Morecambe: The Town That Time Forgot

Impressions of an away day in Lancashire, by Richard Godson

First and foremost The Stacey West is a blog by football supporters (and one in particular, whose brainchild it is) for football supporters about football and about one football club in particular. All the same, neither or club, nor the wider game do not exist in isolation. They are part of the fabric of our society, a means of escape from our humdrum everyday lives and so I hope you won’t mind if I stray from the game itself and dwell for a few paragraphs on Morecambe the town as well as its football club. Football as a mass spectator sport was and remains a product of a Victorian phenomenon, referred to by the French as la semaine anglaise, when as a result of one of a myriad of reforms introduced in the period, the closure of the nation’s factories and offices at lunchtime on a Saturday enabled the men employed there to down tools and congregate for the serious business of sport. It is no coincidence that the other phenomenon which sprung up at this time was the seaside holiday. Works would close down for what became known in Lincoln as Trips Week, when the railway network which was then nearing its greatest extent, would transport thousands of men and their families to one or other of the new coastal resorts springing up around the shores of this island. Morecambe, of course was one such, but while many places aimed for the mass (working class) market, the focus here was more in the direction of those with greater spending power, as I shall endeavour to explain below.

So what was your impression of Morecambe then? Walking from my hotel to the game I met Liam Gallagher who thought Morecambe was a dump (or words to that effect). I ventured in reply that it made Skegness look positively glitzy. Whilst the Skeg-Vegas tag is applied with a hefty dose of sarcasm or even irony, to stick such an epithet on this Lancashire resort would be beyond far-fetched. The streets behind the front were so deserted that you could imagine tumbleweed being across them by the north Lancashire wind. Actually that’s unfair. The streets are more in danger of being overwhelmed by dandelions. It seems that the local council, like its counterpart in Brighton, has eschewed the use of weed killer in its battle to save the planet. As a result the yellow flowered weeds are bursting through every crack and joint between the slabs.

There is a clock tower, not unlike that in Skeggy, but there the similarity ends because this one has no clock. Even along the front, three out of four premises were shuttered. Skegness has of course achieved a certain notoriety of late as several of its hotels have taken in several loads of Cross-Channel boat people. There are none such here. Evidently even a government that wants to ship them out to Rwanda baulks at sending them to Morecambe, a town that undoubtedly is on its uppers. Its heyday was way back in the last century and its decline since the late seventies has been inexorable. In these days of instant gratification, you have to search hard for something to amuse you if you want to do more than stroll along the promenade or walk your dog on the beach.

If, on the other hand your taste is somewhat eclectic you can soon while away a few hours in a number of ways. On Friday afternoon, shortly after Mrs G and I arrived at our hotel following a four hour journey from Lincolnshire, we decided to stretch our legs and set off in search of the famous Winter Gardens. They were shut but a short distance beyond, we entered one of the few premises that were actually open. It was a junk shop, for want of a better description and stuffed full of anything from enamel advertising signs to a magnificent Arts & Crafts oak pulpit. A sign at the entrance limited the number of people permitted to enter at any one time and once inside, you could see why. The place was so packed with objects you could barely move. My wife wondered out loud if the owner dreaded doing a stock take to which he replied he didn’t need to as it was all in his head. This was the start of a twenty minute conversation which really was more of a monologue as we were regaled with highlights of the owner’s fascinating life story. I will say this, however down at heel Morecambe may be, its citizens are the most charming, hospitable and engaging people you could wish to meet.

The town has suffered more than its fair share of misfortunes over the last five decades and having once boasted at least three railway stations and no less than five concert venues which between them could accommodate audiences of up to 10,000 only one of each now remain. A succession of storms, fires and wilful neglect have done for the rest. There were once two piers, each with its own pavilion putting on shows throughout the holiday season. There was even an opera house as the resort strove to appeal to the professional classes. The other two venues were the Alhambra which burnt down in the 1980s and the Winter Gardens which clings on although in much reduced form, in the hands of a sturdy band of volunteers who face a Herculean task in restoring it to its former glory. We finally made it inside around midday on Saturday and boy, was it worth it. Like much of Morecambe, it has had a decidedly chequered history but it is still possible to imagine the place in its extravagant glory. We elected to take a guided tour, advertised to last an hour but which our guide Stephen warned may take 90 minutes. An hour and forty minutes later, when we were still nowhere near finished, I realised I was going to have to make haste away if I was going to get to the ground in time for a pint before kick-off. I will just add that for the past thirty years a volunteer organisation has spared no effort in firstly making the place safe and subsequently renovating an extraordinary Art Nouveau masterpiece. Believe it or not it started life as swimming baths with three segregated pools, one each for first and second class gentlemen and a third for ladies. The minimum charge was two shillings which was pitched to keep out the hoi polloi.

