Historic commercial vehicles

Historic commercial vehicles - vans, trucks, lorries, fire engines, coaches/buses, steam wagons, many in bright-coloured liveries - lit up the Brighton seafront today, west of the pier. Arriving from around 10 am, they rolled in along Madeira Drive, sometimes stuttering, sometimes juddering, but every one clean and bright as a button, loved and cherished for their connections with our past. 

The London to Brighton Historic Commercial Vehicle Run is an annual event celebrating Britain’s rich commercial motoring heritage. Organised by the Historic Commercial Vehicle Society (HCVS), the run showcases a diverse array of vintage commercial vehicles. The inaugural run took place on 13 May 1962, initiated by the HCVS, which itself was launched in 1958 following a rally at Beaulieu (where the National Motor Museum had been founded by Lord Montagu in 1952). The event has grown in popularity, with the 60th run in 2022 featuring 170 entrants. 

Last year, 2024, HCVS relocated the starting point of the run from Crystal Palace to Brooklands Museum in Weybridge, Surrey. The change was implemented to avoid London’s Ultra Low Emission Zone (ULEZ) and various lorry restrictions, making it more accessible for vintage vehicles. Participants now follow a route through Cobham, Leatherhead, Dorking, Redhill, Horley, Balcombe, Cuckfield, Burgess Hill before joining the A23 at a Pycombe for the last stage to Madeira Drive on the seafront in Brighton.

Photos of some of today’s participants:

(Above) - a preserved British double-decker bus (1930s-1950s), a type that became iconic in UK public transport, especially in cities like London. The livery advertises Tampon’s Ales and Ty-Phoo Tea, both classic British brands.

(Top left) - a historic steam traction engine, a type of self-propelled steam-powered vehicle used primarily for agricultural and heavy haulage work in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

(Top right) - a Fordson E83W, a light commercial vehicle produced by Ford between 1938 and 1957. This example is a flatbed pickup, often used for small deliveries and local business use. The E83W is known for its rounded cab, separate headlamps, and classic upright grille.

(Bottom left) - a classic single-deck coach, likely from the 1950s or 1960s, used for longer-distance travel and private hire. The red and cream paintwork is a common style for British and European coaches of the era, designed to be both attractive and easily identifiable.

(Bottom right) - a classic Scammell lorry, a British brand renowned for heavy haulage and specialist vehicles, particularly from the 1920s through the 1980s. Scammell vehicles of this era were notable for their robust construction and were often used for demanding transport tasks, including oversized cargo and military equipment

Quirky fact: In the 5th run, Lord Montagu drove a 1908 Unic taxi (French made), accompanied by London’s oldest taxi driver, with the fare for the entire distance clocked at 13 shillings. 

My daughter’s prayer mat

Found on the beach today: a cardboard packaging band labelled MY DAUGHTER’S PRAYER MAT. This type of band is typically used to wrap around a rolled-up prayer mat, serving both as branding and as a means of keeping the product neatly packaged for retail display or gifting. The colour scheme - pink with gold decorative motifs - suggests it is specifically marketed towards young girls, often as a gift to encourage them to participate in Islamic prayer. Such products are commonly sold in Islamic shops, online marketplaces, and gift stores, especially around religious holidays and celebrations.

Prayer mats designed for children frequently feature bright colours and engaging designs to make the practice of prayer more appealing and accessible. The MY DAUGHTER’S PRAYER MAT brand or product line is part of a growing market for faith-based educational products aimed at young Muslims. These mats may come with additional items such as digital counters or prayer beads, and are often presented in attractive packaging to make them suitable for gifting.

The provenance of this particular packaging band is most likely linked to a recent purchase or gifting event. It may have been brought to Brighton beach by a family or individual who had acquired the mat for a child, perhaps to facilitate prayer during a day out or as part of a celebratory outing. The band was likely removed from the mat either at the beach or en route, and subsequently left behind, either by accident or through careless disposal. This item can, in fact, be found for sale on the Little Thinker website (Abu Dhabi).

