The highest tide of the year

It is the highest tide of the year today, I believe, and possibly the lowest too. However, tide times and heights are not an exact science, and they seem to vary slightly from provider to provider. The Visit Brighton website takes its tide data from the UK Hydrographic Office which gave the following stats for 31 March 2025: high water at 13:19 - 7.0m; and low water at 19:36 - 0.3m. These two conjoined photographs were taken today under Brighton Palace Pier more or less at those exact times.

Brighton Beach experiences a semi-diurnal tide, with two high and two low tides each day. The tidal range is influenced by lunar and solar gravitational forces. The beach’s gradient can be relatively steep, composed primarily of flint pebbles that have been shaped by longshore drift and wave action. Near the Palace Pier, the retreating tide occasionally reveals patches of sand, a rare feature on this predominantly shingle-covered shoreline.

The chart here is taken from Tide-forecast.com. It shows, pictorially, the very wide difference Brighton Beach's high and low tides which range from nearly 7m today to 3m (mid-lunar cycle on 6 April for example). 

A flickering, fractured vision

Here is the fifth of 25 stained glass window designs on the Palace Pier which AI and I are using as inspiration for some of these BrightonBeach365 daily posts - see Stained glass window 1 for background. This image conjures up an age gone past, the age of steam. A train - with its various components rendered in different colours of glass - is pulling into the station. In the background, the upper portion of the window features a light blue sky with curved lines suggesting the roof structure of a train station. Below, are depictions of passengers in red standing on a platform.

A limerick starter

A steam train set off with delight,

Through glass, it gleamed bold in the light.

Past the sea’s rolling tide,

On the pier it would glide,

Bringing dreams of adventure in sight.

A flickering, fractured vision (in the style of William Gibson)

The station was empty when Daniel arrived, the faded hum of its electric lights stuttering like an old circuit board. The Comet sat there, the blackened metal of her boiler catching what little light filtered through the stained-glass window - a relic, buried beneath years of rust, forgotten by time.

But time, like anything else, had its own rules. And those rules didn’t apply here.

Daniel had seen the way the glass glowed, each shard a window into another world - a flickering, fractured vision of something long past, but present. He could almost hear the hum of the engine in the glass, its rhythm in sync with the pulse of the station’s ancient electrical grid. He’d watched it so many times, but tonight, something in the light made him uneasy. Something - darker.

Then the glass moved.

The first tremor was almost imperceptible, a shiver of static in the air. Then, with the kind of impossible grace that only something broken could possess, the Comet stirred. Steel shrieked, pistons groaned, steam bellowed. For a moment, the whole place seemed to be held in stasis, frozen in the glowing prism of colour.

Daniel’s hand slid to the lever at his side, automatic, muscle memory. But he didn’t move. The engine - silent, dark, lost to a world that had moved past it - woke.

It rolled forward, a ghost from another time, its brass a muted reflection in the cracked glass of the window.

‘No way,’ Daniel muttered, his voice barely a whisper, swallowed by the hum of the rails beneath. The machine moved - slow at first, hesitant, like it wasn’t sure if it belonged to this world anymore. It shouldn’t have been possible, not in the way it was happening.

The station, with its peeling paint and a forgotten sense of grandeur, blinked as the Comet began its descent down the hill. Gathering speed, the sound of the train’s wheels clattered against old tracks, and rages of steam left a confusion of fog in its wake.

There was a glitch in reality somewhere, and for a second, it felt like the whole world was briefly on standby. The Comet wasn’t supposed to be here - not now, not like this.

It was onto Volk’s Electric Railway before anyone could blink. The narrow-gauge tracks, once built for something smaller, were too fragile to support a full-sized engine. But the Comet wasn’t following the rules. The metal of the rails rippled under its weight as though it too was caught in the glitch.

The train sped down Madeira Drive, steam boiling and the sea churning, as the city passed in flashes. For an instant, the rails crackled - unused electricity - life syncing with the pulse of the past. The engine moved on its own terms, like it always had, like it was never going to stop. The whistle tore through the air.

