Beside myself at the seaside

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Will beautiful coastal towns like Scarborough rediscover the status and glory they once enjoyed?

When I visited Scarborough a few weeks ago, I was struck by the size and grandeur of the buildings lining The Esplanade, the main seafront road that spans the South Cliff where I was staying. The properties have spectacular views out to sea and as with most resort towns, some of the houses were well looked after, while others were in need of a fair bit of TLC.

Scarbrough is said to be Britain’s first proper seaside resort, thanks to a woman called Thomasin Farrer who in 1626 discovered a mineral-laden spring trickling down the South Cliff. In 1660, a book written by Dr Robert Wittie extolling the health-giving virtues of this spring led to an influx of people seeking cures for their various ailments. This in turn led to the first ‘Spaw House’, built in the early 1700s on the site of the current Scarborough Spa building, and soon wealthy families from as far away as London were travelling up north to take in the sea air, bathe, and benefit from the medicinal properties of this now famous spring water. Scarbrough became a very fashionable place to be seen and was one of the first to use bathing machines, mini beach huts on wheels that could be rolled into the sea so that the modesty of the well-to-do swimmers could be preserved as they entered the water.

When I trained as a journalist in the early 1990s, I was sent to the south coast town of Hastings in East Sussex on a six-month residential training course. My trip to Scarbrough reminded me of my time there, both towns having that air of shabby elegance about them. I knew nothing about Hastings back then, except that the famous Battle of 1066 was named after it.

I found it unexpectedly beautiful, perched on the edge of the English Channel with glorious ocean views from the wide boulevard that spanned the width of the town. And yet, there was an air of abject neglect that hung around the huge and very beautiful Georgian, Victorian and Edwardian buildings, a contrast which was difficult to reconcile in my young head. The term ‘faded grandeur’ could not have been more apt, and I was genuinely saddened to see these beautiful pieces of architecture lapsing into dereliction.

You could tell that this was once a most fashionable seaside destination. It was the Napoleonic Wars (1803-1815) that were instrumental in bringing to an end the tradition of the ‘Grand Tour’, a ‘coming of age’ trip made by English society’s affluent youth who travelled down through Europe and into Italy. This, along with the expansion of the steam railway network, meant that these bright young things searching for fashionable destinations in which to be seen landed in coastal resorts like Hastings. Hastings, which had been a small fishing town until the early 1800s, expanded rapidly, and imposing town houses, along with assembly rooms, dance halls, coffee shops, shopping arcades, theatres and recreation parks began to be built to cater for this influx of the rich and influential, whose bathing machines began lining up on the beach.

The resort thrived until well into the 20th century, and one of the most striking buildings is where we had our training school, Marine Court, otherwise known as The Ship due to the fact its Art Deco design was based on the recently launched Cunard liner, the Queen Mary. The white building, which at the time of opening in 1938 was the largest residential apartment block in the country, can be seen for miles around, and now, like more than 500 other buildings in Hastings, has Grade II listed status. Our digs were round the corner in Warrior Square, a beautiful green park surrounded on all sides by Georgian and Victorian town houses, most of which were badly run down.

The demise of these once splendid resorts is attributed in the most part to the rise of affordable foreign travel. I haven’t been back to Hastings for years, but a quick look via the trickery that is Street View on Googles Maps shows that most of the buildings are in a much better condition than when I was there. There is evidence of scaffolding on many, suggesting they are being regenerated, which must be a good sign. Will these beautiful coastal towns rediscover the glory and status they once enjoyed?

Contact me via my webpage at countrymansdaughter.com. Follow me on Twitter @countrymansdaug.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 24th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 22nd November 2023.

Babet’s seaside frenzy

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Evidence of Storm Babet’s displeasure could be seen all over Scarborough the next day.
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There are hundreds of memorial benches along Scarborough’s seafront.

I was fortunate a few weekends ago to spend a couple of days in a friend’s flat on the Esplanade in Scarborough which overlooks the South Bay, just above Scarborough Spa. Unfortunately, it happened to coincide with the weekend that Storm Babet decided to visit too.

The reason for my trip was to go and see a long-awaited concert at the Spa. My friend and I had planned a gentle afternoon walk on the beach followed by fish and chips overlooking the ocean view before heading to the show.

Well, very grumpy Babet had other ideas, didn’t she, descending on the town and causing absolute mayhem wherever she went. She whipped the sea into a boiling frenzy, sending huge waves crashing over the wall in front of the Spa, battering the building and flooding the car park. The concert was cancelled.

Obviously, we also abandoned the beach walk, but were determined to have our fish and chips. We headed out, opting to take the car as the shop was a fair bit away, and by then, Babet was at the peak of her incandescent rage. Away from the sea front, we were protected somewhat by the buildings, but as we turned the corner back on to the Esplanade, Babet powered up her giant wind machine and pointed it right at us. We had to park quite a way from the flat, and it was a battle to stay upright when we got out of the car. I hung on to my friend for dear life for fear of literally being swept off my feet. I don’t think I have ever felt wind like it, and the deafening roar of the sea just below us made any kind of conversation impossible. Once we’d battled our way back inside, we felt like we’d just survived a polar expedition. It meant we enjoyed our fish and chips even more from the safety of our warm and cosy cocoon as we listened to furious Babet battering the windows and brawling along the sea front.

By the next morning, Babet had grown bored with Scarborough and moved on, but had left plenty of evidence of her displeasure, with dozens of broken branches littering paths and a trail of sandy scum along the seafront roads. She’d even tossed a van onto its side on Marine Drive. I was glad to see the back of her.

I took a walk around the Spa gardens, determined to get some sea air into my lungs and grateful that the wind and rain had subsided. What struck me most on my ramble was just how many memorial benches there are. It is understandable that this stirring view out to the North Sea is a favourite for many, as it is undeniably beautiful, and seeing the rows and rows of benches, each with their own little memorial plaque and moving personal dedication to whomever had passed away, made me feel just a wee bit sad for those left behind. But when we lose a loved one, we all appreciate a special place go to remember them, and a bench is a fitting way to do it, especially when it is placed in a favourite spot.

My dad was not a big fan of such benches though because, although he acknowledged it was a lovely idea, he declared that it might not occur to people that the bench would need to be maintained and kept sound, especially if it is in a popular public place. Who would repaint it when needed and who would pay for its ongoing maintenance in the years to come? He had seen too many neglected benches that had fallen into disrepair and gone rotten.

Scarborough Borough Council, however, have already solved that problem, and have a system in place where you can order a bench with a plaque which they will install, and part of the cost goes towards future maintenance. No doubt they receive so many requests that establishing a formal system was inevitable.

Another favourite spot for memorial benches is undoubtedly Sutton Bank near Thirsk, arguably one of the finest views in England. It is one of my all-time favourite places, as it was for my late sister, Tricia, who requested that some of her ashes be scattered there.

We haven’t gone as far as buying her a bench though. I’m not sure Dad would have approved.

Read more at countrymansdaughter.com. Follow me on Twitter @countrymansdaug

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 10th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 8th November 2023.