The view from Hastings Pier: On the difficulty of regenerating Britain’s seaside towns

A view from a pier. Image: Joel Mills.

Stepping on to Hastings Pier provides a sublime immersion in that liminal world between land, sea and sky. Under a canopy of sulking cloud, the eau de nil, blue, and grey palettes of the English Channel can feel like being enveloped within a sea view painting. The sense of vast stretching space evokes a sense of reverence, awe and respect, not only of the sea, but lifts imagination to the world beyond our own shores.

In acknowledgement of one of the finest public driven architecture projects of our time, London based architecture firm dRMM were awarded the 2017 RIBA Stirling Prize for their stunning contemporary design of the traditional English seaside pier. It’s a design which captures the original intentional essence of piers – that of standing on the deck of a ship surrounded by sea.

Yet mere weeks after receiving this accolade came the devastating news that Hastings Pier Charity has fallen into administration. The charity which runs the pier failed to secure backing from its key stakeholders – Heritage Lottery Fund, Hastings Borough Council and East Sussex County Council – for its three-year business plan. The Heritage Lottery Fund have agreed to provide interim financial support next year, while the future of the pier is decided. The fortunes of Hastings Pier prove a poignant reminder of the vicissitudes of Britain’s seaside towns – their rise to glory in an age of great optimism and engineering, and their subsequent spiral into decline, right through to their ongoing struggles for survival, with aspirations of regeneration and renewal.  

When fire ripped its way through Hastings Pier in 2010, sending flames sky high, crowds gathered to watch the spectacle – many literally weeping - as they watched the fire crews struggle hard through the night to contain the blaze. They were unable to save the pier, which was largely destroyed.

But its historical and symbolic importance to the town was highlighted by a determination to restore the pier, and the local community was galvanised, uniting behind a five-year restoration project. Some £600,000 was raised through community shares to bolster the £11.4m of Heritage Lottery Fund and £2.5m of private funding. The pier reopened in April 2016.

The beauty of dRMM’s reinterpretation of Hastings Pier is in its elegance and simplicity. It’s devoid of all the usual clutter, with any traditional attractions such as a funfair-style carousel, stalls and cafe occupy the shore end of the pier.

Around halfway along, walls featuring a zigzag pattern lift a mezzanine deck with windows that mirror the shimmering sea, sky, and people strolling by. The platform is accessed via a sweep of raked steps that double as seating overlooking a space substantial enough to host performances – and has served an ongoing series of live gigs and film events.

Beyond, it opens out to a vast expansive deck. Peering over the far railings, barnacled remnants of the original ironwork structure have been left like defiant battle scars from fire trauma.

Piers were originally built as landing stages for mooring boats in deeper water, both to offload goods and people and create easy access to resorts from pleasure steamers. The first such pier, in Ryde on the Isle of Wight, and Brighton’s Chain Pier, became major landing points for European travelers and goods. In an age when shipping, travel and tales of faraway places captured the public’s imagination, they were quickly recognised for their walking and promenading pleasures: walking out over and above the sea itself as if on some ocean deck held enormous appeal.

The seaside architectural historian Fred Gray perceived piers as places that offered solitary, introspective pleasures alongside the noisier social activities and attractions. The pier is a “platform from which to view the horizon, allowed people to reflect upon themselves, other places and other times”. This contrast between the hurly burly and the quiet, restorative nature of the sea reflects an ongoing tension and expectations of what constitutes a good seaside town and its offer.

Delve a bit further into history, and the layers of class and taste slide distinctly into play. Still resonant today in towns like Hastings, the pier has provided a platform for these tensions to be played out. Some locals complained vehemently that the pier was empty, missing the usual seaside attractions of arcades and fairs, and felt it had been designed for the cappuccino-drinking middle classes.

The first resorts – Scarborough, Brighton, Eastbourne – were mainly frequented by affluent classes seeking the healthy benefits of the salty sea air. But as train travel took over as the main transport to coastal towns, resorts opened up to a much wider demographic. Thanks to the new holiday and work regulations in the mid-19th century, seaside towns expanded rapidly to accommodate the traditional holiday escape from the cities and industrial towns.

Piers became an increasingly fashionable part of the seaside fabric, resulting in the numbers growing – in parallel with the popularity of resorts – from around a dozen to around 80 between 1850 and 1900. Some resorts, like Brighton, even had two or three along their foreshores.

The most noted pier architect and engineer was Eugenius Birch, who designed and built the original Hastings Pier. Previously specialising in railways, he turned his attention to a series of seaside architecture commissions, to reflect the zeitgeist.

He designed and built the first screw pile pier in Margate, which allowed the deep structural stability that piers needed to withstand time and tide, and went on to build 14 around the UK, including Eastbourne, Brighton’s West Pier, and the North Pier in Blackpool.

The seaside has always been as much about the side as the sea. These piers were often crammed with side attractions: stalls, salons, reading rooms and libraries, games, and telescopes. More recently, amusements, cafes, ice cream parlours, and confectionary outlets have arrived.

