Harrogate
This used to be the Appleyard's British Leyland dealership... Harrogate is not known for it's Art Deco, but it does have some...
From the age of eight to the age of eighteen, I lived in Harrogate. It was where I grew up. I loved it, and I hated it, depending on my age. I have many memories of it though. Visiting my friends the day before, and our visit to Brimham Rocks, I realised that the only photos I have of Harrogate are, the ones below. So, the day after, yes at the end of December, I decided to go back to Harrogate, revisit some of the old locations, see how much I recognise, take some photos; stir some memories...
The biggest surprise is how LITTLE Harrogate has changed, since I last lived here, more then thirty years ago. The four photos below were taken about forty years ago. This is virtually unchanged, today.
The biggest surprise is how LITTLE Harrogate has changed, since I last lived here, more then thirty years ago. The four photos below were taken about forty years ago. This is virtually unchanged, today.
Tewit Well
On my way into town, I wanted to stop off at one little place I used to go a lot, as a teen. Tewit Well is at the corner of Tewit Well Road and Stray Road, just off the Leeds Road. Just shows how lovely Harrogate is and, what a lovely place it was to grow up. Never appreciated that at the time, mind you. I do now. Dates from 1571. Old stuff, that.
West Park
I spent a lot of time on this part of The Stray. It seemed to be part of the route to most places I went, for a couple of years. The park bench, you ask? I remember waking up on this bench, more than once, after an evening's libations, once I wa legally old enough, of course.
Valley Gardens
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Sound's better than 'Bog's Field...
A former marsh, it features now, as in my days, sculpted gardens, an Art Deco pavilion, recreational facilities, spa wells, and The Pinewoods. It is not unfair to say that I mis-spent a lot of my youth here...
A former marsh, it features now, as in my days, sculpted gardens, an Art Deco pavilion, recreational facilities, spa wells, and The Pinewoods. It is not unfair to say that I mis-spent a lot of my youth here...
The Pump Room to The Royal Baths
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Pretty much says it all on the sign. All I can say is that I'm surprised it took the authorities in this burg until 2012 to label the stuff unfit for human consumption. I know. I drank it often enough, for shits and giggles, mostly shits, when I was a kid.
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Hale's Bar?
Never drop a drink of the stuff! 
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The Town Hall, The Lounge Hall, The wonderful Frank Matcham design, the Royal Hall theatre, and The Royal Baths. I spent a lot of time hanging around these buildings, in my teens. I'll come back to that, further on...
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Parliament St
Parliament Street was the first street in Harrogate and, apparently, the world, to be lit by gas.
Betty's Cafe
Betty's Cafe is legend. And, even in late December, when the call for welders is high in Brassmonkeyland, the queue was around the corner. Lovely building though.
Plus ca change...
The gratuitous phallic symbolism bit.
I spent many an hour sat here, when we had scorching summers, when I was a lad...
It was often a meeting place for me, was the cenotaph and, as I lived in town, it was close by. I sat here and ate a sandwich and drank a coffee I had recklessly purchased fro Caffe Nero.
I contemplated how much had changed in the thirty-odd years since I left and, surprisingly, how much hadn't. The parts I remember are, largely, exactly as I remember them. The bits that are new, are just that, new – after my time. I finished my lunch and made a move...
I spent many an hour sat here, when we had scorching summers, when I was a lad...
It was often a meeting place for me, was the cenotaph and, as I lived in town, it was close by. I sat here and ate a sandwich and drank a coffee I had recklessly purchased fro Caffe Nero.
I contemplated how much had changed in the thirty-odd years since I left and, surprisingly, how much hadn't. The parts I remember are, largely, exactly as I remember them. The bits that are new, are just that, new – after my time. I finished my lunch and made a move...
