In Search of a Northern Soul

Chapter 6 - Reflection

Tomorrow I will leave The Park Hotel, the Northern Riviera of Tynemouth and Whitley Bay, the old docklands and the City of Newcastle, for the land of my ancestors over the river in County Durham, and sitting in the bar of The Park on my last night, trying to put together what these past few days have meant to me is actually not something that comes easily. Pete was a great believer in Guinness as a lubricant for this sort of thing, and it seemed to work for him so I have a pen in one hand and a glass in the other. I have instructed Ben the barman to stay close at hand.

I have enjoyed my time here, more than I thought I would, wandering the coast and the quaysides. I have seen the old and the new, the decayed and the restored. I have felt excitement at things discovered, and disappointment at things that have gone. Many of my discoveries have been things I actually knew about, but had quite forgotten until I came upon on them, locked away in some filing cabinet of my mind only now to be brought out and examined. The smelly pub for example, the turbulence of King Edwards Bay, the fine architecture of the city and many of the things I have written about so far. Much of this I knew, but had been in the dusty storeroom at the back of my memory.

Finding the new and the renewed, such as The Spanish City, the museum at Segedunum and its stunning film, the reincarnation of quaysides and dockyards, has been a stimulating experience. Even The Sage, in its way, contributed to this.

I know I haven't been to the city on a Friday night, and from what my friendly copper told me that's just as well, but I have been gently reminded that Tyneside is not a warzone. It is not ubiquitously belligerent. Everyone I have met here, Geordie barmen, people in the street, waitresses and shopkeepers, policemen even, have all been outstandingly welcoming. I have understood nearly everything that has been said to me, and no one has said "are you looking at me?" I thought Geordies were lairy by nature and that belligerence went with the territory, but it behoves me to concede that I was wrong.

What I have found very marked is the stark difference between the memories I hold of the North East in my childhood, and those which emerge from my teenage years when I made the transition from childhood towards an adult world, too old for one yet too young for the other. A place of games and caves, Dad's boat and ice cream on the beach which gave way to the land of Oz, of Bigg Market, The Chain Locker and trying to grow up in a world I was not quite prepared for. I had remembered the latter too much, the former too little.

Although I have not sought them out because they are not part of this journey, Newcastle now has fine restaurants, cocktail bars, a highly regarded University, a culture of art, inclusive toilets and gay bars. I wonder what Oz would have thought about that. I remember Oz because I met him. I didn't meet his antithesis.

I came here genuinely thinking that I may never again return. The passing of my father and the departure of my mother had left me no reason to come back, and it is only Pete's writing that has inspired me to do so. Now that I have done I think that I have discovered a connection with the North East that I did not expect. Whether it amounts to a sense of belonging is, for now, something I have yet to work out. Belonging is a deeper, social connection. If that's how you feel you should go and live there, and be done with it. But life, over time, levies baggage – friends, a family, a wife, a house, the pub on the corner. I wonder if I were free of all that, where I would stick the pin in the map. Would it be here?

I will return to this place. I want to know what becomes of The Lido, The Rex, the North Shields quayside, and the yet barren docks of Smiths and Swan Hunter awaiting their regeneration. I want to see how this work in progress evolves.

My journey will now take me to County Durham on the far side of the Tyne. I will leave behind this place and my own childhood to find the lost coalfields and the heritage of my parents, and their parents before them. I will look for the deeper memories of my heritage, ones which can arise only through my ancestors, through the line of my family who came before me. This is a past which concerns others, yet perhaps I am still connected. A genetic memory, if one is to be found.

I will leave this place reluctantly, sadly even. I am sorry not to have seen the round,bespectacled figure of Brendan again, full of optimism and anecdote. I shall miss his hand clutching a glass of Merlot. I think of him and the landscape of Tyneside as I am drawn to the lights of the bay through the darkened windows of the bar. Or is that just the drink talking?

The remaining parts of this book which takes the author through the coalfields of County Durham and far north to the east coast of Northumberland may be found in both paperback and on Kindle at www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1527269752

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