John K. Walton, the doyen of British seaside historians, also distinguished this contrasting view between the reflective, romantic and sometimes solitary pleasures of resorts, with the more communal and noisy activities of seaside associated with bawdy pleasure. Away from the everyday of work and home, authority seems diluted, constraints of behaviour suspended, and pleasure impulses given free rein.

Indeed, seaside towns still remain characterised by conflicting attitudes of respectability and licentious behaviour. The tension between the genteel, twee view of the seaside, and the tacky, over-sexed, boozy weekend getaways is reflected in how particular resorts have become associated with class and taste. Think how perceptions of Southwold, Whitstable and St. Ives – all stylish and desirable destinations to middle classes – contrast with ideas of Blackpool, Clacton and Skegness as traditional working class destinations, down-at-heel in their fortunes.

The Victorian penchant for landscaping means that seaside towns often still have some of the most substantial public space, including Esplanades, oriental gardens, seafront promenades, not to forget the beach itself. Notions that the public space of the seaside brought people together from all walks of life, rubbing easily along together, proved idealistic and erased over class tensions.

Piers often had admission fees, turnstiles, and toll gates – architecture that established entrances as markers of separate delineated space, intent on keeping ‘the lower sort’ and riff-raff out. The very notion of public space at the seaside is questionable and complex. A form of a kind of ‘municipal capitalism’ encouraged by seaside town councils emerged – a mix of public and private enterprise, where investments by local councils in design worked alongside entrepreneurial business.

From the 1970s British seaside resorts’ fortunes spiraled downwards as holidaying overseas in sunnier climes became more affordable, accessible and appealing. Seaside towns were used to seasonal feast and famine, but with the decline of traditional fishing, manufacturing and local industries, the short burst of summer employment simply wasn’t enough to sustain a thriving year-round economy. Although government bodies launched a £45m programme for seaside town regeneration in 2007, in 2013, a damning report from the Centre for Social Justice identified that 7 out of the top 20 most deprived areas in Britain were coastal towns, including Blackpool, Margate, Rhyl and Clacton-on-Sea.


Like many seaside towns, Hastings became associated with poverty, rife with unemployment, drug problems, and high benefits dependency. This more rough-and-ready boozy, sometimes brawling seaside town culture has always sat alongside, and intertwined with, a thriving creative and artistic community with a more Bohemian outlook – and is part of its appeal.

Government investment into programmes such as Sea Change is also indicative of anticipation that seaside regeneration programmes look to culture and cultural assets for substantial reinvigoration. Folkestone Triennial attracts visitors out of the usual season and invites visitors to discover the town via commissioned artworks by notable artists. Margate’s appeal as a new cultural hotspot was kick-started with the arrival of the Turner Contemporary gallery and the renovation of the Dreamland amusement park, and solidified by a hub of new creative businesses.

The ambitious plans for Hastings tried to move beyond simply recreating seaside nostalgia and look to helping economic revival, by investing in projects that will make the town more attractive to visitors who will spend money. Yet when the Jerwood Gallery was built to house a contemporary art collection in the heart of The Stade, the still-working fishing quarter in 2012, it was met by mass protest. Many local commentators have cited many possible reasons for the Pier’s business failure – but one noticeable conflict is in a similar narrative around class, taste, and the all-important questions about who regeneration projects actually benefit.

With the enlivening potential that regeneration offers, there’s also a real danger that big cultural asset projects come to be seen as a fix-all, and ongoing arguments attest to the uncomfortable acknowledgement that cultural regeneration can leave behind the poorer communities most marginalised in small towns. There’s little doubt that lasting economic and social change needs a much broader base than just arts and culture to build on, and must benefit the wider communities who live in seaside towns. Rather than dampen the possibilities and vitality that new projects can inject, it needs to be a vital part of regeneration conversation and thinking.

Hastings Pier is emblematic of a regeneration project that has emerged from the still beating heart of a town caught between the weight of its past – with all its knowing, dismantled nostalgia – and the need to be future and outward looking. The rebuilt pier is still a major asset to Hastings in need of a new workable business model.  Many local people are calling for Hastings Council to invest further in the pier’s future – but given its claim that it has already invested what it can, some fear it may be returned to private enterprise.

Culture led regeneration plans need to have real benefits for local communities, and with that requires long term public and private investment.  We also need to stay bold with ideas and ideals to allow strong visions for the future. Hastings Pier pushes us to its furthest reach, encouraging us to look to the horizon, the aspirations of what might be, and beyond. Let’s hope that view and optimism don’t fade. 

 
 
 
 

To see how a city embraces remote work, look to Helsinki

A deeply rooted culture of trust is crucial to the success of remote work. (Sean Gallup/Getty Images)

When I speak to Anssi Salminen, an account manager who lives an hour outside Helsinki, he’s working from a wooden platform on the edge of a Finnish lake. With a blanket laid out and his laptop set up, the sun low in the sky, Anssi’s remote work arrangement seems blissful. 

“I spend around half of my time working somewhere else other than the office,” he says. “I can work from home, or on the go, and I also travel to the Netherlands once a month and work from there.

“The emphasis in my work has always been that it doesn’t matter when or where I work, as long as I get things done.”

