Exploring the fog and dark side of a day at the English seaside.
It’s not surprising that the English seaside has been rich hunting grounds for photographers, artists and writers.
The seaside is one of the great galleries for watching the English at play. It offers up all those English clichés – eccentric, obdurate, faded glamour, nostalgic, at times downright weird, kitsch mixed with Victoriana, the old and new. It’s all there in a myriad of customs and habits of a day at the seaside, passing childhood memory and traditions down the generations.
There’s the seasonal atmosphere of seaside towns; from the bustle of a hot summer’s day to the abandoned, dilapidated feel of a stormy grey winter day. Then there are English types and characters that only seem to exist, thrive, wandering up and down the promenades and sitting on the benches.
But mixed in is the threat of violence and seedy menace creeping in underneath the piers and unfolding through the old smugglers’ lanes. There’s the mods and rockers rioting on the beaches, the drunken stag-dos spilling into fighting, the baby-faced grin of Pinkie – the vicious seaside murderer in Brighton Rock, the sinister endless riffs of the fairground organs; ghosts drifting underneath the piers (another English invention), the murder mystery in the faded hotel, the B&Bs straight out of Tales of the Unexpected.
One spring day we were in Brighton. It was bright and sunny but we could see a bank of fog hovering at the sea end of the streets. The beach was a border between two worlds: the bright, sunny lanes of Brighton on one side and the other side the clammy shroud of sea fog. The pier disappeared and ghostly figures walked the beach as wreaths of fog drifted round them.
It was other-worldly and eerie.
So I wrote a macabre piece of flash fiction about it for The Wild Hunt, an online literary magazine that celebrates the weird, surreal, the other, and imaginary worlds. You can read it here!
Great photos Alex. I’m intrigued by your story which I’ll take a look at now…
LikeLike
Thanks – photos taken by a rubbish mobile but I think the low tech suited the atmosphere. Hope you enjoyed the story.
LikeLike
Love the images of the pier disappearing into the fog – a very misty embrace! (and yes, the mods and the rockers were the first Brighton memories that occurred to me!)
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Aubrey – it was a surreal wander through the fog on the pier. Watching mods and rockers battle in that kind of sea fog on the beach would have been a strange and mythical sight.
LikeLike
That was beautifully written. Including the piece of flash fiction. Brighton holds a sizeable chunk of place in my heart and when I read this I found myself back in time to when I was there.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks for the kind comments and I have happy Brighton memories as well. Always love going back although it’s rare these days.
LikeLiked by 1 person
For me too. Now that I leave the country it will be a bright bohemian blob in my memories of Britain.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I really enjoyed your story, it and this piece were beautifully written, which is what I have come to expect from you. I have many memories of this kind of thing; I think all Brits do, it’s part of our national psyche…but you summed it up rather well here- thanks 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Iain! It is indeed in our DNA and culture. There is a rich vein of travel writing by foreigners and tourists coming to Britain but I’ve never read any impressions on the seaside. Wonder what they would make of it!
LikeLike
Congrats on the publishing @ Wildhuntmag Alex, going to read it now. Deliciously creepy photo of a rollercoaster in fog btw.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks SI – it was a creepy zone to wander yet only a short walk away it was bright sunshine. This actually made it all the more creepy! Enjoy the writing!
LikeLike