Skill Builder Guides & reviews for building and construction
Site layout planning for daylight and sunlight: a guide to good practice (BR 209 2022 edition – Download)
https://bregroup.com/store/bookshop/site-layout-planning-for-daylight-and-sunlight-a-guide-to-good-practice-br-209-2022-edition
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The Law of Ancient Light – BBC 1972
Nationwide visited Bacton-on-Sea, to investigate a strange case involving an unusual structure made of wooden boards, the law of ancient light (or right to light), and the obstinate and reclusive Miss Day.
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The Curious Case of Ancient Light: From Bacton’s Boards to Modern Law
In 1972, the BBC’s Nationwide aired “Eyesore – The Law of Ancient Light,” a quirky tale from Bacton-on-Sea, Norfolk, where Miss Day’s wooden boards sparked a neighbourhood feud with Mr. Max Jenkins.
These boards, erected decades earlier by her father, blocked sunlight to Jenkins’ windows, thwarting his claim to a peculiar English legal right: the “law of ancient light.” Rooted in the Prescription Act of 1832, this law granted a property owner the right to unobstructed daylight through a window if it had enjoyed that light for 20 years or more.
Miss Day’s stubborn boards—ugly yet effective—ensured Jenkins never hit that threshold, preserving her family’s freedom to build on their land. The segment, equal parts absurd and endearing, showcased a Britain obsessed with property rights, petty disputes, and the quirks of old law.
The “ancient light” doctrine, formally a prescriptive easement, wasn’t just a relic—it shaped how neighbours negotiated space. If a window qualified, any new construction blocking it could face legal challenges, potentially halting development or demanding compensation. In 1972, this law still held sway, as seen in Bacton’s standoff.
The boards were a pre-emptive strike, a physical “not on my watch” against Jenkins’ potential claim. Yet, the program hinted at a fading era: urbanization was clashing with such quaint rights, and the boards themselves were dubbed an eyesore by a modernizing society.
Between 1972 and 2025, the law evolved, though not dramatically. The Land Registration Act 2002 streamlined property rights, making it harder to claim easements like ancient light without formal registration—a shift from the 1832 Act’s reliance on uninterrupted use.
By 2011, the Law Commission considered scrapping the doctrine entirely, arguing it hindered development in crowded cities. Their 2014 report, “Rights to Light,” proposed reforms, but Parliament didn’t fully bite. Instead, case law tightened its scope: courts began favouring “reasonable enjoyment” of light over strict preservation, as in Regan v. Paul Properties (2006), balancing old rights with new builds.
Today, in March 2025, ancient light lingers but is weakened. Planning laws often override it, and developers can seek “certificates of lawfulness” to bypass disputes. Miss Day’s boards, now replaced by a house on Kimberley Road, echo a bygone pettiness. Yet, the tale endures—a reminder of how law, light, and neighbourly spite once danced in Britain’s coastal hamlets.
