Dedicated to Whitehaven and all it's folk

Isn’t it odd that inevitably, as we grow up, we dislike the place we live in. I remember a student, when I lived in Cambridge, who had lived all her life there telling me it was a dreadful place because ‘there was nothing to do’. Cambridge! Cultural centre of the world!

Wherever I go I find much the same thing with children and young adults. The place of their birth is deadly dull in comparison to...well, anything really. But Whitehaven is considered so remote with so little going on there that when I was interviewed for a teaching post there I was grilled by a committee of three about exactly how I would spend my free time. They were worried I would find the place a terrible bore and leave very quickly. The truth, as they say, could not have been further away.

I fell in love with Whitehaven not long after I fell in love with my wife.

We were studying in Cambridge at the time so I had no idea, other than her accent, that she came from there. As it was, when I found out, like most of the population of England I had only the vaguest idea where it was.

“Is that in Scotland?” I asked rather apologetically. Having lived there for 10 years of my life I secretly curse when someone asks me that these days, but back then I was young and foolish. I soon learned from my soon-to-be-wife that there was a huge difference between being in Scotland and almost being in Scotland.

And that, I guess, is one of the major reasons I love Whitehaven. Not so much the scenery, the harbour, the hills, the lakes – beautiful though they are – but the ‘in your face’ nature of the people there. Like my wife.

It is not so much that people in Whitehaven will call a spade a spade, as that they will call it a ‘bloody great shovel’ and I love that. It is one of the reasons I have taught children for the last 18 years of my life. I still get as excited now with being with a student as I did back then because I loved the honesty. Children don’t know what they ‘should’ or ‘should not’ tell you. They just say it with brutal honesty. Cumbrians, like most northerners, are not known for being genteel and polite. But they are honest. Curmbrian children all the more so.

I know that it is difficult to generalise about people and you have your good and bad wherever you go. But in Whitehaven, perhaps more than anywhere else I have ever lived, the people tell you how it really is. If you look a total idiot they will tell you. If you paid too much for something they will tell you. If they disagree with you they will tell you.

That all sounds negative doesn’t it but no, believe me, it is refreshing.

Because Whitehaven people also know how to tell you when you are getting it right. And if you need someone on your side there is no one I would rather have than a Cumbrian who believed in me fighting my corner. They will sing your praises to the far corners if you warrant it and they are not backwards in coming forwards with telling you when you have got it right. I can’t think of a single time when someone from Whitehaven has paid me a compliment that didn’t sound like it was the God’s honest truth. There was no buttering up. Just the facts, as they saw it.

Is this some kind of nostalgic longing to be back there now I live in Bangladesh with a very different kind of society? No not all. For two reasons:

Firstly, I love being here too. The people are different but they are every bit as special. Another blog, another time and I will tell you about some of them. This is not written out of any sense of homesickness (though I confess that I do have such feelings at times). I am content with my lot here. But it is written with a deep swelling of pride in a place that I have come to appreciate all the more now that I am separated from it.

Secondly, because actually I have been saying all this ever since I first stepped foot in the town. I was attracted to the place because of the woman I knew best from there – my wife. So I already had a pretty good idea of what to expect.

And they didn’t let me down and never have. I had some hard knocks whilst there but though sometimes I had my knocks and scrapes with some and had a fair few arguments with many, not once has a Whitehaven lad or lass done me harm. The ones that did, who lived there, were never born there and usually only came up because of a job opportunity. They didn’t (and don’t) get the spirit of the place and can’t because somehow they seem to think they are better informed, better educated. They don’t need the locals.

Well, I think they are missing out. I think they don’t realise just what wisdom and beauty lies behind those faces. What pride in their town as they work together to make festivals the envy of any town. What dogged persistence when the infamous Cumbrian weather ravages every rooftop. Far from being beneath those of us who have found shelter in this noble town, I think they have much to show us about how much we have lost that was precious to England all but a few decades ago. Certainly in all the years I have been there, I have never failed to be amazed by the courage and love this town has given me. Ironically, being away these past two years I have missed tragedies there that I would have wanted to be able to help with. But I would only have mucked it up.

And then I would have really got it in the neck.