“Kind, cheerful, merry Dr. Brighton.” Thackeray’s testimonial is as apt to-day as when it was written, but the doctor is not one of the traditional type. Here is no bedside manner and no misplaced sympathy, in fact he is rather a hardhearted old gentleman to those patients who are really ill in mind or body and his remedies are of the “hair of the dog that bit you” type.

Londoners take Brighton as a matter of course and as Londoners are rarely enthusiastic. It takes a Frenchman to give the splendid line of buildings which forms the finest front in the world the admiration that is certainly its due. When one has had time to dissect the great town, appreciation is keener; there are several Brightons; there is a town built on a cliff, another with spacious lawns on the sea level, and a third, the old Brighton, bounded by the limits of the original fishing village, and, with all its brilliance, having a distinctly briny smell as of fish markets and tarred rope and sun-baked seaweed when you are near the shingle. This last is nearly an ever-present scent, for the sun is seldom absent summer or winter; in fact it is when the days are shortest that Brighton is at its best; The clear brilliance of the air when the Capital is full of fog and even the Weald between is covered with a cold pall of mist, makes the south side of the Downs another climate. Richard Jeffries, almost as great a town hater as Cobbet, has a good word for Brighton. “Let nothing cloud the descent of those glorious beams of sunlight which fall at Brighton” (referring to its treelessness). “Watch the pebbles on the beach; the foam runs up and wets them, almost before it can slip back the sunshine has dried them again. So they are alternately wetted and dried. Bitter sea and glowing light, dry as dry that describes the place. Spain is the country of sunlight, burning sunlight, Brighton is a Spanish town in England, a Seville.”

The history of Brighton is the history of Piccadilly, but although the Prince Regent is usually credited with the discovery of the town, this title to fame must be given to a doctor of Lewes named Russel, who wrote a book on the virtues of sea water as applied to the person. This was published in 1750, and from that time must be dated the rise of England’s first sea resort, for almost immediately patients eager for the new cure came thronging from London by post-chaise and family coach, and the doctor soon removed from his native town to attend them. The “cure” became the mode, and in 1783, when the Prince made his first visit, the fortune of the town was assured.

After a hundred years that ended with the Mid-Victorians the exclusiveness of Brighton gave way to the excursion train, and though still a fashionable place, it is now more than ever London-by-the-sea and caters with true courtliness for coster and duke.

Brighton was never a “steps to the sea” for anywhere but London, and its beginnings as a small but independent fishing settlement are very remote; according to some seventeenth century writers it once boasted walls and upwards of two thousand inhabitants, but through the depredations of the sea, it had dwindled to a mere hamlet, and cut off by the Downs and away from all the usual channels of communication, the self-sufficiency of the place must have received a rude shock when the first visitors arrived, but natives of the coast are notoriously adaptable and know a “sure thing.” The following account written in 1766 shows how quickly the town was preparing for its great future.

“Brighthelmstone, in the County of Sussex, is distant from London 57 miles, is a small, ill-built town, situate on the sea coast, at present greatly resorted to in the summer time by persons labouring under various disorders for the benefit of bathing and drinking sea water, and by the gay and polite on account of the company which frequent it at that season. Until within a few years it was no better than a mere fishing town, inhabited by fishermen and sailors, but through the recommendation of Dr. Russel, and by the means of his writing in favour of sea water, it is become one of the principal places in the kingdom for the resort of the idle and dissipated, as well as the diseased and infirm.”

“It contains six principal streets, five (East Street, Black Lion Street, Ship Street, Middle Street, West Street) lie parallel with each other, and are terminated by the sea. The sixth, North Street, running along the ends of the other five, from the assembly house almost to the church. The church, which is a very ancient structure, is situate at a small distance from the town, upon an eminence, from which there is an exceedingly fine view of the sea, and in the churchyard is a monument erected to the memory of Captain Nicholas Tattersell, who assisted King Charles II in his escape after the Battle of Worcester.

