'I have something here, sir, that might be of interest and use. He took out of his pocket an object wrapped in tissue paper and slid it shyly across the desk towards me.
I unwrapped it. It was a cheap ash-tray marked Hotel Metropole, Brightlingsea.'There's quite a history, sir, with that. You remember the Bolton Case.'
'I can't say I do.'
'It made a great stir, sir, at the time. Lady Bolton, her maid and the man, sir. All discovered together. That ash-tray stood beside the bed. On the lady's side.'
Erskine Childers
The Riddle of the Sands
From the Epilogue
He speaks of the place ‘selected for the landing’, and proceeds to consider this question in detail. I cannot follow him in his review,
deeply interesting though it is, and shall say at once that he reduces possible landing-places to two,
the flats on the Essex coast between Foulness and Brightlingsea, and the Wash — with a decided preference for the latter.
John Hadfield
Love on a Branch Line
'Perhaps Mr Pye has a gift for fortune-telling',said Quirk. 'We did very well with "Madame Fatima" last year, you remember. But the chiropodist from Flaxfield
who obliged on that occasion has moved to Brightlingsea.'
Lionel stirred. 'Used to know a little girl in Brightlingsea once. Name of Ada; platinum blonde.
But she threw me over for a pork butcher. Pity. Still, never mind; I've got Susie now.' And he went to sleep again.
Full of references to the family of the Marquess of Brightlingsea.
Arnold Bennett
Things That Have Interested Me
From the Chapter "In Calais harbour during mobilisation".
The next morning it rained heavily. We crept out to sea at 4.30, with
vitality at its lowest ebb. Apparently, no one had noticed us, but at
the mouth of the harbour two submarines were uncomfortably in waiting,
as though for ourselves. "What a fool I was to come here!" I thought.
"They may refuse to let us go." But they didn't. We exchanged salutes,
and I was free. Winds and tides favouring, we made a magnificent passage
to Brightlingsea in exactly ten hours. Once, near the Edinborough
Lightship, we were hailed by a British torpedo boat, who demanded the
yacht's name. Because he couldn't hear our reply he bore right down on
us. We held up a white life-belt with the yacht's name thereon in black,
and the torpedo boat, sheering off, gave an august consent to our
continuance. The whole coast was patrolled. Brightlingsea was precisely
as gay as it always is on every August Bank Holiday. Not a sign of war.
But we had not dropped anchor ten minutes before my cook, who belongs to
the Naval Reserve, received official notice that he was "wanted." Such
organisation struck me as being rather good.
Full of references, beginning with the second paragraph of Chapter I, "The Wreck on the Gunfleet":
It was not fit for a dog to be out of doors. So said Ned Anger as he entered the snug bar-parlour of the “Anchor” at Brightlingsea, and drawing a chair close up to the blazing fire of wreck-wood which roared up the ample chimney,
flung himself heavily down thereon to await the arrival of the “pint” which he had ordered as he passed the bar.
"He said he wanted one in which it would be safe to cross the Channel, and one which, at the same time, two men could handle more or less comfortably.
Something about 12 or 14 tons, with an auxiliary engine. Now, as it happened, I knew that there was a yawl of exactly that type for sale at Brightlingsea.
The price was three hundred and fifty, and for a man who could afford it she was well worth the money".
