Foreword: The Living Memory of the ‘Gap’
This article began as a simple curiosity about the buildings we pass every day—the flint walls, the rendered corners, and the steep embankments of South Portslade. However, as the layers were peeled back, it became clear that this "little-researched" corner of our village, known locally as the ‘Gap’, has a profound story to tell.
This is not just a history of bricks and mortar, but a story of how different pieces of a puzzle fit together:
It is the story of the Labour that powered the town, from the steam of the laundries to the coal-dust of the gasworks tramway.
It is the story of the Law, embodied in the stern flint-and-plaster sentinel of Buchanan House.
And most importantly, it is a story that holds the Memories of our long-standing residents.
For many of us, the history of Portslade isn't found in a textbook, but in the sensory experiences of our own lives—the unmistakable "whoosh" of the gasworks venting into the Sussex air or the persistent "smuts" that once settled on every washing line. By connecting the archives of the 1910s with the living memories of the 1960s and beyond, we can begin to see the "bones" of our community.
I hope this "revelation" of the Gap serves as a reminder that even the most humble "shoe box" terrace has a legacy worth preserving. Our history is still here, etched into the very flints of our walls.
The Heartbeat of the ‘Gap’: Iron, Steam, and the ‘Whoosh’
If you stand on the Wellington Road embankment today, it is hard to imagine the sheer assault on the senses that defined this corner of Portslade for over a century. To understand the "Gap," you have to hear it.
Long before the modern traffic took over, the dominant sound was the industrial "voice" of the Brighton & Hove Gas Company. Many of us still remember that unmistakable "whooshing" sound—the roar of high-pressure steam being vented from the massive boilers. It was a sound that could be heard all over Portslade, a sudden, powerful reminder of the hidden forces at work behind the flint walls.
Description: A detail of OS Sussex Sheet LXV.11 showing the narrow-gauge tramway and the wharf sidings.
Significance: This map documents the "horizontal" movement of coal from the canal to the gasworks, highlighting the dense proximity of industry to the "shoe box" housing of North Street.
The Coal Run
But the "whoosh" was just the beginning. At ground level, the "Labour" was a constant, grinding mechanical ballet. Running right across the front of the works was the Industrial Tramway. This wasn’t for passengers; it was a narrow-gauge lifeline designed to move coal from the canal wharves to the furnaces.
Imagine the scene:
The Clatter: The relentless clink-clank of iron wheels on rails as "bogey" wagons, piled high with black gold, were pushed and shunted along the front of the works.
The Sweat: Groups of men, and sometimes young boys like Ernest Moore, worked in the shadow of the massive inclined conveyors. These iron "staircases" (like the ones captured in old newspaper clippings) groaned as they lifted the coal high into the air to feed the hungry retort hoppers.
The Smuts: This was a world of "noise and sweat," but also of "smuts." No matter the era—whether it was the 1910s or the 1960s—the coal dust was an inescapable neighbour. It settled on the pristine white linens at the St Andrew’s Road Laundry and left its mark on every washing line from Middle Street to North Street.
Figure 2: The Vertical Ascent (Newspaper Clipping)
Description: A half-tone image showing the inclined coal conveyor and elevator system at the Brighton & Hove Gas Company works.
Significance: Despite the newspaper screen grain, this figure illustrates the "grind and height" of the machinery that produced the constant rumble and falling "smuts" remembered by residents.
For the families living in the "shoe boxes" nearby, this wasn't just industry; it was the soundtrack and the texture of their daily lives. You didn't just live in the "Gap"—you breathed
This "Labour" sat on land that was once a legal battlefield for Colonel Carr-Lloyd of Lancing Manor. It’s a strange thought that the coal dust settling on a Portslade washing line was falling on land the Lord of Lancing had fought so hard to claim as his own!
More about that later
Order and Ornament: The Laundry and the Law
While the men toiled in the shadow of the gasworks conveyors, the women of the "Gap" were engaged in a different kind of industrial battle—the war against the very "smuts" the gasworks produced.
The Steam of St Andrew’s Road
Just a stone's throw from the noise of the tramway sat the Portslade & West Hove Steam Laundry. This was the "Engine Room" for the village’s female labour. It was a place of high humidity and back-breaking effort. Inside, local girls—some as young as fourteen—spent ten hours a day "shaking out" heavy, water-logged sheets and feeding them into massive, heated rollers.
