Two of the guests at the wedding reception, Judith Worham and Carole Blacher, as well as being beloved friends, are also writers, and have written a series of humorous and helpful travel guides describing their journeys on the London Underground. Both women live in Kent and ventured up north for the reception, having never visited Barnsley before, so I thought it would be interesting to get their impressions of South Yorkshire for the blog, and they have written a lovely piece below, complete with original photographs.
The Barnsley Experience
Friday 28th October
At 4.52 precisely we arrive at Barnsley Station, or Barnsley Interchange as it is now known since they covered it, and the adjacent bus station, with an arcing glass roof and joined everything together with walkways and escalators. Its an architectural equation (2s + e + g = I), a most welcome addition to any transport hub where people have to wait for their chosen conveyance during the wettest month of the year. To be fair, however, Barnsley’s wettest month sees only 5mm more rain than Manchester’s driest and rumour has it that Mancunians flock here in October to dry out. Our delight at having reached our destination unscathed is enhanced by the fact a couple of fit and friendly young people offer to carry our bags up the stairway from the platform, and a watery evening sun greets us as we step out on to the pavement.
Judy looks bemused, having no
idea where we are in relation to our destination – The Grand Hotel Premier Inn
– but I, in true Baden-Powell mode, have printed off a map which indicates that
we should proceed along Regent Street to the town hall. Lacking the breadth and retail splendour of
its London counterpart, this thoroughfare has the advantage of being dead
straight and relatively traffic free, but is, unfortunately, uphill. Hardly a mountain, but when you are in your
seventies, carrying a bulging rucksack and dragging a suitcase, enough to slow
your progress and induce some heavy breathing.
At the end we stop to get our breath back and admire the architectural
qualities of this magnificent pre-war municipal building, constructed in a
symmetrically classical style of creamy-white Portland stone.
‘Impressive,’ says Judy, gazing up at the
central clock tower.
‘George Orwell
didn’t think so,’ I reply. ‘Came here
when he was researching The Road to Wigan Pier, and declared that the
money would have been better spent improving the housing of the poor.’
‘He was probably
right, but nobody ever visited a town and went home singing the praises of the
design and provision of social housing,’ Judy observes.
‘It’s like going
shopping at Christmas and trying to decide between thermals and furry slippers
from Tesco’s or a Stella McCartney Christmas jumper.’
Judy gives me the
look, and says:
‘ White stone
probably wasn’t the best choice of building material either given that there
used to be dozens of collieries around here.’
‘ Bet they’ve
had to have had it cleaned a few times.
Anyway, we’ll be back tomorrow to investigate the Barnsley Experience
Museum and learn about the town’s illustrious past.’
We circumnavigate the grand edifice
and proceed, still uphill, along Westgate, past Barnsley Sixth form college, a
functional, but not unpleasant building, and the back of the Lamproom Theatre,
an altogether more quirky looking structure.
Since we are only here for less than 48 hours we will not have time to
attend any productions, but this is just as well because we would have to wait
until mid-November to see Elf, the musical, a prospect which is unlikely
to inspire us to lengthen our stay.
Ahead of us, tucked between two
tall new buildings is the entrance to Gateway Plaza. Nestling in the corner of this new
development, seemingly built on top of a cliff, is the Premier Inn. Unsurprisingly, the interior looks like every
other hotel in this chain, clean, bright, welcoming and totally lacking in any
sort of character whatsoever, but, let’s face it, you don’t stay at a Premier
Inn for the cultural experience (unless the Barnsley Sinfonia Orchestra happens
to be in residence and playing nightly in the foyer). My room looks down over the Shambles, not a
comment on the state of the townscape before me, but the name of the street
below leading to the Townend Roundabout.
Judy joins me, as her room is on the other
side of the building and from her window she can only see a hundred or so other
windows, and we watch the sun set over Barnsley. Unfortunately, this is the last we will see
of the sun on our trip, apart from a brief rainbow-creation appearance over the
Glassworks between downpours.
Sighing as the day slips away in a
rosy hue behind a distant housing estate, we decide it’s time for a
pre-prandial before dinner at the Little Sicilian (good food, but he was larger
than expected and likes to go to bed early.)
Having noticed a nearby hostelry on our way in, we make our way around
the corner to the Tin Oyle Bar. It is
situated on the site of the former Barnsley Canister Factory, referred to affectionally
as Tin Oyle. This bar pays homage to a part of Barnsley’s industrial past. On
display are expertly crafted large cannisters made for Twinings Tea, all in
different colours, as well as photographs of the factory and its former staff
working. The atmosphere in the bar is happy, friendly and cheerful and the two young,
jolly barmen are happy to engage in conversation while making a great G&T.