My plan was to cut through town, along Oxford St and check out the streets that I knew so well in my youth. Much of Harrogate was startlingly similar to the place I grew up in. The Stray, the Valley Gardens and, many of the buildings, were the same, just the shop frontage was a tad different (but a lot less than I expected). Cambridge Road and Oxford St was totally changed, for the most part. The old ABC is gone and it is now a row of boring standard high shopfronts; Superdrug, Costa, Tesco Express, the ubiquitous McDonald's, Dull, dull, dull! What is the matter with the world? What is the point of every town centre trying to look like every other one? Why would harrogate want to appear the same as Milton Keynes or, Swindon? Heaven forfend! I love a lot about America; their innate need to make everywhere look like America, is not one of those things. If I want America, I will go there!
There used to be a little side street, I think it was Cambridge Place or, Back Cambridge Place or, something like that. It isn't there any more. Now it's a loading bay for M&S and/or Argos or, whatever High St chain. The reason I mention it is that, just up that alley, used to be a pub: The Cock and Castle. My dad worked there, once upon a time. You don't get pubs like that any more. It was a dive for which spit and sawdust would have been considered a bit flash but, it certainly taught me a lot. I learned about all forms of life in that place. In many ways, my upbringing, viewed with today's standards of political correctness and bullshit, would probably be viewed with a stern frowning-at. It was the '70s and I rather enjoyed it all.
Plus c'est la même chose....
I was amazed that Jesper's was still here. 40 years ago, if you went inside, a shop assistant tailed you, stared at you, and followed you around the shop. It was a terrifying experience to go in for stationery and art products. It wasn't so much that they were helpful and eager to provide service, you just felt that they were watching you to stop you nicking stuff. They probably were. For the record, I've never nicked anything from a shop in my life or, from an employer. Hell, I've never even fiddled my expenses! I never saw Harrogate as a five-finger-discount shopper's paradise. |
Duttons for Buttons. My mum used to make stuff. Clothes, toys, soft furnishings, if it involved a bit of material, a sewing machine, thread, glue, paint and/or glitter, or any combination of the aforementioned, my mum probably made one at some point. I spent many hours in this shop being bored because I failed to see the importance of buttons in the great scheme of things.
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Originally opened in 1900, The Grand Opera House, designed by Frank Tugwell, who also designed the Futurist Theatre in Scarborough and the Savoy Theatre in London, was a popular venue on the repertory circuit. For half a century, until television came along, it attracted audiences but, by 1955, it seemed its days were numbered. In 1958, it reopened as Harrogate Theatre and has remained open ever since. Because we had a local guest house, we got free tickets and I spent many an hour entranced by the shows. An Inspector Calls, Dial M for Murder, Fanny By Gaslight, even Dracula. I would go and see anything. The first time I saw George Melly live was in 1979 at Harrogate Theatre. I had a lot of good times in that building.
The Artisan Quarter
Our house was the end house on the corner of Mount Parade and Cheltenham Mount and, the back of it led to Commercial St. In the '70s, supermarkets were still not widespread. There was one, Laws, opposite the theatre, on Oxford St, but they were still a new-fangled, American invention and widely distrusted. Commerical St was full of small, local, shops, selling locally-sourced produce. Today, we would call it 'Organic' and pay twice as much. Back then, we called it shopping...
What surprised me most was how many of those shops were still there. Addyman's butchers, Bek's, The Remnant House (see Duttons for Buttons!), Stodard's pet shop Acklam's bike shop (just round the corner on Bower Rd) - all still there! Cirrus, I think, is what used to be Mallory Frank's butchers, and Samuel Taylor's used to be Len's Dry Cleaners. The fact that John Turner is still there is wonderful. Over forty years most of these shops have been there. Doesn't look any different than it used to. Opposite is, well, I don't know what it is. Back in the day, downstairs was a Bierkeller and the upstairs was the Bali Hai, a night club. My mum used to complain for days at a time about the noise...
One place that isn't there any more, and wouldn't even be allowed to exist in the modern, 'enlightened and civilised' era, is The Black Boy Café. If I remember rightly, it was what is now the café next to the Remnant House. It had a huge black face Negro painted on the window... In the '70s, political correctness was a long way off, race and sex discrimination were still ten years away. It was run by a lovely Italian chap called Giovanni, who was known to everyone, as John.