The heat was stifling, often reaching over 30°C, and the air was thick with the scent of starch and boiling lye. It was a proud trade, but a hard one. These women were the ones who ensured that, despite the coal dust outside, the "Gap" neighbours could still hold their heads up with clean collars on a Sunday morning.
The Law at the Corner: Buchanan House
Figure 3: The Sentinel (Current/Historical Comparison)
Description: Buchanan House on the corner of North Road.
Significance: Represents the "Law" in the district. The smooth render hides the flint "bones" seen in Figure 3, acting as a metaphor for the orderly face of the village covering the gritty industrial reality behind it.
Providing a stern overlook to all this industry was Buchanan House. Sitting on the corner of North Road and Church Road, it served as the local Police Station. Today, its smooth, rendered exterior hides its true construction, but we know from the "bones" of nearby houses like No. 55 that beneath that skin lies the same Sussex flint and rubble.
The station was the domain of men like Sergeant Isaac Buger. It represented the "Law" in a district that was often loud, crowded, and fueled by the many local beer houses. The station was named after James Buchanan (later Lord Woolavington), a man who made a "packet" in the whisky trade but gave heavily to local schools.
There is a certain irony there: the man who sold the spirits also funded the station where you’d be locked up for drinking too many of them, and the school where your children would be educated to avoid that very fate!
A Nugget
The render on Buchanan House wasn't just for show. In a neighbourhood where the "whoosh" of the gasworks and the sea salt from the canal were constantly attacking the buildings, that thick plaster skin was the only thing keeping the damp out of the sergeant's office!
Figure 4: The Bones of the ‘Gap’ (Personal Photo)
Description: Exposed interior wall at 55 Church Road showing the original bungaroosh (flint, lime, and rubble) construction.
Significance: This provides a "human element" view of the internal fabric of the homes occupied by families like the Langrishes. It proves the humble, locally-sourced nature of the housing provided by landlords like Walter Hillman.
3. The Human Element: Life in the 'Shoe Boxes'
To the wealthy directors of the gas company, the "Gap" was just a series of balance sheets and chimneys. But to the families inside, it was a tightly packed community held together by a handful of local figures.
The 'King' of North Street: Walter Hillman
If you lived in the "Gap" in 1913, you couldn't move without crossing paths with Walter Hillman. He was a man of immense "neighbourly" influence. From his butcher's shop at 48 North Street, he didn't just sell the Sunday roast; he oversaw the very roof over your head.
Hillman was a classic local "Master." He was a landlord, a carting contractor for the gasworks, and eventually the Chairman of the Council. When Alf and Florence Langrish moved into No. 55 Church Road in 1913, their weekly rent of 7 shillings likely made its way into Hillman’s pocket. He owned the horses that moved the goods, the shops that sold the food, and the houses that sheltered the workers. In the "Gap," Walter Hillman was the law as much as any Sergeant in Buchanan House.
Inside No. 55: Flint and Rubble
The houses themselves—often dismissed as simple "shoe boxes"—tell their own story of Sussex grit. As we’ve seen from the recent renovations at No. 55, these homes weren't built with the fine bricks of London. Beneath the wallpaper lies bungaroosh: a rough-and-ready mix of local flint, lime, and whatever rubble was at hand.
It was a humble construction for a humble life. When Alf came home from his own "labour," he was stepping into a house that was literally built from the ground it sat on. The walls were thick enough to dampen the sound of the gasworks conveyor, but they were also a constant reminder of the damp sea air and the soot that tried to find its way through every crack.
The Lancing Connection: A Postscript
There is a final, poetic irony to this story. Much of the land these families lived and worked on—the very shingle beneath the gasworks—was once the subject of a fierce legal claim by Colonel Carr-Lloyd, the Lord of Lancing Manor.
"The Engine of the Coast: A diagram of Longshore Drift." This natural "labour" of the sea was what created the very ground the Gasworks stood on. Colonel Carr-Lloyd argued that since the shingle came from his manor in Lancing and drifted east, the "new" land it formed at the "Gap" still belonged to him.
While the Colonel fought for his "manorial rights" from the comfort of his grand estate, it was the people of the "Gap" who actually transformed that "contested" land into an industrial powerhouse. Today, as we look back from Lancing, we can see how the "coastal drift" didn't just move shingle; it moved generations of families along the shore, carrying their stories of "noise, dust, and sweat" with them.
The next time you walk past Buchanan House or look down from the Wellington Road embankment, listen for the 'whoosh.' The gasworks may be gone, but the spirit of the 'Gap'—and the families like the Langrishes who made it their own—is still etched into the flint of our walls.
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