Saturday 29th October
It’s raining, more of a drizzle
than a downpour, but we have waterproofs and our chosen destinations mostly
involve indoor mooching. Having decided
to start at the bottom and work upwards, we make our way down Market Hill,
turning left at M&S to come face to face with the Glass Works. The name, an acknowledgement of Barnsley’s
industrial past, given to the transformative town centre redevelopment which
incorporates a new town square, both outdoor and indoor markets, shopping and
leisure space and a Library. Given that
one shopping mall tends to be very much like another, we head for the market in
the hope of finding something more indicative of local culture, and are not
disappointed. Stopping only to buy two
bananas from one of the brave, outdoor stallholders sheltering under her
standard, white, Barnsley Market gazebo, we head for the indoor Tyke bazaar. I understand that Tyke is a word used to
describe people from Barnsley and I sincerely hope it’s an affectionate one,
because we have developed a distinct fondness for both the people and the
place. Whoever designed this market had
given it a lot of thought. It is clean, spacious and despite efforts to give it
a more homogenous, corporate appearance by the standardised use of fonts and
stall fronts, each stallholder had obviously taken great pride in presenting
their goods in an attractive, accessible and sometimes artistic manner.
We walk round looking at products
and prices. It’s all here: vegetables and fruit, fish and sea food, cheeses,
bakeries, a deli, knitting wool and needles, bolts of cloth and pins,
jewellery, clothes, flowers, craft activities, pet food, babies’ things, and of
course, mobile phone accessories. The most popular stall with a lengthy queue
and only one man serving is the pie and cold meats stall.
‘Maybe
his assistant is having a day off or has gone home injured,’ I suggest.
‘Or maybe he’s
attending a cold meats health and safety training day,’ says Judy as we both
eye the lethal-looking meat slicer.
More in the mood for a brasserie
than a brassiere, Judy leads me to the escalator and I dutifully follow her to
the food hall. Now this is truly
impressive. A vast seating area serves a
range of food outlets from standard British café sausage-egg-and-chips type
menus to more exotic Thai, Indian, Turkish and Italian fare. All are very busy and manage to cook your
order and serve it to your table with minimal delay. Judy thoroughly enjoys her sausage sandwich
even if she has to seek help to open the brown sauce sachet after an
increasingly desperate struggle to tear the plastic. My toasted teacake is similarly tasty and
ready prepared with lashings of butter, but an accompanying cup of Earl Grey
tea was just too much to expect so, I settle for Tetley.
Suitably fortified, we exit via
the pristine and plentiful Ladies toilets, stopping only to admire the
colourful Halloween witches and pumpkins display. In fact, pumpkins are very much in evidence
as Halloween is only two days away and there are pumpkin carving displays and a
workshop for children. Plenty to keep
the kids amused while the adults browse and buy. This place is wonderful – vibrant, colourful
and exuding a great sense of community and civic pride, and everyone we spoke
to was friendly, helpful and very positive about their new town centre in
general and the indoor market in particular.
Outside, the rain has stopped,
but it’s still overcast and cloudy as we make our way across the new town
square past a captivating statue of Billy Casper and his kestrel from the film Kes,
and a water feature with little dancing fountains. No time to linger as we have our sights set
on the Town hall and the Barnsley Experience Museum to learn more of this
wonderful town’s former glories.
Choosing a different return
route, thanks to my trusty map, we pass through the narrow Victorian Arcade
with its passageway of small retro shops, admiring the ironwork decoration and
the very different atmosphere. Crossing
the road, we stop at the corner to look at an introductory display of old
photographs advertising the museum, arranged around the base of a strange-looking
modern sculpture called Crossing (Vertical) by Nigel Hall. We are not surprised to learn later, that it
is locally referred to as the Barnsley nit comb, and wonder if it’s some mutant
strain of giant nit unknown south of Chesterfield. Up the steps, past more fountains, we finally
enter the museum.
Inside, first we sit and
watch a screen showing actors playing various characters from the past, dressed
in period costume. All perform in the same small room decorated to reflect the
times they come from. Beginning in the seventeenth century, it carries on up to
the second world war, telling us of their lives in Barnsley, linking them to
important historical events. There are things to look at in glass cases, things
to touch, films to watch, aspects of Barnsley life on display. Its industrial past is fascinating, a hive of
activity leading to it being a positive hub for trade, so it has long had a
thriving market. Barnsley Main is the name of the local colliery that closed in
1965. Its former name was Oaks Colliery, opened in 1824. Thirteen explosions
occurred in 1866 resulting in the deaths of 383 miners, England’s biggest ever
mining disaster. The shafts were filled in and Barnsley Main took over. This
town has a proud but also tragic coal mining heritage and the headquarters of
the NUM is still located here
Sadly, the display about
Tin Oyle comprises only a few decorated tins, from the tiny suitcase sort to
those with elaborate coronation pictures. The writing about the factory is
behind glass and too far away for me to read. We’ve only just missed their
display in the museum’s small room to show work from the factory. It’s the same
space that was used to advertise the former importance to the world of
Barnsley’s balls. Not a macho boast,
rather a surprising fact that the Slazenger factory opened here in 1945. It was,
for many years, the sole supplier of Wimbledon’s tennis balls, each one hand
finished, and they were given away for free. On the sporting front we also learn that
Barnsley FC, founded in 1887 by a clergyman from his church football team,
actually won the FA Cup in 1912.