If this was London, Commercial St would be the heart of the Artisan Quarter and would be lauded for its attempts to support the corner shop and local farmers and be getting all manner of euro money to maintain it's old-school appeal. Secret meetings would be held in dark, smoky, back rooms, whilst insurgents plotted marches against TTIP, GMO, and the fast food industry...
What surprised me most was how many of those shops were still there. Addyman's butchers, Bek's, The Remnant House (see Duttons for Buttons!), Stodard's pet shop Acklam's bike shop (just round the corner on Bower Rd) - all still there! Cirrus, I think, is what used to be Mallory Frank's butchers, and Samuel Taylor's used to be Len's Dry Cleaners. The fact that John Turner is still there is wonderful. Over forty years most of these shops have been there. Doesn't look any different than it used to. Opposite is, well, I don't know what it is. Back in the day, downstairs was a Bierkeller and the upstairs was the Bali Hai, a night club. My mum used to complain for days at a time about the noise...
One place that isn't there any more, and wouldn't even be allowed to exist in the modern, 'enlightened and civilised' era, is The Black Boy Café. If I remember rightly, it was what is now the café next to the Remnant House. It had a huge black face Negro painted on the window... In the '70s, political correctness was a long way off, race and sex discrimination were still ten years away. It was run by a lovely Italian chap called Giovanni, who was known to everyone, as John.
If this was London, Commercial St would be the heart of the Artisan Quarter and would be lauded for its attempts to support the corner shop and local farmers and be getting all manner of euro money to maintain it's old-school appeal. Secret meetings would be held in dark, smoky, back rooms, whilst insurgents plotted marches against TTIP, GMO, and the fast food industry...
The old homestead...
1974ish
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2014
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In 1971, my parents decided to move from Keighley (where my dad had been a master Jacquard weaver, in a mill), to Harrogate. Better air, better life: a small Guest House. I can't say I was impressed (I was a precocious brat and didn't like NOT being the centre of attention) but we did get a wide variety of visitors and, although, I didn't realise it at the time, these people would have a great influence on my life. We had Chris Rea's grandma stay at ours (just after he'd released his first album). Scottish magicians. Computer delivery men. Actors, in rep, treading the boards at the local theatre. (In 1976, we had a gorgeous, young actress by the name of Lynda Bellingham staying with us. I enjoyed sitting on her knee...) Film crew working on the film Agatha. A couple from Malmo on a motorcycle tour of the UK. Sweet Sensation, the soul band. God botherers. RAF men. Foreign students... ...the list goes on. It was never dull. In fact, it was pretty cool
All through the '70s, all the latest fads found their way into our house. Crocheting, knitting, macrame, we had it all at some point. I remember us having Central Heating installed, a telephone, metallic wallpaper and, package holidays to 'abroad'. Tenerife, in, 1976, was not like it is now. At the time, I just thought my parents were a bit cheap and tacky. With the benefit of hindsight, I realise that they were just young and wanted to have fun.
I always considered my childhood to be pretty piss-poor. Actually, I had a pretty great childhood, if I think about. I was just too young to appreciate it. Knowing what I know now, I can look back and work out what was actually going on. I understand a lot more about the past now that I am older. It makes sense to me in a way that it didn't for the first fortysomething years of my life.
When there were not visitors, there were parties. I guess, for many years, I had forgotten about that but, now I think back, there were always parties going on at our house... ...very Abigail's Party. They were usually after my bedtime though so, it's not surprising. I remember crashing a few of them though...
All through the '70s, all the latest fads found their way into our house. Crocheting, knitting, macrame, we had it all at some point. I remember us having Central Heating installed, a telephone, metallic wallpaper and, package holidays to 'abroad'. Tenerife, in, 1976, was not like it is now. At the time, I just thought my parents were a bit cheap and tacky. With the benefit of hindsight, I realise that they were just young and wanted to have fun.
