Rock Fair

Traditionally Hastings held three fairs: one on Whit-Tuesday; the second on the 26th and 27th of July, called Rock Fair; and the third on the 23d of November. Rock Fair was by far the largest and the best but, as with all good things, it finally came to an end probably around 1861. By this time the better-off Victorians had been trying to quash it for many years and were pious and snobbish enough to complain about ‘its common air’. Rock Fair in its heyday was a riotous, blustery, cacophony of an event. William Latham, in1798, wrote ‘the great annual fair, called Rockfair, attracts multitudes from the neighbouring places’. Held on the road behind White Rock, curious sea-side visitors would have mixed with the locals, a high proportion being fishermen, to view the goods being offered by numerous peddlers. Despite Stell complaining in 1804 that the fair ‘has fallen off considerably within the last twenty years’ by 1817 it was still a thoroughbred affair since Storer maintained that it was ‘in general a scene of drunkenness, riot, and debauchery’. However its downhill spiral to such a depraved state must have been rapid because within Adelaide, a novel in 5 volumes, written by Catherine Cuthbertson and published in 1813, the characters muse:

‘Heavens! What a beautiful mouth and teeth that lovely creature, Mrs Bouverie, has got!’

‘Why, Eleanora, her teeth outdazzle those of out next door neighbours at Hastings, who arrived just in time to grin for husbands at Rock Fair.’

Eleanore and her companion do not appear to be the debauched type although they show undoubted interested in flirtatious interludes. During the Regency, it appears Rock Fair meant different things to different people.

Games were an integral part of the Fair with ‘pitch-and-toss, hockey, and other games’. What were the other games? Certainly Stool Ball was one. This ancient game was the prerogative of females, and although no one has the faintest idea how it was played, it has left some literature of sorts. This song is from1824:

‘Down in the vale, on a summer’s day

All the lads and lasses met to be merry;

A match for kisses at stool-ball play

And for cakes, and ale, and cider, and perry.

(Chorus)

 Come all,

Great, small,

Short, tall,

Away to stool-ball.’

This is even earlier, from 1677:

‘Young men and maids

Now vey brisk

At Barley-break and

Stool-ball frisk.’

Perhaps Stool-ball was not such an innocent a pastime as it might have been!

Sherlock Holmes, the famous Victorian detective, has also given us a glimpse into Rock Fair. The recently published, Juvenile Excursion, gives an account of Holmes’ holiday in Sussex in 1866 when he was about 12 years old, and, although it is predominantly about bee keeping and the Sussex dialect, it also includes, as would be expected, some reference to the criminal and low life of the county. He alludes to Rock Fair ‘as having presented a dreadful record of sin’ but gives no more details except two curious lines as examples of Sussex dialect

‘At Rock-fair gimsy dollops, with dem wapse waists and dem boco windmills showing dentical deals peg-away at pudding-cake and hard dick at de standings.’

and,

‘A kellick with a mushmalt, crummy dollop in a dark twittern makes you beazled’

A ‘dollop’, in Sussex dialect, is a trollop and Rock Fair would have certainly attracted many due to the easy pickings particularly because many of their clients would be ‘tight’ on the local ale.

Rock Fair must have been a dazzling experience with two days of raucous entertainment and the opportunity to purchase infrequently seen items along with lashings of food and drink. A time for all concerned to ‘let their hair down’ and enjoy themselves but to be cautious not to be taken in by the ‘higglers’,  ‘dollops’ or belles with ‘flashing teeth’.

Train Journey

Train leaves St Leonards

Five minutes past ten

Glides on the track

No clickerty-clack.

Enters Bo-peep

Plunges in dark

Erupts into light

A comforting sight

Along the seashore

Beach huts in bloom

And into Bexhill

Next platform to fill

Then on past a castle

Like dentures it stands

Left weary and worn

Next stop, Eastbourne.

