Growing up in the south-central Sussex spot of Brighton had its disadvantages. The town (as it was then) had the rapidly degenerating Churchill Square shopping centre, which by the 1990s had the pervading odour of urine and pigeon products in its lower levels. The seafront was yet to experience much in the way of regeneration and some of the characters you would meet were just a bit questionable. I quickly learnt not to get a rare £20 note out to pay for drinks as a teenager in a pub after the local psychopath decided he wanted firstly, the £20, and secondly, to see what noises my head made when rammed against a lamppost.
There was a reason I wasn’t bad at cross-country running; my mates and I beat a hasty retreat into the twittens of North Laine. Preston Circus, Brighton’s major transport intersection of the A23 and A27 before the Brighton Bypass, where I spent my formative years, was also great if you liked leaded petrol fumes and the shake of a juggernaut or passing trains.
Sussex Bay
Yet it had its advantages too. Being in the centre of Sussex’s coastline (or the 100-mile-long ‘Sussex Bay’ as our coastline has been branded since 2024) means I witnessed my hometown become Sussex’s biggest city in 1999 (well, we’ve only got one other, to be fair). It meant I was at the epicentre of Sussex, the main ride in Kipling’s ‘fairground, a fairground’ (ten points awarded there if you automatically finished that off with ‘Yea, Sussex by the sea.’) I grew up in the amphitheatre that is Brighton and Hove; a centre of tourism, architectural extravagance and experimentation. Of creativity, culture, queens and quirkiness. Football and fishing.
Brighton is nothing if it was not a town (and is today not a city) of contradictions, of contrasts and of conflict. Brighton – bring your own interpretation and find your own tribe. As the inscription on the A23 pillars at Braepool state: ‘Hail guest, we ask not what thou art. If friend we greet you hand and heart, if stranger, such no longer be. If foe, our love shall conquer thee.’ It’s very ‘Brighton’ isn’t it? We accept everyone, we ask no questions, we tolerate and take you by the hand. And if you find us irritating? Ah, tough, you’ll get used to us. And probably move here.
Juggernauts and baby teeth
So, juggernauts shaking my baby teeth and pollution filling my lungs may not be top of the list of treatments of any wellness clinic or spa but the urban unpleasantness of my ‘hood meant I wanted to get out of my home territory – into the green and pleasant land that was Preston Park. I even ran away from home to there once, but that’s a story for another time. Brighton, as much as I’m fond of my hometown, made me the man I am today, but it also pushed me away, like it did many of my peers and my generation. I sought the hills of wildest Wales when university beckoned, escaping the dirt and dinginess of my beginnings. I immersed myself in Victorian architecture, history, literature and learnt how to say ‘diolch’, ‘dim disco heno’ and even ‘lick my fish’ in Cymraeg (don’t ask – I’ll just say the beer was £1 a pint in our Students’ Union bar).
Twenty-five years as an educator followed, which has given me an appreciation of all the humour young people provide and inspiration for some of the novels and scripts I have written. These days, I still teach a bit, or at least work as a low-quality children’s entertainer, which is probably the most charitable way you can describe my take on teaching. Mostly though, now I write and give talks across the South-East; following working as a teacher-trainer and the co-author of school history textbooks. I have been able to write about Pevensey Castle, the Windrush generation and the Falklands War, amongst other topics. Thankfully, I avoided the bizarre entry of one history textbook a few years earlier that decided it needed to tell teenage readers that Napoleon was found to have a ‘penis that was one inch long and shaped like a snail’. Not that many exam questions have ever asked pupils about that, I’m sure.
Roads, clock towers and murder
Today I mostly write. I’ve always written: comics at primary school, school magazines, computer magazines in the 1980s (I really want to write a sitcom about my team who helped me put together ‘Zoom!’ magazine back then and call it ‘On The Spectrum’). I’ve written for the Albion’s matchday programme, for the venerable Argus when Mike Gilson, its wonderful editor in 2015 brought me in to write history supplements to help stem the haemorrhage of readers print media has faced this century. I’ve written for Sussex Living, reviewed books for Sussex Life and the British Association for Local History. Fifteen books on Sussex’s history, food and drink have followed, partnered with other magazine columns. I’m currently writing about Brighton’s roads, Sussex’s animals in history, a gruesome 1960s murder case set in clubland Brighton, coupled with the darker side of Sussex’s past and even potentially a follow up to my cure for insomnia, my book Clock Towers of England.
Why am I telling you all this? Not to boast, as that’s not something we British do easily in most cases. Look at Barnes Wallace, inventor of the Wellington bomber and the ‘Dambusters’ bouncing bomb and how uncomfortable he was on being referred to as a genius. No, not our style here – it’s a bit like the uncomfortable St George’s flag waving earlier this year from lampposts; we know who we are, we don’t need to cover streets with flags. The World Cup and Jubilees are ok if you’re inclined to put up flags then, but being British to me is the undertaking of understatement.
Dystopian futures
The reason I’m telling you about my background and expertise is it all comes together. Brighton gave me, a lad from a working-class family libraries and book shops. It gave me schools where I could immerse myself in books, magazines and periodicals. I left Brighton when I was 18, just as my son is doing now to travel to work at Camp America, but I also left Brighton by the power of words. Books transported me to dystopian futures (the children’s book Empty World by John Christopher still haunts me today – I just checked out the cover on eBay and it sent a shiver down my spinal cord). They took me into the world of animals (I defy you to read Watership Down or Mrs Frisby & The Rats of Nimh today without getting sucked in to). As I read once, the by-products of a tree can mysteriously take you into a dream-like trance.
So that, in a nutshell, is where I want to take you, lovely Sussex Exclusive readers – not into a dream-like trance, as that sounds all rather creepy-80s magician. What I want to do instead is take you journeying with me – around the county and outside it; both backwards and outward bound. Into the world of books, words and Sussex’s past. Tempted?
About The Author
Kevin Newman is a Sussex-born author, historian, teacher and tour guide whose work explores the rich history and character of Sussex and beyond. A regular contributor to history publications, newspapers and magazines, he is best known for his Sussex & Surrey Miscellany column and his engaging talks across the South East. Kevin has written numerous books, including the bestselling The Little History of Sussex, as well as local history titles, novels and national publications. Alongside his writing, he runs the Sussex-based consultancy All-Inclusive History, presents talks and events, and continues to work in education. He lives beneath the South Downs with his family and remains passionate about uncovering and sharing the stories that make Sussex unique.
Meet the author
Kevin’s latest book, Brighton at Work, “explores the working life of this city … and its people and the industries that have characterised it through the ages”. With his easy to read but highly informative style, this book is a must for anyone interested in the history of Brighton and is available to pre-order now:
Alternatively, you can meet the author at a Sussex History and Heritage event at Leonardslee Lakes and Gardens near Horsham. Events are being held on 20 September, 18 October and 13 December and include themes that range from Brighton to ghosts and Christmas! In short, everything you never knew you couldn’t live without knowing.
