Weymouth: George III’s bathing machine

My bus to Portland – that’s it in the background – isn’t due to depart for another ten minutes and the scene is washed in a delicate early morning glow so I pop across the road to take some photos. (The early morning also had the advantage of relative peace, quiet and empty streets compared to the constant flow of pedestrian and vehicular traffic that would soon flood the streets and pavements.) 

The subject of my camera is the replica, installed in 2012 to mark Queen Elizabeth II’s Diamond Jubilee, of the bathing machine used by her great-great-great-great grandfather King George III. An article in the Dorset Echo, dated 6 April 2021, includes a wonderful photo, taken in 1910, of the original machine on which the replica is based. 

George III first went bathing in his octagonal machine at Weymouth in July 1789, believing a dip in the sea would help him recuperate from illness. (Much has been written about ‘mad’ King George and the frequent bouts of illness that dogged his 60-year reign; a BBC website article notes that researchers now believe he was suffering from a mental illness like bipolar disorder, rather than the disease porphyria.) George continued to visit Weymouth for his summertime dips almost every year until 1802, though there seems to be some doubt as to whether this original machine continued in use. According to a blog on the Dorset Ancestors website that original bathing machine was replaced just two years later, in 1791, by a ‘larger and more extravagantly fitted-out machine’, and an article in Country Life notes that ‘the royal machine remained in regular use by members of the bathing public until 1914’; one assumes the King and the bathing public would not be using the same bathing machine. 

Much has been written about bathing machines and the bathing huts that superseded them – that Country Life article provides a good summary. They developed as a means of protecting the modesty of the person going bathing. In George’s case, there is some dispute about whether he changed into his bathing costume or stripped naked for this bathing, but the removal or change of clothing would take place within the hut as it was being drawn by a horse into the water. The King would then be assisted in his bathing by two fully clothed female ‘dippers’, before returning to his machine to dry off and put his royal robes back on. A rather wonderful mural depicting this scene is displayed on the side of the Seascape Café in Weymouth's Greenhill Gardens.

Brits and their beach huts

Is this a purely British concept? The idea of paying thousands of pounds for what is basically a small shed, which, most of the time, is only used for a few hours on a few days of the year and which, mostly, can’t even be overnighted in?

Eastbourne 'bathing machine', August 2014

Apparently not, as huts can now be found in countries like France and Norway, though the idea does seem to have evolved from the bathing huts that prudish Victorians would have wheeled into the sea so they could enter and leave the water in relative privacy. 

The brightly striped ‘bathing machine’ outside the Langham Hotel in Eastbourne is a wonderful example, this one lovingly restored by a former owner of the hotel, Julian Martyr.

From those humble beginnings, the hut evolved into a fixed beachside structure and the concept didn’t only become popular in Britain, but also travelled with the Brits to their colonies abroad – particularly noteworthy are the vibrantly coloured ‘bathing boxes’ in the Brighton of the south, in Melbourne, Australia.  

Beach huts in Lyme Regis, December 2017

According to Wikipedia, there are now around 20,000 beach huts in Britain. In recent years, there has even been a competition, sponsored by insurance company Towergate, to find Britain’s best beach hut of the year – see here and the 2015 finalists here. One particularly luxurious ‘hut’, in a ‘desirable’ location in Dorset, that had a fully-fitted kitchen and the capacity to sleep six people, was for sale in 2018 for £270,000! 

Beach huts in Seaford, March 2019

The practical purpose of a beach hut is, of course, to have somewhere to change into and out of your bathing costume; to store the buckets and spades, deck chairs and sun umbrella; to make a cup of tea and perhaps prepare your picnic lunch, maybe have a barbeque; and, of course, this being Britain, to shelter from the ubiquitous rain. Personally, I like a bit more privacy than these huts provide, jammed as they are cheek by jowl with a host of other huts, and my ideal beach experience is more about long, empty spaces to walk, but I know people hold treasured memories of spending their summer days at huts like these.

Those same Seaford beach huts in summer, July 2018

My eye is drawn to the design of the different huts and their wonderful vibrant colours, and the way they sit in the land- or town-scape. They are very photogenic, and I hope to find more to photograph.

Beach huts on Barry Island, in south Wales, February 2019