The Yorkshire seaside town clinging on to its Victorian heyday

Fifty or more years ago, I would have arrived in Saltburn-by-the-Sea by train. Let’s fantasise and assume I was travelling first class because, of course, I’d be staying in the Victorian resort’s flagship hotel, The Zetland; meaning that I could disembark at the hotel’s private platform and not have to mix with the hoi-polloi.

It was the opening of the railway in 1861 (bringing in holidaymakers from the northern cities) that kick-started the development of the clifftop fishing and mining town - with a sweeping beach - into a seaside resort. And, my, was it flashy.

The Zetland Hotel, opened by local worthy, Lord Zetland, in 1863, was headlined as the UK’s first purpose-built railway hotel with a private platform. Then there was the pier, a water-balance cliff lift (more later), a flush of hotels, several churches, glass-canopied shopping streets, Italianate gardens…

Much of this still exists, although not necessarily as first envisaged. The station - impressive with a multi-arched portico - still functions though with self-service tickets; former waiting rooms and ticket offices are now shops and cafes.

The Zetland Hotel, flamboyantly Italianate with a central tower and stone lions on its terrace, still lords it over the ‘Upper Prom’ although the only way to stay is to buy one of its apartments. Neighbouring Alexandra Hotel, with its white-firebrick fa?ade, designed to attract attention, has had a similar fate.

Today, I saunter along the Prom with the pier and the beach - the latter curving flat and inviting from Redcar, five miles to the north-west, to the magnificent thrust of Hunt Cliff sheltering the town to the east - beckoning me from below.

Once known as “Darlington on Sea”, Saltburn has a lot more going for it than its grand slice of posh Victorian seaside resort. Even on a wet and blustery October weekend, dozens of people stroll the sands while a further dozen bob in the sea: surfers. As evidenced by at least three surf-hire shops, Saltburn has been a surfing mecca since the Eighties, even though the sea looks worryingly benign, earning it the moniker the “Newquay of the North”. 

Down on the Lower Prom, I pass a row of jauntily painted beach huts that are not only deceptively big - cushioned seating for at least six people - but smartly equipped with kettle, teas, coffees, deckchairs and windbreak. A family from Stockton has rented two to celebrate a birthday - decorating them with balloons and bunting - the hardier folks heading into the waves for a surfing lesson.

Next stop, the pier; not as extravagant as in its Victorian heyday - 1,500-feet long (457 metres; it is now just 208 metres long, storms and nautical accidents having reduced its length considerably), refreshment booths, glass-walled saloon at the Pier Head where passengers disembarked from excursion steamers - but irresistible in its elegant simplicity of iron legs striding boldly over the North Sea.

The amusement arcade in the cherry-red and cream entrance building, with Swiss chalet-style criss-cross timbering and scalloped eaves is spick-and-span clean. Opposite, in matching style and colours, is Saltburn’s killer USP: the Victorian cliff tramway. Britain’s oldest surviving water-balanced cliff lift, the weight of the ‘down’ carriage essentially powers the ‘up’ carriage.

“We’re apparently 10 kilograms heavier than the Victorians,” says the chap working the lower station. “They allowed 12 people in the carriage, our maximum is seven.” Despite being the only passenger, the gentleman would happily send me aloft alone - the timetable is discretionary - but I’m in need of warmth.

I pop into neighbouring Surfs Up, a small Fifties-style diner with red-and-white striped banquettes and chrome-legged stools. Families are tucking into knickerbory glories and ice cream - ice cream is almost mandatory at the beach even in October - but I settle for a toasted cheese scone and a rather good coffee.

Had it been sunnier, or ‘holiday’ season, I could have played mini-golf or ridden on the miniature railway; instead, I take a blustery walk on the clifftop where views north to the distant towers and flaring chimneys of Teesside - weirdly fascinating - are a reminder that Saltburn borders the industrial north-east. The bulk of today’s visitors are day-trippers from the region, rather than long-stay holidaymakers; there are few hotels, and streets no longer bristle with B&B signs.

I walk back to the town centre through Valley Gardens, home to a mix of woodland, small but exquisite Italian gardens, a tea-room (selling vegan ice cream), a butterfly garden and semi-walled landscaping; the latter two are run by volunteers.

Yes, the town has charity shops and rundown pubs but, among its townsfolk, Saltburn harbours a vigorous and quietly enterprising element. Chocolini’s turns out expertly decorated chocolates - stiletto shoes, bicycles - hand-made on the premises, LillianDaph interiors (in a former Post Office) sells stylish Danish furnishings, while Grasers deli-grocers stock more unusual items such as turmeric root and organic spelt grain.

Sat in the perfect position on the Lower Promenade, the smart Seaview Restaurant - all plate-glass windows, chic grey and sea-blue colours - offers sea trout with roasted beetroot, and sea bream with chorizo among the typical fish and chips, and fish pie. It seats more than 100, is generally busy all day (unless the weather is particularly unkind) and there’s nearly always a queue at the downstairs takeaway.

After eating my fill, I win almost as much as I lose on the ‘shove-penny’ machines in the amusement arcade before taking in the early evening light from the end of the pier. The rain has stopped, the clouds have lifted and the striations of Hunt Cliff are sharply etched in the low sun.

Fishermen crowd the railings - mackerel, apparently - families take photographs of each other, dogs are still scampering on the sand, and I watch the cliff lift take its final journey up. Bother. That means an energy-sapping 175 steps and a steep path for the shortest route to the top. I may have to crack into Chocolini’s chocolate earlier than planned.

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