I always considered my childhood to be pretty piss-poor. Actually, I had a pretty great childhood, if I think about. I was just too young to appreciate it. Knowing what I know now, I can look back and work out what was actually going on. I understand a lot more about the past now that I am older. It makes sense to me in a way that it didn't for the first fortysomething years of my life.
When there were not visitors, there were parties. I guess, for many years, I had forgotten about that but, now I think back, there were always parties going on at our house... ...very Abigail's Party. They were usually after my bedtime though so, it's not surprising. I remember crashing a few of them though...
Doin' that milk round thing Pt I
When I was 13, OK 12, but don't tell 'The Man', I got a job. For an hour each morning before school, five days a week, and until 1pm on a Saturday, I delivered milk with local legend 'Dick the Milk'. That meant getting up at Still Dark o' Clock, in whatever the weather was (and, in winter, Harrogate gets a lot of weather) walking up Franklin Road to find the float. Some mornings, I would meet Dick along the route, at others he would be at the garage and we'd go and load up the float. Come 8 am, I'd dash home, have breakfast, get washed and changed, then walk to school. I did that until I left school. Once I passed my driving test though, driving the milk float was a hoot. I never actually turned it over but came close a couple of times. My last summer, before going to college, I ran the round myself for two weeks whilst Dick went on holiday. It was hard work in some very shitty weather but I look back on those days as some of the happiest of my life. And, I was making about a tenner a week. For a 12 year old, in 1976, that was a fair chunk of cash.
On numerous occasions I've mentioned a chap I met in Blackpool, Mike Schofield, who would become a huge influence of me. Before that, there was Dick.
Richard Hyman was born in Breslau, Germany, in the early years of the 20th century. Being Jewish, he could see what was going to happen after Hitler came to power in 1933. He saw his relatives gunned down in front of him. He was interred at Buchenwald. Then, in 1938, Richard and his wife, Margaret, were given an opportunity to leave Germany. Just leave with whatever you can carry. They fled to England.
During the war, Richard served in the British Army, rising to the rank of Sergeant, working as an interpreter for Military Police, amongst other things. Margaret also worked as an interpreter. Eventually, they settled in Knaresborough, Richard getting a job with Northern Dairies, as a milkman, before starting up his own round in 1964.
Richard Hyman was born in Breslau, Germany, in the early years of the 20th century. Being Jewish, he could see what was going to happen after Hitler came to power in 1933. He saw his relatives gunned down in front of him. He was interred at Buchenwald. Then, in 1938, Richard and his wife, Margaret, were given an opportunity to leave Germany. Just leave with whatever you can carry. They fled to England.
During the war, Richard served in the British Army, rising to the rank of Sergeant, working as an interpreter for Military Police, amongst other things. Margaret also worked as an interpreter. Eventually, they settled in Knaresborough, Richard getting a job with Northern Dairies, as a milkman, before starting up his own round in 1964.
Doin' that milk round thing Pt II
He was already a legend in Harrogate, years before I met him. Everyone knew him, absolutely everyone. He was a force of nature, driving his milk float, emblazoned with his name, 'Dick the Milk', singing opera at the top of his voice everywhere he went. He was loud. The name? Oh, well, apparently, someone once wrote him a letter but, not knowing his address, sent it to ' 'Dick the Milk' – Harrogate'. And, a legend was born.
I seem to gravitate to these characters and, over the years, I have become one of them myself. I got involved with him not just because I needed a part time job. Dick was German, you see, and I was learning German at school.
At eleven years old, I was painfully shy with anyone I didn't know but, I was good at German. We would deliver the milk, talk in German, and he'd tell me stories from his life. I learned a lot, much more than I realised at the time. You couldn't be shy around Dick. He wouldn't allow it. Besides, he made far too much noise and, let's not forget, it said 'Dick the Milk' across the front of the quirky electric vehicle! After a couple of years, everyone began to call me 'Mark the Milk'. The things you see when you're rattling your bottles at 6 in the morning. I'll tell you what!