“The house in which the King was concealed is kept by a publican who has hung the King’s head for his sign. The church is a rectory, and the Rev. Mr. Mitchell is the present incumbent; besides the church there are three other places of worship, one for Presbyterians, another for Quakers, and a third for Methodists, which last is lately erected at the expense of the Countess of Huntingdon adjoining her house, through which there is a communication. There are two assembly rooms, which are opened on different nights, one kept by Mr. Shergold, and the other by Mr. Hicks, who also keeps the coffee-house. The place on which the company usually walk in the evening is a large field near the sea, called the Stean, which is kept in proper order for that purpose, and whereon several shops with piazzas and benches therein are erected, as is also a building to perform in when the weather will permit. There is also a small battery towards the sea. At a little distance from the town is a mineral spring which is said to be a very fine one though little used. Upon the hills near the church the Isle of Wight is frequently seen on a clear day. About the town are very pleasant Downs for the company to ride on, the air of which is accounted extremely wholesome, and about eight miles from Brighthelmstone on the Downs is one of the finest prospects in the world called Devil’s Dyke.”

The literary associations of Brighton are many and various. Charles Lamb lived for some years is Sussex House, Ship Street. Pastón House was the home of William Black before he removed to Rottingdean. Ainsworth produced a goodly portion of his historical novels at N, Arundel Terrace, and at 4 Percival Terrace, Herbert Spencer spent the last years of his life and here died. The name of Holyoake, the social reformer, is connected with Eastern Lodge, Camelford Street. A list of such names might be extended indefinitely, and if the celebrities who have been regular visitors were mentioned the record would be endless, though it is said that Robert Browning never entered the town. Dr. Johnson stayed in West Street, when the Thrales lived there; he bathed with the rest and, unlike the rest, abused the surroundings in his usual manner, declaring that a man would soon be so overcome by the dismalness of the Downs that he would hang himself if he could but find a tree strong enough to bear his weight!

Every Dickensian would like to identify the house which the creator of Paul Dombey had in mind when he painted the inimitable portrait of Mrs. Pipchin, “ogress and child queller,” whose castle “was in a steep bye street.... where the small front gardens had the property of producing nothing but marigolds, whatever was sown in them; and where snails were constantly discovered holding on to the street doors.... In the winter time the air couldn’t be got out of the Castle, and in the summer time it couldn’t be got in.... It was not naturally a fresh smelling house; and in the window of the front parlour, which was never opened, Mrs. Pipchin kept a collection of plants in pots, which imparted an earthy flavour of their own to the establishment.”

Little Paul afterwards went to Dr. Blimber’s, which “was a mighty fine house fronting the sea”; this has been identified as being on or near the site now occupied by the Metropole. Thackeray, whose verdict on the town is quoted at the head of this chapter, laid several scenes among these squares and crescents and gave to one of his greatest characters the town’s best known feature as a title.

The extraordinary and incongruous building in the Steyne known as the Pavilion was built by Nash at the instigation of George IV. The architect cannot be entirely blamed for the monstrosity, the general idea and “style” was no doubt conceived by his patron. This is how the Pavilion impressed Cobbett: “Take a square box the sides of which are three feet and a half and the height a foot and a half. Take a large Norfolk turnip, cut of the green of the leaves, leave the stalk nine inches long, tie these round with a string three inches from the top, and put the turnip on the middle of the top of the box. Then take four turnips of half the size, treat them in the same way, and put them on the corners of the box. Then take a considerable number of bulbs, of the Crown-Imperial, the narcissus, the hyacinth, the tulip, the crocus and others; let the leaves of each have sprouted to about an inch more or less according to the size of the bulb; put all these pretty promiscuously but pretty thickly on top of the box. Then stand off and look at your architecture.”

The building now belongs to the town, and the stables (The “Dome”) form a very fine concert hall. The adjacent buildings, all part of the Pavilion, are used as Museum, Library and Picture Gallery. The residence of Mrs. Fitzherbert still overlooks the Steyne, up the steps of this house Barrymore drove his carriage and pair to the great detriment of both house and equipage. The Y.M.C.A. now occupy the premises. One of the best descriptions of the Regent’s Brighton is in “Rodney Stone.”

It was about 1826 that the greatest growth in building took place; from about this period date those magnificent squares, Regency and Brunswick in Hove, and Sussex Square in Kemp Town.