‘He must be
making a long-distance call,’ says Judy
Feeling so much better informed about Barnsley, we make our way to the Art Gallery in time for a spot of lunch. We’re only just in time. Judy has long been bemoaning the lack of a decent ham sandwich, so she orders one just to see if the café’s excellent reputation is deserved. It is.
‘It’s
one of the best ham sandwiches I’ve ever had,’ she says dabbing her mouth
appreciatively with the paper serviette.
‘Praise indeed given the
number of them you’ve probably eaten.
Almost a Which Best Buy,’ I say, sipping the last of my Earl Grey
while ostentatiously extending my pinkie.
This is a place of culture after all!
The Cooper Gallery is named
after the philanthropist who left his art collection to the people of Barnsley.
It houses contemporary travelling exhibitions of modern art, the current one
being Brains in a Dish, a display of illuminated molecules showing damage
suffered by Alzheimer’s patients. Upstairs is a large room used for workshops
and educational activities, which is currently displaying the boldly colourful
work of Sheffield artist, Kate Sully. In
the smaller galleries downstairs, Judy admires the Turner (Joseph Mallord
William that is, not Tina) and a marble sculpture of a veiled lady, which is
both beautiful and spooky at the same time.
It’s a small gallery, but the
entrance is free, the café is great and the gift shop sells a variety of cards,
art books and, much to my surprise, a series of mugs with Yorkshire slang such
as Ey up and Be Reyt written on them. My attention is particularly drawn to one
that says Mardy Bum and I ask the assistant whether it describes someone
in a bad mood. She nods but insists that
it is almost a term of endearment. We
are not sufficiently convinced to buy one and settle for a Barnsley fridge
magnet instead. I later discover that
the Arctic Monkeys, who hail from Sheffield, have written a song called Mardy
Bum which features on one of their alBums.
Sunday 30th October
Even after an extra hour in bed on
the day the clocks fall back, we are left with little time for further
exploration before we have to say farewell to Barnsley. The food hall is sadly closed today so we
wander down to the Joseph Bramah for breakfast.
A misleadingly small façade opens up into a tardis-like, extensive
Wetherspoons on two floors with early drinkers and late breakfasters scattered
about the many tables. The pub is named
after a 18th century locksmith and prolific inventor native to the
area. He is famous for making a lock that nobody managed to pick for 67 years,
also responsible for significant improvements in the design of the flush
toilet. I wonder if Oh, dear, what
can the matter be was written in his honour. A Wetherspoons breakfast is good value for
money in any part of the country, but seems all the more enjoyable here.
We are sad to be leaving and make a
fleeting visit to the Alhambra shopping centre, ending up in a sleazier part of
town. But even here there are some
wonderful examples of magnificent Victorian architecture such as the old
Barnsley British Co-operative Society Building and the grand Public Hall built
in 1877.
After an overcast, but rain-free
morning we collect our cases and make our way back to the Interchange. Barnsley is obviously devastated at the thought
of our departure and, as we reach the town hall, it spontaneously bursts into
floods of tears, and I do mean floods. Apres
nous, le deluge. We shelter briefly
in a doorway which offers little protection from a South Yorkshire cloudburst,
and when the downpour abates slightly, make a bolt for the Interchange,
arriving on the drenched side of the wet continuum. The train to Sheffield is thankfully on time
and we manage to find a seat, for it is also pretty crowded.
‘It’s
all those disillusioned Mancunians on their way back to Manchester,’ I say.
Judy grins as we wave a fond
farewell to Barnsley and resolve to come back in the Summer to sample the
delights of a sunny sojourn in the land of the Tykes and Mardy Bums. Maybe we will even get to listen to Barnsley’s
wonderful Brass Band and spend an evening in the pub with The Bar-steward
sons of Val Doonican, singing The Devil went down t’Barnsley town.
We look forward to it.
Carole, Judy and Louise worked together at a college
where they wrote a scurrilous magazine called ‘Rant’. Louise escaped to the
north, leaving Carole and Judy to pursue their inclination for travel and each
other’s company. They foolishly decided to travel along the Northern Line,
getting off at each of its fifty stations and mooching about to see what they
could see. They saw a lot, and in the process, had great fun, met interesting
people and drank a lot of coffee. They have shared their experiences and
produced a book which is in some ways a travel guide, and in others just two
friends indulging their curiosity. They went on to travel the Jubilee Line and
the Hammersmith and City Line.
All three journeys are available from Amazon on Kindle
if you search “Down the Tube – Northern/Jubilee/Hammersmith and City
Line.” We only have a few hard copies of
the Jubilee/Hammersmith and City Lines left.
Please email us if you would like one at worblerpress@yahoo.com
the cost is £10 including P&P.
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