As someone who visits the beach very often - daily in the summer months - I can testify that, in general, the pebbles are kept remarkably clear and free of a litter. This is largely down to Brighton & Hove City Council, I believe, which - among other initiatives - supports beach clean-up efforts through partnerships with local community groups, environmental organisations, and corporate volunteer programs. Walking on a quiet part of the beach (east of the pier) this afternoon for 20 minutes or so, the MY DAUGHTER’S PRAYER MAT wrapper was almost the only item of litter I came across.

Eastenders on Brighton Beach

The Argus published a great story about EastEnders on this day in 1998, or rather a story with a great intro, as follows: ‘Millions of viewers saw George go on the run recently after a series of ding-dongs with hot-tempered Peggy in the top soap - he fled to New Zealand. But George, played by Brighton-based actor Paul Moriarty, is more down the road than down under. Paul has swapped sleaze for seaside as he enjoys his screen break from the series and has been spending more time with his family at home in Saltdean.’

Paul Moriarty, known for his role as the shady club owner George Palmer in EastEnders, may have left the Square for screen reasons - but in real life, he’d simply gone local - the Argus reported. A Saltdean resident, Moriarty enjoyed the calmer rhythms of Brighton life while taking a break from his acting career. It was a neat contrast to the criminal undertones of George’s story arc, which ended with a hasty fictional flight to New Zealand after falling out with Peggy Mitchell.

Brighton Beach itself has been the dramatic backdrop for several EastEnders episodes across the years - most notably a special set of episodes in November 1999. The storyline followed a group of Walford residents - including Ricky and Janine Butcher, Melanie Healy, Mick McFarlane, Sam Mitchell, Mark Fowler, and Fred Fonseca - on a weekend trip to the seaside. The episodes featured a mix of drama, personal revelations, and emotional turning points set against Brighton’s iconic backdrops such as the Palace Pier and seafront.

Key plotlines included Janine’s near-drowning after a night of heavy drinking (film still taken from Youtube), Melanie sharing a kiss with Steve Owen while doubting her engagement to Ian Beale, and Fred Fonseca attempting to come out as gay to his friend Mick. Meanwhile, Beppe di Marco misinterpreted a situation between Sam and Ricky, leading to emotional fallout. (NB: This publicity photograph is available for purchase at Alamy.)

 

Victory in Europe Day

Brighton’s commemoration of the 80th anniversary of VE Day is taking place this evening on the seafront, near the Peace Statue. It is bringing together the city’s cadet forces, uniformed services, veterans and members of the public for a short service and the lighting of a beacon - joining hundreds of others across the UK. Exactly, 80 years ago today, a young Tony Simmonds was celebrating with his friends near the clocktower, and would write a memorable entry in his diary about the day. 

Victory in Europe Day - on 8 May 1945 - marked the official end of World War II in Europe with the unconditional surrender of Nazi Germany, following Adolf Hitler’s suicide on 30 April 1945 and the signing of surrender documents by Germany’s new leader, Karl Dönitz. It ended nearly six years of devastating war that caused millions of deaths and widespread destruction across Europe. The day was declared a national holiday in Britain, where millions celebrated with street parties, dancing, singing, and public gatherings.

However Brighton Beach remained closed (it had been closed since July 1940) - see the 1944 photograph below, available at the Brighton & Hove Museums collection. It would take some weeks/months to be cleared and re-opened. Internet searches reveal only that small sections of the beach had been temporarily opened to the public for swimming in the summer following D-Day in June 1944. However, after VE Day, a full reopening required the extensive and dangerous process of clearing the mines and removing the wartime defences (a postcard dated 23 September 1945 is said to show the the beaches accessible again - see here).

Perhaps if the beach had been open then that is where Tony Simmonds might have been on VE Day. As it happens, he wasn’t too far away - at the Clock Tower. He was just a teenager, having not long since moved from Winchester to Brighton. He kept a diary through the war. Extracts from this can be found online at MyBrightonandHove, and also in my book Brighton in Diaries. His entry for VE Day, though, is especially interesting and engaging. 

