AndrewPointon.com

26 June, 2022
by Andrew
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Tackling voter apathy is crucial to Green Party electoral success

As we hurtle ever closer to an irreversible climate disaster I grow increasingly sceptical of the likelihood of Green politicians being able to deliver the radical changes we need via the electoral process before it is all too late. It is true that this year’s local elections have seen well documented Green gains across the country, and the party has rightfully been celebrating this. However, to be brutally honest it’s not enough. If there is any chance of a wave of Green politicians running local councils, or even forming a Westminster government, then I believe a new approach is needed in order to reach out the huge numbers of people who don’t bother to vote.

In the Leeds City Council local elections in May 2022 turnout across the city as a whole was 33.8%. In wards that could be described as more “working-class”, the percentage turnout was around the mid to high twenties, whilst in the more affluent or more rural areas the figures made the low to mid forties. In the Little London & Woodhouse ward turnout was as low as 16.3%. This apparent voter apathy has been something that has troubled me for many years, especially when canvassing for the Green Party and encountering people on the doorstep who say they are not voting, see no point in it, and claim that all the parties are just the same – just in it for themselves.

The video below by Grace Blakeley sets out some of the reasons why people are losing faith in democracy, particularly young people. Grace argues that the people in positions of power in our society simply don’t care about the voices of ordinary people, which is a view that I share. She also highlights that if we look at voter turnout since 1997, more and more working class voters dropped out of the electorate at every election, deciding there’s little point in voting. It’s worth a watch as Grace sets out a number of strong reasons for why the turnout has slumped in this way.

I concur with pretty much all of the the video content apart from Grace’s assertion that people’s views on climate, housing, or inequality are not currently represented anywhere in the political spectrum. These are clearly key campaign areas of the Green Party. However, at a broader level the video is a timely examination of the important subject of turnout, which is something I wanted to look at, and the crucial role it might play in Green Party strategy and electoral success.

Smaller political parties and independent candidates usually lack the resources of the two main parties in the UK. By resources I mean both funds and volunteers. As a result, and it’s certainly the case with the Green Party, electoral strategies are usually shaped by the availability of local resources, and therefore priorities have to be considered. This typically involves concentrating on a few key target wards as it is too expensive and labour intensive to leaflet or canvass all of them. Whilst several party leaflets may be delivered to all homes in one year in a target ward, the target canvassing is most likely done using “marked” electoral registers to direct most energy to those residents who actually regularly vote. In some cases where funds are short, leafleting may also be limited to certain parts of a ward where support is greatest.

I have to accept that there is some merit to this targeting strategy, after all it has been the basis of the Green Party’s successes across the country and certainly in the Farnley & Wortley ward in Leeds that up to this election had a full contingent of Green Party councillors. However, whilst during my early years as a Green Party member I accepted this approach as a sensible use of limited resources, I have grown to feel somewhat uneasy about it. Avoiding knocking on the doors of the regular non-voter does nothing towards engaging with the people who feel alienated from politics. Nor does it help us demonstrate that the Green Party is different, and that the party has policies that will genuinely improve their lives. In short it contributes to voter apathy and undermines democracy. The First Past the Post electoral system we still endure was fine for a two-party system, but it clearly disadvantages the smaller parties and the independent candidates. Given this electoral system, if the Green Party is to win significantly more seats both locally and nationally, then I feel it is imperative it adopts a strategy to reverse the decline in turnout by giving the disillusioned a reason to vote.

The election of the Green candidate Ed Carlisle in Leeds’ Hunslet & Riverside ward last month may point to the best approach to adopt. It has taken several years’ hard work to finally oust a long-standing Labour councillor, and in Ed the Greens had an excellent candidate who was extremely active and well known in the local community. Building relationships and networks with other active community groups is an important way forward as not only does it demonstrate the party’s commitment to the local community, but it expands the number of people who see what good things are being done, hear what the party stands for, and potentially gains active volunteers or members. Currently young people’s concerns are pretty much ignored by the two main parties, and the enthusiasm they demonstrated when Labour was led by Corbyn seems to have disappeared under the leadership of Starmer. Reaching out more to younger people must also be a key aim in the bid to increase voter turnout.

One final strategy is a combined promotion of both the Green Party’s local activism and the national policies that are going to make a significant difference to people’s lives. Moreover the party must clearly demonstrate that the policies to tackle climate change will not cost people more, but in fact give them more money in their pocket. For example home insulation or regulating bus services will reduce the overall carbon footprint whilst saving people money. Other policies like the Citizen’s Income, or the quality jobs created by a Green New Deal should hopefully strike a chord with people facing up to the current horrors of the cost of living crisis. It might even persuade the regular non-voter to see the Green Party as a party worth voting for.

5 June, 2022
by Andrew
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A walk in the Yorkshire Dales – Stainforth loop June 2022

A delightful 3.5 miles loop walk from Stainforth just north of Settle, taking in Catrigg Force waterfall en route. (OS Explorer OL2 Map).

A man and his hound – Photo courtesy of Tina

Yesterday, Tina, Bevan, and I headed off for a traipse in the Yorkshire Dales. I’m not usually a fan of going very far on a bank holiday weekend due to the potential of traffic jams, and the fact it was the extended Platinum Jubilee bank holiday heightened my anxiety about it. However, much to my surprise the journey from Leeds to Stainforth went well, the habitual queue through Ilkley was nowhere to be seen, and there was even time for a comfort stop at Gargrave as we were both “bostin”! Another bonus was arriving at Stainforth car park to find the machines were out of order thus saving a fiver! The route was chosen on the basis it would hopefully have fewer fellow walkers over a bank holiday weekend than some of the more well known options like the “Three Peaks”. 

We set off out of the car park heading into the village, crossing the bridge over Stainforth Beck, then turning left by the Craven Heifer Hotel, continuing past the village green and on to Goats Scar Lane. This lane forms part of the Pennine Bridleway, and the initial three quarters of a mile of it saw us climbing 338 feet up what was a bumpy track for large parts. Still, the views were stunning and regular stops to take photos were helpful rest breaks too.

The first key stop on the walk was a slight detour away from the Pennine Bridleway, dropping down through some trees towards Stainforth Beck and the Catrigg Force / Foss waterfall. This was the only part of the walk that was well populated, with a number of brave souls stripping down to their bathing costumes to have a wade in the water near the base of the falls. Photos snapped we climbed back up from the waterfall and had lunch sat by the banks of the beck. Suitably replenished we made our way back to the Pennine Bridleway and pushed on up the incline alongside Shake Holes but we ignored the chance to shorten the walk by taking the bridleway to Upper Winskill. Instead we maintained a south-easterly route along a track, the elevation giving glorious views of Pen-y-ghent to the north.

After just over half a mile the track met a lane which we took, turning right towards Langcliffe. Hurriedly passing a herd of inquisitive cows that had no wall between them and us, we took the lane for about half a mile until it met the Pennine Bridleway again. Here we turned right and enjoyed more beautiful views as we strode past Winskill Stones towards Upper Winskill Farm. At this point it was a matter of taking the public footpath next to the farm entrance, and eventually joining up with the “A Pennine Journey Bridleway” back towards Stainforth. We were glad we were not doing the walk in reverse as we made the steep descent through the woods by Stainforth Scar. It would have been some heavy climb. Before we entered the woods there was a precarious moment negotiating Bevan over a rather tall stile, scared for his life as I held him in my arms leaving little room for error as I went over the top!

