Shelter Hall overruns

In light of the collapse of nationwide contract Carillon, it is prudent to examine how the costs of construction can overrun to the point where they cost more than forecasted.

Why is it that in the construction world, everything seems to cost more and take longer? Building contractors have had years of experience at cost estimation, yet the oft-quoted excuse is the lack of supply or staff, or some other excuse which presumably could not have been anticipated. You would think that with many years of experience in the construction industry, companies could at least factor this costs in foresight so that the cost quoted at the start is accurate over the course of projects.

All this highlights a problem within the construction industry. The quotations offered to councillors who approve such projects are deliberately low to secure approval, yet once approval has been obtained they balloon to their true size, or even an estimate, which cannot be gone back on because the contracts have been signed, or the structure is already have in place. But could you imagine if you ordered spaghetti from a restaurant, that you would have to wait longer for your food, and on top of that the restaurant tells you that the spaghetti is in shortage and therefore you would have to pay more and wait longer for the same bowl? Why do we accept this in construction?

The work to rebuild Shelter Hall in West Street is now forecast to cost twice as much and twice as long. Shouldn’t it be the case that contractors who don’t adhere to their own estimates of time and cost should bear the brunt of the extra cost themselves? The problem is that after subsidies to cover the extra rising costs from the original cost of ten million pounds, there is still a two million pound shortfall to fund the project that must come from the city coffers, or Brighton residents will end up with a half-finished mound of eyesore.

It is almost as if we build projects with the expectation that they will overrun, and we sign them off with blank cheques of money and time. We need a revamp on the construction system; contractors need to provide final cost estimates and timeframes when submitting for tender, and any shortfall should be met by them, as it impacts on the town’s infrastructure. We cannot have projects overrunning, doubling in cost, with the extra monies going to line the pockets of directors. It is a sad unethical abuse of the system

Boundary markers of Brighton

The boundary of the ancient ecclesiastical and civil parish of Brighton, which was also the area incorporated as a borough on April 1 1854, followed the boundary with Hove, from the sea-front via Little Western St and Boundary Passage to Goldsmid Rd, until the two areas were combined in 1997. It then went directly to the junctions of Russell Crescent and Dyke Rd, and Prestonville Rd and Old Shoreham Rd, to follow the line of Old Shoreham Rd, New England Rd, Viaduct Rd, Ditchling Rd, Florence Place, Hollingdean Rd and Bear Rd to the Race Hill reservoir. The boundary line then ran south across the race-course to follow generally the course of Whitehawk Rd (before realignment, now including Haybourne Rd) to Roedean Rd, and finally along the eastern side of Boundary Rd to the sea. This area amounted to approximately 1,640 acres, although reclaimed beaches added to the total over the years.

The Brighton borough boundary has been extended on several occasions in order to accommodate development outside the original area. The alterations have been:

October 31 1873: (1873 Brighton Borough Extension Act): That part of Preston parish to the east of Dyke Rd, an area of about 905 acres, was added to the borough for municipal purposes only; the boundaries remained unaltered for parochial purposes until 1894, when that part of Preston parish outside the borough, i.e to the west of Dyke Rd, was constituted as the parish of Preston Rural; and that part within the borough was constituted as the new parish of Preston. Preston remained a separate parish within the county borough of Brighton until 1928 (see below).

October 1 1923: (1923 Ministry of Housing Provisional Order Confirmation (Brighton Extension) Act): That part of Patcham parish to the east of Lewes Rd, an area of 94 acres already developed by the corporation as the original Moulsecoomb housing estate, was added to the county borough of Brighton and to the parish of Preston.

April 1 1928: (1927 Brighton Corporation Act): The whole of the parishes of Ovingdean and Rottingdean, a large part of Falmer parish (including the rest of the Moulsecoomb estate, the Falmer School area and Bevendean), and those parts of Patcham and West Blatchington parishes to the east of Dyke Rd Avenue and Devil’s Dyke Rd, were added to the county borough. In addition, a small exchange of land was made with Hove to the north of Seven Dials to simplify the boundary; the new line ran along Goldsmid Rd and Dyke Rd, such that Goldsmid Rd and parts of Addison, Davigdor, Julian and Melville Rds were transferred to Hove, while Belmont and parts of Dyke Rd and Old Shoreham Rd were added to Brighton. This enormous expansion created what was popularly known as ‘Greater Brighton’, with the area of the county borough, which was also constituted as a single parish of Brighton (thus also absorbing Preston parish), increasing nearly five-fold to 12,503 acres. A week-long celebration culminated in the unveiling of the Pylons by the Duke and Duchess of York to mark the new northern boundary of the town.

