It is widely known as the greatest neighbour row of all time.
When Max Jenkins paid £3,500 to move into his modest family home in sleepy Bacton-on-Sea, Norfolk, with ‘sea views’, there was just one problem… it didn’t have sea views.
For despite being just yards from the ocean, he was prevented from looking out of two of the windows because they were boarded up by his elderly neighbour in what enthusiasts call the delightfully odd ‘the law of the ancient lights case’.
And in recent years the bizarre story – dating back over 50 years – has become and enduring cult classic online, with tens of thousands of fans who are still fascinated by its bizarre ingredients, strange characters and ultimately in trying to find out what happened next.
And now, can finally answer those questions.
But before we get to the question of how the case was resolved, it’s necessary to explain what it involved and how it arose.
For that, we need to rewind to 1972 – when Ulster was in flames following Bloody Sunday, David Bowie had just come up with Ziggy Stardust and the first Ford Granadas were rolling off the production line at Dagenham.
But up in previously sleepy Bacton-on-Sea, new homeowner Mr Jenkins’ thoughts were on matters much closer to hand: namely why, instead of the stunning maritime views he had been looking forward to, was stuck staring at a strange wooden contraption just outside his new house?
This had been built so that two sets of wooden planks were positioned directly in front of the two side windows of his imposing house, completely blocking out the views of the coast beyond.
And further inquiries revealed the bizarre wooden structure was nothing new: it had been in situ for decades already.
Max wanted, naturally, to remove the boards but there was a major obstacle in his way, and this obstacle came in the form of his grumpy next-door neighbour, elderly spinster Ethel Day.
Both Max and Ethel were to become the stuff of legend thanks to the story of their dispute featuring in an item on BBC TV’s early evening news magazine show Nationwide, a kind of forerunner to The One Show.
The programme gave the segment the caption ‘The Curious Case of the Blocked Window’ as if it were some Sherlock Holmes story. And indeed it did have a strong mystery element: why on earth were the boards there?
On the TV report, Mr Jenkins told how two of the coast-facing windows of his Victorian villa ‘Melrose’ were completely blocked by the wood attached to a pair of telegraph poles just 3ft away, erected on land belonging to Miss Day.
They had been there since at least 1915, long before Mr Jenkins, 42, in 1972, bought the four-bedroomed house for £3,500, three years earlier.
Sporting an Abe Lincoln-style ‘chin curtain’ beard, he told the BBC wistfully that when he bought the house, he assumed the boards were simply a ‘windbreak’ and there would be no objection to his removing them.
‘If I could get rid of them, I should be a very happy man,’ he sighed.
But when the Jenkins politely asked their neighbour, Ethel Day, 87, to remove the wooden structure, she steadfastly refused, saying that her father William had put them up and they would only come down ‘over her dead body’.
She also quoted the arcane ‘Law of Ancient Lights’ in her defence, which left Mr Jenkins and his new bride Linda none the wiser at first.
A clip of that news report is what has given the 52-year-old story its very long afterlife on the internet where to this day it is shared hundreds of times a year to new and incredulous fans.
Now, more than 50 years on, Mr Jenkins’ widow Linda has spoken for the first time to recount to the full details of the case, which wags have also dubbed ‘the saga of the Norfolk Boards’.
‘Because of our expanding family, the downstairs window that was blocked was originally a pantry, but we knocked that through to include it in the lounge,’ Linda Jenkins, now 74, told .
‘The upstairs window was the nursery, and I remember Max getting a bit despondent about those boards.
‘He got a bee in his bonnet about it and said “I’m going to do something about this, Miss Day is never there, she only comes two or three months a year. Why should we have to have this?”
‘He went through solicitors and planning, and the MP, but nothing changed because of this ancient lights business.’
In English property law, ‘ancient lights’ referred to the right of a building owner to receive natural light through windows, acquired after 20 years of uninterrupted enjoyment, preventing neighbours from building obstructions that would then block that light.
It’s believed that the Day family decided to erect their boards back in the distant past in order to forestall any objection from their neighbour should they wish to build on the land at a later date.
Their logic would run thus: If Mr Jenkins already had no view (and little light) through his windows on that side, he couldn’t invoke the law when a new house went up in between his and Miss Day’s.
The fact that Miss Day spent most of her time at her main house in Norwich, 20 miles away only served to infuriate him further.
