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

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Fairies - Tinker Bell v Titania

Long before I’d ever heard of Shakespeare, I was introduced to ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ through excerpts in story board style in an annual for girls. I was only about eight and thought the illustrations peculiar – who would go about wearing a donkey’s head? That was just one oddity. I wish I still had that book and I wish I knew the proper title. It contained a wealth of information and subjects more interesting at the time, than ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’. I did like the fairies, though.

I’m not alone. My sister-in-law collects all manner of fairies made in various materials. Some live outside, some indoors. I think Tinker Bell was in charge, certainly in the dining-room, until I gave my sister-in-law a special gift. At the time, I was still able to do cross stitch and it was usually big projects that would take forever and a day. When I saw a pattern for Titania, I was compelled to make her. I collected everything she needed and couldn’t wait to start. It was a learning experience, too. I hadn’t included sequins or seed beads on anything I’d done before, so I was excited to see those take shape in enhancing Titania. Another new thing, I was working on linen instead of familiar aida. It took many hours to complete and I enjoyed every minute. The end result was stunning. This photo is all I have and it doesn’t do it justice. Titania lives in Scotland with my sister-in-law, pride of place on a wall where she is loved and admired. As Queen of the Fairies, she is in charge, pushing Tinker Bell into second place.

Fairies live at the bottom of my garden and I wish they would tidy it up. When my children, and later on, grandchildren came along, I would send them outside to see if they could find any. I would tell them that the fairies sometimes disguised themselves as pixies or even squirrels, so look out for monkey nuts. I don’t think they believed me.

A fairy they definitely believed in, or didn’t dare deny in case they missed out, was Peggy, the Tooth Fairy. Not only did Peggy leave a generous reward under the pillow, but also a letter of thanks for a perfect, well-cared for tooth.

My chosen poem,

Fairy Song

You spotted snakes with double tongue,
Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;
Newts and blindworms, do no wrong;
Come not near our Fairy Queen.

Philomel with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby; ulla, lulla, lullaby.
Never harm nor spell nor charm
Come our lovely lady nigh,
So good night, with lullaby.

Weaving spiders come not here;
Hence, you long-legged spinners, hence;
Beetles black, approach not near;
Worm nor snail do no offence.

Philomel with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby; ulla, lulla, lullaby.
Never harm nor spell nor charm
Come our lovely lady nigh,
So good night, with lullaby.

                             William Shakespeare 1564 – 1616

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Plague - Bubonic, Covid?

I haven’t been to Eyam, but I believe it to be beautiful and interesting. It is on my bucket list of places to visit. Eyam is a small village in the Derbyshire Peak District which worked hard to be self-contained during an outbreak of a highly infectious disease.

Taken from ‘The Plague in Eyam ’ by George May,

“The plague which was a highly infectious and very unpleasant disease widely known in Britain and Europe, came to Eyam in the summer of 1665, possibly in a bale of cloth brought up from London. The people in the house where it came to, caught the disease and died in a short space of time. Before long, others had caught the disease and also died, after a short and very painful illness. It spread rapidly. The local rector, The Rev. William Mompesson and his predecessor, led a campaign to prevent the disease spreading outside the village to the surrounding area. This involved the people of the village remaining in the village and being supplied with necessary provisions by people outside.

the boundary stone

                                                            
"There is still on the outskirts of the village a location called the Boundary stone, where traditionally money was placed in small holes for the provisions which those from the local area brought for the villagers. As a result of this action, the disease did not spread, but almost a third of the villagers died. Interestingly some of the villagers who were in contact with those who caught the plague, did not catch it. This was because they had a chromosome which gave them protection. This same chromosome has been shown to still exist in those who are direct descendants of those who survived the plague, and who are still living in the village at the present time. The action of the villagers in staying in the village is almost unique and makes the village the place of significance that it is.”

The nursery rhyme Ring-a-ring-of-roses is thought to have come from this event.

We had to apply a similar process during the Covid lockdown, by relying on grocery deliveries and isolating ourselves as much as possible. I will forever, keep to social distancing when possible and be mindful of handwashing and disinfecting.

Here's poet laureate, Simon Armitage,

Lockdown

And I couldn’t escape the waking dream
of infected fleas

in the warp and weft of soggy cloth
by the tailor’s hearth

in ye old Eyam.
Then couldn’t un-see

the Boundary Stone,
that cock-eyed dice with its six dark holes,

thimbles brimming with vinegar wine
purging the plagued coins.

Which brought to mind the sorry story
of Emmott Syddall and Rowland Torre,

star-crossed lovers on either side
of the quarantine line

whose wordless courtship spanned the river
till she came no longer.

But slept again,
and dreamt this time

of the exiled yaksha sending word
to his lost wife on a passing cloud,

a cloud that followed an earthly map
of camel trails and cattle tracks,

streams like necklaces,
fan-tailed peacocks, painted elephants,

embroidered bedspreads
of meadows and hedges,

bamboo forests and snow-hatted peaks,
waterfalls, creeks,

the hieroglyphs of wide-winged cranes
and the glistening lotus flower after rain,

the air
hypnotically see-through, rare,

the journey a ponderous one at times, long and slow
but necessarily so.

                            Simon Armitage, 2020

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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