South Coast Live
Bognor. What’s the point?
We look back at the history of Bognor, how it was formed, and why it has more recently struggled with purpose compared with some of its neighbouring towns, largely because of limited investment.
Bognor Regis is a place that exists, but rarely explains why. It sits on the Sussex coast with a royal suffix, a long promenade, and a name known across the country, yet it struggles to function as a town in its own right. Strip it back and an uncomfortable truth appears. Bognor was never meant to be what it later tried to become.
At its core, Bognor was a small fishing village within the wider historic area of Pagham. It remained a modest coastal settlement, shaped by an open, low coastline and without the natural or strategic features that typically anchor a town’s development around a clear centre or long-term function. Its growth was later encouraged rather than inevitable, driven more by leisure and fashion than by trade, governance or geography.
That stands in contrast to nearby Chichester, the historic and administrative heart of the region and a place of deep cultural weight. Originating as the Roman city of Noviomagus Reginorum, with a working port at Dell Quay that supported regional and international trade, it developed over centuries into a cathedral city shaped by governance, religion, commerce and education. It functions as a town/city because it always has, with a clear sense of purpose as a place of culture and heritage.
Then there is Arundel, a medieval market town set alongside the River Arun, steeped in history and charm, retaining much of its original layout and character. Built around its castle and cathedral presence, it has preserved a sense of continuity that many towns have lost. Its streets, scale and structure still reflect centuries of development rather than modern reshaping.
Even Littlehampton, long seen as Bognor’s lesser cousin, now clearly understands its purpose. It is a modest seaside town with attractions, but it is also a working harbour. The River Arun meeting the sea brings fishing boats, pleasure craft, an RNLI station and other maritime movement within the marina. In many ways, in recent years, Littlehampton has overtaken Bognor in terms of clarity and sense of purpose. In practical terms it functions more clearly as a town with defined activity, structure and everyday purpose. There is something to watch, something to do, a reason for the town to exist.
It is also notable that Worthing and Eastbourne feel more vibrant on the seafront in comparison, with their piers and long-established seafront structures still intact, helping to sustain activity and maintain a clearer sense of identity along the coast.
And yet it is Bognor that carries the royal title. The Regis. The Sussex town that should have been cherished and protected. Instead, it has been slowly eroded, culturally and physically. Historic buildings have been lost or replaced, and long-term thinking has too often given way to short-term fixes. Perhaps the royal suffix itself has encouraged a sense of grandeur slightly out of step with reality.
Another challenge across this part of West Sussex is that the coastline offers little dramatic geography to build identity from. It is flat and open, without cliffs, coves or natural landmarks to create a natural focal point. Unlike many of the seaside towns in the south west of England, such as those in Dorset, Devon and Cornwall, which benefit from striking coastal scenery, this stretch of coast does not have that kind of landscape to rely on. That means purpose, character and attraction have always needed to be created deliberately, through planning, investment and activity, rather than being given by the natural environment itself.
Sir Richard Hotham came to what is now Bognor in the late 18th century as a London merchant in search of health and retreat. He found a quiet coastal hamlet and began developing it into a seaside destination, encouraging visitors and constructing homes that formed the early layout of what was then known as Hothamton. The location itself was part of its appeal, with calm shallow waters and sheltered bathing conditions that suited the emerging idea of seaside leisure. His vision was not industrial or strategic, but simple: a place of calm, sea air and relaxation. He understood that the town needed attractions and a focal point worth visiting if it was to grow into something more.
From that foundation, the town gradually developed into a Victorian seaside resort, attracting visitors for health and leisure. It became a modest but respectable coastal retreat, never rivalling Brighton, but offering a quieter alternative for seaside stays and longer visits. That role as a resort would later be anchored and amplified by the arrival of the pier.
The pier, which arrived in 1865, turned that concept into a physical focal point. It became the main attraction of the town, a place where visitors could step out over the sea, gather and experience the coastline as entertainment and spectacle. For much of Bognor’s identity as a resort, the pier and seafront defined the town more than anything else.
That identity would later be given an unexpected national boost in 1929, when King George V convalesced at Craigweil House in Aldwick, just outside the town. His stay brought royal attention to the area and directly led to Bognor being granted the suffix “Regis” later that year. What might otherwise have remained a modest seaside resort was suddenly elevated by circumstance and association, with the royal connection becoming permanently attached to its identity.
Another major shift in Bognor’s identity came with the arrival of Butlin’s in the mid 20th century. It brought a new kind of tourism to the town, focused on self-contained holiday accommodation rather than the traditional open seafront economy. Over time it has developed into a highly self-sufficient resort, with a wide range of activities, entertainment and attractions contained within its grounds. Many visitors now have little reason to leave the complex during their stay. While this has strengthened the resort itself, it has also reduced the flow of activity into the wider town, particularly in the evenings, which is part of the challenge the seafront now faces.
If Bognor is to evolve again, it needs to give people reasons to be on the seafront beyond daylight hours, and reasons to move through the town rather than around it. That means creating a more active, modern coastal environment where leisure and everyday use overlap.
That could include ideas seen in other successful British seaside towns: a restored or reimagined pier complex acting as a mixed leisure space rather than just a viewing platform; a seafront lido or open-water swimming area; a splash park or water play area for families; a small boating lake or sheltered water feature; outdoor performance spaces for live music and community events; and sports-focused areas such as beach volleyball or multi-use courts. Better use of seating would also help, not just more of it, but deliberately arranged social spaces around key areas such as the pier, creating natural gathering points rather than scattered benches. For the evening economy, improvements would need to focus on lighting, atmosphere and late-opening food and drink spaces to keep the seafront active after dark.
Bognor does not need reinvention. It does not need to pretend it rivals the dramatic scenery of the South West. It needs to become again what it once was and what it can be again. It needs life, culture and modern attractions that fit the present age and give people a reason to return and stay.
Part of that may also mean rediscovering something the town has always had but perhaps lost confidence in, its humour. A seaside place that can laugh at itself as well as be laughed at, whether as the butt of television jokes or as a tongue-in-cheek holiday “bogey prize” destination, or through events and traditions such as the Birdman Rally and the International Clowns Convention that embrace that identity rather than reject it.
As a sixth-generation Bognorian, with family ties stretching back to the time of Hotham, there is a personal interest in seeing change that improves the town without losing what makes it distinct. Despite all mentioned in the article, there remains a strong sense of community and pride, and slow improvement.
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