The final leg involved passing through a field of sheep and lambs, and peering enviously at the houses that looked out onto this idyllic view. The public footpath ended at a short lane that deposits you handily by the Craven Heifer Hotel should you fancy a post-walk ale. But we wanted to get back in time for tea, so it was straight to the car park, and homeward bound with a stop in Settle for coffee and so Tina could take photos of Settle Parish Church. We are limited to walks of 4 miles or under these days as Bevan is 11 and is no longer able to manage much more than that. However, despite being a fairly short walk, this loop has some superb views, wasn’t crowded with other walkers, and was well worth doing. More photos follow (click to expand).

18 May, 2022
by Andrew
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A new look for 2022

This month marks two years since I started to blog again after several years hiatus, although the posts have not been as regular I’d have liked or intended. It also marked the renewal of my hosting service with the same provider I have had since the site started in 2008. A United States company which originally used wind turbines to power their data centres, their initial prices were very reasonable. However over the years the monthly fee crept up to a point this year I felt I could no longer justify it. After sourcing an eco-hosting site in the UK with charges around a fifth of the price, I decided to move the site to them. It also seemed a good opportunity to give the site a fresh new look.

The old banner image that has served me well for 14 years has been updated with a more recent photo taken in July 2021. The theme and fonts have also been changed. So for the records here is the original site. 

Gone but not forgotten! Whilst doing the refresh I have read again some of the posts written during my time in the USA in 2008 and 2009, reminiscing about life back then. Tomorrow is the anniversary of my arrival in Florida for a six month stay in 2009. All being well I will start to blog more regularly once more, capturing the here and now, creating more memories to look back on in years to come, and hopefully writing something that will be interesting to visitors of the site.  

29 October, 2021
by Andrew
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New Zealand 1999 Memories – Part 3

During September and October 1999 I made my first of three visits to New Zealand. Though only 3 weeks, that first visit, mainly visiting relatives in the South Island, blew me away and left a huge impression. I had to return and in November 2001 I went back for a nine weeks stay, and was there again in February 2002.

As the 20 years anniversary of my last visit gets closer, and this month was 22 years since my first visit, I’ve been feeling nostalgic, and have finally got round to scanning in my photos of NZ 1999. I never really thought they did the place justice, but with the aid of software enhancement they do look better than the original film.

This third and final collection are of my unexpected tour of the North Island. Not originally in the plans, I was invited to visit my cousins’ Uncle Kev in Auckland so had a 4 days stay in the North Island visiting parts of Auckland, and Whakarewarewa / Rotorua. Sadly we lost the great Kev earlier this year, taken from us way too young, so these photos are extra poignant as they remind me of his superb hospitality, and the awesome time I had with an awesome guy.

29 October, 2021
by Andrew
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New Zealand 1999 Memories – Part 2

During September and October 1999 I made my first of three visits to New Zealand. Though only 3 weeks, that first visit, mainly visiting relatives in the South Island, blew me away and left a huge impression. I had to return and in November 2001 I went back for a nine weeks stay, and was there again in February 2002.

As the 20 years anniversary of my last visit gets closer, and this month was 22 years since my first visit, I’ve been feeling nostalgic, and have finally got round to scanning in my photos of NZ 1999. I never really thought they did the place justice, but with the aid of software enhancement they do look better than the original film.

This second collection are of my tour of the South Island with my uncle, his partner, and my cousin. Day 1 we left Christchurch, stopped at Castle Hill, then Arthur’s Pass to see the Devil’s Punchbowl waterfall, and went via Moana to Punakaiki, home of the the famous Pancake Rocks.

Day 2 we continued down the west coast calling at Hokitika and staying at Franz Josef, where we went to the glacier.

Day 3 we called at Ship Creek Beach before heading inland through the Mt Aspiring National Park stopping at Thunder Creek Falls, and arriving at Wanaka where we spent the night.

Day 4 we visited Queenstown, its luge and motor museum, before heading for Dunedin. We had a couple of nights there, taking in the Otago Peninsula and Penguin Place, home of the yellow-eyed penguin. Our final day on the road saw us head back to Christchurch via Moeraki Boulders and Geraldine.

29 October, 2021
by Andrew
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New Zealand 1999 Memories – Part 1

During September and October 1999 I made my first of three visits to New Zealand. Though only 3 weeks, that first visit, mainly visiting relatives in the South Island, blew me away and left a huge impression. I had to return and in November 2001 I went backfor a nine weeks stay, and was there again in February 2002.

As the 20 years anniversary of my last visit gets closer, and this month was 22 years since my first visit, I’ve been feeling nostalgic, and have finally got round to scanning in my photos of NZ 1999. I never really thought they did the place justice, but with the aid of software enhancement they do look better than the original film.

The first collection are of my first few days when I visited my cousins’ abode in Barry’s Bay, and nearby Akaroa, both in the stunning Banks Peninsula not far from Christchurch.

9 November, 2020
by Andrew
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Orange squashed – US election thoughts

The USA is going to have a new President and in my opinion, for what it’s worth, that is a good thing. However I’m not under any illusion that Joe Biden becoming the 46th President of the USA means the country’s deep-seated problems are about to be solved. Nor am I widely enthusiastic about the man. Any enthusiasm about Biden’s victory stems from the removal of the White House’s current obscene incumbent.

There are three disclosures to make before I move on to the main points of this post.

Firstly, as a politics graduate I most likely have a greater interest in the US political process than my UK peers. This manifests itself in spending the run up to the election following the polls and opinion pieces for months. It sees me watching the Presidential debates live in the early hours of the morning. It involves staying up all night to watch the Election Day results coverage, and checking the status of vote counting for the days following until the victor is projected. It also involves an unhealthily detailed understanding of the US election system that sadly seems to be lacking in many of its own citizens.

The second disclosure is that I am married to a US citizen and before I popped the question I lived with my wife Tina in Jacksonville Beach, Florida, for 6 months during 2009. This provided me a first-hand experience of US politics at a local level, and gives me a sort of vested interest in who holds executive power on the other side of the Atlantic.

The final one should be obvious to regular readers of this blog. I am not a supporter of either of the two main political parties in the USA. I am a member of the Green Party of England & Wales, and if I were allowed to, my vote in a USA election would be for the Greens. However given how repugnant the Republican Party has been during my life time, no more so than under President Trump, I consider the Democrats to be the better option in an underwhelming two party system.

The election of President Trump in 2016 was a nightmare come true, founded in complacency, and millions seeing him as an antidote to normal politics that had failed to improve their lives. It was of course also a result of an electoral system where the winner of the popular vote doesn’t necessarily win outright. And sadly it was a vehicle for some abhorrent views bubbling under the surface for years to be given a clear voice by a populist leader. The four years of Trump have been astonishing and appalling in equal measure, with a storyline that editors would consider too far-fetched for a TV drama. It was imperative that Trump was rejected in 2020.

Yet while the overriding feeling is a sense of relief and elation that there be no second term for Trump, there is a depressing fact that must not be ignored. Despite the absolute horrors of the last four years – the division, the racism, using the office for personal gain, and of course the inept handling of COVID-19 leaving 230,000 dead – close to 71 million people voted to re-elect Trump. Having had 4 years of a Trump presidency, nearly an additional 8 million people decided they wanted 4 more. It beggars belief.

When I saw turn-out was up I wrongly hoped and believed that Tina’s compatriots were coming out in force to inflict a massive loss on Trump, a result that even he could not dispute. I also hoped it might mean that Florida would reject Trump. But no, whilst Biden may have secured the largest presidential vote tally in US history, Trump secured the second largest, and Florida went Republican once more. A small consolation was that Duval County (the Jacksonville area) went Democratic, the first time it’s backed a Democrat since Jimmy Carter in 1976.