Daniel ran to catch up, his feet pounding the pavement, but the streets were foreign, faster than he remembered. The flicker of neon signs bled into the fog, the city bleeding out from the station’s forgotten corners. He didn’t know whether to follow or to let it go.

At Black Rock, the Comet slowed, the city finally catching up with itself. The engine sat, quivering, waiting for something Daniel wasn’t sure he was ready to see.

He placed a hand on cool metal, tracing the edges of something once forgotten. He expected to feel the weight of something unshakable, a solid connection to an age gone by, but instead, it was like touching something that had always been here, in the air, the wires, the hum of a signal.

A fraction of a second later, the Comet vanished. The rails, still warm, were silent.

By morning, it was as though it had never been. The station sat in its quiet decay, the stained-glass window intact, but something was different. Daniel stood in front of it, the edges of the glass still rippling as if caught in some loop. The faintest trace of steam lingered in the air.

He knew better than to question it. Time bent here, had always bent. Maybe it was the glass, maybe it was the wires, but the Comet wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot.

The windy stairs

The Brighton Zip, a lively addition to the city’s iconic seafront, has become a staple of the city’s tourist attractions since its inception in 2017. One visitor recently noted, ‘the windy stairs adds to the tension before whizzing off on the line above the beach’. Located on Madeira Drive, this 300-meter-long zipline is the longest on the south coast and offers elevated views of Brighton’s landmarks, including the Palace Pier and, according to the operators, Seven Sisters cliffs. Originally, the attraction was conceived as a replacement for the Brighton Wheel, which ceased operations in 2016 following Brighton & Hove City Council’s investment in the i360. The site was revitalised by Madeira Leisure Limited, led by Jeffrey Sanders, he who had shrugged off a troubled past (see the Brighton Argus) but who had successfully managed the Brighton Wheel - see also King of the Slot Machines.

The planning process for the Brighton Zip was not without its hurdles. Situated in the East Cliff Conservation Area, planners had to ensure that the zipline’s design would not compromise the area’s wide-open views or harm nearby listed buildings. Concerns about noise, disturbance, and accessibility were addressed through design changes, including reducing the visual impact of the zip tower and ensuring inclusivity for disabled users. Additionally, operational management plans were introduced to mitigate issues like anti-social behaviour and noise, particularly around alcohol sales at its café.

Since opening, the Brighton Zip says it has attracted 25,000 plus riders annually. Over time, it has sought more flexible licensing conditions. This has been a struggle, see this licensing report from 2021, but, nevertheless, it has managed to open a rooftop bar and kitchen. 

The venue says it has embraced a modernised branding strategy aimed at local residents rather than traditional seaside visitors. Despite challenges like staffing shortages during the pandemic and seasonal fluctuations in profitability, the attraction remains committed to year-round operation to provide stable employment for its staff. Brighton Zip boasts dual parallel zip wires, a landing platform that resembles an upturned boat hull, and a 24-meter vertical ‘Drop Zone’. 

Quite a few customers have left reviews on TripAdvisor. Generally they are positive for the zipline experience, but the food and drink reviews are more mixed. Denise Ashford says, ‘the views are great and reasonably priced! One more thing off my bucket list at the age of 73!!'; Rhiaann07 says, ‘What a fun experience - this was one of my dares on my hen and im so glad I didn’t chicken out’; and Paulo T says ‘The windy stairs adds to the tension before whizzing off on the line above the beach. The staff were all really friendly and for a starter zipper like myself this zip line is perfect.’

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.

Crow’s toes gripped the wet pebbles

Crow on the Beach

Hearing shingle explode, seeing it skip,

Crow sucked his tongue.

Seeing sea-grey mash a mountain of itself

Crow tightened his goose-pimples.

Feeling spray from the sea’s root nothinged on his crest

Crow’s toes gripped the wet pebbles.

When the smell of the whale’s den, the gulfing of the crab’s last prayer,

Gimletted in his nostril

He grasped he was on earth.

He knew he grasped

Something fleeting

Of the sea’s ogreish outcry and convulsion.

He knew he was the wrong listener unwanted

To understand or help -

His utmost gaping of his brain in his tiny skull

Was just enough to wonder, about the sea,

What could be hurting so much?

