The Southern Beaches of Brighton: Where the Sea Shaped Us

There’s a stretch of coastline in Christchurch that holds a special kind of magic. The southern beaches of Brighton. Long before I worked in real estate or understood how to navigate a negotiation, I was navigating tides, headwinds, and the sandy paths of this wild, close-knit corner of the world.

I remember biking to school in the drizzle, not the kind of rain that sends you running, but the kind that settles in for the day. Gumboots sloshing, parka zipped up to my nose, and that unmistakable scent of wet pine needles in the air. Somehow, it always felt like freedom.

The Eagle has landed

We’d sit on the linseed-oiled floors of the prefab classroom near the potbelly stove, drinking our lukewarm school milk from glass bottles. I still remember the day we listened to Apollo 11 make history that crackly voice from the radio announcing the moon landing. We were wide-eyed and silent, then raced outside at playtime to build rockets of our own from cardboard tubes and imagination.

Afternoons meant ditching your school bag and heading straight to the beach. Sometimes barefoot, or riding on our bikes. We’d cruise up the sand toward New Brighton, tyres sinking, laughing as we dared each other to ride closer to the tide.

Hazy days of summer, the estuary at the bottom of the garden

Dion’s Dive Shop was a regular stop where we’d grab board wax or just linger to soak up the smell of neoprene, salt, and adventure. And then it was off to the estuary. We’d rig up the old sailing dinghy, praying the tide and wind were on our side. Except for that one time when the propeller spring on the Seagull outboard broke… and we had to row a heavy dinghy against the outgoing tide, straining and laughing the whole way home as the sky darkened and my friend's dad shone his searchlight from the balcony.

The neighbourhood looked after its own. I used to mow Mrs. Owl’s lawn with a push reel mower. Every ten minutes, she’d pop out with lemonade and cookies, insisting I take a break. She had a gentle way of teaching patience and appreciation.

The patience of lemonade and cookies

I delivered medicines for the local chemist, picking up prescription bottles that would later be sterilised in the autoclave and reused. It was just what you did. Everyone pitched in, everyone mattered. After-school chores and odd jobs gave you the pocket money to explore your dreams.

Out the front of our house, hidden in the macrocarpas, was our fortress. Built with bits of timber and imagination complete with a rope ladder, trapdoor, and secret codes. It was our pirate ship, our rocket base, our retreat.

Macrocarpa Fortress

Looking back, these memories feel like chapters from a book I’d happily reread any day. The southern beaches of Brighton taught me resilience, curiosity, and the value of community. They gave me an appreciation for the natural rhythm of life, the tides coming in and out and for people who show up, rain or shine.

These days, when I walk clients through homes in this area, I see more than floorplans and section sizes. I see the possibility. I see the next chapter waiting to be written, the childhoods, the friendships, the salty summer evenings. The dreams yet to be lived and the exploring to be indulged.

Let curiosity get the better of you, let it be your compass to explore the possibilities of life amongst the salty tales of the Southern Beaches of Brighton. Chase the waves as you walk the shores, smell the pines amongst the salted breeze, but most of all embrace the sense of community that brings family to the fore.

The southern beaches of Brighton aren’t just postcodes. They’re a way of life. And I wouldn’t trade them for the world.