8 May 1945

‘VICTORY IN EUROPE DAY - I was at work - when I came back from lunch at 2 pm I found everyone in a hustle and bustle. The Manager said we were going to get out by 3.30. We did. Even then we had time to rush out to hear Churchill’s speech at 3 o’clock and a fine speech it was too.

We all knew something would happen in the evening and it did. It came right up to my fullest expectations. I just can’t describe the scene. I was alone most of the time and spent almost five hours around the Clock Tower. People just went mad - dancing, singing, chanting, shouting - the crowd just surged this way and that - The Academy, the Odeon and the Regent were all floodlit for the first time in almost six years - fire crackers, flares and even pre-war ‘jumpers’ were thrown about the streets - even into busses - all policemen ‘had their eyes shut’.

I left at just after 11 pm leaving behind me a riot going on outside the Regent - where a drunken sailor was protesting against a charge of 10/6d for a dance in the Regent Dance Hall. What a day - I shall never forget it for the rest of my life.’

Our house is decorated up - four flags - a shield and red, white & blue streamers. Even Mrs Guild next door has her standard flying. As for the town itself - well I never knew there were so many flags manufactured. My bike has a big rosette and streamers on its handlebars.’

The ceremony at the Peace Statue this evening is being supported by the Royal British Legion, the Salvation Army band, Sussex Police and Downs Junior School. Rev. David Hazell from St Helen’s Church, Hangleton, is giving a short service. Brighton & Hove Buses is also in attendance with its bus named Stephen Barnwell. Barnwell was a WWII hero. Landing in Normandy on D-Day. He was twice wounded, and much later in life was honoured twice by the French.

The Dome of Light

Here is the seventh 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 depicts two large trees with brown trunks and green foliage, set against a sky-blue background. To the left, there is a stylised white architectural structure resembling an archway or pavilion, reminiscent of classical or Mughal architecture. The foreground is adorned with bold, colourful flowers-large red and white petals with dark centres-creating a lively and inviting atmosphere.

A limerick starter

In a garden where poppies convene,

With trees tall and temple pristine,

Said the daisy, ‘I vow,

I'm more sacred than thou!’

But the oak rolled its eyes at the scene.

The Dome of Light (in the style of William Wordsworth)

I.
There lies, not far from Brighton’s pebbled shore,
a quiet dome of softened light and stone,
where seagulls wheel and salt winds lightly roar,
and oft the thoughtful go to sit alone.
Upon its wall, in coloured pane confined,
a glass of wonder greets the roaming mind:
red poppies bow, and daisies wide and bright,
beneath tall trees and sky of ocean light.

II.
Young Thomas came, a boy of nine or so,
with sand-stung cheeks and shoes still full of brine.
He’d left the surf and Brighton’s bustling row,
drawn inwards by a hush near the Palace fine.
He climbed the steps, and in the silence deep,
he saw the glass, and there he stood in sleep -
that waking dream when hearts begin to stir,
and all the world grows soft and feels unsure.

III.
For in the glass he saw his mother’s hand,
once firm in his, now ashes by the sea.
She loved the Downs, the flowers, sky, and sand -
and made a garden by the old oak tree.
She’d told him once, ‘Where poppies ever grow,
you’ll find me there, beneath the evening’s glow.’
Now here they bloomed, in crimson glass agleam,
their black-eyed centres caught in ageless dream.

IV.
And there - a gate. No house stood near its path,
no road, no hedge, no stone, no sign of man.
Just open sky, and grass, and ocean’s wrath
tamed into lines of blue within a span.
He traced it with his eyes, this quiet place,
and knew it was not Brighton, yet its grace
felt of the town - of pebbles, gulls, and shore -
yet bore a silence Brighton never wore.

V.
He wept but once, then wiped his face and smiled.
A daisy turned toward him - glass beguiled -
and in that dome, beneath the window’s gaze,
he whispered thanks and walked into the haze.
Back down the steps, and past the salted air,
the beach still roared, the world went unaware.
But in his heart there bloomed a clearer sight:
Brighton, beneath a mother’s dome of light.