I seem to gravitate to these characters and, over the years, I have become one of them myself. I got involved with him not just because I needed a part time job. Dick was German, you see, and I was learning German at school.
At eleven years old, I was painfully shy with anyone I didn't know but, I was good at German. We would deliver the milk, talk in German, and he'd tell me stories from his life. I learned a lot, much more than I realised at the time. You couldn't be shy around Dick. He wouldn't allow it. Besides, he made far too much noise and, let's not forget, it said 'Dick the Milk' across the front of the quirky electric vehicle! After a couple of years, everyone began to call me 'Mark the Milk'. The things you see when you're rattling your bottles at 6 in the morning. I'll tell you what!
So, as a twelve year old, getting up every morning at 5.30, and getting dressed for a tough manual job (no matter the weather), going out, doing a couple of hours of physical and often smelly labour then, coming home, getting ready for school and walking the couple of miles to school. In the summer, it was lovely, first thing in the morning, as it was in late spring and early autumn. The rest of the time, it could be any type of weather. Harrogate gets a lot of weather in winter. I've been out when it's chucking it down and after about 6 hours of that you resemble a prune, all over. I never really minded the rain though and I tended to wear less on those days. Walking around and lifting crates made you warm, rain just caused you to steam a bit. I realised, you dry out quicker than the clothes do!
Snow and ice were the hardest to deal with. The hills could be a real pain to get up (and down) and ice was just dangerous when you have12 empty, glass milk bottles in your grasp. And, there was always the possibility of slipping on mossy, residential paths.
The toughest days were the just plain cold ones. Some days, I would come home so chilled to the core that I couldn't warm up. I've got up some mornings put a pair of trackies over my PJs then, a pair of jeans over that. We didn't have thermal underwear back then, we improvised!
I really enjoyed doing it though. Dick was such a character and it was the '70s so, political correctness was not a consideration. I learned a lot of German, it helped my sums, gave me a sense of responsibility and accountability, taught me time management and planning, and it brought me from a shy young lad into the mouthy gobshite I am today. Yeah, getting the milk smell out can be an issue but, let's face it, the money was good. And, I enjoyed people recognising me and knowing me: it appeals to the leonine side of my nature.
The milk round was actually quite large, about 60 gallons a day and covered quite an area, including many stops in the town centre. We also supplied the catering facilities at the exhibition halls, Lounge Hall and Royal Baths, Royal Hall, Town Hall, and many shops, restaurants, hotels, and a big residential round, all in the area where I lived.
Most of the steps I retraced in this Walkabout are places from my youth. Many are places I just wanted to go back and see how much they'd changed. At the Lounge Hall, I couldn't believe how tight the entrance was. When I think how I used to throw that milk float around... Being able to walk through the exhibition halls when they were setting up, and whilst the exhibitions were on was fascinating. So much to see. Also, the freebies. Coffee, toast, cakes, pies, you can't knock that.
Snow and ice were the hardest to deal with. The hills could be a real pain to get up (and down) and ice was just dangerous when you have12 empty, glass milk bottles in your grasp. And, there was always the possibility of slipping on mossy, residential paths.
The toughest days were the just plain cold ones. Some days, I would come home so chilled to the core that I couldn't warm up. I've got up some mornings put a pair of trackies over my PJs then, a pair of jeans over that. We didn't have thermal underwear back then, we improvised!
I really enjoyed doing it though. Dick was such a character and it was the '70s so, political correctness was not a consideration. I learned a lot of German, it helped my sums, gave me a sense of responsibility and accountability, taught me time management and planning, and it brought me from a shy young lad into the mouthy gobshite I am today. Yeah, getting the milk smell out can be an issue but, let's face it, the money was good. And, I enjoyed people recognising me and knowing me: it appeals to the leonine side of my nature.
