A trip to Saltburn 1894

July 21st 1894

Published in the Sheffield Weekly Telegraph

A Trip to Saltburn by the Sea

In July 1894 the ‘Saltburn Times’ noted the following … The ‘Weekly Telegraph’ (Sheffield) this week contains an interesting and appreciative article on Saltburn, nearly three columns in length, and with two illustrations. The following short extract will serve to show the tenor of the article, which we hope to print in full later on; “Saltburn-by-the-Sea is simply delightful: it is emphatically a health as well as a seaside resort. To those who live in busy cities, to the many who suffer from brain fag, for those whose nerves are unstrung, and who are weary and depressed, Saltburn is an Elysium; and for those who are in good health, full of animal spirits , and brimming over with holiday fun, that has been securely bottle up for eleven months and a fortnight, Saltburn will be just the place for rational enjoyment, and for the laying up of plentiful supply of vigour and robustness for the time that must elapse before another holiday arrives; whilst for children it is simply an earthly Paradise.”

The article was eventually published in the ‘Saltburn Times’ on Saturday 29th September 1894.

This pamphlet has been produced by: seasalt-designs © 2009 Images © Hilton-Thompson Collection The moral right of the author has been asserted

A TRIP TO SALTBURN-BY-THE-SEA I was fairly hipped, done up, mentally and physically. Nothing much wrong, perhaps, but the heat and the many worries that we poor mortals seem heir to. A great longing was on me for a rest and quiet, and a breath of the glorious health-giving sea air. I had a sort of craving for a sniff of ozone: I yearned to rest my eyes on the snowy foam-crested waves, and to be soothed by the lazy, restful, lap, lap of the water: so judge of my delighted gratitude when the powers that reign supreme in the editorial regions kindly suggested my going for a few days to Saltburn-by-the-Sea and to record my impressions of a seaside resort that is not nearly as well known as it deserves to be. The very thought of my holiday invigorated me. I expressed my thanks not half as eloquently as I should have liked to have done, but then I belong to the profession of women, who write much more than they talk, and so behold me on the last Friday in June travelling blithely to Saltburn.

I elected to travel by the M. S. and L. I do not know why I fixed on that particular line instead of the Midland. When I returned – of which more anon – my doubt had resolved itself into a state of unceasing lamentation over my choice. I left Sheffield by the 11.30 a.m., a very good train, only had to change at Doncaster and York, where a wait for three quarters of an hour enabled me to have a wash and a stroll to see the splendid Minster.

Indeed, if it had not been for the excessive heat it would have been quite possible to have had a charming drive in one of the numerous carriages that stand in tempting file outside the station. The time went by quickly, then my train arrived, and there were no more changes. As we rushed through the wonderful iron district that Bolckow Vaughan’s gigantic works have made famous, I think of Rice and Besant’s fine novel, “The Sons of Vulcan,” the scene of which is laid in this Cleveland district of Yorkshire. After Middlesbrough is passed (by-theby, how the docks seem to have grown since I was there some eight years ago) the air begins to have a salty taste. It is still oh! so hot, but yet there is a freshness in the breeze that comes through the open windows that is suggestive of the sea, and seems to brace you up. Presently I catch my breath sharply, and there stretched out before my eager eyes is a broad, limitless expanse of blue sea. It is Redcar, a favourite place for trippers, and as healthy and cheery a little place as one could wish for. We

never now lose sight of the briny till Saltburn is reached. By a peculiar dispensation of the railway powers, the railway runs right through the centre of the town, completely dividing the two main thoroughfares. This is not only rather inconvenient, but also inelegant, and tends to destroy the look of the business portion of the clean and delightful town. This is the only thing that the most hypercritical visitor could possibly complain about, and it, I understand, will, in all probability, be shortly altered by the removal of the station to a more eligible site.