I have neither the time nor inclination at this point to offer an analysis of how this happened, and without all the full breakdown of results based on demographics, it’s not sensible to do so. There will be people who always vote Republican no matter the candidate, people who didn’t like Trump as a person but who were prepared to turn a blind eye to his behaviour as they had personally gained under his presidency, and of course his fervent supporters who believe every word he utters and see him as the greatest President ever. My only explanation for the latter is that Trump is an excellent confidence trickster who knows how to use messaging that taps into emotions, and offer simplistic answers to people’s problems and fears. Even when people finally realise they have been conned it is difficult to accept and admit that’s what occurred. Of course sadly there will be people whose views match Trump’s bigoted beliefs and welcome them.

Trump has laid the groundwork for months. He’s denigrated the absentee postal voting process claiming it is open to huge fraud despite there being little evidence of this and using this method to vote in the past himself. He encouraged his supporters to vote in person despite potential risks during a pandemic, whilst Democrat supporters overwhelming preferred to vote via mail to avoid these risks. Willingly undermining the electoral system, Trump has falsely convinced his fervent supporters that voting by mail is undemocratic or even illegal, despite it being an integral part of the election process since the Civil War.

Republican legislatures in certain states like Pennsylvania refused election officials’ requests to allow the early processing of postal ballots which led to it taking days to count millions of votes, in contrast to Florida which could project the result within hours. All this played into a narrative that any overtaking of an initial Republican lead as Democrat leaning postal ballots were counted must be highly suspicious rather than precisely what should be anticipated. The result – rather than being horrified by Trump’s undemocratic calls to stop counting the votes whilst he was ahead, and claiming victory, his supporters fanatically demanded the same.

Trump is actually telling the truth when he says that there is an attempt to steal the election, it’s just that he is the perpetrator not the Democratic Party. Trump’s most loyal supporters are convinced he stands up for “American values” when the complete opposite is patently the case. My simple theory is that as a narcissist Trump projects what he is doing on to others. Trump accuses Biden as having dodgy deals with China when it is Trump with a secret Chinese bank account exposed by the New York Times. Trump accuses his rivals of fraud when he settled three lawsuits in November 2016 for a total of $25 million, accused of defrauding students at Trump University. He accuses rivals of lying when by 27th August 2020, The Washington Post’s Fact Checker database had counted 22,247 false or misleading statements by Trump during his presidency.

So Trump’s election defeat should be welcomed and celebrated. One can reasonably expect that President-Elect Biden will bring normality and greater compassion to the role of President. He will bring decades of experience. His call for unity is welcome after Trump’s division. It might never be completely clear whether Biden’s moderate centrist position was the reason for the largest number of votes in US history, able to build an alliance of Democrats, independents, and Republicans disgusted with what Trump had done to their party. Or was it merely the result of millions of people wanting Trump gone and the only choice was Biden?

Whatever the reasons I’m delighted that the USA and the world has avoided 4 more years of chaos and demagoguery. We will see if the Biden administration can ultimately heal the country’s divisions, and deliver on its promises. However that delight soon dissolves away when the reality sinks in. While I feel that while a return to normality will feel welcome, it will not be enough. Politics as usual will not solve the United States’ or indeed the world’s problems. A more radical set of policies will be needed to tackle catastrophic climate change with the required urgency, or to make Washington and Wall Street work for more than just the 1% of society. I fear Biden will not be able to deliver the necessary measures due to an unwillingness to move away from safe centrism, and a Republican led Senate acting as a deliberate obstacle. Howie Hawkins (Green Party candidate) and Bernie Sanders would have been far more to my liking as President. But we are left with Biden. Clearly better than what went before, but not the best we could have hoped for and needed.

25 July, 2020
by Andrew
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He drinks the whisky…

...He drinks the Guinness. He hates the Vale. Michael O’Neill. Michael O’Neill. He drinks the whisky, he drinks the Guinness. He hates the Vale*. So went the song that rang around the away end at Oakwell on 9th November 2019 as Stoke City beat Barnsley 4-2. I was there. I was in euphoric disbelief. It was Michael O’Neill’s first game in charge of what became an astonishing season.

On 1st November 2019 the passionate but ultimately spectacularly unsuccessful Nathan Jones was finally relieved of his duties as Stoke City’s manager when the Board’s loyalty and patience eventually ran out. Jones left Stoke in a precarious and embarrassing position. After the first 15 games of the 2019/20 season Stoke City had won twice, lost 11 times, and were bottom of the table with 8 points, 6 points from safety. Despite the expensively assembled squad of players, many who had been in the Premiership two seasons prior, Stoke were heading for certain relegation. Of that there was no doubt.

On 8th November 2019 Stoke City announced their new manager was Michael O’Neill, who had been in charge of the Northern Ireland team for the last 8 years. Despite the magnificent achievement of guiding Northern Ireland to Euro 2016 and the brink of the 2018 World Cup, some Stoke fans were quick to complain about this appointment due to O’Neill’s lack of experience in the Championship, and the bizarre arrangement that saw him allowed to continue to coach Northern Ireland in their Euro 2020 play off games. Not knowing a great deal about the man, I watched several interviews on YouTube to try to see what we should expect. I liked what I heard – a modesty, and honesty that was refreshing after the Nathan Jones experience.

It didn’t take long to see what effect O’Neill would have on a team lacking in confidence, ideas, and fight. In my previous three visits to Oakwell I hadn’t seen Stoke score a single goal let alone win, so to record a 4-2 victory was as enjoyable as it was totally unexpected. It was momentous too for being the first time Stoke had scored four goals since 28th December 2015 (beating Everton at Goodison Park 4-3), and the first time Stoke had scored more than 2 goals since a 3-1 home win against West Brom on 23rd December 2017. By the time Sam Clucas’ 25 yard screamer bulged the net for Stoke’s fourth goal I was hoarse from chanting O’Neill’s name and singing his new song. As first games as manager go, they don’t come much better than this.

The victory at Barnsley was followed by a dramatic home game against Wigan, where Stoke came from behind to score in stoppage time to snatch a 2-1 win. It was back to the ground with a bump following 3 straight defeats, including a dreadful capitulation at a very poor Hull City, losing despite having taken an early lead. The final 5 games of 2019 saw Stoke take 7 points, 3 of those from an amazing Boxing Day home game against Sheffield Wednesday where on 90 minutes Stoke trailed 2-1, but finished 3-2 victors. Having spent Christmas in the bottom three, 2019 ended with Stoke on 21 points, and just above the drop zone. Back in early November that seemed completely out of the question.

The New Year’s Day game was another stunner. Huddersfield Town away had never been much of a happy hunting ground in the past. So when Stoke led 1-0 at half-time and having not had a shot before the break, Town scored twice in two minutes early in the second half to lead, it seemed the usual disappointment was going to play out. But no, Stoke turned in one of the displays of the season to run out 5-2 winners. Not only did O’Neill seem to be giving Stoke a fighting chance of staying up he was putting out teams that were scoring more goals than we’d seen for some while. Having struggled to score more than 2 goals in a game for nearly 2 years, we enjoyed 3 goals against Luton, Sheffield Wednesday, and Charlton, 4 against Barnsley (again) and Nottingham Forest, and another 5 goal feast against a dire Hull City. On the flip side Stoke under O’Neill suffered 4-0, 4-2, and 5-0 defeats away at Derby, QPR, and Leeds Utd respectively. The QPR defeat was particularly frustrating as Stoke had led 2-0!