The milk round was actually quite large, about 60 gallons a day and covered quite an area, including many stops in the town centre. We also supplied the catering facilities at the exhibition halls, Lounge Hall and Royal Baths, Royal Hall, Town Hall, and many shops, restaurants, hotels, and a big residential round, all in the area where I lived.
Most of the steps I retraced in this Walkabout are places from my youth. Many are places I just wanted to go back and see how much they'd changed. At the Lounge Hall, I couldn't believe how tight the entrance was. When I think how I used to throw that milk float around... Being able to walk through the exhibition halls when they were setting up, and whilst the exhibitions were on was fascinating. So much to see. Also, the freebies. Coffee, toast, cakes, pies, you can't knock that.
This place, the Kimberley Hotel, the tradesman's entrance was around the back, down a little unmade driveway. Always fun with a heavily laden milk float. But, that's not the point of telling you this... What used to fascinate me were the two E-Type Jags that the guy used to have ON BRICKS, out back.
King's Road. The place with the entrance awning, in the centre of the picture, Scotia House was, back in the '70s, run by a Scottish lady called Edith Rundle. She was a friend of my mum. A fearsome Glaswegian, I remember, she always wore a turban when she was doing her housework. She was tough. Every night, after the evening meal, she always made her husband finish off a stick of celery, and apple, and a piece of cheese. I think Peter had settled for an easy life. For my part, I remember Edith fondly, she was always nice to me.
Harrogate Conference Centre
Ah, yeah, we had to come to the Conference Centre, eventually. See, when I was a kid, there was no Conference Centre. I remember it all being built and opened, and I remember it before that time, too. I was against it, I have to say. When they built that place they destroyed one of the best playgrounds in the history of the world, ever!
Looking at the building that now stands there, you imagine it to be built on a bit of a hill. Yes and, No. Actually, it was a hole in the ground, to be precise, it was used as a lorry park.
In the picture, the entrance ramp you can see, used to be a long, downward-curving slope to the right, into what was, effectively, a natural amphitheatre. Sometimes there were trucks parked there but it was a big space, there was room for all, as the lorry park extended all the way along King's Road, to the back of the Royal Hall and exhibition halls. For young kids on bicycles, it was a no-brainer. I came off my bike many times racing as fast as I could down there. Another feature was the mud slide. It was basically a runnel down the side of the hill. It was lovely and smooth from all the young bums that had made the surface as smooth as you like. A little rain and it was a mud slide! There was so much to investigate, I was an explorer, and this was my Boy's Own land. I have no idea how many hours I spent down there. I rarely came home before dark or, clean.
Looking at the building that now stands there, you imagine it to be built on a bit of a hill. Yes and, No. Actually, it was a hole in the ground, to be precise, it was used as a lorry park.
In the picture, the entrance ramp you can see, used to be a long, downward-curving slope to the right, into what was, effectively, a natural amphitheatre. Sometimes there were trucks parked there but it was a big space, there was room for all, as the lorry park extended all the way along King's Road, to the back of the Royal Hall and exhibition halls. For young kids on bicycles, it was a no-brainer. I came off my bike many times racing as fast as I could down there. Another feature was the mud slide. It was basically a runnel down the side of the hill. It was lovely and smooth from all the young bums that had made the surface as smooth as you like. A little rain and it was a mud slide! There was so much to investigate, I was an explorer, and this was my Boy's Own land. I have no idea how many hours I spent down there. I rarely came home before dark or, clean.
Old school...
The last couple of places I wanted to get a look at, take a pic or two for posterity, were my old schools. I can't say I enjoyed school because I really didn't. When I was younger, I was way too clever for my age and I didn't get along with most others in my peer group. I'd been brought up, almost exclusively, amongst adults; I was bored by their inane prattle. By High School, once the novelty wore off, I became lazy and coasted through, doing only the bare minimum that I needed to. I don't confess this out of pride but as a matter of fact. At the time, I was young, thought I was invincible and would always be able to glide through life with my rapier wit and big cock. At least I've got a sense of humour...