The Steyne is now a pleasant public garden; it was originally the Stane or rock upon which fishing nets were dried. St. Peters Church at the north end was built in 1824 by Barry, and for its period is not unpleasing. In Church Street is the only ancient church in Brighton; it is dedicated to St. Nicholas; and was to a great extent rebuilt in 1853. Note its fine gilt screen and the Norman font with a representation of the Lords Supper and certain scenes connected with the sea, but too archaic to be actually identified. In a chantry chapel is the Wellington memorial, an ornate cross eighteen feet high. The Duke was a worshipper here while a pupil of the then vicar, and the restoration of the church was a part of the memorial scheme. Captain Tattersell, who was instrumental in the escape of Charles II, is buried in the churchyard and a monument sets forth

“When Charles ye great was nothing but a breath,
This valiant soul stept between him and death.”

Here is also a memorial to Phoebe Hessel, who fought as a private in the fifth regiment of foot at the Battle of Fontenoy and died here aged 108.

There are several fine churches which have been built during recent years, including St. Paul’s in West Street; every excursionist knows this, and to thousands it is the only church in Brighton, being on the direct route from the station to the sea. St. Martin’s and St. Bartholomew’s are open all day and are well worth a visit. Trinity Chapel was the scene for six years of the incumbency of F.W. Robertson, and another preacher of more recent fame, R.J. Campbell, was for a time the Minister of Union Street Congregational Church.

The old Chain Pier was, next to the Pavilion, the most distinctive feature of the town; built in 1823 and paved with stone, it was historic as the first pleasure pier. Swept away by a storm on the night of December 4, 1896, old Brightonians must have felt that something had gone from their lives when they looked from their windows next morning.

One of the “institutions” of Brighton is the Aquarium; it contains a very good collection of Marine exhibits, not as much appreciated as they should be. Of late years extra attractions have had to be added and concerts and other entertainments help to keep the glass tanks and their occupants popular.

Kemp Town, named after its speculative builder, has been but briefly alluded to; it is to many the most attractive part of the great town, rising at the east end to a respectable height above the sea and with fine views of the Channel. Unlike its parent it has no “history” whatever. King Edward, during the last years of his life, took a liking to this part of Brighton, and in his honour the district was officially renamed “King’s Cliff,” but the new style does not seem to have become popular. On the other hand Hove, with its “Lawns” and imposing squares, has a past; the following note appears in the Gentleman’s Magazine dated 1792: “Hoove, by some spelled Hove or Hova, lies on the road between Brighthelmstone and New Shoreham, about two miles from the former and four from the latter. It was one of the many lordships in the county of Sussex which the Conqueror’s survey records to have been the estate of Godwin Earl of Kent, in Edward the Confessor’s time, and which after his death passed to his eldest son Harold, who being afterwards King, was slain by the Norman Duke, who seized his lands and gave them to his followers. Long after this time, this place was as large and as considerable a village as the county could boast; but it is reduced, by the encroachment of the sea at different times, to about a dozen dwellings. This place gives title to a prebend in the cathedral of Chichester; and the living, which is a vicarage united to Preston, is in the gift of the prebendary. Divine service is only performed in the church once in six weeks, and, by appearance of the ruinous state in which it at present is, that will be soon entirely neglected.” This church, dedicated to St. Andrew, has been practically rebuilt, though some of the ancient features have been retained. Near the chancel door is the grave of Charlotte Elliot, the hymn writer. Admiral Westphal, one of the officers of Nelson’s “Victory,” is also interred here. The new parish church All Saints is of great magnificence and has cost about L50,000.

The western end of Hove, if we may believe some experts, has claims to a higher antiquity than any other locality between Pevensey and Bosham. Aldrington, as this district is called, is conjectured to have been the Roman “Portus Adurni,” of which Shoreham would then be the lineal descendant. On the other hand the identification of this mysterious place with any part of Sussex has been seriously challenged. The estuary of the Adur then extended to Bramber. A glance at the two-inch Ordnance map of the district will make the old course of the river quite clear. In Hove Park is the famous “grey wether,” called the “Goldstone.” This used to lay in Goldstone Bottom between the railway and the Downs. Inspecting antiquaries proved such a nuisance that the farmer on whose land it lay determined to bury it out of sight; this almost superhuman task was performed in 1833 and the stone remained in the ground until 1902 when it was exhumed.

Preston, the northern extension of Brighton, originally a small place on the London road, has a pleasant park from which the suburb takes its name. The one object of interest to the tourist is the Early English church which has some remarkable frescoes; these represent the murder of St. Thomas of Canterbury, with Our Lord revealing himself to the martyr; on the opposite side St. Michael is shown weighing a soul. In the nave is another picture of the nativity. A destructive fire, a few years ago, greatly damaged these and also the fabric of the church. Careful repair, however, has to a great extent restored the building to its original condition The altar consists of a seventeenth century tomb. The old font was taken away to St. Saviour’s Church, but has been very properly replaced.

