Coastal 24

Walking the coast from Portsmouth to Brighton

Monkey’s Fist

Land and water are bound tightly together like a Monkey’s Fist knot in Portsmouth Harbour. The Monkey’s Fist is a ball-shaped rope knot originally used as a weight at a rope’s end that could be easily thrown, and as a weapon (outlawed in some US States), a symbol or friendship and a nautical piece of home décor as a door stop.

Portsmouth harbour feels as closely interwoven as the knot with strands of war, museums, shopping and ferries, all pinned together by the sharp Spinnaker Tower.

My journey starts on the westerly end of Portsea island on the lip of Portsmouth harbour. Every ferry, warship and yacht coming into the harbour turns this corner around Bath Square and the spray-wet streets of Spice Island.

I begin with a breath of salt air and a view into the knot of the harbour. Never mind Helen, this harbour launched thousands of ships from the dockyard where most of Portsmouth used to work, including my people. Those workshops are closed and the wooden masts that spike the sky belong to museum ships that will never  sail again.

Turning my back on the harbour, I walk along the coast, facing east toward Brighton, my eventual destination. While Portsmouth is the place that ships left to fight elsewhere, the city now faces an enemy at its door. The foreshore and part of the city are in danger of flooding when the sea levels rise and big storms come. Portsmouth is building defences against the sea itself.

Climbing the stone steps to the Hotwalls for a fine view out to the Isle of Wight. From Nelson’s statue the new defences separate walkers from the sea. Clarence Pier, home of the funfair, amusement arcades and entry-level gambling is shut down on this January morning. We used to visit on summer nights as teenagers, drawn by bright lights and hot sugary donuts.

Access to the coast is closed for sea defence construction around Southsea castle. Like someone with a DNA test and a dubious family tree, Southsea boasts a royal connection. Henry VIII ordered the building of the castle where he watched another of his maritime investments, the Mary Rose, sink before his eyes.

I don’t reach the coast again until South Parade Pier where the stony beach returns. The historical signs make Victorian Southsea look a lot more fun than today, with London stars playing at the pier and theatres, posh new hotels along the front, and steamer trips from the pier.

The Monkey’s Fist knot is well behind me now, my route along the shoreline is like a tail of rope running alongside the sea. There’s an option to stroll the promenade but I decide to walk the shingle and watch the little waves coming in with the gentle sound of sleeping breath. Dogs own the shore today, running, greeting and swimming where children will do the same in warmer weather. Black crows pick along the shingle, one eye alert for stranded shell fish, another for breathless dogs.

My eyes follow the horizon beyond the east end of the Isle of Wight, into the open water of the Solent. The knot of harbour and holidays unwinds behind me. The portside energy has trailed off and I am left with the sky, sea and shingle.

Approaching Eastney, the buildings begin to fragment, leaving some space in this densely-populated island. My rope line back to the harbour is frayed.

By Fort Cumberland there are derelict buildings surrounded by fences with razor wire. A man patrols with a couple of deeply barking guard dogs, acutely aware of the free beach dogs on the other side of the fence. The island seems to have run out of energy.

The shore path is blocked with fences and wire so I turn back and walk around the site and past the Southsea marina along the road to where the Hayling ferry lands. There are Dickensian-style house boats and piles of dinghies like shells along the inner shore that faces Langstone harbour. The Lifeboat station is closed today.

This end of Portsea Island isn’t port or museum, fun fair or holiday amusement. There’s a bus every two hours and a ferry to Hayling Island. This is the tail end of the Monkey Fist rope, but if I catch a strand I could haul myself back to the harbour once more.

Monkey’s fist knot