This is Ted Hughes, one of the most influential British poets of the 20th century, known for his stark, elemental imagery and exploration of nature, violence, and myth. Born in Yorkshire, England, he became Poet Laureate in 1984 and was widely recognized for collections like The Hawk in the Rain and Birthday Letters. His work often delved into the primal forces of life, influenced by folklore, shamanism, and a deep reverence for the natural world.

Although there is no specific connection between Hughes and Brighton, this photograph of a crow on the Brighton pebbles seemed to lead me directly to Hughes’s poems. Crow on the Beach, as above, comes from Crow: From the Life and Songs of the Crow, published by Faber & Faber in 1970 (which can be freely borrowed online at Internet Archive). 

The collection is considered a pivotal work in Hughes’s career, marking a shift towards a darker, more fragmented style. It was originally conceived as part of a collaboration with the American artist Leonard Baskin and reflects Hughes’s personal grief following the death of his wife, Sylvia Plath. Crow is said to present a chaotic, amoral trickster figure that challenges religious and existential narratives, embodying survival, destruction, and rebirth. See the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography for a more detailed analysis of the work. Meanwhile, here is another poem from the collection.

Crow and the Sea

He tried ignoring the sea

But it was bigger than death, just as it was bigger than life.

He tried talking to the sea

But his brain shuttered and his eyes winced from it as from open flame.

He tried sympathy for the sea

But it shouldered him off - as a dead thing shoulders you off.

He tried hating the sea

But instantly felt like a scrutty dry rabbit-dropping on the windy cliff.

He tried just being in the same world as the sea

But his lungs were not deep enough

And his cheery blood banged off it

Like a water-drop off a hot stove.

Finally

He turned his back and he marched away from the sea

As a crucified man cannot move.

Return of the Laundry Arch

In the first phase of renovation work on Madeira Terrace (see Madeira Terrace restoration - hurrah!), several arches have now been entirely dismantled, leaving the huge sea wall bare and revealing a building within, a building that, frankly, looks like it’s had some history! A photograph by Allan King on the Brighton Past Facebook group has prompted members to offer snippets of local history and some memories of the place. 

Derek John Wright, for example, says ‘It’s the Laundry Arch. Used by a hotel, located at the end of the tunnel, to dry laundry.’ Neil Pike mentions the Bristol Pub hotel, and Julian Widest suggests it was Chaplin’s hotel. Ovular Sphere has more direct knowledge of the property, ‘Was the studio where my bands The Flesh Happening and Pink Narcissus used to rehearse and record. I also recorded some vocals for my album Fag Machine here. I believe it used to be a toilet.’ Richard Talbot says: ‘That’s Studio 284. The heart of Brighton punk. Occasional venue and rehearsal and recording space. Lovely people ran that.’ Paul Daltrey says, ‘Also used as a gun range at one point.’

Studio 284, in fact, was originally established in 1997 as a recording and rehearsal studio. It occupied a former public toilet block under the terraces (see Brighton and Hove News) and was run by Austen Grayton. A popular venue, it specialised in punk and metal music. In August 2015, however, it was forced to close due to the major structural concerns with the Madeira Terraces. Following the closure, the outfit relocated to Kemp Town and rebranded as BlackRock Subway Studio. It has continued to maintain a focus on providing services for various music genres, including punk, metal, acoustic, reggae, ska, folk, and hip hop.

Meanwhile, the planning application for the renovation work specifically mentions ‘Alterations and repairs to Laundry Arch to enable future operational use with replacement windows and door and a new balustrade.’

I have bathed so often

One of Brighton’s earliest literary visitors was Frances ‘Fanny’ Burney, later known as Madame d’Arblay. She first arrived in the early 1780s, at a time when sea bathing was becoming a popular remedy for health ailments. She became a famous novelist, but was also an inveterate letter writer and diary keeper. Indeed, today she is best remembered for her diaries which were first published in seven volumes. Curiously, although she tells her diary in 1982, ‘I have bathed so often as to lose my dread of the operation’, in all those volumes I can only find one significant reference to Brighton beach and seaside.