Miss Day refused to speak to the BBC but could be glimpsed fleetingly in the footage, glaring at the camera through her window, wearing a headscarf.
But there was a twist to the tale: Miss Day’s preventive steps were to ultimately prove to have been well judged.
Because a few years after Nationwide reporter Suzanne Hall delivered that curious dispatch in her customary cut-glass accent, Miss Day did indeed sell the land with planning for a two-storey house.
It’s not clear how much she received, but she didn’t live long to enjoy the money as she died in 1977, only five years after the TV report.
Max, whose business was the toy yacht manufacturing business inherited from his father, was to outlive his nemesis Miss Day by some 30 years only passing in 2007.
Today, his widow Linda, still lives in the area, based just five miles from Bacton.
She recalled the happy times at Melrose with her three children by Max, and two step-children from his previous marriage – despite their lack of view.
‘We used to spend all summer on the beach with the children and all the other villagers,’ she said.
‘There seemed to be endless days of lovely weather, but I’m sure that’s just rose-tinted spectacles!’
‘Max was definitely annoyed by the boards, but he wasn’t the kind of person who got very angry – he was a very gentle, kind man,’ said Linda.
‘There was never a good relationship with Miss Day – she used to look out of her window when the children made a noise playing in the garden, so I’d wave over and she’d scowl back.
‘I can’t remember exactly when the land next door was sold and a house went up, but it was the late 70s, and it was nice to see the boards go. It just meant the whole thing was settled and I think that brought Max some peace of mind.
‘The old boards were just so utterly horrible and so close to the window. The new house that was built was quite a bit further back, so that was nice.’
Linda said her fondest memory of Max was his sense of fun ‘He was a great father and loved playing practical jokes.
‘He used to lean a broom against the bathroom door when someone was in there, so it would fall in when you opened the door. If we were eating a meal and one of the children wasn’t paying attention, he’d take their plate and hide it underneath on an empty chair – just silly things like that.’
The Jenkins family moved out to a more modern house in Bacton in 1988, where Linda lived with him until his death in 2007, aged 78.
The ‘Law of Ancient Lights’ is no longer known by its historical term, but the ‘right to light’ still exists in England and Wales, based on the Prescription Act of 1832.
The right to light is a legal ‘easement’, or a right over a land which doesn’t include ownership, similar to a right of way, and it is typically acquired through long-standing use of 20 years or more.
Developers must pay heed to the right to light when planning a new building, as they could face legal challenges if their development significantly obstructs the light of a neighbour.
The Days’ old house and Melrose itself, are still standing, now surrounded by a hotch-potch of modern houses and bungalows in the private road. Neither of the current owners wanted to discuss the issue.
Jury Cottage, which stands where the boards used to be, is the home of builder mates, Steve Fisher, 67, and Wayne Jones, 55, who have converted the property into upstairs and downstairs flats, occupying one floor each.
‘I was aware of the story of the boards,’ said Steve, ‘but only because of that TV report when someone showed it to me from the internet.
‘It’s a bit sad that neighbours couldn’t work out something like that amicably, but then you see plenty of weird disputes these days over things that could be easily settled with a bit of give and take.’
Local amateur historian Kurtis Gale, 30, runs a Bacton local history page on Facebook and said the Nationwide clip caused something of a stir when it was spotted locally recently. Then another member of the group, Chris Pointer, recalled Max Jenkins drumming in a local band and found a photo of him, sticks in hand.
Kurtis Gale said: ‘There were vague memories of the boards around the village, but when they saw the report, lots of people recalled Mr Jenkins very warmly and Miss Day… well not so much!.
‘I found an old postcard with a photo from 1915, which shows the boards are up, but that doesn’t explain how the Days managed to put them there in the first place without any objection from their neighbours.
‘The strange thing is that according to the records we’ve found, Melrose, initially called Rosina, was built before its neighbour.
‘It went up in around 1896, whereas the Days’ house, initially called Hermonville, didn’t come along until about 10 years later.’
Another final twist: ironically enough, the Day family’s old house, formerly known as Hermonville, is now called ‘Brightside.
The Bacton coast has changed dramatically since the 1970s. As well as the huge nearby gas terminal, opened in 1969 and supplying up to a third of the UK gas supply, various caravan parks have sprung up along the coast, but the beach and cliff are still a big draw for tourists.