreal imagery and local detail, casting Brighton in a lurid and unsettling light. Here is one extract from the book.

Bunny . . . says, ‘Libby, baby, where do we live?’

‘Brighton.’

‘And where is Brighton?’ he says, running a finger along the row of miniature bottles of liquor arranged on the bedside table and choosing a Smirnoff.

‘Down south.’

‘Which is about as far away from “up north” as you can get without falling into the bloody sea. Now, sweetie, turn off the TV, take your Tegretol, take a sleeping tablet—shit, take two sleeping tablets—and I’ll be back tomorrow. Early.’

‘The pier is burning down,’ says Libby.

‘What?’

‘The West Pier, it’s burning down. I can smell the smoke from here.’

‘The West Pier?’

Bunny empties the tiny bottle of vodka down his throat, lights another cigarette, and rises from the bed. The room heaves as Bunny is hit by the realisation that he is very drunk. With arms held out to the side and on tiptoe, Bunny moonwalks across the room to the window. He lurches, stumbles and Tarzans the faded chintz curtains until he finds his balance and steadies himself. He draws them open extravagantly and vulcanised daylight and the screaming of birds deranges the room. Bunny’s pupils contract painfully as he grimaces through the window, into the light. He sees a dark cloud of starlings, twittering madly over the flaming, smoking hulk of the West Pier that stands, helpless, in the sea across from the hotel. He wonders why he hadn’t seen this before and then wonders how long he has been in this room, then remembers his wife and hears her say, ‘Bunny, are you there?’

‘Yeah,’ says Bunny, transfixed by the sight of the burning pier and the thousand screaming birds.

‘The starlings have gone mad. It’s such a horrible thing. Their little babies burning in their nests. I can’t bear it, Bun,’ says Libby, the high violin rising.

The photograph of the West Pier above is credited to Terry Applin and can be found at The Argus.