April 1 1952: (1951 Brighton Extension Act): Substantial areas of Falmer and Stanmer parishes, including Old Boat Corner, Stanmer Park, Stanmer village, Coldean and the downland to the west of Falmer Rd, were added to the county borough and parish of Brighton to bring the total area up to 14,347 acres. Those parts of Falmer and Stanmer not annexed combined to form the present parish of Falmer.

March 31 1972: (1968 Brighton Marina Act): Land reclaimed for the Marina development, plus a substantial area of sea defined by national grid references, was added to the parish and county borough. The added area was about 694 acres, making the total borough area 15,041 acres.

April 1 1993: (The East Sussex, West Sussex and Kent (County Boundaries) Order 1992): A 40ha area of downland at Donkey Bottom, including Mid-Down House and Alpha and Beta Cottages, was transferred from Pyecombe parish to the Borough of Brighton.
April 1 1997: (The East Sussex (Boroughs of Brighton and Hove) (Structural Change) Order 1995): Combined the Boroughs of Brighton and Hove into one ‘unitary’ area –a district and a county for local government purposes, an area of 33.80 square miles. However, for ceremonial purposes, Brighton & Hove remains part of East Sussex under the 1997 Lieutenancies Act.

There are not many places where the Brighton boundary is obvious to the observer. Among those most easily seen are:

Brighton/Hove: in the Western Rd pavement at Boundary Passage; at the mid-point and northern end of Boundary Passage; the southern side of Temple Gardens; either side of Windlesham Avenue; and at Dyke Rd/Old Shoreham Rd.

This last stone marked the former Hove/Preston boundary to 1928 and, although the present borough boundary does not run along the same line, it is mered to the stone.)

Brighton/Preston (to 1928): in the north-eastern pier of the New England Viaduct.

Brighton/Stanmer (1928-52): at Highfields, Coldean.
Brighton/Falmer/Preston/Ovingdean (to 1928): at the south-eastern corner of the Race Hill Reservoir in Bear Rd.

Brighton/Ovingdean (to 1928): two between the Race Hill Reservoir and Haybourne Rd, and two on the western side of Haybourne Rd, where there are also a number of Race Ground boundary stones; on the eastern side of Whitehawk Rd at Roedean Rd.

Brighton/Telscombe (from 1928): either side of Marine Drive to the east of Longridge Avenue, Saltdean.

The history of breweries in Brighton

The rise of commercial breweries in Brighton escalated in the 17th and 18th centuries. Brighton’s earliest brewers also included William Chapman, Robert Hillick and James Buckle, Elizabeth Lucas, and Richard Whichols [sic]. By the late 19th century, as well as boasting hundreds of pubs and beer houses, Brighton had more than 10 sizeable breweries. These, and other large, national breweries, had already begun buying up large numbers of pubs which then became ‘tied houses’ — i.e. the pubs could only sell the brewer’s own beer. This contentious practice of ‘tied houses’ continues today.

Albion Brewery, Albion St: acquired by the Phoenix Brewery in 1892, it was used only as a store from 1924 and then as a builder’s yard until demolished in the 1970s. The site is now occupied by the Elim Church. The adjacent Stable public house is named from the brewery’s stable that stood opposite.

Amber Ale/Longhurst Brewery, Preston Circus: established by Henry Longhurst. Brighton Corporation paid £25,000 in 1901 to acquire its Preston Circus site for its tramways. Brighton Fire Station HQ (1901) and the Duke of York’s cinema (1910) were subsequently built there. The brewery premises boasted a very large clock tower and a domed roof. The malting was incorporated into the Duke of York’s and may still be seen behind the present fire station.

Anchor Brewery, 57 Waterloo St: started in the 1830s by Ebenezer Robins. Anchor beers included the ‘Bottled Half and Half’ — a mixture of ale and porter [sic], a family table ale, East Indian pale ale and Brighton stout. Tamplin’s bought the Anchor Brewery in 1928.

Bristol Steam Brewery (later the Kemp Town Brewery): started by in the 1839 by coal merchant William Hallett, it was bought by the Abbey family in 1889. Its beers included the bottled Brighton Lager Ale, which was claimed to be good for the digestion. The brewery’s fermenting vessels were made of rare New Zealand kauri pine, which may have given the beer its unique flavour.