The 5-1 home victory against Hull City saw Stoke unbeaten in 4 matches and up to 17th in the table on 42 points, albeit 3 points above the relegation places. Then COVID-19 struck, the country went into lockdown and the season was suspended. There was talk the season being ended and a formula used to work out the final table placings. With this formula Stoke avoided relegation so there were many who were happy for the season to be brought to an end.

When the season did restart on 20th June, a rusty tired looking Stoke team were lucky to snatch a late point away at Reading. A disappointing then diabolical display followed with Stoke losing 2-0 and 3-0 to fellow strugglers Middlesbrough and Wigan, before Stoke bounced back with a vital 4-0 crushing of Barnsley. A 5-0 thrashing by eventual Champions Leeds Utd left Stoke 1 point above the relegation zone, and left Stoke fans sweating. Three of the final four games of the season looked very difficult, and with relegation rivals picking up unlikely points, Stoke fans feared the worst. Other than a home win against a Birmingham team in freefall, many Stoke fans suspected the team wouldn’t pick up another point. It was squeaky bum time. But Stoke fans needn’t have worried, for Michael O’Neill completed his miracle work by guiding Stoke to clear safety with 10 points collected from the last 4 games. These included an impressive 1-0 home win over in-form promotion chasing Brentford, and an incredible 4-1 win away at Nottingham Forest on the final day of the season to end Forest’s hopes of a play-off place.

Rock bottom and adrift on his arrival, Michael O’Neill guided Stoke City to 15th in the table and 56 points. That was actually a better finish than the previous season. O’Neill’s record equated to 1.5 points a game. Across a full season it would have given us enough for a play-off place. Back in November I doubt many held up much hope of Championship survival let alone finishing 8 points above the drop zone, and 15th in the table. This is a testament to the amazing job O’Neill has done at Stoke City which feels miraculous. Humble and honest as he is, O’Neill refused to celebrate avoiding relegation and instead said that where the team finished wasn’t good enough considering the investment that has gone into the club. That sort of statement makes me like him even more, and it’s no wonder that because of the trust Stoke fans now have in their manager, there’s actually some optimism for the coming season.

Apparently Michael O’Neill has never drank whisky in his life, and I’m sure he’s too nice to hate anybody!

 

7 July, 2020
by Andrew
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Paignton and the Pointons

Goodrington Sands in the 1970s

During the summers of the late 1970s Mum, Dad, and I made an annual pilgrimage to Paignton in South Devon. We even returned to the same hotel. Maybe it’s a case of nostalgically looking back through childhood rose-coloured spectacles but it was a time when I felt happy, even though the pleasures were often simple. COVID-19 might ultimately scupper a planned return to Devon for the Pointon family at the end of this month, but I thought I’d blog about those childhood memories.

In the summer of 1976 I was a few months short of being 5 years old. Our family didn’t have a car, and as Dad worked on the railways we got free travel on British Rail. Therefore the journey to our holiday was made by train, and this became a fundamental part of the childhood adventure for our visits to Devon in the late 1970s. This was the era of the “BR Blue diesel” locos and corridor coaches with separate compartments for 6 to 8 people. The first few holidays involved taking an hour long slow stopping train, nicknamed “chunder wagons” by railway workers, from Stoke to Birmingham New Street. I remember being rudely awakened about 4:30 am so we could be at Stoke station for that 06:10 service to Birmingham. At Birmingham we’d pick up a cross-country service to Paignton, which most likely originated at Derby. In later years there was a through service from Manchester which stopped at Stoke. It was on the Paignton train when usually the fun started.

The journeys were never straightforward. In theory around lunchtime we should have been breathing in that wonderful sea air and listening to the calls of the seagulls. In theory. In practice an engine would typically fail somewhere between Bristol and Exeter. We’d then wait ages in the sweltering train for a replacement to arrive from somewhere like Taunton. Sometimes the replacement would fail. Arriving hours late was not unusual. Dad always claimed that Mum jinxed us because trains didn’t breakdown when he was on his own. One year we had reservations for coach H on the Paignton train. We walked down the New Street platform in search of it. Coach E, F, G, no H! Where was it? Evidently not on the train. A group of irate passengers gathered on the platform roughly where the missing coach should be, and some poor rail worker got a right earbashing. I recall my Mum wasn’t very pleased about it to say the least, mainly because it potentially meant a 4 and half hours journey standing up, and secondly because she was once again accused of being a jinx.

Something to keep me occupied on the journey

When the engine was performing as it should, and we were hurtling along to the tune of the clickety-clack of the rail joints, I remember being a bit of a fidget, unable to settle in the compartment. I’d slide back the compartment door to get into the corridor for a wander, and sometimes peer out of the open window of the coach door to see what was coming down the other line. This is if I could get past some of the unfortunate passengers having to stand in the corridor. In a bid to keep me occupied, my parents bought me the 1977 Ian Allan loco-spotting book, so that kept me good for a while, particularly as we passed bigger stations where other trains stood, or engines were idling in sidings. I also had one of The Famous Five or The Secret Seven books for good measure. At some point on the journey around normal breakfast time we’d tuck into jam or marmalade butties to “keep us going”, and there were other butties prepared for lunch at Paignton, or wherever the engine failed. Naturally my Mum also had made a flask of tea or coffee to swill it down.

The journey to Paignton involves passing through some wonderful scenery, none better than the stretch of line between Dawlish Warren and Teignmouth where the trains run alongside the beaches on one side and the red sandstone cliffs on the other. I always enjoyed this part because it was the first glimpse of the sea, and I knew we were close to our destination. The train cut back inland towards Newton Abbot, then went on through to Torquay, and finally into Paignton. If I could, I tried to spend the Torquay to Paignton part with my head out of the window, looking out as Paignton’s Preston Sands came into view, and hearing the warning siren from the level crossing as the train slowed into our destination. There would be a bustle of activity by those level crossing barriers, cars and holidaymakers waiting to get across into Torbay Road or the large Woolworths store on the corner, some people watching the train arrive from the footbridge next to the signal box.

A young Andrew (left) at the Bon Ton 

I think we took a taxi for the short trip from the station to our hotel because of the suitcases and it was a climb, but I’m sure we also walked it, possibly the return journey. The Bon Ton Hotel was a 10 room establishment offering breakfast and evening meals, situated on St Andrew’s Road, and conveniently placed for Goodrington Sands. I’m told that our first stay there was due to a strange twist of fate. Initially we had meant to be holidaying in our neighbours’ static caravan at Prestatyn in North Wales but it had been double-booked. Mum therefore looked through a brochure for Devon, spotted the Bon Ton Hotel’s address and gave them a call. By chance there was a cancellation and so we got in. By coincidence the proprietors, Derek and Barbara, were also originally from Newcastle Under Lyme.

Derek and Barbara clearly were doing something right as we kept returning, until one year “Derek put his prices up”, and we ended up in a Grange Court Holiday Park caravan instead. But even that year we still visited one evening for the 1970s classic of chicken and chips in a basket. I loved the Bon Ton. The breakfast of cornflakes, full English, and rounds of marmalade on toast everyday seemed like a luxury. In the evenings I used to like to sit on a stool at the bar supping away at a Coke in a glass bottle talking to Derek. Another couple, Ann and Fred from Manchester, were also regular guests when we were there, and they had two sons of a similar age to me so I had some holiday friends too. I remember being there in 1978 when the women all went out and left the men to watch the World Cup Final on the television in the hotel lounge. That was not a happy room full of blokes because we all wanted Holland to win. At some point I got bored of it and the young uns had their own kick about in the front garden.

