Kathleen Wilson, working in the International Stores near the viaduct, tells of a terrible incident in 1943:

‘The explosion that followed was tremendous, and to this day I can still feel the impact of the blast on my chest. A roar and shattering of glass followed instantaneously. We huddled together and it seemed like an eternity before anyone dared to move. The air was full of choking dust, and as everything subsided back to normality, we very shakily ventured back to the main part of the shop. Our legs felt as though they consisted of nothing but jelly. A lot of the female staff were near to hysteria and tears ran down their faces.

We viewed the destruction with horrified eyes. The shop windows had imploded leaving us open to the elements. The bacon rashers, under their covering of dust, were speared with splinters of glass and nearly everything had blown free from the shelves. As I made my way to the shop door, I noticed cans of food rolling across the pavement into the gutter. Across the road, there was a gaping hole in the viaduct, and a few soldiers were emerging from the old school building.

The air was still thick with dust as the rubble subsided into an ungainly heap. Our branch of the International was licensed to sell wines and spirits, and Molly Mitchell made her way to the fixtures that held these expensive items. Amidst the carnage and destruction, it was unbelievable to find that these bottles remained intact. She sent the apprentice to the cellar to bring up some clean cups. She emphasized the word ‘clean’ and she removed a bottle of brandy from the shelf. The apprentice was a little reluctant to go. I am sure he thought the shop was going to collapse on top of him, but he decided to go rather than let anyone think he was scared.

With the cups now assembled before her on a hastily-wiped counter, she opened the bottle and gave us all a drink, which she insisted that we all consume. Then she went to the entrance and called to the soldiers to come across. They were a lot more shaken up than us because they had been a lot nearer to the explosion. They shambled slowly across, supporting one of their comrades who had blood pouring down his face. They were really grateful for the brandy. Then Molly Mitchell took the Canadian soldier up to her flat and gave him simple first-aid by placing a plaster over the nasty gash above his eye. The Canadian soldiers had been doing a course in the school building when the bomb came down.

One very important question remained to be asked. How was the empty bottle of brandy going to be explained away to head office? Molly Mitchell had the answer to that as, without hesitation, she promptly smashed the bottle and threw it down amongst the debris waiting to be cleared up…

As a matter of interest, many years after the war was over, the Canadian soldier who had been cut over the eye, made a pilgrimage back to the shop. He looked such a different person in civilian clothes. He was very sad at not being able to see Molly Mitchell, because for years he had always remembered her kindness to him on the day of the bomb. He had now lost the sight in his eye. I could not fix up a date for him to meet her because he was leaving England later that evening.’

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From the viaduct walk southwards (towards the sea) along the right side of Preston Road which becomes London Road. In a little less than half a mile you will reach The Cowley Club at 12 London Road.

 

The Cowley Club is named after Harry Cowley, a Brighton Chimney Sweep and campaigner for workers’ rights. The centre is currently used by the Migrant English Project, which support refugees and asylum seekers.

Everyone who knew Harry tells a story of The Guv’nor’s tireless work in the neighbourhood. They remember Harry organizing outings for the poor kids of Southover St., finding furniture for old people moved in a slum clearance, or standing up to the Board of Guardians to get more money for an out-of-luck family.

‘Anything you wanted, go to Mr Cowley, he’d help you, if you was in trouble, no matter what trouble. Probably hadn’t got the money himself, but he’d find something to help them with. He used to have big concerts and do all this, that and the other so little kiddies could have a good Christmas. He’d give the old people 10s notes, pound notes; what he thought they most needed. And then, when the children was in want of any boots or shoes, if the authorities wouldn’t give it to them, Harry Cowley got round. I remember my dad when he had nothing, he come to us and give us all shoes, and there was eight of us.’

These bread-and-butter needs were the core of Harry Cowley’s politics. His organized campaigns for the unemployed and for better housing were simply an extension of this determination to improve the lives of his working-class neighbours.

