Local historians claim that
the beginnings of Bournemouth were made in 1810, but it would appear
that only two or three houses existed by the lonely wastes of sand in
the first few years of the Victorian era. One of these was an adjunct
to a decoy pond for wild fowl. The parish itself was not formed until
1894, and although fashionable streets and fine churches and a
super-excellent "Winter-garden" had been erected when the writer first
saw the town, not much more than twenty years ago, the front was
extremely "raw" and the only shelter during a shower was a large tent
on the sands that, on one never-to-be-forgotten occasion, collapsed
during a squall upon the crowd of lightly-clad holiday-makers
beneath. But this is a very dim and distant past for Bournemouth, the
"Sandbourne" of the Wessex novels. The town is now as well conducted
as any on the English coast. It is large enough and has a sufficient
permanent population to justify its inclusion in the ranks of the
county boroughs. It is becoming almost as popular as Ventnor with
those who suffer from weak lungs, though it can be very cold here in
January.
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