Back then to the hotel for my match ticket which gives me an excuse to pause and tell you about it. The Midland Hotel is a striking Art Deco edifice opened by the London Midland Scottish Railway in 1933. It enjoys a prime location adjacent to the promenade, as if standing apart from the town opposite the former Midland Railway Station, itself happily preserved. Like the Winter Gardens the hotel too has endured a chequered history. After six years of life as a luxury hotel the advent of war led to its requisition by the Air Ministry along with much else in the town and a new role as a hospital for wounded airmen. Soon after the war, even though it returned to its original purpose, nationalisation led to its absorption into the British Railways conglomerate before it was sold in 1952. Thereafter it declined along with the resort until eventual closure, although not before an episode of Poirot starring David Suchet was filmed there. Happily property developers, Urban Splash came to the rescue and instigated a renovation of considerable panache before it reopened in 2008. Fifteen years on it could do with another lick of paint to counter the effects of the salt laden elements on its exterior as well as some interior TLC to bring it back to its stylish best. It is nevertheless a well-run if somewhat pricey establishment and I wasn’t the only Imps supporter staying. Two board directors and their wives were also in residence over the weekend.

However, I digress. Returning to Saturday afternoon, I set out for the ground, but as I walked along the promenade I couldn’t help noticing a strange scene being played out on the beach below me. A re-enactment of a scene from Baywatch was taking place as two scarlet clad lifeguards (Pamela Anderson not one of them, sadly) ran past a third individual who was filming the scene. The camera man was wearing a black and white striped shirt and as I drew closer, I noticed it also bore the logo of Young’s fish factory. What the blue blazes (or words to that effect again) was a Cod Head doing in Morecambe on this of all days? Was he asking for trouble or what? Only then as the poor unfortunate fellow turned towards me could I see it was our very own Gary ‘The Blog’ Hutchinson. Have I mentioned he was on his stag weekend? Evidently I had stumbled upon the revels and our Gaz was, to say the least, well on his way. Having passed the time of day with Gary and the Gang including the aforementioned Liam Gallagher I pressed on. It was a warm afternoon and I was regretting having picked up my coat at the hotel as I certainly didn’t need it.

The stadium and the adjacent pub were busy and having loitered to speak to a few people and watch the Shrimpettes wave their pompoms I ventured inside. The queue for the bar was lengthy here too but happily Graham and Kathy Winter were a few places in front of me and bought me a pint. Thanks Graham. I was well ready for it. This was my first experience of the last away game of the season and so I had not expected the fancy dress routine, making it a pleasant surprise.

Another pleasant surprise was the two directors sitting among the fans rather than in the Directors’ box. I was aware Clive enjoys away days with the supporters but did not realise others on the board do too. But why should I be so surprised? After all they are fans just like the rest of us and like us, experience the highs of victory and the lows of defeat.

Another thought occurred after the game as I made my way back to the hotel along the carpet of dandelions flowering in the spring sunshine. Morecambe FC are clinging on to their League One status just as the town that gives them their name is clinging on to its status as a bona fide holiday resort. Numerous ventures have been launched over the years in a bid to maintain the resort’s appeal. An ill-fated association with Crinkly Bottom, the creation of onetime TV favourite Noel Edmunds was one such. The latest venture designed to inject life back into the corpse is an Eden Project for the north. I hope it works and to be fair with the current fashion for saving the environment it does perhaps have a certain relevance. But I do wonder whether it will be another case of chasing after a clientele that has already moved on to something else. On this weekend’s evidence attractions are few and far between. There is a small fun fair on the front but it will make way for the Eden Project North. There was another on a site which has stood empty, surrounded by hoardings for several years now. It has taken the volunteers renovating the Winter Gardens thirty years to reach the state where they can put on a few minor performances. At the present rate, it will be more than a couple of decades before it is anything like complete and able again to attract the big name acts that will once again bring in the crowds of yesteryear.

As for the football club, I will say this. It is important to differentiate between those who own the club and those who run it. You may or may not be aware of the off field difficulties Morecambe FC is experiencing. The organisation that owns the club also owned Worcester Warriors RFC, the first of two rugby union clubs to have folded this season. They want to sell Morecambe but this is proving easier said than done. Someone with pots of cash is said to want to buy but I was told by a local supporter that providing proof of funds to satisfy the EFL is proving shall we say, problematical. Those who are running the club are trying their hardest and as I saw on Saturday putting on a show in the finest seaside tradition. One observer commented to me that the fan zone is on a smaller scale than our own but perhaps it is much newer than ours and still being developed. The one at the South Park end of our ground has grown with each successive season and perhaps Morecambe’s will too as they learn from their experience of putting it on. The stadium is something of a metaphor for the town with an impressive front but everything else on a somewhat smaller scale. That having been said, it is an attractive ground and well up to league standard. It benefits from a covenant restricting its use to the playing of football, thus protecting it from circling predators. The pitch is well maintained and like the surface at Sincil Bank, benefits from pop up sprinklers. As I commented to the spectator sitting next to me, there were no stanchions interrupting my view of one or other of the goals as is the case for home games. On Saturday’s evidence, they are making every effort on the pitch too. I hope they stay up but whether their immediate destiny is in League One or League Two, one thing is certain. Whatever else Skegness has going for it that Morecambe doesn’t, Skeggy doesn’t boast a club in the EFL. Good luck next season Shrimps!