Harry won this first battle with the authorities. He secured work for 600 men on the widening of Ditchling Road. But he was not happy when he discovered that ‘his boys’ were receiving below the union rate: ‘I said, ‘Well down tools boys, and straight down to the Town Hall.’ I went before the Council and put the case and got the trade union rate.’

A men’s unemployed centre in Tichborne Street was one successful result of these protests. The club gave unemployed men a respectability that they were fast losing as the vacant days crept by. They organized lively campaigning marches, where banners were waved and bugles blown.

Despite the high unemployment rate, these men were accused of being unskilled and lazy. When a Brighton councillor announced, “Harry Cowley is the leader of a bunch of unemployables,” Harry and ‘his boys’ set out to prove him wrong by marching along the Sussex coast looking for work. Day after day the column of unemployed tramped from one Sussex town to the next. By day they badgered employers, at night they slept in barns and sheds.

After a couple of weeks they were back in Brighton….“Now,” said Harry, “you dare call us unemployables again.”

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Walk 50 metres back on London Road from the Cowley Club (away from the sea) and turn left on the pedestrianised path towards the Church of St. Bartholomew on Ann Street. Walk past the church until you reach New England Street, take a left and keep walking onto Whitecross Street until Trafalgar Street. Cross the road into Tidy Street and walk to the end crossing Gloucester Road. Turn right and an immediate left into Upper Gardner Street and walk until North Road.

Take a left at North road and then a right into Gardner street. Go past Komedia and stop at no. 51 (Now called New Fabric Fair) on the left side of the street.

 

Joe Mitchell recalls how, during WW2, Brighton fishermen were called up to help evacuate allied soldiers off beaches in Northern France after they were cut off and surrounded by German troops.

“They went to St. Valery actually, they never went to Dunkirk. I know the Doris when she came back was full of bullet holes. The chap that’s just died, Gillman, he repaired the holes, and he repaired them with corks, which he got in the Cork Shop in Gardner Street.”

“We volunteered. We needn’t have gone. No, it was one of those things. There was a war on, you had your army over there. When they was chucking the bombs down we had colanders what you put on your head. Yeah, nothing. Bit of wood, hold a bit of wood up, stop a bullet. My boat got knocked to pieces, and I think they give us three pound ten – but I had to go to Eastbourne to pick it up.”

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Continue along Gardner Street, take a left on Church Street and then cross the road and turn right into New Road. Continue along New Road and enter into Pavilion Gardens on your left. Follow the footpath round to the entrance to the Pavilion (The South end) and you will see THE PAVILION ARCHWAY.

 

‘The Royal Pavilion was converted into an Indian Hospital and a great many Indian soldiers were treated for their wounds. A great many died of their wounds. Their bodies were taken on to the hills of Patcham and cremated. This spot is known as The Chattri.

All around the Pavilion were ornamental iron railings (now gone) and fixed to these was a closely boarded wooden fence about 8 feet high (for privacy), to stop the general public from peering in.

As some of the Indian soldiers got better of their wounds (a good many had arms and legs amputated) they wanted a little more freedom and so it became a familiar sight to see a crutch flung over the high fence and then another crutch, followed by an Indian soldier with one leg scrambling over the high fence. He would gather up his crutches quickly and off he would go (probably to visit some friends he had made or to a hideaway club to have a sly drink).

After the 1914-1918 war came to an end the Indian Government were so thankful to the inhabitants of Brighton for the hospitality we gave to their wounded soldiers that they had built (at their own expense) a great magnificent gateway (at the south end). Carved into the stonework on one side of the gateway are these words:

‘THIS GATEWAY IS THE GIFT OF INDIA IN COMMEMORATION OF HER SONS WHO STRICKEN IN THE GREAT WAR WERE TENDED IN THE PAVILION IN 1914 AND 1915.”

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Go through the archway, turn left into North Street, passing the small roundabout and into Castle Square, and continue along towards the Old Steine. Cross the busy Old Steine using the pedestrian crossings until you reach the OLD STEINE CAFE in Steine Gardens.

 

The public lavatories in the Old Steine were closed and converted into a cafe in 1999. The lavatory vents at the rear of the building were demolished.

