53 Degrees North

Issue 01

Fifty Three Degrees North

Blackpool Town

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How I Dearly Wish

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I Was Not Here

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Introduction & History —

Blackpool rose to prominence as a major centre of tourism in England when a railway was built in the 1840s connecting it to the other regions of Northern England.

The railway made it much easier and cheaper for visitors to reach Blackpool, triggering an influx of settlers, such that in 1876 Blackpool was incorporated as a borough, governed by its own town council and aldermen. In 1881, Blackpool was a booming resort with a population of 14,000 and a promenade complete with piers, fortunetellers, public houses, trams, donkey rides, fish & chip shops and theatres. By 1901 the population of Blackpool was 47,000, by which time its

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place was cemented as “the archetypal British seaside resort”. Shifts in tastes, combined with opportunities for the popular to now travel overseas to much better places, affected Blackpool’s status as a leading resort in the late 20th century.

Nevertheless, Blackpool’s urban fabric and economy remains relatively undiversified, and firmly rooted in the tourism sector, and Blckpool’s seafront continues to attract millions of visitors and tourists every year.

In addition to its sandy beaches and murky water, Blackpool’s major attractions and landmarks include Blackpool Tower, Blackpool Illuminations, the Pleasure Beach, Blackpool Zoo, Sandcastle Water Park, the Winter Gardens, and the UK’s only surviving first-generation tramway. All of these filled all year round.

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About the Town —

Blackpool in its heyday was everything a mill worker or clerk could wish for in a holiday resort. There were the piers and beaches, the outdoor dancing stages and the music halls, ludicrously extravagant Moorish and Indian follies where entertainers from Laurel and Hardy to Frank Sinatra delighted the crowds. And there was the Tower, modelled on Eiffel’s in Paris, with its lights, ballroom and mighty Wurlitzer organ. One in five Britons holidayed in the town. So the memories of those years lived on long after the dawn of mass foreign tourism in the 1960s. The recent success of “Strictly Come Dancing”, a televised ballroom-dancing contest,

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is testament to a lingering national soft-spot for its old blend of sequined razzmatazz and Victorian politesse.

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The State of Blackpool —

Today the memories are almost all Blackpool has left. Abandoned for the Costas, it failed to find a new role, became one of the ten most deprived towns in Britain and is now almost cinematically bleak: Coney Island meets Detroit. The town centre is a smelly (urine and fried food, with notes of cannabis) patchwork of charity shops, nightclubs with fading playbills and unloved tourist emporia flogging boiled sweets in saucy shapes.

In the back streets scrawny men loiter outside terraces of peeling boarding houses, swigging from cans and glaring at the seagulls. “People aren’t usually in Blackpool if they have somewhere to go,”

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says Brian, an unemployed waiter outside the job centre. His comment reminds us of a song by Morrissey in which the gloomadon-popping Lancastrian evoked “the coastal town that they forgot to close down”. The lyric captures something of Blackpool’s sadness, but also the economic transformation under which it is falling yet further behind. But, contrary to Brian the waiter’s assertion, plenty of people in Blackpool love its tawdry shimmer and do not want to leave. “It’s seen better days,” admits Jill, a permed pensioner admiring the grey Irish Sea from the prom. “But we get lovely sunsets.” This shouldn’t be the only plus side to this aging ruin of a town.

Everybody knows that this town is not what it used to be and for me, over the past

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20 years it has declined massively.

I don’t know if this is because I’m older and wiser or the fact that the town has been left to rot by those of higher power. The magic is lost, but it can be revived in the right hands.

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How I Dearly Wish

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I Was Not Here

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How I Dearly Wish

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I Was Not Here

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How I Dearly Wish

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I Was Not Here

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How I Dearly Wish

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I Was Not Here

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Summary —

Having lived in Blackpool for all my life, coming back from University seems like a complete waste of time. I know everywhere to go, where every building is, what every shop sells and where to avoid at all times.

Traveling to Blackpool North on the train is like hell on earth, especially when you have no headphones to drown out the screams of young children who already know coming here is bad idea. Nobody is truly happy going to Blackpool, they hide it because they’re on holiday. But, I do love it – and everyone else loves it for what it is, even if

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they deny it. The rain, the sea, the rows of shops, the piers, the tower, the horrible smell. This is why these seaside towns should be celebrated; because they have their own little quirks that should be cherished not abused with Hen-parties or ruined by the Governments cuts. Yes, this place does need reviving and hopefully the council truly start to see what is happening before it is too late to save a relic, icon and a part of our culture.

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How I Dearly Wish

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I Was Not Here

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Myself, 1996/97

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Trudging slowly over wet sand, back to the bench where your clothes were stolen.