Guest: Brighton Beach, Dunedin, New Zealand

Brighton Beach, the fifth of this column’s guest beaches, is situated just 20 kilometers southwest of Dunedin, in the South Island of New Zealand. A rather idyllic settlement, Brighton offers expansive golden sands, gentle surf, and a family-friendly atmosphere as demonstrated by its annual Gala Day right next to the beach. As it happens, I have not only been to the place (diary entry below), but I have just learned that the renowned Kiwi poet James K. Baxter grew up in and around Brighton.

Brighton - with a population of about 1,500 - lies on the Otago peninsula within the city limits of Dunedin. It is connected by coastal road with the Dunedin commuter settlement of Waldronville to the northeast and with Taieri Mouth to the southwest. The settlement of Ocean View lies immediately to the east of Brighton, separated from it by a large bluff (simply known as ‘Big Rock’) which juts towards the ocean. The beach is popular for summer day trips from Dunedin; and, at low tide, visitors can explore tidal pools, and the nearby Otokia Creek which offers a scenic walking track through a nature reserve.

Nearby, the Beachlands Speedway in Waldronville offers stock car and saloon car racing events, while surfers can head to Blackhead Beach. In January, the Brighton Domain (a grassy area just behind the beach) hosts the community’s Gala Day, a family-friendly event featuring over 150 stalls, amusement rides, entertainment, and food vendors. 

The area around Brighton was not the site of permanent settlement by pre-colonial Māori, but was on their regular trails from their homes on Otago Peninsula to their traditional hunting grounds. Archaeological evidence suggests it was the site of seal and sea lion hunting, as well as hunting of moa. Stone tool making may have also taken place around the area. European settlement began in the 1860s. The town was named by an early resident, Hugh Williams, after Brighton in England. Early industries included coal mining, with lignite being plentiful at nearby Ocean View. 

As it happens, I lived in Dunedin for a year or so in 1975 (during my three-year long travels), and went to Brighton on two or three occasions. Here is a diary entry for one of those visits

September 1975: ‘Today I went for a little hitch-hike down a small coast road to a place called Brighton, a small village, and there I found a commotion as the people were standing around because a man in a power boat had been thrown out of it by the rough surf, for hours surf rescue teams and a sea place searched the rocky coast for the body and the tourists built up, cooing people and eager helpers, it all made me very sad. Then, when I got home, I had a phone call from someone who had found my kitten Ginquin because she had gone missing when I was away last week, so that made me happy again.’

While researching this article, I discovered that James K. Baxter grew up in the area. On his first day at Brighton Primary School (now Big Rock Primary School), he burned his hand on a stove, and, later, he used this incident to represent the failure of institutional education. Baxter is considered one of the preeminent writers of his generation, but he was a controversial figure (see Wikipedia), troubled by alcoholism and later converting to Catholicism and establishing a commune. He died aged only 46, in 1972, His Maori wife, Jacquie Sturm, collected and catalogued his prolific output of poems and plays, and managed his literary estate. 

During my travels, I was often to be found trekking along roadsides, hitchhiking, looking for my next ride, heading for the next unknown place. And I’d find myself reciting the same verse of poetry over and over.

Upon the upland road

Ride easy stranger

Surrender to the sky

Your heart of anger

High Country Weather (J. K. Baxter, 1945)

Roy Grace on the seafront

Exactly 20 years ago today (possibly!) Peter James’s first Roy Grace novel was published - Dead Simple. I say ‘possibly’ because while ChatGPT provides 5 May 2005 as the exact date it was first published, other sources offer 6 May, and various other dates, too. Peter James is, of course, a great advocate of Brighton and Hove with many of his much-loved crime novels set in the city.  

‘For me there was only ever one location for Roy Grace to be based,’ he told The Book Trail. my hometown of Brighton. To the outsider, Brighton is a hip, beautiful seaside city, but it has a long history of darkness - right back to its roots as a smugglers village! In Regency days it gained a reputation both as a fashionable bathing resort, but in 1841 when the London-Brighton railway line opened, criminals flooded down from London, finding rich pickings and a much nicer environment than their city! They brought cock-fighting, prostitution, pick-pockets, muggers, smugglers, burglars, and gangs. Simultaneously, with the railway enabling quick access from London, many wealthy Londoners brought their mistresses down here and it became known as a place for “dirty weekends”.