Do I wish I had worked harder at school? Hindsight is a wonderful thing, you know. Yes, I should have done some work at school. Yes, I should have tried harder. But, there was so much I didn't know about life and no one told me! Oh, they probably did tell me and I just didn't listen. When you're young, you have to make your own mistakes to learn a lesson. I don't know that I would have had a more interesting life, maybe. Maybe not. It doesn't really matter, does it. I can't change it now.
Grove Road was my Junior School. Hated the school, adored the wonderful building, Back then, it was largely unchanged from how it had been built. When I picture a Workhouse in a Dickens novel, this is what I think of. The covered bit in the playground was the scene of many games of British Bulldog. I always enjoyed the PE and games lessons (Cross-Country running excepted) contact sports, in particular. I even managed to turn volleyball into a contact sport, once...
Grove Road was my Junior School. Hated the school, adored the wonderful building, Back then, it was largely unchanged from how it had been built. When I picture a Workhouse in a Dickens novel, this is what I think of. The covered bit in the playground was the scene of many games of British Bulldog. I always enjoyed the PE and games lessons (Cross-Country running excepted) contact sports, in particular. I even managed to turn volleyball into a contact sport, once...
These days, it's back to just being Harrogate High School. When I went there, in 1974, it was part of a the radical reform of education in the UK. New, thrusting, trendy. Modern. Well, I think my years there were the last years that a traditional education was taught in this country. The merging of Granby Park Secondary Modern and Harrogate High School was an attempt at making the country classless, ostensibly. Let's not get into that. All governments meddle in things that they have no idea about, just to justify their appointment. The thing about politicians is that the stuff they fart about with, generally, only affect the proles, not themselves...
Anyway, HGHS was, at the time, one of the bigger schools in the country and it succeeded and failed. I had some good teachers, the facilities were pretty good but, it was a pretty soulless environment and had very little standing. It was a hotchpotch of abilities and ignored some, tried to do its best with the most, ultimately leaving the smartest unfulfilled. Most significantly, it wasn't The Grammar School. Not that I wanted to go to the Grammar School, per se, it was way too far away from where I lived but, it was where most of my friends went.
I don't have bad memories of High School. That is not to say I have good memories though. I would have liked some better advice and guidance. Someone should have told me to pursue what I was good at and not just let me do subjects 'I thought I ought to do', which I didn't enjoy, had no passion for and, eventually, would get bored with and lose interest in. Still, I did all right, but I had no focus, no vision, no clear career path. I had no idea what I wanted to do or, how to use my skills. It took me until I was forty to figure that out! That's another story, though.
Anyway, HGHS was, at the time, one of the bigger schools in the country and it succeeded and failed. I had some good teachers, the facilities were pretty good but, it was a pretty soulless environment and had very little standing. It was a hotchpotch of abilities and ignored some, tried to do its best with the most, ultimately leaving the smartest unfulfilled. Most significantly, it wasn't The Grammar School. Not that I wanted to go to the Grammar School, per se, it was way too far away from where I lived but, it was where most of my friends went.
I don't have bad memories of High School. That is not to say I have good memories though. I would have liked some better advice and guidance. Someone should have told me to pursue what I was good at and not just let me do subjects 'I thought I ought to do', which I didn't enjoy, had no passion for and, eventually, would get bored with and lose interest in. Still, I did all right, but I had no focus, no vision, no clear career path. I had no idea what I wanted to do or, how to use my skills. It took me until I was forty to figure that out! That's another story, though.
So, that was my Return to Harrogate Walkabout. I enjoyed myself. It was nice to see the things that hadn't changed. Fair took me back, it did. I hated living here, when I lived here. Coming back, thirty years later, I realise what a great place it was to grow up in and that I did have a fun childhood.
Goodnight, Mrs Kalabash. Wherever, you are!
One last look at The Stray and it was back to Leeds.
I wonder if I'll ever come back again?
Mark L. Potts
The God of Thunder
7th January 2015
I wonder if I'll ever come back again?
Mark L. Potts
The God of Thunder
7th January 2015