Dreaming Of Littlehampton

On his debut visit to the coastal town Clive Agran learns about Ian Fleming, Ronnie Barker and the seafront’s longest bench.

- Clive Agran

Despite the welcome winter sunshine, my first-ever visit to Littlehampton isn’t getting off to the best of starts – I can’t find the council offices where I’m supposed to be meeting my escorts. The handsome, white, mid-19th century Manor House that Littlehampton Town Council occupies is far more elegant than the dull municipal block I was looking for. Inside there’s another surprise, a delightful museum.

Terry Ellis, chairman of Littlehampton Heritage Group, and Malcolm Belchamber, a fourtime mayor, have kindly agreed to show me around town. Since time is limited and our combined age is 225 or thereabouts, we’re not walking on this occasion but climb into Terry’s car instead.

Whereas Malcolm, a retired estate agent, has lived in Littlehampton all his life, Terry is a comparative newcomer. Together with his wife, he spent two years scouring the south-east of England in search of the ideal place to live and firmly believes he’s found his Shangri-La.

Our first stop is unscheduled. As Terry points to a Dalmatian dog scratching at the first-floor window of a terraced house (bear with me if you will), Malcolm spots the owner feeding seagulls by the harbour wall opposite. Leaving aside the desirability of otherwise of this activity, it’s immediately apparent that Alan McKay is a real character. The three magnificent classic cars parked outside his house, alongside which the three of us feel genuinely youthful, confirm my initial assessment of Alan as, at least, mildly eccentric.

Despite a mild clash with the authorities over the clambering canine, Alan is another huge fan of Littlehampton. “It’s an oldfashioned, family-friendly, seaside resort,” he remarks above the din of squawking seagulls.