29 May 2016 The Homestead, Hailsham, East Sussex

The Stade

We rose early, breakfasted and were out the door about 8.30 this morning, heading for Hastings back westward along the coast. We had briefly discussed over breakfast whether we should start here or with our second destination, but given that English Heritage does not open its treasure chests to the public before 10 at the very earliest, we opted to head to the old Cinq Port.

Half an hour later, having travelled across through absolutely delightful rural rolling country, we came down to the coast at Bexhill and soon found ourselves in a car park right on the shore. Well shod and with a bottle of water in the backpack given the prospect of a hot sunny day, we set off along the waterfront toward the area known as The Stade, the centre of the fishing industry operating in the town, characterised by its tall black weatherboard net shops, most dating from the mid-nineteenth century, but which first appeared here in Tudor times. The fishermen use them to store fishing gear. In the old days, dry storage was especially important when nets and ropes were made of natural materials and would rot if they were left outside. When the sheds were first built, the sea came much closer to the cliff, so each shed was allowed only a small space by the Hastings Corporation.  Each shed has two or three floors and several have cellars.

St Clements Church

We followed a narrow alley down to the beach, covered in pebbles and home to dozens of boats in various state of repair along with bulldozers in the same state, which one can guess are used to drag the fishing vessels up and down the steep beach.

We found the Jerwood Gallery, an interesting prospect given our travel literature mentioned works by Stanley Spencer, Walter Stickert and Augustus John, not yet opened. Instead we headed up through the old town to the thirteenth century St Clements Church but found the doors locked despite the fact it was Sunday morning and the 10 am service was due to start soon. So we headed up through narrow lanes and up steep paths, past residences perched on the side of the cliffs, emerging at the top of the West Hill, from where we enjoyed superb views over the town, both up and down the coast.

Views east from West Hill

I was keen to visit the ruins of the Hastings Castle, hence dragging my poor husband up the hill. Sadly we soon found these to be enclosed in yet another commercial museum operation and decided they were not important enough to us to warrant shelling out valuable change, so we found our way down into the new part of town, duly impressed with the array of shops even if not all open this day. Pressing on through a charming residential area about a green square, we found ourselves back on the shoreline, not too far from the Pier, another destination on our list.

Hastings Pier

I was baffled by the fact that the topside of the Pier seemed so very new while the structure beneath seemed so old, and that the pier seemed so bare compared with those visited over the past month. We soon discovered the answers in an empty room beneath a raised café on the pier, a room full of memories and its history.

The Hastings Pier was designed by renowned Victorian engineer Eugenie Birch and opened in 1872. Birch designed fourteen piers including those at Brighton and Eastbourne. He was quite remarkable; he was only nineteen years old when he was awarded the Silver Isis medal from the Society of Arts for his drawing of a marine steam-engine. His style of design is thought to be directly influenced by his time in India, helping build the East Indian Railway from Calcutta to Delhi.

View west from Hastings Pier

The pier underwent all sorts of trials and tribulations, repairs and restoration. In 1917 fire destroyed the ornate pavilion at the end of the pier. Over the years it fell into disrepair and was closed in 2008. The local community campaigned for the Grade II listed pier to be saved though restoration plans were put on hold when a devastating fire virtually consumed the Pier in October 2010, the Pier now just one major storm away from being destroyed forever. Thankfully the local community refused to give up and after grants and fiddling about with various financial arrangements, the work was commenced.

When the construction began, 90% of the Pier’s superstructure was in ruins, the western pavilion shelter building, badly damaged by the fire and in need of significant restoration work, was the only original building that could possibly be saved.

While in the “history room”, there was an almighty crash and the fire escape door was flung open and off its hinges in a gust. Fortunately no one was hurt but when we left there was a bevy of security guards standing about wondering what to do with the unscheduled situation.

The Battle field 950 years on

By now the sun was shining brightly but the wind was quite cool. We walked back along the promenade, now busy with weekend leisure seekers, both young and old, on past the car park back to the Art Gallery. The existence of an entry fee was no surprise, but alas this was yet another price gouge; we decided we would make do with the art works of the advertised artists we had seen in London galleries. Instead we made our way back again to the car, retrieved the eski and settled onto a bench to enjoy an early lunch and observe the assortment of walkers.

Maypole dancing

Once fed and watered, we set off out of Hastings, offering our parking space to one of those who was driving around and around seeking even the smallest spot. Battle is just six miles in a straight line from Hastings, and is the location of the most famous history changing battle in England’s history. It was here, not in Hastings that the “Battle of Hastings” was fought on 14 October 1066. 

And here another battle was about to take place. We arrived in the town to find it packed out with folk, many dressed in medieval costume. Following signs, we found our way into the Abbey car park, jammed with cars; cars already parked and left, cars being driven around seeking somewhere to park and others manoeuvring into absurdly unsuitable spots. We could see at once there was no room for us, and had trouble even getting around the parking area to the exit, and then the real trouble began.  A barrier was across the exit and the only way out was to cough up £4.50; the machine demanded it. “Just pay it”, I told my fuming husband, “and let’s get out of here”. We found the change, and duly escaped, but my husband could not accept that this was one of those unfair situations that was best let go.

1066 as told by players

And so we drove around for some time, out of the town for some miles, looking for a turnaround place, and then back again, finally finding a spot in a supermarket car park up the far end of town. Back we walked into town, straight to the English Heritage administered Battle Abbey, where Chris showed our membership cards for our entry and demanded a refund for the non-parking fee. The young man at the counter said he thought not but would ask his supervisor, who duly said that this was not procedure and could not be done. The poor boy finally caved in to the almost bully-like pressure my husband put on him, us paying a further 50p and taking possession of the official souvenir book in lieu, and we left him to deal with the repercussions. Procedure versus justice; alas life is not always fair, but we had our justice today. Hopefully the boy will simply plead he was unable to take on the grumpy old man.

The full story of the battle of Hastings is well known to most with an interest in history, and was told yet again in the excellent information centre with aid of cinema and interpretative panels. Further explanation was offered as we walked around the perimeter of the battle field, now a peaceful pastoral scene, sheep grazing and birds a-chirping. Arriving back at the abbey ruins, the abbey founded by William the Conqueror as a memorial to the battle and as an act of atonement for the bloodshed, we happened upon an interactive play for kids explaining the story yet again. We sat on the grass and were hugely entertained as the narrator and two other players from Heathcliff Heroics, and half a dozen small children selected from the audience, played out a hundred years of history. We booed and clapped, and yelled and obliged with sound effects as required, and mostly laughed ourselves silly; such a bonus to the day, especially after the fiasco at the entrance.

 Outside the abbey grounds we spent more time watching may-pole dancers skipping about with streams of ribbon, much colour and gaiety, and again fun had by all. The market place was busy with stalls hawking goods that might have been around 950 years ago, and others offering services that might also have existed then. 

By the time we found our way back to the car, we were in a far better frame of mind than that on arrival. The drive home across the countryside was just as lovely as earlier, soon finding ourselves back to our campsite, our fellow campers having beaten us home. It had been a good day after all.

Better still, Chris reports he is once more feeling himself. But then I had guessed that by his restored feistiness in dealing with the no-parking issue at Battle.