The main highlight, and indeed my main love of Paignton was Goodrington. It was a short walk down the hill from the hotel to Goodrington Park, although it always felt like a long and hard traipse back after a day of play on the beach. The park had a boating lake, and either side of the low wall that separated the park from the promenade were white bathing huts with colourful doors and bargeboards. Simple things would keep me amused like running along that wall between the huts, probably pretending to be a train! That was at the North Sands, where there was also a kiosk, and I remember Dad waking me up early so we could walk down to it to buy a newspaper before breakfast. I wasn’t impressed to be woken at such an hour, but when I got out there, I did enjoy the time spent with Dad collecting the paper and having a “blow of the sea air son”. I liked Goodrington North Sands. There was plenty of opportunity to put my specially purchased bucket and spade to good use, and to take to the sea in an inflatable boat. But the greatest part of Goodrington was the South Sands. Now there was a special place.

Ex GWR 2-8-0 tank engine “Goliath” passes Goodrington South Sands

South Sands obviously had the same sandcastle building, sea fun, and strawberry ice cream as its northern neighbour. However it had a trump card – a heritage steam railway running alongside it. At regular intervals my sandcastle endeavours, and the constant hum of the generator at the nearby waterpark, were interrupted by the distinctive shrill whistle of a former Great Western Railway (GWR) engine. The whistle would be followed by the echoing bark of the engine’s exhaust from its copper topped smokebox chimney as it pulled away from Goodrington Sands station. The beat of its bark slowly increased as it gathered momentum. The train would then emerge on an embankment behind a row of beach huts, and loudly labour its way up a heavy incline in the direction of Churston, eventually disappearing into a cutting in the cliffs. This experience was totally awesome as a young boy, and it was the beginning of a life-long love of railways, steam engines, and in particular the GWR.

Number 7827 Lydham Manor was my favourite engine, and had been rescued from Dai Woodhams’ famous scrapyard in Barry in 1970. In the late 1970s it looked absolutely resplendent in 1930s GWR green livery, (which it would have never worn in service having being built in 1950 after nationalisation), pulling a rake of coaches in GWR “chocolate and cream”. The railway also had a large GWR 2-8-0 tank engine, more used to pulling heavy coal trains through the Welsh valleys in its heyday, which they named Goliath, something the purists would object to, but a young boy didn’t mind at all. Finally there was number 4555, a GWR 4500 class Small Prairie 2-6-2 tank engine which I was particularly fond of.

7827 Lydham Manor at Kingswear in 2007 looking how I remembered it as a child

As a family we travelled on the Paignton and Dartmouth Steam Railway, as it was known then, a few times, probably nearly every year we visited the area. The line is very picturesque, and as well as running next to Goodrington Sands, there are great views of Broadsands as the train passes over Broadsands Viaduct and Hookhills Viaduct, before eventually running alongside the River Dart, passing Dartmouth Harbour and then terminating at Kingswear. As much as I enjoyed riding on the railway I was just as happy to watch trains pass by as I played on the beach. During later holidays when I was a little older, on hearing the distant whistle, I’d run off the beach and up a path behind the waterpark slides to a gate that led directly on to Goodrington Sands platform. I’d watch the train arrive and depart, then get back to whatever I was doing on the beach. On more recent visits I was disappointed to find that gate was no longer accessible, and Lydham Manor was painted (more accurately it has to be said) in 1950s British Railways black with red linings.

There were other things about holidays in Paignton that I recall fondly. On Torbay Road, which led from Paignton station to the esplanade, there were two establishments which have special memories. The first was the Igloo ice cream parlour, with white textured decor to give the impression (badly) of walking through an ice cavern. The Igloo was home to its famous knickerbocker glories (for those who don’t know, a layered ice cream sundae that is served in a large tall conical glass and eaten with a long spoon!) To be honest it was probably a bit tacky, but for a young lad it was a highlight of the holiday, and I think typically an evening treat. Also on Torbay Road was a post office that sold toys. The pocket money I’d been given for holiday spends was frugally saved until our last day when I could visit the shop and swoop for something I’d had my eye on for the week. I think we even went in there en route to the station. There were disappointments mind, like the toy airport fire and rescue truck that was no longer in the shop window on our day of departure.

We’d also have our trips out. I recall visiting the model village at Babbacombe which of course had a model railway. This excursion would also usually involve a wander around Cockington, a village of quaint thatched cottages, with a working forge, waterwheel, and medieval church. One year my Dad hired a car whilst we were away. I excitedly speculated with my Bon Ton friends about what he’d return with, hoping it was a Rover, because I was obsessed with the Rover P6 and SD1 cars, probably due to watching too many 1970s police dramas on television. I was pretty disappointed and embarrassed when Dad rolled up with a tiny Fiat 127. This Fiat would forever be remembered for trundling into the back of another car as we descended the road to Brixham harbourside. Luckily for Dad I don’t think the hire company noticed or were unduly bothered about the dent in the front bumper.

Preserved Class 45 loco at the East Lancs Railway in 1970s livery (Feb 2018)

All good things come to an end, and the holiday would be over far too quickly for my liking. The return home was always a sad affair. Typically a Class 45, 46, or 47 loco would be waiting in the station in charge of the 10:15 Paignton to Manchester Piccadilly service that stopped at Stoke. With a toot of the two-tone horn and a plume of exhaust fumes, the engine accelerated away, over the level crossing, past Woolworths, under the footbridge, carrying us away for another year. One final look out longingly at Preston Sands and then I sit back to endure the five hours journey back to the Potteries. I remember that the carriage sidings at Goodrington were often full of rakes of coaches, lined up especially for the holiday trains. Now with the benefit of the internet it’s possible to discover that for one particular Saturday in August 1976, as well as our train to Manchester there were morning trains in quick succession to Sheffield, Derby, Nottingham, Liverpool, Leeds and Hull, and Bradford to name but a few examples, taking the holidaymakers back to industrial heartlands. These trains continued throughout the day, with three heading to Manchester Piccadilly. This era on the railways is often much maligned with its grubby aging coaches, (Mum complained of the dusty seats), failing locos, and dreadful catering. But for me the “BR Blue diesel” era was a golden age because of the sentimentality I have for those holidays in Devon, and the part the railways played in those memories.

7827 Lydham Manor at Kingswear in British Railways black livery 2013

Summer of 1979 was the last of those family holidays in Paignton, this time in the caravan, and 1980 saw a treacherous switch to the Isle of Wight. (That also involved travels by train and a ferry, so not all bad!) I didn’t return to Paignton for 28 years. I was staying with a friend in Exeter in 2007 for some walking in Exmoor and Dartmoor national parks, when I decided to take a detour to Paignton on my way back to Leeds. I parked my car by Paignton station, caught a steam train to Churston, and then walked back along the South West Coastal Path. I had to walk along the promenade at Goodrington, passing South and North Sands, and through the park. It all seemed so much smaller than what I remembered. I walked from the park up the hill that is Braeside Road, round the corner into St Andrew’s Road to seek out the Bon Ton Hotel. I have to say the walk didn’t feel as long or as tiring as I recall as a child. But sure enough there, now called Birchwood House and painted pink, stood my favourite childhood holiday home. It was a poignant moment. I walked down St Andrew’s Road in the direction of the station and ended up on Torbay Road. Sadly the Igloo was no more, nor could I see the post office with toys, and the street had a run down tacky feel to it. In a way I regretted going back and having those happy childhood memories tarnished.