This is the coastal town, that they forgot to close down.Armageddon - come Armageddon! Come, Armageddon! Come! Everyday is like Sunday,everyday is silent and grey. Hide on the promenade, etch a postcard: “How I Dearly Wish I Was Not Here”.

In the seaside town, that they forgot to bomb. Come, come, come - nuclear bomb.

Everyday is like Sunday, everyday is silent and grey. Trudging back over pebbles and sand, and a strange dust lands on your hands, and on your face, on your face, on your face, on your face. Everyday is like Sunday, “Win yourself a cheap tray”.

Share some greased tea with me, everyday is silent and grey. Trudging slowly over wet sand, back to the bench where your clothes were stolen. This is the coastal town, that they forgot to close down.Armageddon - come Armageddon! Come, Armageddon! Come! Everyday is like Sunday,everyday is silent and grey. Hide on the promenade, etch a postcard: “How I Dearly Wish I Was Not Here”. In the seaside town, that they forgot to bomb. Come, come, come - nuclear bomb. Everyday is like Sunday, everyday is silent and grey. Trudging back over pebbles and sand, and a strange dust lands on your hands, and on your face, on your face, on your face, on your face. Everyday is like Sunday, “Win yourself a cheap tray”. Share some greased tea with me, everyday is silent and grey. Trudging slowly over wet sand, back to the bench where your clothes were stolen. This is the coastal town, that they forgot to close down.Armageddon - come Armageddon! Come, Armageddon! Come!

Everyday is like Sunday,everyday is silent and grey. Hide on the promenade, etch a postcard: “How I Dearly Wish I Was Not Here”. In the seaside town, that they forgot to bomb. Come, come, come - nuclear bomb. Everyday is like Sunday, everyday is silent and grey. Trudging back over pebbles and sand, and a strange dust lands on your hands, and on your face, on your face, on your face, on your face.

Everyday is like Sunday, “Win yourself a cheap tray”. Share some greased tea with me, everyday is silent and grey. Trudging slowly over wet sand, back to the bench where your clothes were stolen. This is the coastal town, that they forgot to close down.Armageddon - come Armageddon! Come, Armageddon! Come! Everyday is like Sunday,everyday is silent and grey. Hide on the promenade, etch a postcard: “How I Dearly Wish I Was Not Here”. In the seaside town, that they forgot to bomb.

Come, come, come - nuclear bomb. Everyday is like Sunday, everyday is silent and grey. Trudging back over pebbles and sand, and a strange dust lands on your hands, and on your face, on your face, on your face, on your face. Everyday is like Sunday, “Win yourself a cheap tray”. Share some greased tea with me, everyday is silent and grey. Trudging slowly over wet sand, back to the bench where your clothes were stolen. This is the coastal town, that they forgot to close down.Armageddon - come Armageddon! Come, Armageddon! Come! Everyday is like Sunday,everyday is silent and grey. Hide on the promenade, etch a postcard: “How I Dearly Wish I Was Not Here”. In the seaside town, that they forgot to bomb. Come, come, come - nuclear bomb. Everyday is like Sunday, everyday is silent and grey.

Trudging back over pebbles and sand, and a strange dust lands on your hands, and on your face, on your face, on your face, on your face. Everyday is like Sunday, “Win yourself a cheap tray”. Share some greased tea with me, everyday is silent and grey. Trudging slowly over wet sand, back to the bench where your clothes were stolen. This is the coastal town, that they forgot to close down.Armageddon - come Armageddon! Come, Armageddon! Come! Everyday is like Sunday,everyday is silent and grey. Hide on the promenade, etch a postcard: “How I Dearly Wish I Was Not Here”. In the seaside town, that they forgot to bomb. Come, come, come - nuclear bomb. Everyday is like Sunday, everyday is silent and grey. Trudging back over pebbles and sand, and a strange dust lands on your hands, and on your face, on your face, on your face, on your face. Everyday is like Sunday, “Win yourself a cheap tray”. Share some greased tea with me, everyday is silent and grey.

Trudging slowly over wet sand, back to the bench where your clothes were stolen.

This is the coastal town, that they forgot to close down.Armageddon - come Armageddon! Come, Armageddon! Come! Everyday is like Sunday,everyday is silent and grey. Hide on the promenade, etch a postcard: “How I Dearly Wish I Was Not Here”.

In the seaside town, that they forgot to bomb. Come, come, come - nuclear bomb.

Everyday is like Sunday, everyday is silent and grey. Trudging back over pebbles and sand, and a strange dust lands on your hands, and on your face, on your face, on your face, on your face. Everyday is like Sunday, “Win yourself a cheap tray”.

Share some greased tea with me, everyday is silent and grey. Trudging slowly over