Saltburn-by-the-Sea is simply delightful: it is emphatically a health as well as a seaside resort. To those who live in busy cities, to the many who suffer from brain fag, for those whose nerves are unstrung, and who are weary and depressed, Saltburn is an Elysium; and for those who are in good health, full of animal spirits , and brimming over with holiday fun, that has been securely bottle up for eleven months and a fortnight, Saltburn will be just the place for rational enjoyment, and for the laying up of plentiful supply of vigour and robustness for the time that must elapse before another holiday arrives; whilst for children it is simply an earthly Paradise. The town itself is scrupulously clean, the shops are attractive and, wonder of wonders, at a seaside resort, the prices are actually moderate. There is a fine supply of fish and fruit, and, indeed, all the wants of the inner man are well and abundantly provided for, a desirable consummation not always obtainable at these sort of places. The front and promenade are really an agreeable surprise, large handsome houses on the one side, lovely gardens on the other, and facing you a magnificent and uninterrupted view of the German Ocean as far as the eye can reach. Seats are provided in numbers, so that after resting and enjoying the clear bracing air and the glorious view, you can go down the gravelled walks in the cliffs and so reach the sands; but if you are tired or lazy, at the small expense of one penny you can either ascend or descend by the inclined tramway which has been constructed on the face of the cliff, 207 feet in length, and takes its passengers down to the entrance of the pier. I don’t think I have ever seen finer sands. They reach from the foot of Huntcliffe to the mouth of the Tees, which is past Redcar, a distance of over ten miles. I go down in the incline tramway, and lay on the sands amongst the boats, and whilst I languidly drink in the sea breezes, I look at the happy groups that are dotted

about all over. Children everywhere, with bright, joyous faces, building castles and moats, and wonderful citadels, all so busy and so happy! My own small sonnie shouts with delight, and then toddles away to return excited and jubilant with his bucketful of mussels and periwinkles, and funny little crabs. Scores of juveniles are paddling, and not a few of them wear capital paddling suits, which impress me as being so excellent an idea that I am going to describe them for the benefit of mothers whose boys and girls are going to the seaside. Over their clothing, which is fastened up securely around the waist, is worn a pair of dark blue serge knickerbockers, very short in the leg, terminating well above the knee. These are buttoned on to a blouse, which is slipped on, over the bodice or coat, whichever the case may be.

Garbed in this style, the happy youngsters look decent, their clothes are protected from sea-water, and they are able to paddle and shrimp to their heart’s content. I am interested in watching tennis and cricket being played on a stretch of the sands.

This will give some idea of how firm and hard they are. I think that Saltburn is a grand place for the bairns, as well as for adults, and the very donkeys have a contented, healthy look, and seem possessed by unusual going powers, and apparently regard their living freights with amiable feelings.

“What are the amusements?” I think I can hear some of my readers ask. “Are there any walks or pleasant drives?” Plenty of both. Now as to amusements: well, there are excellent boating and fishing; the bathing is good and safe; as I have said before, there are cricket and tennis on the sands.

Then there is a handsome pier, lit up with electric lamps, where a band discourses sweet melody, whilst young people promenade or indulge in quiet flirtations in the sheltered seats. The pleasure grounds are also remarkably beautiful and richly repay many visits; they are charmingly laid out, and well wooded. A portion of the grounds is laid out in the Italian style, and experts declare it to be almost unequalled, so exquisitely beautiful is it.

There are tennis and croquet lawns for the benefit of visitors. A band plays two or three times a week, and during the season the gardens are lighted with electricity, and at intervals there are grand outdoor fetes. Rifts Wood is also very attractive. The walks and drives are many and beautiful, and the view from the hills is magnificent. A delightful stroll along the sands can be taken to the village of Marske, but with the limited space at my disposal I

must not dwell on this subject, tempting as it is.

There is an excellent circulating library at Messrs.

Rapp’s (publishers and proprietors of the local newspaper), where the newest works can be obtained.

The season at Saltburn ends in October; in August it is at its height. For those who enjoy a magnificent sea, pure bracing air, fine sands, good walks, picturesque scenery, and a place where there is an absolute freedom from all rowdiness, I commend to their attention Saltburn. It only deserves to be better known to successfully rival many of our fashionable watering places. It has everything in its favour in the way of natural beauty, and I must not forget to mention the very fine brine baths, where there is luxurious accommodation for members of both sexes. My stay had only one fault – it was too short; but I returned to my duties refreshed and invigorated, bodily and mentally, and full of thanks for my delightful little holiday.

“Sheffield Weekly Telegraph,” Saturday, July 21st, 1894

Photograph of Skelton Beck and woods by Arthur Brown