Back at Goodrington Sands station 2013

However I’ve returned two more times since then. In 2013 Tina and I took my stepson Landon, who was 13 at the time, and our two dogs on holiday to Devon, staying at a holiday park in Brixham. On one of the days we visited Goodrington, taking a trip to Kingswear and back on the steam railway, then spending the rest of the day on Goodrington Sands, and Landon also had fun in the waterpark. I wanted Landon to have a similar childhood experience of Goodrington as I did, albeit he was older than I would have been. Tina and I next visited Paignton in July 2019, this time with my parents. We booked a few days away just down the coast at Teignmouth to celebrate Dad’s 80th birthday, and it was only natural to return to our old haunts. One day we all took a trip on the steam railway, with Mum and Dad continuing on to Kingswear and back, whilst Tina and I got off at Churston with Bevan, and walked along the South West Coastal Path to Goodrington. We all met up again, and before heading back to the car we made a pilgrimage to the Bon Ton Hotel. It was the first time my parents and I had been there together in exactly 40 years. Things had gone full circle with it now being me taking them to Paignton.

The Pointons return to Bon Ton Hotel in July 2019

This year we had booked a few days in late March and early April in Teignmouth to celebrate my Mum’s birthday. No doubt we’d have made another trip to Paignton and Goodrington for old times’ sake. But COVID-19 came along and the hotel was forced to close. However our booking was moved to late July so a return is possible. But it is doubtful my parents will come along as the advice for the over 70s is still to remain at home as much as possible, and the general advice is not to use public transport unless completely necessary. They understandably don’t fancy the risk, or several hours on a train wearing a mask. With 40+% of positive COVID-19 cases being asymptomatic, Tina and I could possibly even pass it on to them unwittingly.

The key part of those childhood memories was the spending of quality time with my parents, and them making all of these wonderful times possible. My Dad worked shifts on the railways and I remember having to “keep it down because Dad’s in bed” when he’d been on nights. So it was a novelty to have him around for several full days on the trot, and a bonus that it was in such a fun place. We made happy memories there as a family and I hope we can continue to do so in the future. One day I would like to actually stay at what was the Bon Ton Hotel, but they don’t allow dogs and I think it’s a bit pricey. Some things don’t change. Also I’d love one day to make the journey to Paignton by train, but without a British Rail free pass the fares from Leeds are rather eye watering. Plus it wouldn’t be the same without a grimy blue Class 45 loco with a train of dusty corridor coaches transporting me there. The good old days!

More photos

Goodrington South Sands 2007

Lydham Manor at Broadsands 2007

5239 “Goliath” in 2007

Lydham Manor at Goodrington in 2007

The “Bon Ton” in 2007

Andrew and Bevan in July 2019

30 June, 2020
by Andrew
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Kraków May 2019

I actually started this blog piece in May and hoped to have it finished by at least the end of that month. However the COVID-19 pandemic increased the number of queries from the union members in schools I support, so after a long day in front of the laptop I was not very inclined to get writing. Somehow June has flown by, and now thanks to a week’s leave, and rainy weather, I have got round to putting the finishing touches to this long overdue post.


In October 2016 my wife Tina and our friend Moira went to Kraków, Poland, for a few days to celebrate Tina’s birthday while I stayed in Leeds to look after the hound. Tina’s tales of Kraków and hearty recommendation made it somewhere I wanted to visit too. So when I found out my Dad, who is very keen on history, fancied a trip there, we made plans to go at some point in the near future. There was some debate about what time of year was best to keep to a budget, yet not incur very cold weather. “Your owd man is too owd for traipsing around in a foot of snow”, my Dad sagely advised. I forget why we failed to go in 2018, but after a bit of faffing about, and reassurances that we wouldn’t be stranded in Poland due to Brexit, eventually I managed to get a bargain deal of £206 per person for 4 nights in early May 2019. “Swoop for it son”, came the instruction. In May there was the prospect of reasonable weather, and it was early enough on the year before the prices got daft. I find it hard to believe just over a year has passed since our Kraków experience, but I thought it timely to record it now.

Regular readers of this blog may recall my reputation for planning things in great detail. This is a trait I inherited from the Owd Man. So with two planning Pointons on the case, the preparations had a hint of military precision. Manchester Airport might have seen the logical departure point given it is between Leeds and Newcastle Under Lyme, yet the available flights left either one of us unable to get there by train in time, or unable to get home afterwards. However the flights from Leeds Bradford Airport were at far more civilised times, and with Dad a retired railwayman having free train travel, the plan was for us to meet at Leeds railway station, get the 757 bus to the airport, and be on an afternoon flight. “I’ve done a billy do of some train times”, Dad informed me by text message. He meant billetdoux. I explained that a billetdoux was a love letter, but apparently it was also what railway staff called notes of train times in Crewe Control. Well to be fair they do love their trains in Crewe.

So on the Monday morning of our adventure, the billy do doing its job, my Dad and I found ourselves at Leeds station in very good time for the next leg of the journey. Having factored in contingency time for any potential cock-ups, when the 757 airport bus pulled up at Leeds Bradford Airport, we were so early the Jet2 check-in gates for our flight hadn’t opened. The several hours wait before take-off dragged a bit, and I was glad when we were eventually in the air. The two and a half hours flight arrived around the scheduled local time of 6:30 pm, and I was glad we’d booked a surprisingly tasty in-flight meal to tide us over.

John Paul II Kraków-Balice International Airport was just over 10 miles away from our hotel. As it is connected to Kraków Glowny railway station, during the planning stage I had contemplated having a Polish railway experience to get to our accommodation. But having consulted the timetables and likely arrival time I concluded best stick with a taxi. We wandered out into the Polish evening to find a line of taxis awaiting us. We were greeted warmly by a middle-aged mustachioed fellow who introduced himself as Tomasz and helped us into his Skoda. The journey to our hotel was entertaining as Tomasz was quite the conversationalist, with topics ranging from the latest addition to the British royal family that day (he was much more enthusiastic than we were), to the local football derby between Wisła Kraków and KS Cracovia known as the Holy War (that’s more like it!) So enjoyable was the journey that Tomasz’s services were booked for the return to the airport on Friday.

Szeroka Square and Ariel Restaurant 

The hotel that Tina had stayed in, and highly recommended, was unfortunately booked up. However I had found a place a few minutes walk away and handily next to a tram stop – Hotel Kazimierz II. Dumping the bags we went off to explore, and find somewhere to get a bite to eat. Kazimierz is the name of Kraków’s historic Jewish quarter, and very close to our hotel was a small square off Szeroka Street, which once held the local market. As there are several restaurants there, with menus carefully examined online in advance, this was to become our usual haunt for the coming evenings. That Monday night we settled for Ariel Restaurant , in part because while peering at the menu outside, a persuasive waiter enticed us in. However as a first experience of an evening in Kraków goes, it was pretty special. We both enjoyed our meals, and the art adorned surroundings and atmosphere were fabulous. A couple of beers, and we headed back to the hotel for a bit of kip before the first full day in Kraków.

The first hotel breakfast, and indeed for all the other days, was the classic continental style laid out on a long table. There was also a small hot food section with usually two available items, changing daily, and providing a bit of comedy value as we tried to work out what they were. I opted for what I thought were a couple of hash browns only to find they were some sort of apple fritter affair. Anyway as it was pretty much an “all you can eat” arrangement, each morning we filled up on tasty fayre for the day ahead.

