bulverhythe – bicycle – bexhill
September 12, 2011
The Connect 2 cycle route from Hastings to Bexhill passes between the rows of beach huts at Bulverhythe and, at least, riding west there is sense of somewhere to go unlike riding east where the cliffs at Rock-a-Nore hit you in the face and force the steep climb up East Hill to Fairlight. Yesterday, a few huts were locations for Open Studios. Claire Fletcher and Peter Quinnell inhabit Beach Hut 10 . . .
. . snapshot views occur from behind the front row of huts . . .
. . and being nosey, just have to jump off the bike and record the composition . . .
. . . looking through the window of the hut below, a dog posed for just long enough.
Cycle on to the point opposite the bridge over the railway line where a viewing platform has been constructed. At this point out to sea is the wreck of The Amsterdam 300 passengers and sailors lost their lives when this ship of the East India Company ran aground in 1749 on her maiden voyage to Java. The wreck is visible at very low tides.
At the base of the Galley Hill, Bexhill reveals itself above, but patches of sandy beach look more inviting . . .
. . it was a day for the coast rather than town so decide to do an ‘about turn’ and this image below marks the point where I fell off trying to take the photograph while cycling along! Hélas!
My favourite ‘about turn’ from Spike Milligan . . .
. . . and some verse from Hart Crane.
Often beneath the wave, wide from this ledge
The dice of drowned men’s bones he saw bequeath
An embassy. Their numbers as he watched,
Beat on the dusty shore and were obscured.
And wrecks passed without sound of bells,
The calyx of death’s bounty giving back
A scattered chapter, livid hieroglyph,
The portent wound in corridors of shells.
Then in the circuit calm of one vast coil,
Its lashings charmed and malice reconciled,
Frosted eyes there were that lifted altars;
And silent answers crept across the stars.
Compass, quadrant and sextant contrive
No farther tides . . . High in the azure steeps
Monody shall not wake the mariner.
This fabulous shadow only the sea keeps. At Melville’s Tomb