Burney was born in 1752 at King’s Lynn, Norfolk, the daughter of Charles Burney, a musician and man of letters. The family moved to London in 1760, where Charles was part of a busy literary circle. Fanny was a precocious child (although her mother died when she was just 10). She was educated at home with the help of her father’s extensive library and of his friends, in particular Samuel Crisp who encouraged her to write journal-letters, in which she carefully reported on the social world around her family. And, it was writing of this ilk that led to her first novel, Evelina, published anonymously when she was only 26.

Evelina was an instant success and led London society to speculate on the identity of the writer - widely assumed to be a man. The Burney Centre biography says Fanny ‘became the first woman to make writing novels respectable’. With Evelina, it adds, she created a new school of fiction in English - a ‘comedy of manners’ - one in which women in society were portrayed in realistic, contemporary circumstances. This new genre would later pave the way for Jane Austen and other 19th century writers. Meanwhile, once discovered as the author of Evelina, Burney was taken up by literary and high society, in particular she became very friendly with the Thrales and Dr Johnson, and would often stay at the Brighton house of the Thrales in West Street.

In 1786, Burney was appointed Second Keeper of the Robes to Queen Charlotte, wife of George III. This position took her to Brighton where the King decamped for health reasons. But she was not happy in court, and was allowed to resign in 1791. Not long after, she married the French emigré Alexandre d’Arblay, and they had one son. She died in 1840. More information is available at Brighton Museums and The Burney Centre.

Burney left behind a rich literary estate of diaries and letters. Heavily edited versions of these were published in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, but it wasn’t until Joyce Hemlow published her landmark biography, The History of Fanny Burney, in 1958 that the full impact of Burney’s contribution to literature and letters began to be better appreciated. All seven volumes of the original Diary and Letters of Madame d’Arblay, edited by her niece and published by Henry Colburn in 1842, are available online at Internet Archive. For information on the more recent Complete Scholarly Edition by Hemlow see Oxford University Press.

Burney first visited Brighton in 1779. Here is a brief diary extract written during that visit.

26 May 1779

‘The road from Streatham hither is beautiful: Mr., Mrs., Miss Thrale, and Miss Susan Thrale, and I, travelled in a coach, with four horses, and two of the servants in a chaise, besides two men on horseback; so we were obliged to stop for some time at three places on the road.

We got home by about nine o’clock. Mr. Thrale's house is in West Street, which is the court end of the town here, as well as in London. ’Tis a neat, small house, and I have a snug comfortable room to myself. The sea is not many yards from our windows. Our journey was delightfully pleasant, the day being heavenly, the roads in fine order, the prospects charming, and everybody good-humoured and cheerful.’

And here is a diary entry from three years later - Burney’s only significant mention of the beach and swimming (at least that I can find).

20 November 1782

‘Mrs and the three Miss Thrales and myself all arose at six o’clock in the morning, and ‘by the pale blink of the moon’ we went to the sea-side, where we had bespoke the bathing-women to be ready for us, and into the ocean we plunged. It was cold, but pleasant. I have bathed so often as to lose my dread of the operation, which now gives me nothing but animation and vigour.’

In view of this latter comment by Burney, it is somewhat curious that she doesn’t mention Brighton’s beach or bathing elsewhere. When I asked ChatGPT why this might be, it proposed the following reasons.

1) Burney, like many women of her era, maintained a degree of propriety in her writings. Sea-bathing, particularly for women, involved being physically handled by ‘dippers’ and experiencing an undignified immersion in the sea. She may have found the experience too embarrassing or indelicate to describe in detail. 2) While Brighton was famous for its sea-bathing, Burney’s letters suggest she was more interested in its social scene - the promenades, assemblies, and court gatherings. 3) Once she became accustomed to bathing, she may not have considered it remarkable enough to record further. 4) References to bathing were removed by editors if they were deemed too trivial or personal.

(The photograph of bathing machines above is a detail from a larger image found in Victorian and Edwardian Brighton from old photographs by John Betjeman and J. S. Gray published by Batsford 1972.)