For many people around the world, the shift to remote work was sudden, sparked by the coronavirus pandemic. Finland, however, is finding the transition much less significant. Before Covid-19, the Nordic nation already displayed impressive levels of remote working, with 14.1% of its workforce reporting usually working from home. Only the Netherlands has a comparable percentage of remote workers, while the UK lagged behind at 4.7%, and the US’s remote workforce lingered at around 3.6%

Anssi works for one of many Helsinki-based companies that offers its employees flexible policies around when and where they work. That arrangement is in part due to the Finnish capital’s thriving start-up scene. In spite of being a relatively small city by global standards it is home to over 500 technology start-ups. These companies are leading the way when it comes to keeping employees connected wherever they choose to work.

“Our company has a completely location-free working policy,” says Kasper Pöyry, the CEO of Helsinki-headquartered software company Gapps. “All meetings are made available for online participants and facilitated accordingly. Some employees have worked extensively from abroad on a working holiday, whilst others prefer the comfort and social aspects of the well-stocked office. Whatever works for our employees is what works for the company.”

Like Gapps, many Helsinki-based firms are deeply preoccupied with providing the necessary technology to attract talent in a vast and sparsely populated country. Finland has only 15 inhabitants per square kilometre, and companies understand that in order to compose teams of specialised expertise, they may have to seek talent outside of the city. Local governments take a similarly proactive stance toward technological access, and Helsinki offers free, unrestricted, high-speed Wi-Fi from city-wide hotspots, while the country as a whole boasts some of the best coverage in Europe. 

But encouraging remote work isn’t just about optimising the potential of Finland’s workforce – companies in Helsinki also recognise that flexibility has clear benefits for both staff and employees. 

“The idea of a good work-life balance is ingrained in Finnish culture,” says Johannes Anttila, a consultant at organisational think tank Demos Helsinki. “It goes back to our rich history of social dialogue between labour unions and employers, but also to an interest in delineating the rules of working life and pushing towards people being able to enjoy their private life. Helsinki has been named the best city in the world for work-life balance, and I think that this underlies a lot of the mentality around remote work.” 

For Peter Seenan, the extent to which Helsinki residents value their free time and prioritise a work-life balance prompted his move to the city ten years ago. He now works for Finnair, and points to Finland’s summer cottages as an example of how important taking time to switch off is for people in the country. These rural residences, where city residents regularly uproot to enjoy the Nordic countryside, are so embedded in Finnish life that the country boasts around 1.8 million of them for its 5.5 million residents

“Flexible and remote work are very important to me because it means that I don’t feel like I’m getting stuck in a routine that I can’t control easily,” he says. “When I’m working outside of the office I’ll go down to my local sauna and go ice swimming during the working day, typically at lunchtime or mid-morning, and I’ll feel rejuvenated afterwards… In winter time especially, flexibility is important because it makes it easier to go outside during daylight hours. It’s certainly beneficial for my physical and mental health, and as a result my productivity improves.”

The relaxed attitude to working location seems to pay off – Finland is regularly named the happiest country in the world, scoring highly on measures such as how often its residents exercise and how much leisure time they enjoy. With large swathes of unspoiled countryside and a national obsession with the outdoors, sustainability is at the forefront of its inhabitants’ minds, leading to high levels of support for measures to limit commuting. In January, Finland passed a new Working Hours Act, the goal of which was to help better coordinate employee’s work and leisure time. Central to this is cementing in law that employees can independently decide how, when, and where they work.

Yet enacting the new ruling is not as simple as just sending employees home with their laptops. For Kirsimarja Blomqvist, a professor of knowledge management at LUT University, perhaps the most fundamental feature that remote work relies upon is a deeply rooted culture of trust, which Helsinki’s residents speak of with pride. The anecdotal evidence is backed up by data which suggests that Finland boasts one of the highest levels of trust and social cohesion in Europe, and equality and transparency have always been key cornerstones of political thought in the country.

“Trust is part of a national culture in Finland – it’s important and people value it highly,” she explains. “There’s good job independence, and people are valued in terms of what they do, not how many hours they work for. Organisations tend to be non-hierarchical, and there is a rich history of cooperation between trade unions, employers, and employees to set up innovative working practices and make workers feel trusted and valued. 

“It’s now important that we ensure that this trust can continue to be built over technology, when workers might have been more used to building it face-to-face.”

As companies begin to look hopefully toward a post-Covid future, the complexities of remote work are apparent. Yet amid issues of privacy, presenteeism, and social isolation, the Helsinki model demonstrates the potential benefits of a distanced working world. The adjustment to remote work, if continued after the crisis, offers a chance to improve companies’ geographical diversity and for employers to demonstrate trust in their workforce. On these issues, Blomqvist believes other cities and employers can learn a lot from Helsinki.

“People are now beginning to return to their workplaces, but even as they do they are starting to consider the crisis as a jumping point to an even more remote future,” she says. “The coronavirus pandemic has been an eye-opener, and people are now interested in learning from Finland’s good practices… We are able to see the opportunity, and the rapid transition to remote work will allow other countries to do the same.”

Katie Bishop is a freelance writer based in Oxford.