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This here is the bustling, picturesque fishing village of Hallsands in South Devon.
Hang on, let's try that again...
This here is the bustling, picturesque fishing village of Hallsands in South Devon.
This here is the bustling, picturesque fishing village of Hallsands in South Devon.
The more perceptive amongst you might have noticed a couple of differences between those two pictures...
The biggest and most obvious difference - apart from the lack of houses - is the disappearance of the beach.
This is where the beach is now...
This is where the beach is now...
In the 1890s the Royal Navy were extending their dockyard at Keyham, Plymouth. This naturally involved the purchase of vast quantities of building material, including gravel, and for once the British Empire wasn't going to invade somewhere else to get what it wanted.
Instead Sir John Jackson, seen here sporting the obligatory engineering beard (the lack of which kept women out of engineering until people like Beatrice Shilling kicked the door down), paid the grand total of £50 for the right to dredge just offshore from Hallsands.
Though nobody yet knew it, the village's fate was already sealed. The beach had no natural source of new material to replace it, and as the dredgers ate away just offshore it disappeared into the hole they'd left.
One of the first buildings to go was the London Inn.
It's bad enough not being able to get a drink without ordering a Scotch egg. Imagine being unable to have a drink in your local because some admiral wanted somewhere to park his frigates.
It's bad enough not being able to get a drink without ordering a Scotch egg. Imagine being unable to have a drink in your local because some admiral wanted somewhere to park his frigates.
By 1904 the southern end of the village was already cut off, except via rickety plank, and six buildings had gone.
And by 1917, virtually overnight, a massive storm did for the rest.
By some miracle nobody was killed.
By some miracle nobody was killed.
The residents spent most of the night huddled on the clifftop, listening to the destruction of their village.
Over the next few days the battered community collected their belongings, left their homes to the elements, and drifted away.
Over the next few days the battered community collected their belongings, left their homes to the elements, and drifted away.
The last traces are still there, and still slowly succumbing. When I was a kid I walked through the ruins, and past the two houses that had somehow remained intact.
Now they're impossible to easily reach. Even the survivors are now cut off.
Now they're impossible to easily reach. Even the survivors are now cut off.
This account likes to crack jokes and find historical stuff to laugh at, but behind every story lies another and it's wise to sometimes think about those too.
There was a community here once upon a time. And then, due to the needs of the navy and avarice...
...there wasn't.
There was a community here once upon a time. And then, due to the needs of the navy and avarice...
...there wasn't.
Also, you know what I said about every story has another lying underneath?
Hallsands is only a couple of miles from Slapton Sands, scene of Exercise Tiger and the D-Day rehearsals. The shingle of the two beaches is - was - identical. When I find one story, I often find others.
Hallsands is only a couple of miles from Slapton Sands, scene of Exercise Tiger and the D-Day rehearsals. The shingle of the two beaches is - was - identical. When I find one story, I often find others.
