Farewell, Golden Youth!

Brighton is where I mutated from a teenager into a young man.  Like it or not, this city and the people that I knew while I lived there, are a significant part of who I became, and who I am now. Leaving for what may very well be the last time was a bittersweet moment.

But fish and house-guests stink after four days, so it was time to move on. We said goodbye to a couple who had treated us to their generous brand of hospitality, and who we were sad to bid farewell.  Now, I wanted to go and look at three of the places I lived while a young man in the city, so despite the rainy day that it turned out to be, we set off for 10, St. George's Terrace.  Here it is, as I saw it this morning

 

Do you see that railing on the top?  I lived in the attic and by climbing out of the window, my friends and I would enjoy sunny summer afternoons on the roof, protected from falling by that railing.  (I lived above the rounded windows on the right, not the angular ones on the left.)

And here is a photo given to me by my friends from Brighton, taken back in 1981:

It's the one with the greenish paint and the workman apparently trying to break into the front window! In this 36 year old photo you can just make out the window of my attic flat!

This is the last place I lived before departing England for home.

Some other photos of the era came with this one, and I may tack some of them on to the bottom of this post, if I feel like embarrassing myself.

Prior to living in this house, I lived at...

16 Rugby Place!  Went past there this morning and the place looks exactly the same. Except with no clouds of hashish smoke rolling out the windows...  This was student digs, with room for five people, and many of my friends stayed here at some time or another.

And the place is for sale, as well!

When I first moved to Brighton, I lived in a hostel right on the seafront on Marine Parade.  I posted a photo of the area as seen from the Palace Pier yesterday.  But I soon started going out with a girl from Germany, and we got shacked up in a flat in Rottingdean, across the road from the White Horse pub.

So the next stop was Rottingdean, along the seafront where we would watch rabbits playing from the top deck of the bus, past the old mill,

And down to the White Horse where we had a mediocre lunch.  The weather was blustery, wet and coldish, 

But I did manage to take a photo of the place I once lived. Above the two shops are two flats, accessible from within the tunnel that leads through to the back of the building.  

We lived in the right hand flat as seen here, and underneath was a tailor's shop, all boarded up and abandoned.  The window above the shop was our livingroom, and the one above was our bedroom. This place was wonderful during the summer, but the stormy channel was only yards away, and in the winter it was bitter!

Leaving here we went off in the hope of seeing some white cliffs at Beachy Head. The pub was packed to the gills, they wouldn't sell us a coffee if we couldn't sit down, so we left.  Derek fled back to the car, but I tried to walk through the lashing wind and light rain to get something of a view, but I gave up after a couple of hundred yards, and ran back to the car myself.

We departed, pausing only to take a photo of Eastbourne

This is like the Florida of England.  It's where Englishmen go to die.

And from here, to St. Leonard's on Sea, to be greeted by another old friend, and we've been having a fine old time since then, chatting, and eating, and drinking beer (not me!). But not taking pictures, so there is nothing else for me to post.

So I will post some photos from the days immediately prior to my departure from England on 3rd October 1981, and some actually taken on that very day. Expect no comments from me on them.  If they mean something to you, they will need no explanation. Otherwise you will have to exercise your imagination to figure out who is who and what is what.