YOU can do things at the seaside that you can’t do in town.’ It was a standing joke with musical-hall performers and comic-postcard illustrators, but it was a sentiment that was not true only of behaviour; architecture by the sea has always exhibited a frivolity and playfulness, too.
Seaside towns have a different focus to that inland. Instead of a centre, they have a front. The border between land and sea is defined by all sorts of manmade structures and even the most resolutely practical of them all, the defensive sea wall, is ornamented for the delight of visitors. Rebranded as the promenade, it may boast decorative railings, ornamental benches, welcome shelters and colourful beach huts. In the summer months, musicians still take their places in the bandstand and there is the pleasure pier, too, categorically not something you find away from the coast. All of these things contribute to a distinctive sense of place that has been evolving since we Brits first discovered the joys of a trip to the beach in the 18th century.
Coastal resorts developed in different ways and at different speeds. Many grew out of existing settlements, whether small villages or substantial ports. The fashion for medicinal sea bathing, which took off from the 1750s, gave them a new economic stimulus; contemporaries claimed that it had saved both Margate and Brighton in the South-East from terminal decline. Other resorts were entirely new creations of the railway age, notably Clacton-on-Sea in Essex and Saltburn by-the-Sea in Yorkshire (Fig 2). The unifying concern of them all was to provide pleasurable diversions for a visiting clientele.
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