The long projection of rock is left bare at low tide, and in rough weather, when huge waves are breaking on it, the scene is remarkably grand.
steep slope of sticky boulder-clay. No doubt, had I been empty-handed I should have had no difficulty at all, but being impeded with a portfolio and painting apparatus, I reached a point half-way up, where I could make no further progress without the gravest risk of letting myself or my drawings go. I was alone; there was no one to shout to, and the slight grip I had seemed going, and if I could not hold on it meant a slide over the smooth clay, followed by a perpendicular drop into the sea. It was only by gently and patiently kicking a place for my boot to get a grip in the greasy clay that I succeeded in saving myself and my drawings, one of which is reproduced here.
This incident may be taken as another warning in connexion with the chances of the Brig. Its real fascination comes, however, at times when it can only be viewed from the top of the Naze above, when a gale is blowing from the north or north-east, and driving enormous waves upon the line of projecting rocks. You watch far out until the dark green line of a higher wave than any of the others that are creating a continuous thunder down below comes steadily onward, and reaching the foam-streaked area, becomes still more sinister. As it approaches within striking distance, a spent wave, sweeping backwards, seems as though it may weaken the onrush of the towering wall of water; but its power is swallowed up and dissipated in the general advance, and with only a smooth hollow of creamy-white water in front, the giant raises itself to its fullest height, its thin crest being at once caught by the wind, and blown off in long white beards.
The moment has come; the mass of water feels the resistance of the rocks, and, curling over into a long green cylinder, brings its head down with terrific force on the immovable side of the Brig. Columns of water shoot up perpendicularly into the air as though a dozen 12-inch shells had exploded in the water simultaneously. With a roar the imprisoned air escapes, and for a moment the whole Brig is invisible in a vast cloud of spray; then dark ledges of rock can be seen running with creamy water, and the scene of the impact is a cauldron of seething foam, backed by a smooth surface of pale green marble, veined with white. Then the waters gather themselves together again, and the pounding of lesser waves keeps up a thrilling spectacle until the moment for another great coup arrives.
It is under these conditions that the Brig has gained its reputation rather than as a place for finding that purple-tipped species of echinoidea, called by the fishermen, for some obscure reason, ‘buzzes’ or ‘buzzers.’ At low tide the opportunity for marine zoologists is excellent, and the tight grip of the molluscs to the surfaces they have chosen seems only just sufficient when we remember the cannonading they periodically suffer.
Years ago Filey obtained a reputation for being ‘quiet,’ and the sense conveyed by those who disliked the place was that of dullness and primness. This fortunate chance has protected the little town from the vulgarizing influences of the unlettered hordes let loose upon the coast in summer-time, and we find a sea-front without the flimsy and meretricious buildings of the popular resorts. Instead of imitating Blackpool and Margate, this sensible place has retained a quiet and semi-rural front to the sea, and, as already stated, has not marred its appearance with a jetty.
From the smooth sweep of golden sand rises a steep slope grown over with trees and bushes which shade the paths in many places. Without claiming any architectural charm, the town is small and quietly unobtrusive, and has not the untidy, half-built character of so many watering-places.
Above a steep and narrow hollow, running straight down to the sea, and densely wooded on both sides, stands the church. It has a very sturdy tower rising from its centre, and, with its simple battlemented outline and slit windows, has a semi-fortified appearance. The high-pitched roofs of Early English times have been flattened without cutting away the projecting drip-stones on the tower, which remain a conspicuous feature. The interior is quite impressive. Round columns alternated with octagonal ones support pointed arches, and a clerestory above pierced with roundheaded slits, indicating very decisively that the nave was built in the Transitional Norman period. It appears that a western tower was projected, but never carried out, and an unusual feature is the descent by two steps into the chancel.
A beautiful view from the churchyard includes the whole sweep of the bay, cut off sharply by the Brig on the left hand, and ending about eight miles away in the lofty range of white cliffs extending from Speeton to Flamborough Head.