A Turret for a King: Looking for Wilfred Owen in Scarborough

It began with one of the worst photos I had ever taken, snatched from the hip as I crossed the road because I had noticed a jovial group of tourists in a random hotel bar.

I loved how they were separated from the dark outside, how it showed a different world to the one I was experiencing on my short solo trip to photograph the East Yorkshire Coast.  As it happened, they were indeed separated as I had shot on auto on the move so they ended up disappearing in the blown-out light from the window. No big deal, I thought, it happens and especially to me, a photographer who is much happier taking pictures of buildings and shadows than humans.

A few days later I was back home working on a project to create a (self-published) photo book documenting the remains of the defunct "Wet Earth" Colliery near my home.  A lot of my work involves matching words to pictures and this time I felt I needed a poem that spoke about the harsh life of a coal miner.  A quick search pulled up "Miners" by Wilfred Owen, a poet whom I have admired since I was a child. After I received the finished book I decided to research the poem some more, to realise something quite remarkable. That he had written it in the same Scarborough hotel where I had taken that blurred picture.

I thought the coincidence was quite incredible.  The image of the hotel was the last I had taken on the Scarborough trip and the importance of it wasn't lost on me.  I decided to research some more so bought a book of Wilfred Owen's Selected Letters, immediately diving into the part where he had just left Craiglockhart Military Hospital for "light duties" in Scarborough as part of the Army's attempt to return him to full fighting status.

"So I sit in the middle of my five-windowed turret, and look down upon the sea. The sun is valiant in its old age.  I draw the Venetian blinds, so that the shadow of the lattices on the table gives an illusion of great heat."

To Susan Owen, 13th December 1917, Scarborough

Within a half hour I had phoned the hotel to see if his "turret" was available. To my great surprise it was, so I immediately booked it for the following week.  I was to return to Scarborough to look for Owen, wherever I could find him.

Views from The Turret room 

"The 5th have taken over a big Hotel, of which I am Major Domo, which in the vulgar, means Lift Boy. I manage Accommodation, Food, and Service. I boss cooks, housemaids, charwomen, chamber-maids, mess orderlies and — drummers."

To Siegfried Sassoon, 27th November 27th 1917

As you may imagine, to walk into that room was quite inspiring and without even unpacking I sat down to read his selected letters for what seemed like hours.  The hotel, (now named the Clifton, whilst in Owen's time it was called the Clarence Gardens) has a gorgeous British whitewashed-seaside charm to it before you even get into the room, which apart from modern furnishings and a now somewhere-hidden fireplace feels structurally probably the same as it was in 1917, given the large, permanent beams that define its unusual shape. 

Several hours in to reading his letters it suddenly occurred to me that he was recomposing perhaps his most famous poem "Dulce Et Decorum Est" right there in that room, which was mentioned to his mother in a letter of the 16th October, and revised in the winter and spring of 17/18.  In fact, it would be almost impossible given his nature for him to abandon it while he was there, so he must have worked on it.

"Here is a gas poem, done yesterday, (which is not private, but not final). The famous Latin tag means of course It is sweet and meet to die for one’s country. Sweet! And decorous!"

To Susan Owen, 16th October 1917

For those readers who aren't fully aware of Wilfred Owen's story, in summary, after falling down a well and also being blown up by a shell in March and April of 1917 he was diagnosed with Neurasthenia, in other words, shellshock.  He was then sent to Craiglockhart Military Hospital in June of 1917, where he met the poet Siegried Sassoon, who convinced him to start to write about his war experiences. This is now generally accepted to be one of the most impactful meetings of the whole genre of First World War poetry for that reason.

So it was then that in November 1917, Owen reluctantly left Sassoon behind to come to the hotel on Queen's Parade in Scarborough, meaning that it was the first place he visited in his new war poet persona.

"He was observed to be shaky and tremulous, and his conduct and manner were peculiar, and his memory was confused."

Document detailing the decision of the Army Medical Board

on Owen's case, 25th June 1917

"I have beknown myself to Siegfried Sassoon. Went in to him last night (my second call). The first visit was one morning last week. The sun blazed into his room making his purple dressing suit of a brilliance — almost matching my sonnet!"

To Leslie Gunston, 22nd August 1917

"Did I tell you the Hotel stands on the edge of the North Cliff; just where we played cricket once? The whole bay is white as milk, the wind being contrary to the breakers."

To Susan Owen, 3rd December 1917

NOTE ON PREVIOUS PHOTOGRAPH: The hotel overlooking Scarborough's North Bay taken from the path leading over Castle Hill.  The meandering paths on the left hand banking are the remains of the late Victorian-era / early 20th Century hotel-namesake Clarence Gardens complex, which was a finely manicured collection of paths, buildings and entertainment areas which were still very present and active during his time there.

