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THE WEST PIER STORY - FOR CHILDREN

It was cold night, the middle of winter. People hurried home from work, eager to be inside their warm comfortable houses. They didn't want to be outside in the street and get caught in the storm.

All that day announcements could be heard on the radio and TV that big winds were coming across the English Channel, perhaps from France.

Mothers and fathers collected their children from school, but did not stop at the shops as they usually did. It was getting dark, being the middle of winter when the sun sets early; they were anxious to be home quickly.

As soon as everyone was safely back, it was time to close the windows, pull the curtains across and settle down to a nice warm supper, then to decide which television programme to watch after homework.

With all that chatter of voices, music from the CD, clink-clank of cups, plates, knives, forks and spoons, no one could hear what was happening outside.

If you lived near the seafront you might have heard the howling wind or the rain banging on the windows, but unless you were standing on the beach, assuming you were strong enough, you could not imagine what was really happening.

Dark clouds covered the sky and neither the stars nor the moon could be seen.

There, on the beach, the force of the wind seemed greater than anywhere else that night. So strong and fast was the wind that the sea became angry.

Gradually, as the tide grew higher, the sea's anger increased. It decided to throw stones from the beach onto the pavement. Not just one, or two, or three, no lots and lots, heaps and heaps.

I know because I walked that way the next morning.

Well, all forlorn, in the sea stood the old West Pier. Because it was so old, born in 1866, it was no longer strong.

No one had looked after it and although some people cared, they did not have the money for restoration. Many of its legs were broken away, some of the elegant iron seats and railings had fallen into the sea a long time ago.

Most of the glass windows were shattered, allowing the sea-spray and rain to drive in for many, many years. It became home to seagulls; hundreds, if not thousands, had made nests on the West Pier, babies hatched and found shelter in the nooks and crannies away from the freezing winds in the winter. Some birds even died there.

For a while we could go and visit this old pier, wearing a safety helmet and life jacket, but being careful not to tread on a dead bird. And hold your nose tightly closed, the smell was worse than boiling cabbage, the birds left toilet droppings everywhere.

Well, the night of wicked winds and enraged seas became too much for the old pier to cope with. White horses could be seen pounding against its legs and struts, legs which had stood in the sea water for nearly 150 years finally lost their power to support.

As well as this, the connecting walkway joining the front of the pier to the back did not like the battering it was getting either. It collapsed. In so doing it caused the central part of the pier, the beautiful concert hall, to lurch sideways, toppling towards the raging sea. One side touched the water, the roof slanting at a dangerous angle and there it stopped.

The sea receded, taking with it the fearful wind and crippling rain. By the light of the next morning the sea was just a memory of the night before, but the sight which met our eyes was more real than ever.

An old pier almost swept away by wind and tide, now broken in half.

Lumps of wood, broken free, had landed on the beach. People rushed from all over Sussex to take pieces home to keep as souvenirs.

Seagulls flew wildly overhead, confused. Their home of many years had shifted, where could they go now?

One day, perhaps, it will be repaired, but another bad storm like that night in January 2003 and there will be no more stories to tell.

by Mrs P Thomas FRPS, MPAGB