Seaside resorts: seasons, decades and geological time

We have all visited seaside resorts and some of us are fortunate enough to have been brought up in one: I lived in Paignton in South Devon and went to school in Torquay more than 50 years ago, so knew both towns well. I expect that they are rather different now to the way that I remember them, while both resorts have an interesting history. 

In his foreword to John Pike’s Iron Horse to the Sea, Crispin Gill writes [1]: 

The turnpike roads to Exmouth and Torquay first created the resorts of South Devon, but it was the coming of the railway.. ..that really saw these places grow. In the early days it was the aristocracy and the upper middle class who could afford holidays when these resorts were frequented mainly in the winter. Since the First World War, with the growth of holidays with pay, these resorts have become accessible to all and are now among the most popular in Britain. 

Initially, the railway terminated at Torquay (at what is now Torre) and Pike [1] describes the onward extension (including quotes from private papers supporting the proposal to build the railway): 

The route of the proposed railway was 11 miles in length and approached quite near to Brixham which was then becoming an important fishing port. Equally of interest is the prophecy of a future for Paignton ‘in climate of equal salubrity with Torquay, it possesses, in addition, a hard sandy beach nearly two miles in length, admirably adapted for bathing. Being in the centre of the Bay, it also embraces, within easy drives, all points of beauty … [it] annually draws to it numerous visitors for health as well as recreation.’ 

In Bradshaw’s Descriptive Railway Handbook [2], originally published in 1863 shortly after the extension had been completed, we have a fulsome account of the pleasures of Torquay, while Paignton is described thus: 

The situation of this place is really beautiful, commanding a central aspect of Torbay. Its picturesque church and the sand rounding from it to the fine woods of Tor Abbey, and the town and pier below it, form a pleasing coup d’œil. 

No mention of the swampy land between the railway and the sea and, by the relative size of the two entries, readers of Bradshaw’s will gain the impression that Paignton was regarded as a poor neighbour of Torquay, although there were wealthy residents. This may well have been the attitude of many outsiders, and some Paignton residents would not disagree with that perception, despite our pride in the town. 

The importance of winter visitors has been emphasised by StJohn Thomas and Smith [3]: 

As late as the 1890s, when following the abandonment of Brunel’s broad gauge, the first through trains ran from the North to Torbay, the resorts were still busier in winter than in summer, when many of their facilities closed down. Sea bathing (of course dependent on the bathing machine) was however growing rapidly in popularity and certainly local traffic was heavier in summer; Exeter in particular has a strong tradition of sending its people to the sea on day trips.. ..and by 1914 the upper middle class family by the sea was more usually a summer affair. 

By my time, in the 1950s, Paignton was a popular family resort and any wealthy visitors coming down in winter for their health were not apparent to us residents. In the opening of Walking with Gosse, I describe what I remembered [4]: 

After the summer holiday season, Paignton in the 1950s was typical of many seaside towns in the UK, being quiet and left to its residents. A small theatre put on rather good amateur pantomimes at Christmas and, at other times, hosted school music festivals, elocution contests, and the occasional Billy Graham-style Christian “Crusade”. Bakers, butchers, grocers, newsagents, chemists, banks and other high street shops supported the local community; while pubs, churches and clubs, associated with organisations like the British Legion, provided social life. In almost all homes, meals were prepared from basic ingredients and, as a treat, fish and chip shops dotted through the town were a source of takeaway meals: the fish being cod, plaice, haddock, bream or rock salmon (dogfish), all caught locally. 

Nothing much seemed to change in the pattern of life during the week, with Saturdays a time for relaxation and, perhaps, watching, or playing, sport. Sundays were for dressing in one’s “best” clothes, with very few shops, or places of entertainment, open. It was a day for gentle walks, going to church or Sunday School, and having a roast lunch (called dinner), followed by tea with tinned fruit and fancy cakes. If the routine of the week was broken by illness, support came from General Practitioners and a small hospital; while several dentists looked after teeth and dentures (that were much commoner then than now). 

That is one person’s view of winter in a summer-resort where all the shops selling rock, “kiss-me-quick hats”, saucy postcards, etc.. were boarded up, as were the stalls selling candyfloss, seafood, chips and the like. Some cafes remained open, but winter provided a bleaker outlook that was such a contrast to the summer, when train after train brought holidaymakers on Saturdays (changeover day), with similar numbers of trains taking them home after a week. I have tried to capture Paignton in winter in photographs (see below), as, to quote a 1918 advertisement, “one picture is worth a thousand words”.

