30 May 2016 - The Homestead, Hailsham, East Sussex

Today was a bank holiday and all sensible people who do not need to grab the rare occasion to escape the mundane work and domestic grind, should stay quietly at home and let them get on with it. Alas, not us. Out we went into the madness of the day, facing the frustrations: too many people, too many cars and not enough reasonable parking. But this is our refrain every day; it was just a little louder today.

We had planned to get away super early this morning but slept late.  It was a little after 9 am by the time we drove out the brick gates of our camp, heading directly south toward the coast, then heading a little back to Pevensey, not too far from where we had parked up to eat our lunch on the day we travelled down from Canterbury. Then I had not understood the significance of this spot, or rather, the beach a mile south, where William the Conqueror and his army came ashore to invade the country. 

Today as we drove through the small town a mile inland, we passed impressive walls of a bygone castle, one now in English Heritage hands and all part of the first Norman king’s defences. Further exploration however was left for another day or another set of tourists; we turned westward and drove along the coast toward Eastbourne which we found, from our vantage point in the vehicle, to be quite delightful and less frantic than Hastings. But then it was still early in the day; many holiday trippers were still en route or enjoying a bit of a lie-in.

Like most of the seaside resorts along this south coast, their life as such began after 1840 when the Brighton, Lewes and Hastings Rail Company built the rail line from Lewes to the sea. Even this early in the day, parking spots along the waterfront were as scarce as hen’s teeth, so we drove on as planned, hugging the coast road as far as possible, ascending the South Downs to Beachey Head.

Here the spectacular chalk cliffs rise to 575 feet high, making for a popular suicide spot. The beautiful countryside all about is farmed, but is also criss-crossed with walking tracks, accessible by far too few Pay Station car parks. We stopped briefly to enjoy the views back to the east over Eastbourne, but otherwise pressed on, not having planned to walk through the countryside today.

Further west, we pulled into a car park already busy with cars and a tour bus, attracted by the oak leaf symbol of the National Trust; free parking for us!! This was Birling Gap, where the cliffs are lower and the pebble beach can be accessed by a staircase. The views both east and west were superb, and I took what should have been some beautiful photos, however now as I compile the day’s report, I find that they have been wiped from my camera!

We drove on again, through the delightful villages of East Dean and Friston, then back toward the coast and down over the Cuckmere River which looked such an attractive spot for walking. We passed through the cliff top seaside towns of Seaford, Newhaven, Peachhaven and Rottingdean, none particularly appealing, although the last should have been our parking spot and we should have caught the bus from there. In fact, later research has revealed that there is a Park &Ride for Brighton, a little to the north of the city, however today being a Bank Holiday, was probably the same as a Sunday, and our experience of Park & Ride services so far in this country suggests that there would have been no service today. However for all that, I should explain that our plan was to drive the entire distance into Brighton along the coast, and then continue beyond in the same manner if time allowed. Public Transport had not been a consideration for today.

It was a little before 11 am when we arrived in the busy centre of Brighton, having been greatly impressed with the “fortressed” harbour to the east, housing the marina. We followed the large “P” signs about the city, pleased to see that the city fathers were aware that there were some who pursued private transport, and duly arrived at a large parking building where we soon found a suitable spot. Descending the three floors, we found the machine with directions, and prices. Chris said, “Had I known the cost of parking here, I would not have driven in”. Given that we were never able to gauge what parking elsewhere in the city would have cost, further comment cannot be made, except for the fact that our three hours spent in the city cost us £14 (about NZ$28). Say no more!

With lunch extracted from the eski and stowed in the back pack, we headed out into the city to explore. The first oddity was a queue of folk strung out for three blocks; we asked what they were queuing for, wondering if we should join them. Apparently the author David Walliams was in store signing his latest work. Hard copy books are obviously not dead yet!

St Nicholas Church

After purchasing a map from a rather dodgy type who tried to short change Chris, we walked up the town to the Church of St Nicholas, where my great great great grandfather, Jeremiah Bevege, married his wife, Elizabeth Callon, on 31 January 1810. We easily found the church, it is well marked on the map, but apart from announcing the times of services, and the dates and times of concerts to be held through the summer months to come, there was no information concerning the church and its history, and the doors were firmly shut. I was very disappointed, to say the least. 

More successful was our search for Ship Street, the dwelling place of my great great grandfather’s brother, Joseph Bevege who, with his wife Isabella, emigrated to Australia but returned, preferring life in Brighton to that DownUnder. They left James and his wife to stay on and suffer the hazards of life in strange parts, eventually begetting my paternal line. 

Ship Street is on the edge of the Lanes, and is a Grade II listed building  as so many in the area are. I had a list of other addresses to seek out, all occupied by Jeremiah and Elizabeth and / or their progeny, but the crowds were stifling and Brighton was already proving to be a place to escape rather than explore.

Despite that, we did wander through the famous lanes, finding most of those we explored occupied by jewellers. The remainder were occupied by cafes and the like. Certainly these narrow rabbit-warren-like ways are quaint and should be compulsory for the Brighton visitor, but probably better not done on a bank holiday.

The Royal Pavilion

Then we headed for the Royal Pavilion, having no intention to enter, merely to wander around the exterior to examine the eccentricity of the structure. We kept to the plan although did find a spot on a wall to eat our lunch, highly entertained by several squirrels who ran hither and thither all about us. 

To add insult to injury, we headed for the Pier after lunching, to visit the world famous ultra-tacky Palace Pier, that completed in 1899. There is everything here that we have seen on the other seaside piers over the past month, plus an entire array of fairground rides. The noise and colourful cacophony was all too much for me, although I did enjoy the quite few minutes we sat half way along the pier enjoying Magnum ice-creams, listening to gentle music of bygone years.

I was curious to understand the structures further west, and it was not until I spent some time later researching this to discover the following:

Views from the Pier

The bird’s nest of tangled and twisted metal standing alone out from the shore is not a strange sculpture, but the remains of Brighton’s architecturally superior West Pier built in 1866 which was damaged during World War II. It fell into disrepair, suffering partial collapse in 2002 and two separate fires in 2003, followed by further collapse.

The incredibly tall tower offering no obvious purpose is the work in progress of a 183 foot viewing mast, the i360, originally scheduled to open in 2012, obviously delayed for some time in the future.

I was happy to consider Brighton “done”; the crowds were just too large. We returned to the car, settled our tariff and exited the traffic jammed town. 

We finally resumed our original plan and drove further west, on through the industrial port of Shoreham, situated on a sheltered lagoon-like inlet, on through to Worthing which exuded a quiet charm unlike Brighton. We pulled into a spot by the beach and sat on a bench with cups of coffee considering our route ahead. Here the beach was still pebbles, still steep and still requiring a great number of ugly groynes to keep it from being eaten up by the unpredictable force of the sea. The tidal range along this coast has been most impressive. At Whitstable the largest known range is 5.34 metres, here at Shoreham it is 6.9 metres; these variations make for strange shorelines. 

Our homeward route took us north of the A27 we will travel in two days’ time, across the rolling hills of the South Downs, over beautiful English countryside, through charming towns and villages such as Hurstpierpoint, Lewes and finally back to our lovely little camp.