Seven Sisters from Birling Gap and Beachy Head

So memorable was a previous visit to Cuckmere Haven in East Sussex that when we got the chance to return to the same area, I asked my fellow-jauntees if we could go to the opposite end of the chalk cliffs, known as the Seven Sisters, at Birling Gap. 

And they said yes. So we did.

And here they are, looking west towards Cuckmere Haven, with Seaford Head beyond. 

The one thing everyone knows about Birling Gap is that it's falling into the sea. Or at least the Coastguards cottages are. 

At the turn of last century there were seven of them (ringed in red). The Coastguard Watch House (ringed in blue) was lost to coastal erosion in 1926.

The end cottage was pulled down prior to collapse in 1974, with two more going in 1994 and 2002. 

The most recent cottage to be demolished was in 2014. You can see its foundations sticking out of the cliff (far right). 

Figures vary, but the cliffs here appear to be eroding at a rate of 12 inches - or maybe as many as 36 inches - per year. Whichever's correct, that's why they're so white. 

We went for a wander along the beach. It was so very different from the geology of the South West, very beautiful and also slightly disturbing. 

I remember when I was a very young child trying to get to sleep, I would sometimes see on the inside of my eyelids stones of the purest, smoothest white that I knew represented death. 

Well, this chalk is a little like that. In fact, I wonder if, when you die, you see high white cliffs like these. 

What with our drive from Bristol to Sussex taking over five hours, thanks to extensive roadworks, and a rather leisurely lunch in the pub near Beachy Head, we didn't walk far but what we saw I'll remember. 

On then to Belle Tout lighthouse, which I distinctly recall being moved back from the cliff edge in a grainy black and white Blue Peter film of (probably) the 1970s. Except that it happened in 1999.

It still looks pretty close to the edge to me, but apparently it is good for a while yet and its new foundations are constructed in a way to make it easier to move next time.  






Here is some viper's bugloss and agrimony ...

... and again, the old foundations poking out of the cliff. 

I'd taken longer to climb the hill than my sons - a cominbation of being old and taking photos - so I hadn't seen the woman who'd been standing on the jutting piece of chalk ringed in this photo. 


If you fall, it's 530 feet down.

I didn't care to be so close to the edge.

Get back!

On the way back down - the slow way - I spotted my first milkwort ... 

... and up ahead, the lighthouse that replaced Belle Tout at the foot of the famous and notorious and beautiful and deadly Beachy Head. 

This was close enough for me. It felt like when I visited the stretch of the River Wharfe called The Strid above Bolton Abbey some years ago. That you can choose between life and death on nothing more substantial than a whim in such places. 

Today, I'm pleased to say, we all drove home. 

Putting the Fun in Funicular

Well, someone's got to try. 

First, though, a visit to St Mary's Church at Marychurch. 

I'd promised my father we'd do this, as his great-great grandfather, a boatman called James Harvey from Weston-Super-Mare, married a woman from St Marychurch while he was working his way around the south-west coast in the 1830s.  

I wasn't at all sure we'd manage it, however. So I'm glad we did. 

Not that we were ever going to find out much here, even if the Church had been open.   Some histories have much more weight than family ones. 

But at least we visited the spot. 

On, then, to Babbacombe Downs and the funicular railway down to Oddicombe Beach, where there's a recently refurbished cafe overlooking the sea. 

I know - genius, right? 

Made it!

After we'd eaten, I left the parents ensconced on the decking outside the cafe and had a brief wander. The beach is much sandier than it used to be. I remember pebbles and sea glass but there isn't much of that there at present.

As at Sidmouth, there's been a lot of cliff slippage over the last few years. Except a whole house has gone over the edge at Babbacombe, with more pending. Literally.

I didn't hang about. 

Back at the top there was a last chance to take in the views. 

Here are the remaining houses on Redcliffe Road. 

In the middle distance on the left, the Ness at Shaldon, with the Parson and the Clerk at Holcombe, Langstone Rock at Dawlish Warren and the red cliffs at Exmouth ... 

... and so on all the way round to Sidmouth, the white cliffs at Charmouth and Golden Cap, and on and on to Portland Bill, none of which you can see properly in this photo.

Oh well, you'll have to go yourself. 

A Visit to Sidmouth

My parents love Sidmouth. So we went to Sidmouth. 

I love Sidmouth too - when the folk festival's on. The rest of the time it's staid and conservative. Not to mention Conservative. 

But the beach and the cliffs are great. I installed the parents in a shelter on the front with ice creams and a copy of the Daily Bigot and went for a wander. 

It was a lovely day for it. 

First, I headed for the cliffs at the easternmost end of town, on the grounds that I like them best. 

Here some of the sandstone rocks have green go-faster stripes. 

They reminded me of Ted a couple of years ago, during a spate of decorating.

Sidmouth's famous hanging gardens are still very much in evidence. 

In fact, I was shocked by how much of the cliff face has been lost since I was last here, just under four years ago. 

There are great holes visible in the sandstone now, and because the tide was high and it was hard to keep away from the cliffs, I decided not to hang about too long. 

As I was leaving, a woman with two children asked me if it was safe. I had to say no, I didn't think it was. 

After lunch - toilets 5 metres, France 87 miles (handy to know when life on Brexit Island gets beyond endurable) -  I deposited the parents on the esplanade again and forayed to the west.

Back at the cottage in Shaldon, I took stock of the day's treasure: (clockwise) a geode, a vug (which reminds me of my grandmother's treacle tart),  fossilised ferns and a fossilised sponge (or sausage roll).  Plus ten hag stones. All in all, a pretty good haul.