Later that day I decided to go on a hunt for all things Wilfred Owen that may remain.  In other words, any buildings and places that he may have encountered during the four months he spent there between November and March 1917/18.   This was no easy task and a group of shelters positioned immediately outside the hotel on the old Clarence gardens site were to prove that point. As old-fashioned a remnant as they are, my further research showed that they were apparently built in the 1920s or 30s when the North Bay was undergoing more improvements including to a site called "Alexandra Gardens" built right behind them.  These gardens had been there since 1909 so it is likely that Owen visited, but sadly not the shelters in all their antique, post-Owen, photogenic glory.

Nonetheless I think they give some idea of the architectural style of the gardens when they were there, despite their run-down condition.

"Life here is a mixture of wind, sand, crumbs on carpets, telephones, signatures, clean sheets, shortage of meat, and too many money-sums. But I like it."

To Susan Owen, 9th December 1917

The following morning as I struggled to find the footprints of Owen on the threaded remains of the Clarence Garden footpaths, I eventually wandered to the brilliantly imposing Scarborough Castle, up a narrow path over Castle Hill, leading to the South Bay where the more populated tourist areas were. 

It was here where I took the kind of images I usually take, of subjects such as architecture and the way it interacts with its environment, whether that be reflected light, the juxtaposition of buildings and street furniture, or quite often just clouds framed in an interesting and complimentary way.  I've always had a feeling that I am trying to render these elements into a flat scene within a frame as if they were an arranged still life, and this is most definitely where I feel the most comfortable as a photographer.

I was lucky in my quest in that I had quickly managed to make a like-minded friend in the form of a man called Paul Elsam, an actor, writer, photographer, theatre director and generally very creative person, who resided in Scarborough and was a big admirer of Wilfred Owen.  I had contacted Paul a few days before to ask for a sound file that he had produced that I had spotted online, which was his own recorded 90 minute audio tour that took the listener around places in Scarborough that were connected with Owen and his time there. 

On the way to meet him I continued gathering images of the South Bay, with mostly just a general awareness at that point of the places that would have been around when Owen was here.  There were the obvious non-starters such as the fairground and modern chippies, but they made interesting images anyway and the quay architecture was most almost certainly as it would have been despite some modern adornments.

"The second happy maid broke the still surface of the evening sea. The sky was peerless gold" The Little Mermaid (after Hand Christian Anderson), Wilfred Owen 1912

I approached the cafe in the Woodend Gallery and Studio on Scarborough's beautiful Crescent with some excitement at meeting Paul, the fellow Owen-officiando.  It wasn't often that I found someone with the sort of obsession with a topic that I have and I was looking forward to sharing the details of my journey.   I wasn't to be disappointed as Paul's knowledge of Owen's life in Scarborough was excellent and it was no wonder he was able to make an audio tour from it. 

Paul Elsam

After a long discussion we said our goodbyes and I put the headphones in and started on Paul's tour.  There is really too much to record here about the things we discussed but one thing that came to light was about the connection between Owen and the original owners of the house we were drinking coffee in, in its modern guise as an art gallery.  Their name was Sitwell and they were great champions of Owen's work, publishing him in their book "Wheels" posthumously in 1919.

Back to the audio tour and to add context Paul had begun by discussing some of the events that had happened in Scarborough during the First World War, with the first stop at no.8, the Crescent, which was hit by a shell in an horrendous surprise German bombardment, three years before Owen's arrival. 

On the dark foggy morning of the 16th December 1914, 500 shells were fired by three German warships, resulting in the death of 19 men, women and children and it is surprising that even after 121 years, the lighter stone from the repairs is still quite clear to see.

I am quite prone to wandering from a task, especially when I spot interesting photo opportunities, and this was the case as I was listening to Paul's guide, with me continuing to capture images of places and buildings that may, or may not, have been around in Owen's time.  Some of the houses on a park-land path called "Plantation Hill" that is adjacent to Woodend were certainly very strong contenders for being of the period, and I think were most likely to have been around or at least been in the planning stages back then, with the exception of the concrete bridge, which nonetheless made a very pleasing image.

There were some structures however that I knew for sure were there, such as the light blue/aqua coloured and very pleasing Cliff/Spa Bridge, which spans the South Bay's St Nicholas Cliff to the Spa, built in 1827 and surely a regular pathway for Wilfred Owen as he went on the long solo walks he was so fond of.

