First, for my American friends, I have to make it clear I'm talking about the beach at Brighton in England - not the Brighton Beach near Coney Island, New York. Although I wouldn't doubt that the latter got its name from the former.
Brighton, England is a magical old place. A seaside resort that became a favorite with "day-trippers" when the railway arrived in 1841, it is - or was - the quintessential example of that breed.
I spent time in Brighton - as this out-of-focus little memento shows - many, many years ago.
Well, maybe it doesn't. But, trust me, that's me! I was 18, I think.
It was not a particularly happy time but my life was better than many others who found their way to Brighton. You see, Brighton had a wonderful old pier stretching out from the pebbly beach into the cold English Channel. This became a favorite spot for young runaways. Many were found sleeping under the pier. In a way it was the destination for runaways who actually wanted to be found. After all, it was the first place the police would look. But the boys and girls sleeping in the pebbles had made their statements - whatever they were.
In a strange example of it being a small world, a very good friend of mine recently told me a tale of running away and sleeping under that pier! Here we were in Santa Fe, comparing notes on Brighton beach from our youth.
The conversation inspired a song. It's nobody's story in particular - and many people's stories with different details.
ON BRIGHTON BEACH
Staring at the bottom of your empty china cup
What do you say when the words are all used up
Where do you go when the road comes to an end
Do scars that can't be seen ever mend
On Brighton beach
Beneath the pier
Anywhere that isn't here
Anywhere beyond their reach
Beneath the pier
On Brighton beach
A mother with no love a proper military wife
A victim of the vanished British Empire life
Where do you go to find out who you are
You tell yourself again it's not too far
On Brighton beach
Beneath the pier
Anywhere that isn't here
Anywhere beyond their reach
Beneath the pier
On Brighton beach
A father with his talk of Kings and Queens
His sense of service frozen in those sepia scenes
How do you grab the world he does not understand
You make a start down in the pebbles and the sand
On Brighton beach
Beneath the pier
Anywhere that isn't here
Anywhere beyond their reach
Beneath the pier
On Brighton beach
©2009 Dave Tutin / openD LLC
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