On a coach holiday to
Eastbourne the driver took us on a day trip somewhere. On the way we stopped
for about twenty minutes at the chalky cliffs at Beachy
Head. At 163m it’s the highest sea cliff in Britain and a famous suicide location.
We alighted from the coach into the sun and with perfect timing - as the driver
was telling us a “suicide watch” chaplain drove by every twenty minutes - such
a man did. On average there are 20 jumpers each year. I remember reading a
small column-filler in the newspaper where a young woman had jumped to her
death and on her body was found a terse note: “Life is simply not for me.”
I don’t like heights and can’t even climb a
ladder to scoop leaves out of a gutter. I had a walk out to the edge and felt
writhing maggots of nerves in my belly as I looked down. There are a few telephone
boxes dotted about with the Samaritans number in them. Globally Beachy Head is in third place for people killing themselves
by throwing themselves over a high edge: number one is the Golden Gate Bridge
in San Francisco and number two is the Aokigahara
Woods in Japan.
I’ve met two people who have committed suicide
successfully - but not by jumping over Beachy Head.
One was the local barber, a colourful character. One weekend morning one of my
mum’s friends rang to say police had cordoned off a nearby road as some kids
had found a dead body. It worked out that the barber who’d I’d visited many
times - a slight likeable gay lad with an extroverted dress sense. Later I
heard on the grapevine he’d be selling drugs through his shop on the precinct, wanted
to stop but the supplier forced him to continue. The pressure heightened, he
cracked and hung himself from a fence post. Once I had a flat to rent out and a
mother asked if she could bring her daughter round for a viewing. The daughter arrived
with two broken legs. She’d been in a psychiatric section of the hospital and
tried to jump out of a high window to kill herself. Thankfully she didn’t like the flat’s deep
Victorian bath and didn’t rent the place.
Once I was painting the outside of a flat in
Ashton-Under-Lyne and I realised there was no traffic one the road. Police
stood in a semi-circle around a man who was stood on a wall which crossed train
tracks. Thankfully after about fifteen minutes he was coaxed down and into a
waiting ambulance. Probably the worst case of suicide I’ve heard of is a man
who threw himself onto electric circular saws in his work shed.
I hated standing on the edge at Beachy Head but I liked the lighthouse. I’m trying to paint
with knives and thought that lighthouse would be an easy subject. At the tip I
found a wooden board you’d hang on a wall and thought I’d use it as a canvas.
Also I found a photograph of it on the internet, printed it and did a painting
in one sitting. There was little mixing of paints; mostly it came directly out
of the tubes and went onto the board. Here it is. My bed stunk of paint fumes
by the time I’d finished. I keep a box of matches to get rid of bad smells.
The lighthouse became operational in 1902 and can
be seen from about 9 miles away (it used to be 30 miles but boats have better
navigational equipment these days.) It makes two white flashes every twenty
seconds. There used to be three wardens but since 1983 it’s fully automatic.
Its guardians said there wasn’t enough money to keep the red stripes but
£27,000 was raised to give it five coats of red paint.
Rommell
doesn’t look impressed…
I took the sky off and started
again. Here’s the sky in a pile…