Joan Parsons, a public toilet attendant describes one of the more frustrating aspects of her job – dealing with graffiti!

‘In some cases you can get graffiti off and in some cases you can’t. If it’s on tiles you can, to a certain degree, but it takes ages. We used to have cream for tiles, but you can’t use that for the doors, but when they started using oil-based pens – you can’t get it off. And then they started using spray paint. More often then not, it was a case of, “Leave it. You can’t get it off”. The more you try the more you rub off the original paint.

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Cross back over the Old Steine to Castle Square and continue up North Street until you reach the 1 STOP TRAVEL SHOP on the left side of the street.

 

In the past, buses used to have a conductor as well as a driver. A bus driver reacts to the OPO – One Person Operator scheme introduced in the 1980s.

“It’s difficult to say how OPO has affected the times of schedules. You’re still supposed to run to the same time. You get 10 minutes to do it; 19 minutes from Portslade Station to the Old Steine; 35 minutes from the Old Steine to Rottingdean. But you have quicker vehicles. There is still stress. The stress of potential accidents. There’s always been a high heart disease among bus drivers, backache, stomachs. I’m told the life expectancy of a bus driver is lower than a miner.”

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From the Travel shop continue up-hill and take the first left into Ship Street. At the end take a right into Duke street and then a left after The Victory Pub into Middle Street. Walk along the street towards the sea until you reach the MIDDLE STREET SYNAGOGUE on your left hand side.

 

This elegant, Grade II listed Synagogue was designed by local architect Thomas Lainson and opened in 1875. It is Brighton’s second most important interior after the Royal Pavilion and among the most beautiful synagogues in Europe.

It was built in the Golden Age of High Victorian synagogue architecture following formal political emancipation of the Jews in 1858.

Yetta Rose, a 2nd generation Brit, was born in London in 1912, but came to Brighton in 1917 during the First World War. Her family took over a sweet shop in Warleigh Rd., Brighton, near Preston Circus, and lived above it.

“We went to Preston Rd. School, now part of the Poly until I left at 14. We were the only Jewish children there, as few Jews lived in that area. But we were excused assembly and allowed time off for the Jewish Holidays. We would walk to Middle St. Synagogue as it was the only place of worship then. Most of the Jews lived around the North Laine and I remember going to the butcher and grocer in Bond St. and Gardner St. I believe the delicatessen in Gardner St. still exists, but I don’t think it is Jewish any more.”

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From the Synagogue, walk towards the sea-front, then cross Kings Road at the pedestrian crossing and onto the seafront down the lower esplanade. From the lower esplanade, walk eastwards towards the Palace Pier. In a minute or so, you will reach the BRIGHTON FISHING MUSEUM.

 

‘My first grown-up way of fishing was when I was helping on the boats down at the fish market, which was situated on the Lower Esplanade. I used to go down there go out on the ferry boats and the big trawlers used to land their fish on the ferry boats and we used to bring the fish on the beach. We used to carry the big boxes of fish up by hand – and in those days a box used to take ten or twelve stone of fish!, It used to take two of us lads from the school to help get them up the beach.

Then we used to grade the fish on the fish market. This was early in the morning at six or seven o’clock in the morning. For helping them get the fish to the fish market, we used to receive five or six little fish each. Just enough for one of us to eat! Then as we gradually got older and we got more sensible, we were able to mate up with the fishing trawlers, and we used to go out ourselves and help catch them.’

‘One of our local boats come in because it was blowing hard. One of them, the ‘Our Boys’, belonged to old Buck Ennis, who was a local fisherman. His son was on there, Fred. And they come in the night. Fred stayed aboard, he wasn’t going to go home, and he got worried in the night that Sammy Andrews hadn’t arrived back in harbour. So they sent the lifeboat out after him. Poor old Sam was out there broke down, so they towed him in. I’ll never forget this. I was one of the launchers of the lifeboat, and as the lifeboat towed the old boat up the harbour, there was old Sammy steering his old boat, and as he come up the harbour there he was drinking a cup of tea as though nothing had happened!’.

You have now completed this walk.