Tuesday’s itinerary was as follows: morning and early afternoon at the Polish Aviation Museumthe rest of the afternoon having a wander around the central old town of Kraków, and then the evening around the Jewish Quarter for a meal and beers. Naturally the planning had gone on for this well in advance, and I’d worked out that a tram that stopped 50 yards from our hotel would take us to the stop at the museum, and then it would be a 5 minutes walk to the entrance. We would then be able to get another tram from the same stop and disembark close to the old town. At around £3 for a day rider ticket, the tram system was a bargain. It was also an excellent way of getting around and experiencing part of Kraków life. There was a ticket machine at our local tram stop that had an English option, so purchasing tickets was easy, you just had to remember to date stamp them when you got on the tram to make them valid.

Our first tram journey went pretty well, fitting in with the friendly locals, and we got off at the right stop for the museum. Arriving at the pay counter we had the added bonus of discovering that entrance was free on Tuesdays. My Dad’s love of history sparked my own interest as a child, and back then we’d visited aviation museums like Hendon and Cosford. So this visit was a bit like a step back in time, only with me taking Dad, rather than the other way round. The Polish Aviation Museum site is quite large with several hangar sized buildings housing exhibits, and many more aircraft lined up outside. We ended up spending several hours there.

Pointon in Pope Copter

One of the main attractions for me was a 1918 World War I Royal Flying Corps Sopwith Camel, one of only five left in the world. Apparently this British aircraft had been forced to land at the German frontline and was captured. The Germans repaired the aircraft and flew it until the end of the war when it was then taken to Berlin and exhibited in an air museum. During World War II it was moved to Poland for safekeeping, and put into storage, eventually restoration being completed in 2010. Looking at the flimsy wood and canvas construction, it must have taken a brave pilot to set off on dawn patrol in one of those “kites”. There were more substantial aircraft there, including a German Junkers Ju 52 transporter plane from World War II, a Harrier jump jet, and a plethora of MiGs. There’s too many exhibits to list here, but for readers genuinely interested in this sort of thing there’s a photo gallery. One final aircraft worthy of a mention is the 1973 USSR built Mil Mi-8 helicopter as used by Pope John Paul II, and on this occasion, Pope Bernard I.

Having had our fill of aircraft we headed back to the tram stop and travelled into the historic central district of Kraków old town. The entire medieval old town is among the first sites chosen for the UNESCO’s original World Heritage List, and it’s easy to see why. Dad and I wandered around the Main Square, apparently the largest medieval town square of any European city, admiring the exquisite architecture of buildings like the Cloth Hall and Town Hall Tower. Our walk also took in a number of beautiful churches. Many tourists seemed keen to take a ride around the square in the elegant horse-drawn white carriages, but we didn’t bother. Probably just as well, because thinking about it, all I can picture is something more akin to Steptoe and Son. Instead we decided to have a sit down to rest our weary legs, and have a coffee. We found a place called Cupcake Corner down a side street, and enjoyed a bagel and coffee each to keep us going until we had our evening meal. After relaxing for a while we found our way to Plac Wszystkich Świętych to catch a tram back to the hotel.

That evening, having consulted my pre-prepared crib sheet of possible restaurants, Dad and I set off again towards the square off Szeroka Street, and opted for the first place we encountered. This was Klezmer-Hois restaurant which is in a 14th century building that was once a ritual bathhouse. A young utterly miserable waitress led us through a warren of corridors past several dining rooms to what seemed the very furthest corner of the ground floor, into a large deserted room adorned with floral wallpaper, portraits and other pieces of art. I wondered if we’d inadvertently offended the waitress on arrival, and our punishment was to be ostracised in this distant, dark backroom, to be forgotten about. For some time we were the only people in there, but eventually we were joined by others who entered with the same bewildered look of “where is she taking me?”

Klezmer-Hois meal

Anyway you couldn’t grumble about the food which was excellent, both of us enjoying our choices very much. I decided on the Vegetarian Cholent (Jewish stew), and Dad ordered the Beef Goulash, which I worried might be a tad adventurous for him, but no it was polished off. These were washed down with a Leżajsk beer. The waitress did eventually crack a warm smile when she saw the tip we left as we departed.

I’d been keen to sample some Kraków nightlife so naturally my pre-trip research had included a few bars we might try. I was particularly drawn to an establishment called Propaganda Pub, one of the oldest bars I the district,  which I read played ska, reggae, punk, and rockabilly music, and had socialist memorabilia. Perfect. It was only a five minutes walk from Klezmer-Hois, so that was to be our first experience of a Polish pub. As we entered I wondered if I’d made the wrong choice. It was dimly lit, some might consider it a bit of a dive, and the clientele were all about half my age. Anyway the Owd Man seemed surprisingly unperturbed so we settled down at a small table and I got the beers in. The friendly barman poured us a couple of half litres of Zubr (Polish for Bison), a dark looking brew, which came to about £1.50 a piece.

My initial trepidation about the place subsided, and I started to enjoy the atmosphere. The walls had all manner of things hanging on them like old radios, bicycles, guitars, and the front end of a Trabant car. I might have felt that we both looked out of place there, but I got the impression nobody else felt we did or indeed cared. When it was time for a second drink I asked Dad if he wanted another there or to try another place. I was surprised and pleased that he enthusiastically said “Get another round in son!” A litre of Zubr each at Propaganda Pub had to suffice for the night as we had an early departure in the morning, we had a trip booked to the Auschwitz-Birkenau Memorial and Museum.

After another fine breakfast, on Wednesday morning we were picked up from the hotel by a guide in a Mercedes people-carrier at 8:30am. A few stops later to collect other customers, we were setting off on just over a hour’s journey to Auschwitz-Birkenau. I had an inkling we were close when I spotted a single railway line in the grass verge running for a while alongside a long straight road that eventually led to the museum coach park. I had a churn in my stomach when I saw that railway line, maybe a instantaneous realisation that it was likely to have brought countless people to their deaths. We got out of the vehicle, made our way to the entrance to meet our guide, and donned the headphones to hear her commentary. I’d seen the infamous “Arbeit Mach Frei” gates of Auschwitz many times in documentaries or photos, including those of Tina’s trip, but to actually walk through them was a very chilling experience indeed.

There have been many things written about Auschwitz-Birkenau over the years, pieces more eloquent than I could produce. It also does not seem appropriate to provide a descriptive account of our entire visit to the camp, as to me it could be seen as trivialising the atrocities that unfolded there to approximately 1.1 million people. The tour around the blocks housing the exhibits was full of evocative and appalling accounts. The whole visit was memorable and poignant, but there are two particular experiences I will expand on, because these affected me the most. The first was in Auschwitz camp Block 6 where we were led down a long corridor, and on each side of it were photographs of registered prisoners with their name, age, date of arrival at Auschwitz, and their date of death. Seeing their actual faces, their ages, and the very short period of time they spent at the camp before they died had a great impact. The second moment was at Birkenau camp when we were led to the railway wagon that marked the place where people disembarked from the trains and met their fate. Stood there with my Dad (79 at the time) I realised that if it had been us getting off that train then most likely it would be the last time we saw each other. Dad would almost certainly be selected to be immediately murdered in the gas chambers, and at 47 I might have been joining him. Or I may have been sent for forced labour and expired of starvation a few weeks later. This passage comes from the Auschwitz-Birkenau Museum website:

Age was one of the principal criteria for selection. As a rule, all children below 16 years of age (from 1944, below 14) and the elderly were sent to die. As a statistical average, about 20% of the people in transports were chosen for labour. They were led into the camp, registered as prisoners, and assigned the next numbers in the various series. Of the approximately 1.1 million Jews deported to Auschwitz, about 200 thousand were chosen in this way. The remainder, about 900 thousand people, were killed in the gas chambers.