Black Lion Brewery, Black Lion St: Brighton’s oldest brewery, the Black Lion was established in 1545 by Flemish Protestant Deryck (originally Dirick) Carver. The original brewery building was three old tenements with dormer windows and roof made of Horsham stone. Carver was martyred for his faith at Lewes in July 1555 — burned at the stake in a beer barrel. The Black Lion name lasted considerably longer than its founder. One of its many owners was William Chapman, ‘brewer to his majesty’ and a leading member of the Brighton Hunt Committee. He died in 1823 but the brewery continued as Chapmans, under the management of Benjamin Davis, with pubs including the Hand In Hand and Noah’s Ark. Brewing ceased in 1901, when the buildings were sold to the Rock Brewery, who used them for stores. Fremlin Brothers bought the premises in 1914 and used them as a bottling store until 1968, when the buildings were sold at auction and mostly demolished.

Cannon Brewery, Russell St: established by John Barnett in 1821. He and wife Eliza had been brewing their own beer for some time, which John would peddle around town at 3d a pint. The brewery eventually built up into a chain of some 50 pubs, including The City of London, The Liverpool Arms, The Cranbourne Arms and the Montpelier Arms. When John died in 1871, Eliza sold the business and its pubs to the brewing brothers, John and Frederick Kidd. The brewery buildings survived until May 1969, when they were demolished as part of the Churchill Square development.

Kemp Town Brewery, Seymour St: founded by William Hallett as the Bristol Brewery in about the 1840s, it was later taken over by the Abbey family and became the Kemp Town Brewery in 1933. Abbey’s was a business blighted by several catastrophes: in March 1900, labourer John Hope choked to death on carbonic acid gas after — despite repeated warnings — climbing into a fermenting vessel to retrieve some equipment that had dropped in there. Then, in 1907, Abbey’s Eastern Road malting house was gutted by a fire which started when the kiln overheated. It destroyed six months’ worth of malt. Henry Abbey was once Mayor of Brighton and an alderman. His son, William, took over as chairman of the brewery, as did his eldest son, John in 1943, when it had become the Kemp Town brewery. He was also appointed High Sheriff of Sussex in 1945. After serving during World War I, John turned his attentions to collecting antiquarian books, especially those produced by private printing presses, eventually becoming England’s most extensive rare book collector. The company was taken over by Charringtons in 1954 and the final beer was brewed and bottled in April 1964. The site was bought by Brighton College in 1967 and turned into its Maltings block. The rest of the buildings were sold in 1970 for the Seymour Square development.

Raven Brewery, 35 Vine St: set up in 1979 by pub owner, Vincent O’Rourke; the company was producing 150 barrels a day at its peak, with most of the beer sold at the Coachmakers Arms in Trafalgar St, which Raven owned. The company fizzled out during the 1980s.

Rock Brewery — originally known as Griffiths — 61 St James St: started in 1809, with malthouses in Hereford Street and Warwick Street. George Griffith, son of the original owner, was a much-loved benefactor of Brighton, whose philanthropic pomps and works included the redecoration of the Banqueting Room in Royal Pavilion. In February 1849, Griffith was found dead in the road, shot through the heart at point-blank range, about four miles from Henfield on his way back from collecting cash from Horsham. The murder weapon turned out to be one of two pistols Griffith carried with him. Robbery was believed to be the motive for the unsolved killing. In 1900, the Rock Brewery bought the College Brewery in Montague Place and, a year later, the Black Lion Brewery. The Portsmouth and Brighton United Breweries bought a large share of the business in 1927. By 1953, the Rock Brewery had produced its last beer and the company was wound up in 1960. The main building was demolished in 1978, and the site is now occupied by Lavender House and St Mary’s Church House.

Smithers/North St Brewery: founded in 1851 by Henry Smithers. His son, Edward Smithers, served as chairman of the Brighton Brewers’ Society. Smithers eventually acquired the West St Brewery, Portslade Brewery, Bedford and North St breweries. Its Western Road premises were demolished in 1923 to make way for the Imperial Arcade, but the brewery continued trading from premises in Regent Hill until it was acquired by Tamplins in 1929.

Tamplins/Phoenix Brewery: at its peak, Tamplins owned 200 Brighton pubs and was producing nearly 5 million gallons of beer a year. Between 1892 and 1929, it bought the Albion, Cannon, Brighton, Anchor (Robins), Smithers and West St breweries. Tamplins itself was bought by Watney Mann in 1953 and closed in 1973.