What happened next was something quite extraordinary and relates to the house in the following picture.  I'm not a great believer in something up above but I am a devout follower of the things-that-happen-for-a-reason (that-can't-be-explained), as many things have happened in that way to me, mostly in relation to my art, whatever form it is taking.

I was walking along and listening to a part where Paul put forward a theory that a poem by Owen called Schoolmistress was about an Aunt of the same trade who was teaching in Scarborough, when he asked me to turn right into a place called Pavilion Square.  I immediately recognised it because the previous day when I stepped off the train I had been drawn over by one of the houses there that looked different from all the rest because of washing it had hanging off the balcony.  It was the first photograph I had taken when I arrived and I remembered it very well because of the not so photogenic car park that had been built in front of it where I'm guessing there used to be gardens.

I followed Paul's instructions to look for a particular house which was formerly a school where Owen's relative had taught, where he thought Owen had visited and thus had been inspired to write the poem whilst watching her teach through the window.  This is the poem:

Schoolmistress

Having, with bold Horatius, stamped her feet

And waved a final swashing arabesque

O'er the brave days of old, she ceased to bleat,

Slapped her Macaulay back upon the desk,

Resumed her calm gaze and her lofty seat.

There, while she heard the classic lines repeat,

Once more the teacher's face clenched stern;

For through the window, looking on the street,

Three soldiers hailed her. She made no return.

One was called 'Orace whom she would not greet.

Wilfred Owen, early 1918

As Paul admitted himself, there are other theories about where the poem was written (some scholars firmly believe that a Ripon school was the inspiration as that was the next place he was sent to after Scarborough) but I think it is a strong contender given that she definitely taught there and that he spent a lot of time in her company.  Incidentally, she stood in total contrast to Owen's strict religious upbringing and was severely disapproved of by his stern mother, who was spared a lot of the details by Owen of the nocturnal drinking, dancing, theatre and picture-house exploits that he and his Aunt enjoyed.

Anyhow, you may guess the punchline to all this, which is that the house that Paul told me to stop at was exactly the same one that I had pictured the day before, when I had barely any knowledge at all about where Owen had been in the town.  Quite odd really, but very satisfying all the same.

On a sidenote in relation to all things ethereal, it's worth mentioning that several of the staff in the hotel spoke about the top floor near Owen's turret room feeling "Spooky" and unnerving, especially when they had to do late night fire walks, but to be honest I felt nothing but joy when I was there, and apart from just a general feeling of contentment that I was in that special place, nothing scary or ghostly at all.

I resumed Paul's guide as it took me through the streets above the South Bay and then into the Bay itself, eventually descending via the exhilarating, minute or so ride that is the "Victorian Tramway to the Beach". Some more Owen connections were pointed out, such as the place where he enjoyed oysters on Bar Street, and several watering holes where he may have partaken of a beverage or two with his misbehaving Aunty.

There was one last place I had to visit, which was a cemetery that in our meeting Paul mentioned may have been at least a part of the inspiration for Owen's famous poem "Strange Meeting". It was actually his friend John Oxley's theory and was worth exploring some more.

Coincidentally it is my favourite Wilfred Owen poem and one that I have known off by heart for many years, that begins like this:

It seemed that out of the battle I escaped

Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped

Through granites which Titanic wars had groined.

Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,

Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.

As per "Schoolmistress" which I mentioned earlier, many scholars believe this to be written at Ripon, immediately post-Scarborough.  However the reason John believed that it might have been inspired in this cemetery is because of its peculiar design and in particular a tunnel that connects two parts.

Sitting adjacent to Peasholm Park, an immaculately landscaped source of civic pride for the town, as well as a popular tourist attraction, the cemetery emerges from winding pathways that end in a statue of Mercury in the centre of a lily pool. 

Heading past the statue, I entered the cemetery and immediately realised why John thought of a connection with the poem, which isn't all to do with the tunnel but rather the way that the graves pool in gaps between trees; weaving in and out of a gigantic and multi-levelled woodland that seemed as if it was trying to deny the light its right to enter it, even on the bright day when I visited. 

It's not a sad or depressing place at all, but rather a calm, sombre place that really does feel like a descent into another darker world where one could experience a "Strange Meeting".

As I arrived at the tunnel, which stretched between an upper, lighter and more traditional cemetery named Manor Road, then turned around to walk back again into the dark woodland it really did feel like I was going down beneath the Earth to meet Owen's "encumbered sleepers":

"Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,

Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.

Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared

With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,

Lifting distressful hands, as if to bless.

And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall,—

By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell."

There were of course many, many graves with dates before and after Owen's time and it was interesting to realise that he would have read the same earlier inscriptions, some of which were military-related. 