Reversing back out

To Hampden Park

The line branches north

Onwards and forth

Through pastel green meadows

Beside South Down views

A silhouette in sight

Exposed chalk of white

Lazy pastoral cows

In quiet pastures stand

A swish from the track

But no clikerty-clack

Small village stations,

Polgate, Berwick, Glynde

Announced by an android

A voice of the void

The train stops, then starts

The journey resumes

In a cool cocooned ride

The passengers reside

Lewes station’s a gem

From the railway past time

But few notice the sight

As they stare through the light

The railway rolls on

To Brighton it fares

Still no sound from the track

No clickerty-clack.

And then we are there

The canopy spreads high

It’s Brighton at last

The journey has past

To the end of the track

With no clickerty-clack. 

Rye Raft Race

The frost was severe at Bodiam Castle; glittering icicles and deep snow, and the cold black course of the Rother, pushing its bubbling way darkling through the whole surface, presented a dreary prospect; yet the sun shone clear, and Haranga, was riding abroad with his beautiful daughter; the rich carnation of her complexion heightened by the keen air. Her snowy neck, concealed with dark furs, was in strong contrast to her fair skin, and to the thick braids of golden hair, which lay gracefully upon her shoulders. Haranga was engaged in deep conversation with a number of the neighbouring thanes, Hathagon and Hartegor who rode by his side in armour, while around Edith, their expected queen, flocked many of the high dames and maidens who accompanied their husbands and fathers to partake of the Saxon hospitality, now more than ever exercised at Bodiam Castle. Along the banks of the river were seen the ships of the great fleet, while through the woods ranged bowmen, led by Haregna, in pursuit of birds and wolves: in the lawns near the castle, a large company were engaged in trials of strength and agility, especially that of casting the battle-axe at a butt, or block of wood, and splitting timber by heavy blows with the two-handed battle-axe.* In all they were partaking of a riotous entertainment admired by adoring ready maidens.

Into this scene of icy serenity arrived a cavalcade of ships, high prowed and wide girthed, crammed with evil looking warriors bent on destruction, rapine and murderous death, and so arrived Hastinga, a Danish pirate unseen and unwelcome. Edith shivered in anticipation, the fair skin of her snowy neck erupting in goose pimples, while her breast heaved and flushed rose, yet her mind was calm seemingly ready to accept whatever fate might bring. Haranga spied Hastinga, the infamous leader of the barbarian horde, standing proud and erect in the tall prow of the ship and observed his evil countenance; one legged, with a smooth yew peg for the other, Hastinga clasped the rigging with a gimlet hook, and glared ferociously with his one good eye, the second shrouded by a black patch. The elongated long boat drew towards the snow-blanketed bank of the dark Rother and discharged its lethal, incongruous crew of battle-scarred pirates and, as they ploughed through the deep snow, creating clouds of snow that scintillated in the sunlight, Haranga, called to Hathagon and Hartegor, who dismounted their steeds and gripped their awful two-handed battle-axes with dreadful determination. Haregna, forgoing his excursion in the wood, ran up breathless, clutching his war bow already strung with an ash arrow, fletched with a grey goose feathers and tipped with a glittering iron head. Solemn in face, the four warriors eyed each other and, because of the bond of brotherhood that existed between them, none needed to speak of what should be done that day. Suddenly Edith gave a small cry, deep in her snowy throat, while her pearl-like eyes sparkled like ice crystals and she clenched her fits in anger so the blood ran from her finger tips leaving the skin blanched and suddenly cold. Without any signal the Danish pirates divided into three serpentine columns; two snaked their way along the raised bank of the River Rother in opposite directions to fall mercilessly upon the fleet of moored ships causing total destruction, while the third advanced with terrifying screams upon the thanes and frydmen hurriedly, yet purposely, struggling to form a shield wall. With a horrendous roar and horrifying shrieks, intermingled with shocking oaths, the pirates launched themselves fiercely against the Saxon shields; axes cracked against sword, thrusting spears thumped against armour, weapons chopped and hewed and smashed; Saxon and Danes died. Edith squirmed as the deluge of blood sprayed the very air crimson and splattered, in a myriad of droplets, against her dress, which she clasped tightly about her; yet despite the carnage her heart beat faster and her breaths came in rapid succession. It was in that instant that Hastinga towered over her, covered in gore and leering insanely, to reach out and grasp at her dress with his thick fingers, and, in one powerful heave, he wrenched at her flimsy garment so it split asunder and slid rapidly from her dove-white shoulders to lay in folds on the ground and so reveal her flushed, ivory nakedness.