The brewery was founded by Richard Tamplin in 1820 but, after a fire destroyed its original site at Southwick, he opened the Phoenix Brewery in 1821 between Albion St and Southover St. His son Henry took over on his father’s death in 1849, who was succeeded by his son William in 1867. By the late 1880s, Tamplins had over 80 pubs. This number almost doubled when Charles Catt, a partner in Vallance & Catt, owner of the Ship St Brewery since 1850, sold his 74 pubs to Tamplins in 1899 and joined their board (the brewing side of Vallance and Catt was taken over by Henry and Percy In Willett and run as the West St Brewery until this in turn was taken over by Smithers in 1919). The company continued to prosper throughout the early part of the 20th century: beer sales rose from £361,013 in 1925 to £397,572 in 1927, and bottled beer sales, from 83,065 in 1925 to 120,324 in 1927. But, 1932, its fortunes had taken a slight, but discernible, downswing. Costs were increasing: the maintenance of horses, carriages and motors plus the company had to spend more on advertising. A number of Tamplins pubs, including the Flying Scud, The Bath Arms and The Fisherman At Home were also consistently making a loss. After swallowing up most of its brewing competitors, Tamplins itself was bought by Watney Mann in 1953. By the time of its closure some 20 years later, when the last brew was made, it employed 450 people by time of closure that year. The brewery was demolished in 1980 but the Phoenix name lives on: in July 1996, the derelict brewery site was developed for 95 new homes for 300 people, comprising houses for families, wheelchair accessible housing and flats for single people. The £7.8 million development, led by Chichester Diocesan Housing Association, received funding from the Housing Corporation and the council and was completed in December 1997.

West St Brewery: Grover’s West St Brewery, established in 1767 by Isaac Grover, was the first in Brighton to use steam power. Taken over by Vallance and Son in 1895, it became Vallance & Catt brewery. Standing behind the King’s Head near the south-western corner of West Street, it was taken over by Smithers in 1913, but was closed by Tamplins in 1929 and demolished in 1933.

Dark Star Brewery: named after a Grateful Dead song, began as a micro-brewery in the cellar of the Evening Star in Surrey St in 1994. Its current beers include Over The Moon, Spiced Vice (made with coriander), Espresso Stout, Meltdown (made with Chinese stem ginger) and Natural Blonde, made with organic malt. Its other exotic brews have included Delhi Beli, garlic-flavoured beer and tandoori beer — surely one of the most blatant attempts ever made by a brewer to curry favour with its customers.

Kemp Town Brewery, Hand in Hand, 33 Upper St James St: believed to be England’s smallest brewery, started by Bev and Brenda Robbins in December 1988 and produced its first brew in November 1989. The idea came — as many of the best ideas do — from a beery evening enjoyed at (where else?) The Great British Beer Festival in Leeds. Kemp Town’s three regular beers are Kemptown Bitter, Ye Olde Trout and Dragons Blood, but other brews have included Crewsaver, Celebrated Staggering Ale and Staggering in the Dark. When the Tour de France came to Brighton, Kemp Town commemorated it with a special beer, On Yer Bike. Their winter beer, Old Grumpy ABV is available from December.

From humble origins to fame: Edward Bransfield

Born in Ballinacurra, County Cork, this sailor — press-ganged into the Navy at 18 — was a classic example of someone being in the right place at the right time, to unwittingly carve out their own piece of history: namely, being the first man to sight mainland Antarctica. Edward Bransfield began as an Ordinary Seaman and steadily rose through the ranks; by 1816, he was Master of the Severn, which he took part in the Bombardment of Algiers. In 1817, he was appointed Master of the Andromache, under the command of Captain WH Shirreff; during this tour of duty, Bransfield was posted to the Royal Navy’s new Pacific Squadron off Valparaíso, Chile — then fighting for its independence from Spain. Two years later, Captain William Smith of the merchant ship Williams accidentally discovered what came to be known as the South Shetland Islands.

When Captain Shirreff learned of this discovery, he chartered the Williams and sent it back with Bransfield, two midshipmen and the surgeon from HMS Slaney, to survey the islands. On January 28 1820, Bransfield landed on King George Island and took formal possession on behalf of King George III, before heading south-west past Deception Island and then turning south, crossing what is now known as the Bransfield Strait (named for him by James Weddell in 1822). On January 30 1820, Bransfield sighted Trinity Peninsula, the northernmost point of the Antarctic mainland, and made a note in his log of two ‘high mountains, covered with snow’, one of which was subsequently named Mount Bransfield, by Dumont Durville, in his honour.

