Blackpool Rocks - UTMP

Blackpool Rocks. It certainly does. I’m out on the fringe, away from the excitement of most of what Blackpool offers as a holiday resort, but still close to the main roads for any of the emergency services. I’m always complaining about sirens disturbing the peace. Another reason why we’re looking to move.

Blackpool became my permanent home in the mid ‘60s. Dad achieved his goal of having a pub on Blackpool prom and we stayed long after that. The family was settled. Those earlier times were fun and some of my best memories are captured in my poem, ‘This Was My Blackpool in ‘68’. I’ve previously blogged about that particular summer, so I’ll say no more, but the poem can have another airing.

This Was My Blackpool in ‘68

Taking a tram from North Pier to Starr Gate.
A summer of fun and staying up late.
This was my Blackpool in ’68.

Anne, Auntie Kath and me, all holding hands
Crossing the Prom to get on to the sands
Where the grumpy deck-chair man always stands.
This was my Blackpool in ’68.

We were young ladies with panache and style,
Playing the penny arcades for a while,
Frittering our spends on the Golden Mile.
This was my Blackpool in ’68.

Spinning the Waltzers three times in a row,
Make it go faster, we don’t like it slow.
And then the man said, “That’s it, off you go!”
This was my Blackpool in ’68.

Out to a summer show, straight after tea,
Engelbert tonight at the ABC,
A back-stage delight for my mum and me.
This was my Blackpool in ’68.

Got to get ready, there’s no time to lose!
My trendiest outfit is what I will choose…
A pink ‘Biba’ dress with bright orange shoes.
This was my Blackpool in ’68.

We wanted peace, love and Flower Power,
Charlie Cairoli and Blackpool Tower,
Seaside and sunshine for hour after hour.
This was my Blackpool in ’68.

My first visit to Blackpool FC was with a group of school friends in 1970. If memory serves me well, the match was against Chelsea. I don’t remember the result. It wasn’t a pleasant afternoon. I found the whole experience scary, loud and lairy, full of the sort of men that would frequent our vaults, to be avoided. In future, I would stick to beat nights at the ice rink.

Oh, I’m just hanging out with the lads on this photo. They make me look so small.

Forty years passed before I became keen on following Blackpool FC again. This was a random invite to watch a match but I was lured in this time. The stadium had been transformed into a female friendly, welcoming place to be, greatly improved from 1970. I got the bug, well, we both did. Season tickets soon followed and since then, it has become a way of life. Before that, a promotion to the Premier League prompted a poem.

Sea Sea Seasiders 2010

Everything tangerine and white,
Fans all meet in great assembly.
Blackpool FC in the top flight,
They’ve beaten Cardiff at Wembley.

Open top bus in ’53,
Everything tangerine and white,
The FA cup for all to see,
Bill Perry’s goal, the town’s delight.

It really was an awesome sight
With deafening applause and cheer;
Everything tangerine and white
And flowing champagne and beer.

Open top bus like ’53,
Everything tangerine and white,
The play-off cup for all to see,
Ormerod’s goal, the town’s delight.

Ollie’s team have got the power,
Premier League, a dizzy height.
Blackpool flag atop the tower,
Everything tangerine and white!

The beach and the promenade were my playgrounds as a child. I’m happy for those carefree times and I’m lucky to have had such a diverse upbringing that moving around with a family and extended family in the pub game gave me. I love my memories. The Golden Mile is wonderful for all those who seek it, but there’s no interest for me anymore. I like the sea air and the Blackpool coast line, maybe a walk on the beach, but it needs to be firm sand these days. That’s what Blackpool rocks for me.

Some time ago, I read ‘The Blackpool Rock’ which is an intriguing and interesting book about aspects of Blackpool that are not in my personal experience. A gripping read. Steve Sinclair tells his story with honesty and integrity about the side of Blackpool he knew very well through his work as a doorman. Reading about it is close enough for my comfort and satisfies my fascination. There is also a TV documentary with Danny Dyer. It is definitely not my Blackpool in ’68, or maybe it was and I didn’t notice?

Thanks for reading, Pam x

Read More

Adolescence - That Difficult Age

 A definition –

‘Adolescence is the phase of life between childhood and adulthood, from ages 10 to 19. It is a unique stage of human development and an important time for laying the foundations of good health. Adolescents experience rapid physical, cognitive and psychosocial growth.’

We all go through it, some better than others, but I think it’s a fair assumption that none of us would like to go through it again. The itchy personal areas sprouting body hair, blushing, sweating, feeling awkward and embarrassed, suffering acne, the onset of menstruation and, if that wasn’t enough, there was the ridicule of peers. We change and grow at the right time for our body clocks, so a twelve year old male or female might already have a mature body and be a fascination to their less developed friends, those later developers came under similar scrutiny. I suppose I was one of the many Miss Averages, but that didn’t mean it was an easy time. I had added problems. My mother always made sure I had a supply of sanitary towels. When she became terminally ill and no longer able to see to me herself, our helper, Auntie Kathy, was tasked with such things and I could bounce all manner of questions off her. My mother passed away when I was thirteen and a half. Auntie Kathy, who wasn’t a real auntie but a member of staff, was my rock. I had my grandmother, too, who was more special than words can say, but she lived away. When my father remarried within months, Auntie Kathy was no longer needed as our housekeeper and left us, but continued to be my saviour for many years. I was a frequent visitor to her home. Sometimes I needed a shoulder to cry on, sometimes a good laugh. She was good at both. All this going on and adolescence, too. Oh, and at school there was a small team of horrid girls who stole sanitary protection by bullying others to hand things over, or steal from their school bags, teasing anyone who didn’t have anything because they hadn’t ‘started’ yet. Children can be cruel.

There was a boy in my high school class who looked the same in the fifth year as he had in the first year, though maybe a bit taller. About ten years after our school days we met by chance at the Derby Baths, of all places. He was in the forces, Army or RAF, doing very well and looking like a blond Adonis, what my dad would have called ‘a fine figure of a man’. He had grown up. I wouldn’t have known him, but he recognised me.

When it came to growing up, adolescence and puberty, I wanted to be the best parent I could possibly be to my children. I’ve always been open and approachable about anything. I attended meetings at school about Personal & Social Education so I would know exactly what was going to be discussed in their lessons and how various questions might be answered. Armed with information and confident to be on the right level I was ready. Our son, having reached a silent or grunty, living in his room stage, coming out to get fed, was fine. Our daughter, starting periods refused to have a conversation with me about it. I respected her wishes and privacy. I made sure she had what she needed and wrote her a letter explaining what I wanted to say. It was ripped up and put in her bin. I felt so hurt at the time. I wasn’t wanted, not allowed to even do this for her. Hormones, from both of us, firing in different directions.

My chosen poem, from Philip Larkin, it just had to be...

This be the Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

Philip Larkin 1922 - 1985

Thanks for reading, Pam x

Read More