There was also a Commonwealth War Grave for W.G. Branson, a Royal Artillery soldier who died just 5 days after Owen and just two days before the armistice.  I wondered if his parents or wife also received a telegram as the bells of peace rang on the 11th November as Owen's parents had.

By this time sadly my train clock was ticking and I had just a couple of hours left to fill before heading to the station, but before I did I sought out a memorial cairn that had been dedicated to the 1914 bombardment. 

I'm not sure when it was erected but it was a little sad to find it hidden in weeds and in a corner that was quite easy to miss.  Luckily a gentleman called Richard, who was a volunteer mapping the locations of all the graves, showed me where it was.  He even shared his own story of his first encounter with Wilfred Owen's poetry, from a school teacher who was passionate about him.  It is worth noting that several people on this trip told me similar stories of how inspiring teachers had introduced them to Owen. 

And on that note it was time to leave.  There are some images remaining that I haven't used elsewhere and  I together I think they sum up the various stages of the trip quite well.  For different reasons they didn't make the main cut so here they are.

 I took time on the long train journey home to think carefully about how successful I had been in my quest to "find" traces of Wilfred Owen in Scarborough, which coincidentally is also a journey that he took in trying to find places where his own literary heroes lived and worked (see end quote).

The truth is I think that there were echoes of him everywhere.  That while his ghost may not walk the fourth floor of his renamed hotel and that quite remarkable turret room, there are memories of his existence all around Scarborough.  These include the same cobbles of Castle Hill that he would have trod on his way to an area called "Paradise", where he drank, ate oysters and made merry with his Aunty unbeknownst to his disapproving mum;  to the same quay, old buildings, park and aqua-coloured bridge he would have walked for happy hours on.

Simply put, while he wasn't quite a famous poet at the time he was aware of his rising recognition and the growing respect from his peers and I'm sure he was beginning to realise that he had a special voice.  But he was also first and foremost a soldier who at times had barely any time to write, dealing not only with past demons in his recovery at Scarborough but also with the reality of an impending reunion with them in his return to the trenches of France. 

In his letters he often adopts a light, playful tone which I think is an attempt to lift the spirits of not only his family and friends but also himself, and I also think that spending time in Scarborough was a similar distraction, coming as it did as a bridge between the hospital and a return to proper officer duties at Ripon.

However the truth is always in his poetry, such as Dulce Et Decorum Est, sent as a "gas poem" aside to his mum in a letter that included mundane tales of visits to friends and whether or not his brother Colin should get a motorbike.  As a parent myself I can only imagine that she was deeply affected when she read the poem and it's terrible theme, however well it was written.  To have the truth and horror of her son's predicament laid bare like that, hidden amongst such day to day platitudes must have been shocking indeed.

I am going to end with a quote at the foot from his visit to Keats' house, which I think sums up this whole exploit rather well, and also the only colour photo in this collection, taken from his middle turret window at 6:56 am of the same sun that we both had the pleasure to look at despite the 117 years that have passed between us.  It is unedited, taken straight through the misted window as he would have seen it. It has been a very moving little journey and out of all the images I took I feel he is there in this one, counting the seconds and minutes before assaulting the day, and ticking off the days themselves before he has to return to war.

"I long to tell you of my good fortune in discovering the house (of Keats) — I will only say now that I saw it, and gaped at it (regardless of people in the window who finally became quite alarmed, I fancy) — to my heart’s content. If I had only had a little more time, and a photograph or two, perhaps I might have made up a magazine article upon it — the district certainly lends itself to picturesque description."

To Susan Owen, 25th April 1911

APPENDIX: PHOTOGRAPHIC NOTES

All photographs were taken by me, Darren Birchall, in September 2025, as well as all original text (excluding the Wilfred Owen quotes) and I retain copyright for these which may not be re-used without permission.

All the photographs were taken on my trusty Fujifilm X100VI at various settings.  The raw files were then converted to mono using my own profiles.

WITH THANKS TO:

My wonderful supportive family, who are continually asked for opinions and support and always given them readily and with love

PEOPLE I MET IN SCARBOROUGH:

Paul Elsam, Theatre Director, writer, teacher, creative

Steve Love, free-spirit guitarist and a truly gentle man and also Jenny, his partner

Gemma, Clifton Hotel receptionist, a very helpful staff member and supernatural-speculator

Richard, documenter of graveyards

Paul James, a wonderful landscape photographer who gave me the urge to return to Scarborough

The mythical Len, an Owen hotel expert whom I never got to meet but sounded very interesting indeed!

Dominic, a fine photographer whom I startled when taking an image of the shelters at 10pm by accidentally jumping out on him :)

and finally ..

Woman photographer on the hill, who took great interest in what I was doing and shared advice on photos