Bransfield then discovered various points on Elephant Island and Clarence Island, and formally claimed them for the British Crown. When he arrived back in Valparaíso, he gave his charts and journal to Captain Shirreff, who gave them to the Admiralty.

These charts survived and are still in the possession of the Hydrographic Department in Taunton, Somerset, but the journal has been lost. However, two private accounts of Bransfield’s voyage were published in 1821. It later emerged that, two days before Bransfield’s sighting, the Russian explorer Fabian Gottlieb von Bellingshausen had sighted an icy shoreline now known to have been East Antarctica, and some historians therefore claim he should be credited with the find.

Based on this sighting, a claim has been made on behalf of Bellingshausen that he should be credited with the discovery of the continent. After his journeys in the Southern Ocean, Bransfield returned to Plymouth and was discharged, on half pay, to the reserve list. He served for several years as a Master on merchant ships. When he retired, he moved to Brighton, setting up home in London Rd. He and his wife, Ann, are buried in the Extra-Mural Cemetery, and the gravestone now bears an inscription reflecting Bransfields claim to fame. In 1999, one of his descendants, Sheila Bransfield, discovered the grave and found it in a woeful state. Aided by charitable donations, she organised its renovation and a ceremony was held to mark this, attended by the master of RRS Bransfield (an Antarctic surveying vessel named after him) plus representatives from the National Maritime Museum, the Hydrographic Office and the Royal Geographical Society. In 2000, the Royal Mail issued a commemorative stamp in his honour but, as no likeness of him exists, the stamp depicted RRS Bransfield.

The origins of Brighton to the Neolithic Age

We all love the seaside and the sense of freedom it brings, but Brighton has a reputation above all other resorts in Britain for the ‘edgy’ pleasures it offers to visitors from all over the world. It’s not a bucket-and-spade kind of place, but a sophisticated ‘melting pot’ for a wide variety of people who relish the idea of having a good time in their own way. In fact sometimes it feels like a place for grown-ups who haven’t quite grown up at all.

It took a long time for a proper town to develop here and Brighton only discovered its true purpose in life only about 250 years ago. That purpose has been to attract visitors in their droves, parting them from their cash – and sometimes from their common sense, too – in return for an endless, and colourfully varied, range of entertainments. Of course, the people who live here care very much about things like schools, hospitals and rubbish collections, but that’s certainly not what Brighton means to everyone else.

As far as the wider world is concerned it isn’t really owned by its inhabitants at all – or not in the way that matters. It’s always been a place for other people to pass through on their way to somewhere else, or to pause in for a little fun before going away again. This has given it a very peculiar history. The obsession with having a good time began with George, the Prince Regent, and his extravagant friends (can you imagine the gaudy Royal Pavilion being built in any other seaside town?), and it hasn’t stopped since. In many ways this has been very useful for Brighton. The rich folk who came here during the 18th century for the ‘sea-water cure’ helped to revive a town that was very much down on its luck.

It wasn’t until 1810 that the authorities decided officially to call their town Brighton. Before that it was known as something like Brighthelmston, although more than 40 variations on the theme have been recorded. (In the Domesday Book it was Bristelmestune.) The ‘tun’ bit signifies a homestead, and the best guess is that someone called Beorthelm (which means ‘bright helmet’) was the bigwig here in Saxon times – but, if so, the poor chap’s been completely forgotten.

But the influx of so many outsiders can cause problems, too. Once the railway had arrived in the 1840s, Brighton grew faster than any other town in Britain, and during the later Victorian period many areas were horribly overcrowded, with foul-smelling slums that were a terrible health hazard because people drank water raised in buckets from wells that lay right next to their cesspits.

During the 1930s, day-trippers arrived here in their thousands, but some of them weren’t the kind of people you’d want as next-door neighbours. There were razor-wielding gangs who frequented the racecourse, and for a time the town had a very bad reputation indeed. Fortunately, Brighton has always found ways to rise above its problems, knowing that unless it puts on a good show for its visitors it can’t hope to be prosperous. Today it’s a bright and cheerful city, but – just like some of the characters who like to have their fun here – it has a colourful and occasionally disreputable past.