To cut an extremely long story short after having their full of carnage and rape the Danes returned to Rye from whence they had come. The surviving Saxons, even with their ships wrecked, were hell bent on revenge at the outrageous behaviour of the pirates and succeeded in building a number of makeshift rafts which they rowed down the River Rother to fall upon the Danes, by now exhausted and in a drunken stupor, unawares. The heroism of those few Saxons is remembered today in Rye with the Annual Raft Race.

* I would like to thank Sir Charles James Napier for his historical romance, William the Conqueror, which provided the opening sequence to this tale, although I did change the names!

Incidentally Hastinga, escaped and went on to found Hastings with Edith as his bride. Women always seem to fall for the rough and ready sort!

Larus ribaldus hastingii

The laughing gull of Hastings, Larus ribaldous hastingii, is one of the wonders of the South Coast. Try as you might to find it elsewhere you will always have to travel to Hastings to be sure to see one. Characterised by its distinctive laughing call of a repetitive, Ha, Ha, or Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha it is far more likely to be heard before it is seen. No other gull can be so readily identified as the Hastings Laughing Gull purely by its call, which is extremely useful since all seagulls look very much the same. White or grey, with patches of black, perhaps a red beak or pink legs, gulls are often identified by the minutiae of their plumage. So minute they are not easily discernable by the naked eye and getting close to a monster gull is not always advisable. Certain species of gull are larger than others but using size, as a criterion for distinguishing a particular species, does not always work, because, like humans, there is a natural variation amongst any gull species, some are obese and others are ridiculously catwalk thin, some are giants and others are hobbits. Size, it seems, does not matter. However the absurd laughing call of the Hastings Gull, no matter its dimensions, allows for easy identification. Not that all laughing gulls produce identical calls and stature or sex is no indication of the style of laughter produced for the stoutest male may only titter, while skinny female specimens can issue the most hearty, rollicking belly laugh. Standing proudly on a roof ridge an adolescent laughing gull’s shrieks of derision can pierce the sky as it throws its head back to mock any other gull it decides to ridicule. Once begun it continues guffawing in sporadic bouts of cachinnation until the subject of its derision either cowers in shame or flees in embarrassment. Occasionally a contest begins between two rival mature gulls and the air shivers with sardonic humour. Such comic revelry may be so intense that one gull may become convulsed with the giggles, split its sides and dies with a smile on its beak. Black humour, it seems, is a trait they share with humans. However such a farce is, thankfully, rare and most contents involve good natured bantering accompanied by chuckles, chortles, cackles and crows, while others hoot with sniggers, snickers, smirks and simpers. Listen out for the Hastings Laughing Gull it is impossible to ignore because its sardonic shriek of laughter is the epitome of the sea and the pebbles, the rooftops and the streets of Hastings and St. Leonards. 

Bodiam Castle

 In 1825 James Rouse wrote, Bodiam Castle ‘was once a stately pile, and the present ruins give a complete outline of its former extent and magnificence. The whole of this castle was built of the best materials, and will yet stand for ages, although roofless and overgrown with ivy.’

An article in Knight’s Penny Magazine for 1844 describes Bodiam Castle as ‘a noble pile of ruins, and with its massy but crumbling towers, mantled with ivy and reflected in the broad moat, produces an effect highly picturesque, filling the mind with reflections not unpleasing on times of insecurity, violence, and bloodshed which have fortunately long since passed away’.