 

Clearly, I have little skill as a photographer, but Rob Ball is highly skilled and also has the eye of an artist. He produced a wonderful photograph in his recent collection entitled Silent Coast [5] that was referenced by the Financial Times Magazine of 4th June 2022 (see below – the associated text is worth reading).

 

This image is not from Paignton, of course, but Rob’s photograph conjures up the ghostly feeling that seaside resorts can create out of season. There is no-one to be seen, yet everything that provides entertainment is still there, but locked up. In looking at the image, one remembers the noise of excited children running around in bathing costumes, the warmth of the balmy air, the thrill of slides (especially water slides), etc.. 

There are not only changes in types of visitors and their means of getting to the resorts of Torbay at different times of the year as there are also changes in topography. For example, the magnificent view of the coast from Babbacombe has been altered by the cliff fall at Oddicombe (see images below), where saturated sandstones fractured at weak points and then slid down. A different form of erosion comes in the effect of tides and waves that attack coastal defences and have severed some coastal paths that linked adjacent coves. Storms and tidal surges have also affected the railway lines that run to Torquay and Paignton through Dawlish, where landslips and breaches are familiar to both contemporary residents and those that are interests in transport history. These are decadal, rather than seasonal, changes, but what of Paignton in earlier times?

 

Before it became a resort, the town was renowned for its production of vegetables and it was a centre for cider making. There were also “Paignton cockles” and other shellfish, and fish, to collect and that reminds us of the other, non-human, residents of the shores of Torbay, well-known to those residents and holidaymakers that enjoy rock pooling and similar activities. There are many types of seaweeds, snails and barnacles and these show different levels of tolerance to drying, with some found higher up the shore than others and some never uncovered by the sea, even at low spring tides that occur every two weeks or so. Of course, tides are familiar to holidaymakers, as the sea creeps up the beach as the tide comes in twice each day, reducing the available space on the sand and creating a Canute-style adventure for children who have defences around their sand castles. Very few visitors and residents think of the effect of tides on other shore life. 

The presence of the beach for sunbathing and swimming is something we take for granted and, apart from the various erosional events, is little changed within our lifetime. However, if we go back tens of thousands of years to the time of the last Ice Age, the coast was way to the east of where it is now and Torbay was part of a lowland forest. We would recognise some features, like headlands and hilly peaks, but we would certainly not recognise the coast as it was then; increase in sea level at the time of the melting of the northern ice cap giving us the outline of the shore that we have today. If we look into the future, it seems certain that sea level rise resulting from global warming will cause local inundations and, without increased sea defences, the coastline will be inland of its current position. I wonder what it will be like and what kinds of visitors it will attract? 

 

[1] John Pike (1987) Iron Horse to the Sea: Railways in South Devon. Bradford on Aven. Ex-Libris Press. 

[2] Anon (1863) Bradshaw’s Descriptive Railway Hand-book of Great Britain and Ireland. London, W.J.Adams. 

[3] David StJohn Thomas and Simon Rocksborough Smith (1973) Summer Saturdays in the West. Newton Abbot, David & Charles. 

[4] Roger S Wotton (2020) Walking with Gosse: Natural History, Creation and Religious Conflicts. e-book. 

[5] https://www.robball.co.uk/

 

 

 

 

Two Creationists, Christian sects, and religious tolerance

Philip Henry Gosse (1810-1888) and Francis Orpen Morris (1810-1893) were two of the most well-known Natural Historians of the mid-Nineteenth Century. Gosse is famous as the populariser of aquaria, the use of microscopes, and the observation of marine organisms on the shore; Morris for his works on moths, butterflies and birds, and also for his campaigns against fox hunting, vivisection and much else besides. Both had biographies written by their sons [1,2] and it is from these that we know much about the two men.

Henry Gosse (above) was the son of a painter of miniatures and, as a young man, was sent to work as a clerk in Newfoundland, returning to England after travelling to Alabama where he held a teaching post. He was interested in insects as a boy and was introduced to shore life by a knowledgeable aunt. Like Gosse, Morris (below) was also very interested in Natural History as a boy, but his background was rather more privileged, being the son of a Royal Navy officer (who became an Admiral) and going on to study Classics at Oxford University. On graduation, Morris was ordained in the Church of England and progressed to be rector of Nunburnholme from 1854-1893 [3]. From this small village in the Yorkshire Wolds, Morris kept up a correspondence on many topics and he was an enthusiastic pamphleteer, best known today for attacking Darwinism and, especially, Darwin's On the origin of species [3].