The first thing you need to know about Brighton is that the land it sits on wasn’t always there. Let’s go back a hundred million years to a Sussex that wasn’t the attractive jumble of hills and valleys we know today, but a flat expanse of nothing, covered by water. At one period this was a swampy region, criss-crossed by meandering rivulets and inhabited by iguanodons and other dinosaurs. Later it was flooded by the sea. The bands of sediment that built up on the bottom hardened to become the eventual rocks and soils of Sussex: sandstones, clay, shales, limestone and chalk.

During all these vast aeons they lay in an orderly fashion, one on top of the other, quietly minding their own business. The chalk, on top of everything else, was created from minute calcite crystals secreted by planktonic algae when the land was under the sea, and it built up at the rate of a metre every 100,000 years for all of 30 million years to form layers some 300 metres thick.

So why isn’t the landscape flat today? Because once, another very long time ago, there was a gradual but violent grinding of the tectonic plates (sections of the earth’s crust) that lie beneath our continent. It lifted, twisted and buckled the rocks to form the Alps in northern Europe and create the huge, if less dramatic, dome that eventually became today’s Sussex. Geologists call it the Wealden anticline – and Brighton sits on the southern edge of it.

Once rivers had cut through the rocks on their way to the sea, and once rain, frost and ice had scoured and weathered the surface over millions more years, Sussex was left with the broad bands of soils which make up our Downs and Weald today. (You might think that our chalk slopes should be called the Ups rather than the Downs, but the word comes from the Old English dun, which means ‘hill’.)

Don’t imagine, though, that the beach we walk the dog on today is where the earliest inhabitants of Sussex found it half a million years ago. The fickle sea was sometimes 40 metres higher than it is now, and sometimes all of 100 metres lower. In the cliffs at Black Rock, near Brighton Marina, you can see evidence of an ancient beach 8 metres above the current sea level and dating from about 200,000 years ago. It wasn’t until 5,000 years ago that the sea arrived at something like the present coastline, and another 2,000 years before it reached roughly the height we know today – although it has kept ebbing and flowing ever since, and at present threatens to wash away houses all around the south-east coast of England.

Let’s introduce you to a man called Roger. He’s very old – probably half a million years old – but unfortunately we can only guess what he looked like. That’s because all that remains of him is a single fragment of shin-bone. The archaeologists who affectionately gave him his daft name (no, of course nobody was called Roger then) were exploring an ancient raised beach at Boxgrove, 32 km (20 miles) west of Brighton, near Chichester. They also found a couple of teeth, but these probably belonged to someone else.
The Boxgrove people were members of a species we know as Homo heidelbergensis – their descendants being Neanderthal man (now extinct) and possibly ourselves (not yet) – and they lived in a climate similar to our own. They collected flints from the base of the cliffs and chipped away at them to fashion razor-sharp hand-axes. With these they hunted and butchered rhinoceroses, bears, bison, horses and large deer. But there were chilly times to come. Some 14,000 years ago, with glaciers forming further north, the Downs were covered by snowfields and the chalk was permanently frozen. The snow melted when the last ice age ended, and rivers cut through the hills, scouring out the valley north of Brighton which we know as Devil’s Dyke.

As the temperature rose, life became easier for the nomadic hunter-gatherers and hunter-fishers who foraged along the coast and in the dense oak forests of Sussex, which teemed with wild cattle, deer and pigs. Their rock-shelters have been excavated in the Sussex Weald, especially on the high ground to the north of Brighton, but scatterings of their worked flints have been found in the Brighton area, too.

Come the New Stone Age, Brighton at last finds a definite place on the prehistoric map. During this period settlers used polished stone tools, domesticated animals, practised weaving, made pottery and sank flint mines deep into the chalk – walk on the Downs above the Long Man of Wilmington chalk figure to the east of Brighton, and the indentations you see in the turf are the tops of those ancient mineshafts.

These settlers also left permanent marks on the landscape in the form of long and oval ‘barrows’, or burial mounds, and a series of large ‘causewayed camps’ on high points of the Downs. One of these camps can still be seen – although it’s been knocked about more than a bit – 130 metres above sea level, up by Brighton Racecourse at Whitehawk Hill. Probably built between 4000 and 3000 BC, and extended over several centuries, it comprises four concentric earthworks with crossing points, or causeways, over the ditches.

Nobody really knows what these structures were for. They weren’t sufficiently protected to have been fortifications, and the best guess is that they were centres for communal rituals of some sort.