Both these descriptions, accompanied by a host of architectural terms to describe the various features of the walls and towers, catered for the new breed of hungry sightseers who, with time on their hands and romance in their hearts, had discovered the new pastime of tourism that started during the 18^th century.

That Bodiam Castle was included on the itinerary of any historical ‘must be seen’ and then earnestly entered into diaries using the same strange architectural terms alluded to before, is evident by the prolific graffiti of dates and initials adorning the walls. They range from the mid 1700’s onwards, sometimes in the neatest of artistic scripts putting to shame the more recent scrawls. A multitude of serious young men, tentatively watched by possible conquests, must have laboured intensely to enshrine their name for posterity on the stones. Who they were and how long they laboured we will never know, which is a pity and to some extant negates their efforts.

The Victorian voracious appétit to learn about all things ancient led the Sussex Archaeological Society to visit Bodiam Castle as part of their annual meeting in the eastern division of the county, on the 10th of July 1856 as reported in the Gentleman Magazine. ‘From Haremare the society proceeded to Bodiam Castle, where the formal proceedings took place:-the annual report was read, the Duke of Norfolk was elected President of the society in the place of his late father and 33 new members were elected. The day was fine, and a pleasant meeting was closed by a well-provided dinner in the grounds, at which 280 ladies and gentlemen sat down.

Guidebooks from the Victorian period didn’t only cater for the historian but also the keen amateur naturalist. Mackenzie Edward C. Walcott in 1859 was at pains to point out that ‘Bodiam Castle, built late in the fourteenth century, is 13 miles distant from Hastings; the road lies through Sedlescomb, near which is found the thyme-leaved speedwell,’ and continues ‘the river Rother runs through the village, and supplies the broad moat of the castle. Here are found the narrow-leaved flax, white water-lily, and sweet violet’.

The Victorian’s were always quick to point out the unusual or bizarre and Rouse observed that, ‘on the north side of Bodiham Castle is a very remarkable echo, which is musical; the hearers and singers should be placed at different distances from the castle to enjoy this echo in all its excellence.’ This phenomenon was also referred to by Mark Antony Lower in1870, but in much more flamboyant language: ‘there is, or has been, a remarkable echo on the north side of Bodiam Castle, capable of repeating more than a full hexameter. I once tried to coquet with the talkative nymph, but either the anger of Juno, or some other impediment, prevented a satisfactory response’. A pity about the negative response, perhaps he should have tried harder.

With the growth in the tourist industry it appears certain entrepreneurs took advantage of the visitors and by 1876 John Radford Thomson informs us that ‘tickets for viewing the Castle can be had from the Master of the National School, close by Bodiam Gate’.

Along with the introduction of admission prices, souvenirs would also have been for sale and perhaps one of the most fascinating was a medallion described by Nicholas Carlisle in1837:

Obverse

A view of the ruins of the ancient Castle of Bodiam-

legend “ BODIAM CASTLE, Sussex."

Within a circle is inscribed,

"BODIUM CASTLE BUILT BY THE DALYNGRIG FAMILY IN THE

FOURTEENTH CENTURY, 

NOW IN THE POSSESSION OF JOHN FULLER, ESQ., OF ROSE HILL, MDCCCXXX."

And encircling the whole, " STRUCK IN AID OF THE SEA BATHING INFIRMARY, HASTINGS."

This Medal is sold to the Visitors of the Castle

Today Bodiam Castle resembles a breezeblock film set built for a Robin Hood movie plonked in the middle of a lake, which is full of huge ornamental carp that gawp at visitors in the hope of collecting some of the flotsam thrown to the ducks. The new breed of sightseers lean precariously out of windows millimetres from the surface of the moat, clamber over the few isolated piles of foundations and squeeze through window size openings at the base of walls before climbing wearily to the top of a tower then, finally, descend on the gift shop to buy a cheap plastic souvenir, possibly made in China. I doubt if anything has changed since the first tourist flocked to Bodiam Castle.