Having returned from North America, Henry Gosse was a schoolmaster and also wrote books, the first being based on his experience in Canada and published by Van Voorst. This was followed by a number of other publications, most of which he illustrated, having acquired the skills and training of an artist from his father (the plates in Morris's books were by others). Eventually, Gosse became recognised and he was able to live off his work as an author and lecturer, settling in Torquay from 1857-1888. He was a devout non-conformist and he produced his book Omphalos [4] as an "attempt to untie the geological knot": the conflict between geological periods of time and the account of Creation in The Bible. Although written in London, Omphalos was published soon after Henry moved to Torquay and this was two years before the publication of Darwin's famous book. Gosse's thesis was that geological time periods, strata and fossils were all likely to be real but that they were created at the time the Earth and all organisms came into existence. Needless to say, this idea was not met with any enthusiasm by either the scientific or religious communities [5] and Gosse continued his work in Natural History, making many outstanding contributions.

Both men were Christians and Creationists, but I wonder whether they would have enjoyed each other's company if they met (I cannot find a record that they did so, and both travelled little in their mature years). Gosse was shy, but this did not stop him proselytising his views if he had the chance. He was an evangelical Christian with a profound belief that the second coming of Christ was imminent, something that strongly influenced his thinking. He was intolerant of Catholicism and always referred to the village in which he lived as Marychurch, rather than St Marychurch (its proper title), as he objected to the use of the term saint in the Catholic tradition [5]. Morris had equally strong views about the practice of religion, but these centred on the need for the traditions of the Church of England. On the organisation of religion, then, the two men are likely to have clashed – would their mutual love of Natural History and the evidence it provided constantly to them of Divine Creation have enabled them to celebrate together? Somehow, I doubt it. Yet, if there weren't religious differences to get in the way, one can imagine Gosse and Morris talking for hours about the boyhood collection of insects, their love of birds and all manner of other Natural History.

Henry Gosse's religious views provided difficulties in his relations with Edmund, his son and biographer and these led Edmund to write Father and Son, published anonymously in 1907. In contrast, Morris's son not only became ordained in the Church of England, but also followed his father as the Rector of Nunburnholme. Both "official" biographies written by the sons are factual and, in parts, affectionate, but Father and Son is rather different. It paints Henry Gosse as being intolerant of Edmund's views and he was always encouraging him to return to the values of the Brethren that Henry believed in so profoundly. The result of Henry's unshakeable beliefs was thus alienation from the scientific world and also from his only child. It all seems so unnecessary, especially as he was such a splendid enthusiast for Nature. Having asked whether Morris and Gosse would have enjoyed each other's company, I'm tempted to ask whether I would get on well with either of them. I like to think that the answer is yes, but I'm not sure. Religious belief has a way of becoming so intrusive and damaging.

It is not far-fetched to suggest that both Gosse and Morris had a Christian faith that made them isolated and narrowly focussed and which provided challenges from the scientific developments occurring in the mid-Nineteenth century. Their faith was the most important thing in their lives and they believed in all that was written in the Bible, yet their preferences in form of worship were different and neither was likely to budge from their position. As a non-Christian, that is something I find difficult to understand, yet it has been a feature of the Christian religion, with its many schisms and formation of splinter groups. As there must be one God and one Heaven, I am puzzled about the inability of some Christians to agree and to believe that their version of the faith is the only true one.

To gain some insight, I looked up the website of the Evangelical Alliance to find out if we are now living in an age of greater tolerance. In a piece entitled "Should we all go to one Church? What denominations mean for unity" Amaris Cole begins by introducing two questions [6]:

Anglican. Baptist. Brethren. Assemblies of God. Vineyard. Elim. Newfrontiers. Foursquare. The list goes on. There are many churches in the United Kingdom, all with their own worship styles, preaching practices and theological frameworks. But if we're aiming for unity as evangelicals, is it a problem that we are split down denominational lines? Shouldn't we all go to one Church?

One of the five respondents, Alexandra Davis, replied as follows [6]:  

God created us in diversity, with differences in style on so many levels – learning, worshipping, fellowshipping, communing. I suspect if we all went to one Church we'd just end up in a very mono-cultural way of doing things. Meeting with God and other Christians in a diversity of ways is one way of bringing glory to the creator God whose imagination is beyond anything we could... imagine. We could, of course, get a bit better at being more accepting of difference, keeping a check on how valuable our particular preferences really are, and making more.. ..effort to cross those diversity lines. We will be one Church in heaven so we might as well start practising for the perfection now.

Alexandra implies that the various sects and branches of Christian practice derive from differences inherent in human individuals and society. In advocating tolerance between sects (as I believe she is doing) she will attract the wrath of those like Gosse and Morris who were firmly of the opinion that only their version of Christianity was the correct one. Also, what are evangelical Christians proselytising if it is not their own personal version (usually shared by a few others) of belief?