Brighton is not the best centre for the exploration of the central Down country. If a coast town is chosen Worthing is much better; from there the real country is quickly reached, although the hills themselves are farther away. But there are one or two excursions which obviously belong to Brighton, the most important being that to the Devil’s Dyke and Poynings. A rather dull walk of over five miles from the Steyne, retrieved during the last two by fine views on the left hand, will bring us to the old stone posts labelled “The Dyke.” This road passes an interesting Museum of Ornithology collected by the late E.T. Booth. Here are to be seen cases of wild birds in their natural surroundings planned with greatest care by Mr. Booth, who gave a lifelong study to the habits and environment of British birds. On the occasions on which the writer has visited the collection no other persons were present, and few residents seem to have heard of it.

Trains run at frequent intervals from Brighton Central to the Dyke and public conveyances from the Aquarium. The excursion should not be missed, though the visitor who is a stranger must be prepared for a regrettable amount of waste paper and broken bottles left about to mar what would otherwise be one of the finest scenes in the Downs. Refreshment stalls and tea gardens help to vulgarize the surroundings, though the added desecration of aerial railway across the Dyke has been removed.

The local legend is almost too well known to bear repetition. The Sussex native has a dislike, probably derived from his remote ancestors, to refer directly to the Devil, so the story has it that the “Poor Man,” becoming enraged at the number of churches built in the Weald, conceived the idea of drowning them by letting in the sea; he had half finished the great trench, being forced (like his remote prototype) to work at night, when an old lady, hearing the noise of digging, put her candle in a sieve and looked out of the window. The Devil took it for sunrise and disappeared, a very simple fiend indeed!

The view from the edge of the escarpment with Poynings just below to the right is very beautiful; away to the south-west is an eminence called “Thunder’s Barrow,” probably Thor’s Barrow; at the lower end of the Dyke is the Devil’s Punch Bowl, here are two more barrows “The Devil’s Grave” and “The Devil’s Wife’s Grave.”

A visit to Poynings (locally “Punnings”) should be combined with this excursion; this is a really pleasant and, as yet, unspoilt village. One feels nervous for its future, but the good taste of the inhabitants, combined with the formidable barrier of the hills, will, it is hoped, prevent it ever becoming a mere congeries of tea gardens and like amenities. The fine cruciform church has a central tower and is Early Perpendicular; built by Baron de Poynings in the late fourteenth century it has many interesting details. Note the old thurible used as an alms box. The great south window was brought here from Chichester Cathedral. There is some good carved wood in the pulpit and rails. The ruins of Poynings Place, the one-time home of the Fitz-Rainalts, Barons of Poynings, may still be seen.

Newtimber Hill immediately east of the village is rarely visited and therefore is not rendered unsightly in the manner of the Dyke. The view is equally good and the Downs westward appear to even better advantage from this outlying point. A return could be made from Newtimber to Pycombe, once famous for its manufacture of shepherds crooks “Pycoom Hooks.” The village lies in the pass by which the London-Brighton road crosses the Downs. The old church has a twelfth century leaden font and a double piscina and is one of the highest in Sussex, being situated 400 feet above the sea. This walk could very well be extended to include Wolstonbury Hill and Hurstpierpoint.

The road running west from Poynings at the foot of the Downs would bring us to Fulking where is a memorial fountain to John Ruskin erected by a brewer. Another two miles along it is Edburton, an unspoilt village under the shadow of Trueleigh Hill; the fine Early English church has a pulpit and altar rails presented by Archbishop Laud and a leaden font of the early twelfth century. Nine miles north of Brighton by road, and about half-way between the two London highways, either of which may be taken, lies the large village or small town locally called Hurst and by the world at large, more romantically, Hurstpierpoint. The situation, with its wide and beautiful views over the surrounding country from Leith Hill and Blackdown to the ever present line of the Downs on the south, make it one of the pleasantest places in Sussex for a prolonged stay. St. Johns College is one of the Woodard schools in connexion with Lancing foundation (see page 103); it is a fine building with an imposing chapel. The church is modern and was designed by Sir Charles Barry. In the south transept is an effigy of an unknown crusader and another of a knight in the north aisle. A brass in the chapel commemorates the fact that the martyred Bishop Hannington was born and held a curacy here. There are a number of memorials to the Campions, local squires and present owners of Danny; one of them runs thus:

“Reader, bewail thy country’s loss in the death of Henry Campion. In his life admire a character most amiable and venerable, of the Friend and Gentleman, and Christian.”

