South Coast England, February 1996

Saturday 17 February 1996. We both had a week off work and decided to go down to mooch along the south coast for the week. So Saturday night found us in Southsea where we found ourselves a hotel that was actually open for visitors in February: The Glendower Hotel (now converted to apartments, I see from Google Maps). There was a coach party booked in besides us and unfortunately the couple in the next room were both deaf and TV fans... They had the TV on full blast and yelled at the top of their voices only for the other to yell back, "What?"

Sunday 18 February 1996. This was taken from the bedroom window the following morning. It looks nice, but snow had been forecast! Hey, we're from up north... we can withstand a bit of cold and snow...

We venture out. Blimey, it's flipping cold out here and the wind is blowing a gale! What? I said what? Well, yes but... Southsea is just around the corner from Portsmouth, home of the famous naval base, that we fancy going to see. It doesn't open for an hour or more though, so we have to find somewhere warm to shelter - I mean somewhere to stand or sit staunchly to show these southerners just how northerners can deal with cold. Sheesh, are there no cafes open at all? I'm freezing! The Wightlink ferry bobs past us heading into Portsmouth and calmer waters. Southsea occupies a bit of a weird 2-mile island known as Portsea Island, with Portsmouth Harbour on one side, separating it from the Gosport peninsula and another body of water on the other side, Langstone Harbour, separating it from Hayling Island. It's almost not an island at all, being separated from the English mainland only by the narrow, but tidal, Portsbridge Creek.

Strategically though, it is of great importance. It guards the eastern approach to Spithead and the Solent from any potential invasion fleet and there's a castle here, built by King Henry VIII in 1544 and from its walls he watched his pride and joy warship, the Mary Rose, sink. When Britain was once again threatened with invasion, this time by Napoleon Bonaparte, Southsea grew in size rapidly to house the overflow of naval workers and craftsmen serving the Royal Navy at Portsmouth. The many acres of marshland - the Great Morass - were drained creating common and building land and the town gained a mass of buildings that Hitler did his best to knock down again in the Second World War, with quite a bit of success. The seafront promenades and piers had to be closed for the duration.

We had a walk up to the seafront and around the small castle built to defend the naval base. This shows one of the castle's cannon guarding the entrance to Portsmouth. In the distance is Spitbank Fort, one of four such, guarding the approch to Portmouth Harbour.

They were built in 1861-78, Spitbank being a smaller fort than the others and intended to pick off any enemy ships that managed to get past the larger forts further out. By the time of World War Two they had not been used at all and had become known as Palmerston's Folly, after the Prime Minister of 1860 when their building was agreed. However in the Second World War, they had had their cannons mostly removed and had been fitted with searchlights and lighter guns and presumably saw plenty of action against the Luftwaffe. (In fact a 2020 report stated that life there was so grim, that the soldiers manning it were chosen for their inability to swim, so that they would not be tempted to make a run for it...)

Southsea Castle. Whilst we were admiring the biting wind, we met our first loony of the week. He was walking his dog and asked if we were locals. On being told "no," he began to tell us about all the local celebrities. I already knew about Charles Dickens and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle but then he announced that Peter Sellers had been born there. When I said I hadn't known that, he turned me round to point out the street. "Don't go though!" he said in a voice that seemed afraid we would.

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