Of course, if religions are the result of human imagination, one could understand it all. It must be difficult to be a Christian believer and face the questions that Amaris poses.

[1] Edmund Gosse (1896) The Naturalist of the Sea-shore: The Life of Philip Henry Gosse. London, William Heinemann.

[2] M. C. F. Morris (1897) Francis Orpen Morris : A Memoir. London, John C. Nimmo.

[3] http://rwotton.blogspot.co.uk/2017/06/the-tide-is-setting-in-against-darwinism.html

[4] Philip Henry Gosse (1857) Omphalos: An attempt to untie the geological knot. London, John Van Voorst,

[5] Ann Thwaite (2002) Glimpses of the Wonderful: The Life of Philip Henry Gosse 1810 – 1888. London, Faber and Faber.

[6] http://www.eauk.org/idea/should-we-all-go-to-one-church.cfm

The illustration of Christian worship above is taken from http://religiousaffections.org

Aunts and time

Most of us have been through the ritual of being taken to visit relatives when we were young. My earliest memories include those of going to the homes of various aunts (actually great aunts) in the early 1950s and then wondering how long we were going to stay. Their drawing rooms were dark, with lots of lace, china ornaments, aspidistras in large planters, sentimental pictures, and a characteristic smell. It wasn’t unpleasant, just different, and I was conscious of having to be well behaved (we were made very “presentable” for these visits), saying a few things and then tuning out of the conversation, about which I understood little.

In contrast to these routine visits, going to see one of the aunts was always a pleasure. Aunt Ede loved cats (see the picture below, taken in the early 1930s), had married Uncle Os when she was 66 (and I was 3), and was very happy with her companions. Aunt Ede used to accompany us on Nature walks in the surrounding countryside, while Uncle Os was busy in his workshop, in an atmosphere of oil vapour and pipe smoke. We would also see her in the town, always carrying her round wicker basket containing fish bought at the fishmongers and which was destined to be supper for the cats. Aunt Ede lived in a house named Malvernia (her family came originally from Malvern) and when we called she would always thrust money into our hands and make tea and provide cakes. A wonderful lady and, like me, a bit of an independent-minded sort. She never really recovered after Uncle Os died in 1965, but her joy at seeing me when I popped around to Malvernia during University vacations was touching. 

The last time I saw Aunt Ede was in a nursing home in 1972 and she asked repeatedly about the cats and whether they were being looked after. I suspect that, by then, the cats had been removed and it was a sad way to say goodbye to a remarkable lady, although I didn’t know that it was to be a final goodbye. I still remember Aunt Ede with fondness. She loved Nature.

                       

                       

The aunts seemed very old indeed to me when I was a boy, but I had only a few years of my own to compare against their many decades. For me, the future was full of unknowns, whereas the aunts knew what they had achieved and also knew that they did not have many years to live. Perhaps that’s why their conversation reverted to chat about other family members and that excluded me as I had no idea who was related to whom, and no interest in their lives. As far as I know, none of the aunts extended this interest into preparing a family tree, but doing so has become a popular hobby now that we have such easy access to data that help us in tracing ancestry. Genealogy is mostly an occupation for older people, as it provides a way of recording one’s place in history, although with the date of death still to be inserted, of course.

Most family trees go back two or three generations (those of Royal Families substantially longer) and the further we go back the less we know about the way of life of our ancestors. Is it possible to get a feeling for the lives of those, say, four or five generations back? We can get some information by visiting museums or preserved buildings, but that seems impersonal and contrived and the way of life of the occupants of the rooms displayed can only be imagined. If that is true of the recent past, how can we get a feel for life thousands of years ago? Probably not by looking at artefacts, montages or re-creations.

If that is a difficult question to answer, what about our understanding of geological time scales, where 10 million years is recent and where the origins of the Earth go back billions of years? These are just numbers to us and mean little, except as reminders that humans are very recent indeed on such time scales and our knowledge of the Universe, including our World, has been acquired largely within a handful of generations. It is an astonishing achievement and provides us with the best explanation of what we observe to have happened over unimaginable timescales and distances (with apologies to those who believe it was all created 8000 years ago). It doesn’t seem feasible that such a very recent species has been able, in a few hundred years, to explain so many things, just by using our Earth-bound mathematics, physics, chemistry and biology. What if we are wrong in our assumptions and there is a different, more fundamental basis for understanding time and space that awaits discovery? Will we then be able to gain a real sense of time?