The America Ground

The America Ground, Hastings

Custom has it that the Stars and Stripes flag of the United States of America was raised in Hastings on what became known as the ‘America Ground’as an act of defiance against Hastings Council. A fellow philatelist and collector of Handstruck Postage Stamps of the Empire bought this front to my attention. Unfortunatly the back is missing and we are only presented with a Hastings Ship Letter strike, so despite the undoubted historical interest it provides, it is of little philatelic value.

Of undoubted historical interest is the handwritten addition referring to Hastings, or rather the America Ground, as the 24^th State of America and the date 4^th July 1822.

Actually in 1822, one star was added to the existing 23 stars of the Stars and Stripes but this was to represent Missouri, not, unfortunately the America Ground at Hastings.

A certain General Cosmo Grant was living at Oare Villas in 1832 but may not be the same individual to whom the letter is addressed.

Pigeon Pie Shoot

The Hastings Honourable Society of Pigeon Pie Shootists

The ancient sport of Pigeon Pie Shooting was again revived this weekend at the country estate of Looming Disaster where the Honourable Society Of Pigeon Pie Shootists met for their annual charity ‘shoot’. The history of the sport has been covered in depth elsewhere, notably in Pigeon Pie Shooting the Ultimate Guide, the History, Customs and Accidents of the Sport 1782-1891, by B. A. Dove, but it is worthwhile recounting the origins of the sport, if only for those readers not conversant with it. It is maintained that in 1782 a farmer, living near Hastings in Sussex, unable to stab into his pigeon pie prized the lid off and threw the unwanted piece of hard pastry through the window. Sir Cooing, the local landowner of some importance, seeing the lid spin through the air raised his ancient shotgun and fired. Despite being a mediocre shot and using an antiquated flintlock firearm, the piecrust shattered into a myriad of crumbs. Elated by his success he rushed home as fast as his gout infested legs would carry him and ordered his kitchen to cook as many pigeon pie crusts as they could, then spent the next 48 hours attempting to shoot the lids thrown out of the window by his tireless servant. For the next 50 years it was customary for a ‘thrower’ to lob a piecrust through a window frame erected in the middle of a field, but now both the ‘thrower’ and the window frame have been dispensed with due to the introduction of the Patent Piecrust Catapult. This ingenious contraption, powered by powerful elastic bands, ensures that no two lobs are either in the same direction or of the same force, due to a cleverly contrived randomiser action. The machine is so well regarded that nothing of importance has yet bettered it, although many have tried, but failed. Its only disadvantage is its tendency to produce ‘wild’ lobs on occasions, which has resulted in a number of serious accidents to unexpecting bystanders (see Dove’s book for a full account). This year no accidents occurred due the random action of the Catapult, but, as at all shoots, there were a few eventful dramas. Mr Galless Esquire of Fairlight retired with a badly bruised shoulder after double shotting his piece, a careless, but forgivable mistake considering his condition. Miss Squab of Hollington was badly spun around by the recoil upon firing her four barrel Canon-buster Special, delivering a most powerful blow to the recorders skull and knocking him senseless for a period of 10 minutes and holding up the whole shoot. Overall it was an excellent occasion despite the competition being won by an eleven year old girl, Ima Chosenman, who on her own admission had entered the competition by mistake and had never, ever, touched, let alone fired, even a fowling piece before in her life. Her score of 98 out of 100 piecrusts was a new society record. The few grumblings and mutterings by the much more experienced and older shootists however were soon dispensed with when it was realised the prize, a barrel of Hastings Strong and Dark Ale, was of no use to Ima, being child, and was happily consumed by all and sundry including the more experienced drinkers. Also it was noted that since Ima had been unable to accept the prize then the record was also forfeited, so, once again, it stands at 48 out of 100 as it has always been since 1801. Any humiliation was therefore quickly forgotten as the excellent Hastings Ale was quaffed with many a toast and the sun slowly descended towards the horizon with a faint hiss.