A TOWN WITHOUT PIER
Ontario and U.K. destinations linked by a familiar name, if not much else
Call them geographic doppelgängers: from Memphis, Tenn., pinched from ancient Egypt, to our own Edmonton, named after a workaday north London suburb, the globe is groaning with eponymous settlements that owe their destiny to a little larceny.
In the examples above, the namesakes have long since supplanted the parents in the public consciousness. In other cases — think New England or New Westminster — the settlers made it clear the originals would never be entirely erased from memory.
My hometown, by contrast, might best be described as the “Smith” or “Jones” of world mapping.
I was born in Brighton, England, which — by the latest reckoning — has spawned no less than 48 variations in 11 different countries, including four in Canada (New Brunswick, Newfoundland, Nova Scotia and Ontario) and Australia and a thieving 27 in the U.S. And that's not including sneaky twists such as New Brighton, Brighton Hills and Brighton Beach.
As my current hometown is in Eastern Canada, here's a thoroughly unscientific examination of two of them: Brighton (U.K.) vs. Brighton (Ont).
Firstly, they are both situated on bodies of water. That, sadly, is pretty much where the similarities end.
Also known as London by Sea, the Blighty version is a rollicking city of 300,000 hipsters, creative types and exiles from the Big Smoke who have embraced pebble beaches, piers and kiss-me-quick hats (don't ask). A legacy of naughty weekends, saucy postcards and marauding “spivs” prowling for trouble has earned it a seedy reputation not entirely eradicated by gentrification and glossy tourism brochures.
It was once delightfully dubbed, in thrall to the British euphemism for the questioning of criminal suspects, “the town that looks like it's helping police with their inquiries.”
With a population of around 12,000 living quite peaceably in Northumberland County, 150 km east of Toronto, its Ontario cousin is considerably less rollicking — though not without its own scandals: last year an accountant was jailed after defrauding a non-profit historical society of $60,000, and the region was notorious for its rum-running practices during the 1920s.
On a less salacious note, both burgs are blessed by their locations on the water, the English Channel on one side of the pond and the ocean-like expanse of Lake Ontario on the other, and they each boast impressive beaches — though the latter has the advantage of sandy shorelines and fewer crowds.
The jewel in the crown for Brighton, Ont., is Presqu'ile Provincial Park, a largely flat playground of sand and limestone with 16 km of walking trails set amid tranquil woodlands, meadows and the largest protected marsh on the north of the lake.
Drawing 250,000 visitors a year, it's a renowned birdwatching hot spot, with more than 300 species recorded during the spring migration, and home to the second-oldest operating lighthouse in the province, built in 1840 when shipping was the chief means of transport. An interpretive centre, incorporating the original lighthouse keeper's cottage, tells the story of early marine navigation.
Brighton is also noted for a tragic footnote in Canadian history that could have changed the face of Ontario as we know it: the sinking of HMS Speedy in 1804. The 80-foot-long schooner, built in 1798, was travelling from Toronto with members of a circuit court, including lawyers, witnesses, government dignitaries and the accused in a murder trial when it foundered in a storm off Presqu'ile Point, with the loss of all 20 on board.
The trial was meant to inaugurate a proposed courthouse and district town for the peninsula, to be called Newcastle, and its sinking off High Bluff Island dealt a crippling blow to plans for Upper Canada's development. The courthouse and jail were eventually built in what would become Cobourg, 40 km west of Brighton.
Presqu'ile never recovered as a permanent settlement, its last family farm being purchased by the province in 1957 as part of the park's expansion.
“If not for the sinking of the HMS Speedy, the local area would have become developed and have no resemblance to what we have today,” states the website of the Friends of Presqu'ile Park.
No trace of the vessel, its passengers or crew has ever been found, but various claims of discovery have been made in recent years.
A plaque near the lighthouse commemorates the loss, and the heritage centre states you can “re-live the terrible tragedy of the Speedy in our video recreation, or join a dive team as they explore one of the numerous ship wrecks offshore of Presqu'ile.” Other displays shed light on the rum-running era and the building of the lighthouse.
North of town, overlooking the lake, the Proctor House museum opens a window on Brighton's Victorian heyday and attracts culture lovers to its adjacent barn theatre, while nature lovers enjoy short looped trails amid the tall pines of the Proctor Park Conservation Area.
Downtown, strollers will appreciate the 19th century architectural treasures, boutique shops and cosy cafés typical of smalltown Ontario. For more pace, the Brighton Speedway offers a variety of motorsports, including oval ice racing in the winter.
Apple growing remains important to the economy, and the Apple Route along Highway 2 between Port Hope and Brighton showcases a bounty of orchards and farm stands to tempt motorists. Every autumn, Applefest celebrates the connection.
And while physical similarities are scant — there's no pleasure pier in the Northumberland version — it should be noted Brighton's earliest settlers were United Empire Loyalists who fled the States in sympathy with the crown.
But wait — what's that? On the town's main drag, standing proudly, is an unmistakable icon of Britishness: a red phone box. A painted sign reads: “Welcome to Brighton.”
Anywhere in the world, it might well have added.