extract from chapter 5
1801: Sidmouth
Only sea bathing remained a mystery. They were fascinated to watch it from a distance and admitted to being tempted, but none of them had yet plucked up the courage to go into the sea.
Photo: Sidmouth, Devon
‘Come, girls, let’s watch,’ said Mrs Austen.
Her enthusiasm to try it personally had diminished around the same time she had scooped some water into her hand and felt how cold it was. But she had no objection to her daughters giving it a go and reporting back how it felt.
‘That one on the end is next. Look, the horse is waiting.’
Women bathed at one end of the beach and men far away at the other. It was pleasant to sit on a calm day and listen to the wheels of the machines crunch over the pebbles and watch the ebb and flow of the waves along the shore. A grey, rainy day was not so much fun and, unsurprisingly, not as popular with the health-seekers who preferred to huddle inside by their fires.
Photo: Sidmouth, Devon
Photo: Bathing hut, Weymouth seafront.
The wooden bathing machines were like a village unto themselves. They were all painted white, with identical grey pyramid roofs and huge wheels larger than on a carriage. The white paint reflected the sun powerfully, and the observers could never stare at them for long before their eyes streamed with salty tears.
‘Any minute now,’ anticipated Mrs Austen. ‘The flag should have gone up already. What are they doing in there?’
The process worked that the ladies who wished to bathe would enter a machine, and once inside, they would change out of their day clothes and into a bathing dress. When they were decent, they would raise the flag on the side of the hut as a sign they were ready to go. A waiting horse was then hitched up to the front, which dragged the hut-on-wheels into the water. To be able to use a machine, ladies waited to be called forward from the master bathing woman’s office at the entrance to the beach. Mrs Austen liked to watch these women whilst they stood in line to pay their ninepence fee and contemplate what kind of lives they led. ‘Look… there’s the woman we saw in the library yesterday.’
Photo: Sidmouth, Devon
Photo: Jane Austens' House, Chawton
The rest of the family waited, smiles only a twitch away on their lips, waiting for Mrs Austen to invent this stranger’s life story to fit in with whatever she had decided about her in the ten minutes she had stood in her presence. Her speculation never failed to amuse.
‘She looks the sort to keep her house running like clockwork; no slack servants there and everything pristine clean, I’d wager.’ This was quite a complimentary comment compared to some of the more facetious remarks that usually came from her lips, that her daughters were almost disappointed.
‘You must come with me to the card table, my love,’ teased Mr Austen. ‘You can read people better than anyone I know. You will be able to tell me who’s bluffing and who has the genuine hand.’
His wife ignored this sarcastic comment, but his daughters smiled at the joke.
'If you want to go in the water, don’t let me stop you,’ continued their father mischievously. ‘I’ll be quite happy for a couple of hours sitting here on my own.’
He dropped hints like this regularly, but this year, they weren’t ready to take up his offer. This holiday was for building up their courage; maybe next time, they would take the plunge.
Photo: Worthing, West Sussex
Copyright Diane Jane Ball 2025