James, born 1948, is the son of Cornelia James, who, famously, was glovemaker to Queen Elizabeth II. He was educated at Charterhouse and Ravensbourne Film School, and spent several years in North America, working as a screenwriter and film producer. He has told interviewers that he briefly worked at the home of Orson Welles. Back in the UK, his literary career took off with the Roy Grace series of novels, selling more than 23 million copies worldwide and making him into a household name among crime fiction enthusiasts. His books are known for their fast-paced plots, unexpected twists, and authentic portrayals of modern policing. The list of awards on his Wikipedia bio is almost as long as the list of published novels! Since 2021, the Roy Grace novels have been successfully adapted for broadcast by ITV - giving Brighton yet more screen time!  

Here is James jogging Grace along Brighton Beach in that first novel, Dead Simple (extract taken from chapter 42).

‘Grace started his weekend the way he liked, with an early-Saturday-morning six-mile run along Brighton and Hove seafront. Today it was again raining hard, but that did not matter; he wore a baseball cap with the peak pulled down low to shield his face, a lightweight tracksuit and brand new Nike running shoes. Powering along at a good, fast pace, he soon forgot the rain, forgot all his cares, just breathed deep, went from cushioned stride to cushioned stride, a Stevie Wonder song, ‘Signed, Sealed, Delivered’, playing over in his head, for some reason.

He mouthed the words as he ran past an old man in a trenchcoat walking a poodle on a leash, and then was passed by two Lycra-clad cyclists on mountain bikes. It was low tide. Out on the mudflats a couple of fishermen were digging lugworms for bait. With the tang of salt on his lips, he ran alongside the promenade railings, on past the burnt-out skeleton of the West Pier, then down a ramp to the edge of the beach itself, where the local fishermen left their day boats dragged up far enough to be safe from the highest of tides. He clocked some of their names - Daisy Lee, Belle of Brighton, Sammy - smelled bursts of paint, tarred rope, putrefying fish as he ran on past the still-closed cafes, amusement arcades and art galleries of the Arches, past a windsurfing club, a boating pond behind a low concrete wall, a paddling pool, then underneath the girdered mass of the Palace Pier - where seventeen years back he and Sandy had had their first kiss, and on, starting to tire a little now, but determined to get to the cliffs of Black Rock before he turned round.’

And here is James, a year or so later, again jogging his detective along the seafront in the second of the series, Looking Good Dead (chapter 34).

‘His route took him straight down to the Kingsway, a wide dual carriageway running along Hove seafront. On one side were houses that would give way in half a mile or so to continuous mansion blocks and hotels - some modern, some Victorian, some Regency - that continued the full length of the seafront. Opposite were two small boating lagoons and a playground, lawns and then the promenade with stretches of beach huts, and the pebble beaches beyond, and just over a mile to the east, the wreck of the old West Pier.

It was almost deserted and he felt as if he had the whole city to himself. He loved being out this early on a weekend, as if he had stolen a march on the world. The tide was out, and he could see the orb of the rising sun already well up in the sky. A man walked, far out on the mudflats, swinging a metal detector. A container ship, barely more defined than a smudge, sat out on the horizon, looking motionless.

A sweeper truck moved slowly towards Grace, engine roaring, its brushes swirling, scooping up the usual detritus of a Friday night, the discarded fast-food cartons, Coke cans, cigarette butts, the occasional needle.

Grace stopped in the middle of the promenade, a short distance from a wino curled up asleep on a bench, and did his stretches, breathing deeply that familiar seafront smell he loved so much - the salty tang of the fresh, mild air, richly laced with rust and tar, old rope and putrid fish - that Brighton’s elder generation of seaside landladies liked referring to in their brochures as ozone.

Then he began his six-mile run, to the start of the Marina and back again.’