Danny is a beautiful specimen of the Elizabethan mansion at its best; it is built under the shadow of Wolstonbury Hill, one of the finest in shape of the outstanding bastions of the Downs, on the top of which is a circular camp with several pits within the vallum. The twin woods on the slope of the hill are locally known as “Campion’s Eyebrows,” they are well seen in the accompanying sketch.

Hurstpierpoint may also be easily visited from Hassocks Station (2 miles), from which we may also start on the last stage of our return to Lewes. One mile east of the station is Keymer, a pleasant little place with an uninteresting church which has been practically rebuilt. Ditchling, a mile further, has a very fine Transitional and Early English church which will repay a visit. The nave is severely plain in the older style; the chancel shows some untouched and very beautiful workmanship. The east window is Geometrical, as are several in the nave, others are Decorated and, in the transept, Perpendicular. Note the old font which was evidently at one time coloured; also the aumbry, piscina and sedile. The chalk arches are finely worked. In the village are several old timber houses, including one said to have been inhabited by Anne of Cleves.

A walk of about two miles past Wick Farm or by Westmeston, over half a mile farther, brings the traveller to the summit of this section of the Downs Ditchling Beacon (813 feet). Until more accurate surveys were made this was supposed to be the highest point of the whole range.

“This most commanding down is crowned with the grassy mound and trenches of an ancient earthwork, from whence there is a noble view of hill and plain. The inner slope of the green fosse is inclined at an angle pleasant to recline on, with the head just below the edge, in the summer sunshine. A faint sound as of a sea heard in a dream a sibilant ’sish, sish’ passes along outside, dying away and coming again as a fresh wave of the wind rushes through the bennets and the dry grass.” (Richard Jefferies.)

The views from Ditchling, though fine, are not nearly the best, for there is a tameness in the immediate country to the north. A glorious walk, however, can be taken by keeping along the edge past “Black Cap,” the clump of trees about two miles east, and then either over or round Mount Harry to Lewes. Those who must see all the settlements of men should proceed downwards to Westmeston, a beautiful little place embowered in trees, some of which are magnificent in shape and size, particularly the great ash at the east of the church which is literally overshadowed by the Beacon. The building is uninteresting and the mural paintings dating from the twelfth century, which were discovered about fifty years ago, have not been preserved. It was near here that Baring Gould speaks of seeing the carcasses of two horses and three calves hanging in a elm; on inquiry he was informed that this was considered “lucky for cattle.”

About a mile and a half north and two miles east of Ditchling village is the lonely hamlet of Street. The “Place” is a grand old house dating from the reign of the first James; behind the chimney of the hall was once a spacious hiding place and a story is told of a Royalist fugitive who rode into it on his horse and was never again seen. The restored church has a number of iron grave slabs and a monument to Martha Cogger, who was a “Pattern of Piety and Politeness.”

Nearly two miles on the Lewes road is Plumpton, chiefly famed for its steeplechases which are held two miles away in the Weald and close to Plumpton station. The church is uninteresting. The “Place” is an old moated house, the property of Lord Chichester. The Leonard Mascall who lived here in the sixteenth century is said to have introduced the first carp from the Danube, the moat being used as their nursery. Notice the great V in firs on the face of the Downs; this is a memorial of the Victorian Jubliee; not particularly beautiful and leading one to speculate upon its permanence. A cutting in the chalk would probably recommend itself to the pious care of coming ages when the personage commemorated had either been entirely forgotten or had developed into a legendary heroine of fictitious character. That even cuttings are not always permanent is proved close by, for only occasionally can the cross cut to commemorate the great battle of Lewes be seen; the turf shows but a different shade of green at certain times and under certain atmospheric conditions.

The road to Lewes continues under the shadow of Mount Harry and eventually drops to the Lewes-London highway near Offham, remarkable as being the first place in the south where a line of rails was used for the passage of goods. A turn to the right and we soon reach Lewes near St. Anne’s Church.