Retracing the final steps taken by those poor souls as they made their way to the gas chambers was a very sombre and thought-provoking moment. Although those buildings of murder are now razed to the ground, what took place there should never be forgotten.

The journey back to Kraków was in near silence. That evening the mood was lightened by another visit to our favourite square in Kazimierz, this time to the Awiw Restaurant. It was a pleasant evening, mild enough to dine outside, entertained by a trio of young musicians playing Klezmer music, adding to the atmosphere. This time I tried the mixed vegetarian pierogi (Jewish dumplings) whilst Dad had an enormous burger.

Awiw Restaurant meal and music

Once again the food and beer were very good. After the meal we had a walk around the Kazimierz district passing a number of lively bars and venues, before ending up alongside the Vistula River. To save our legs we jumped on a tram for a couple of stops to bring us back close to our hotel. We decided to have another beer but didn’t want to walk as far as Propaganda Pub. So we settled in Artefakt Café which was just over the road from our hotel.

Artefakt Café had one wall of shelves full of books, and the clientele was a youthful set, that mainly looked like students, engrossed in animated conversation. There were a few others in there equally engrossed with the Ajax v Tottenham Hotspur UEFA Champions League Semi-Final Second Leg. The visit to Auschwitz-Birkenau Museum had tired out the Owd Man so he decided at half time to head back to our room. I’d initially intended to escort him back then return to Artefakt Café for the second half. However I discovered the game was on one of the few channels the chunky portable TV in our room offered, so I remained there to watch an absolutely astonishing match as Spurs came from 3-0 down on aggregate, Lucas Mouras scoring a second half hat-trick including a 96th minute goal to win it on the away goals rule. An exciting end to the day.

For Thursday I’d booked in advance a tour of the Museum of Kraków at Oskar Schindler’s former enamel factory at Lipowa Street. The museum contains the permanent Exhibition of Kraków under Nazi Occupation 1939–1945. As our entrance time was 12:40 we had the morning to fill. Once again we swooped for a tram day rider ticket, and headed off towards the old town. I’d wanted to try to photograph the Wawel Royal Castle, which dates back to the 14th century, and is set on a hillside overlooking the river. It was the first day we’d had a bit of drizzle so the photos of the castle and nearby St Andrew’s church didn’t really do them justice. We retraced our journey on the tram, and got off at the stop near the hotel so I could nip back to the room to answer the call of nature. Dad remained in the tram stop shelter. When I got back he was sat next to two homeless men who looked like they’d been in a fight, their faces bloodied and bruised. “Take me photo son”, he said, cheekily borrowing their cup of loose change which he held out appealingly. Later when the photos of the day were shared on Facebook, his act was so convincing that there were suggestions that I’d knackered him out, when in reality we’d barely got going that morning.

A part of the ghetto wall

I’d worked out that if we took the tram for a couple of stops, going over the river, we could get off at Plac Bohaterów Getta (Ghetto Heroes Square) and Schindler’s former factory was about a five minutes walk away. However we still had a while before we could enter the museum so we sought out a piece of the ghetto wall that remains today. The Nazi persecution of Jews in Kraków began immediately after the German army occupied the city in September 1939. In March 1941 the Kraków Ghetto was created in a part of the Podgórze district, and over 15,000 Jews were sent to it. Initially surrounded by barbed wire, in April 1941 Polish bricklayers began erecting a high wall around the ghetto with semicircular finials resembling Jewish gravestones. On 15th October 1941 the ghetto officially became a closed district, with a death penalty for anyone crossing it without a special pass. Fragments of the ghetto wall have been preserved in a couple of places and we saw the section at 27 Lwowska Street

Plac Bohaterów Getta .

On the 13th and 14th March 1943 the Nazi SS carried out the liquidation of the ghetto and 8,000 Jews considered fit for work were transported from Zgody Square to the nearby Płaszów concentration camp. About 2,000 were murdered on the spot. After the war Zgody Square was renamed Plac Bohaterów Getta (Ghetto Heroes Square). In 2005 a monument commemorating the Kraków ghetto and Kraków Jews was unveiled, consisting of 70 empty chairs to symbolise personal possessions left in the square after the liquidation of the ghetto. Dad and I walked back from the ghetto wall fragment to Plac Bohaterów Getta, and it was hard to imagine that the it was the scene of so many atrocities nearly 80 years ago. The empty chair sculptures certainly are a striking memorial and an important reminder of the square’s history.

Oskar Schindler’s former factory

After making the short walk to Lipowa Street we arrived at the Museum of Kraków at Oskar Schindler’s former enamel factory which is dedicated to the history of the Nazi occupation of from 1939 to 1945. Like many people I guess, I became aware of Oskar Schindler due to the 1993 Steven Spielberg film Schindler’s List. Schindler (1908-1974) was a German entrepreneur and a member of the Nazi Party, yet he is credited with saving approximately 1200 Jews by employing them in his factories.

Tina had told me that this museum was not to be missed, and the entire Kraków trip had been chosen around dates when there were available visiting slots at the museum. Despite the scheme to limit numbers, the foyer was very busy on arrival, and getting in was a bit of a scrum. The museum’s popularity was well merited. The museum is organised in a very clever and captivating way. Each of the 45 rooms are set out in great detail to resemble a very specific place in a chronological order. A few examples include a cobbled street, a hairdresser’s salon, a tram, a labour camp, the railway station, the ghetto, and Schindler’s office.

Schindler’s office

The use of interactive exhibits adds to the experience, with plenty of audio and visual material to engage with. You are left with a very real and sense of what life must have been like under the occupation, almost like walking through history. Dad and I spent 3 hours engrossed at the museum, but it could have easily been longer. It was one of the key highlights of the entire trip. For just over a fiver each it was an absolute bargain too. I highly recommend a visit.

After several hours on our feet it was the trusty tram that took us the half a mile journey back to the hotel, rather than Shanks’ pony. Keeping to the principle of stick with what you know, that evening we decided to return to the Ariel Restaurant for our meal. The portly waiter was rather exasperated with me as he proudly and flamboyantly read out a list of meat based house specialities only for me to plump for a vegetarian meal and ice cream for dessert. The ice cream seemed to be a particular insult, he wasn’t having this at all, refusing to take the order and pointing at better things on the menu. So when I changed it to crepes with apple filling and cinnamon sauce his smile returned and all was good. It was another succulent meal washed down with a beer. For our final night in Poland we returned to Artefakt Café for more beer as it was close to the hotel, once again mingling with Kraków’s hipsters!

The following morning as promised Tomasz and his taxi were bang on time outside the hotel waiting for us. Some final comments about the hotel. Our ground floor room was very comfortable and clean, and you couldn’t fault the breakfasts. The staff were also very friendly and helpful, so overall I’d recommend the hotel, especially as it’s a short walk from some pleasant restaurants and bars, plus it’s on a tramline. It may lack the charm of some of the hotels in the centre of the Jewish quarter, but for functionality, convenience, and cost I thought it was fine. As a place to rest your weary head at night, and have good feed in the morning, it was perfect.

Tomasz’s conversation and driving skills made the journey to the airport seem very short, and once again we found ourselves with plenty of time before our 10:50 flight. We had a smooth trip back, landing early in Leeds, and were soon on the 757 airport bus heading towards the city. After a few days of riding on public transport with quiet and polite Poles, witnessing some surly youth give the bus driver considerable grief because his banking app on his phone wouldn’t work to pay the fare was a bit of shock. By the time we got to the city centre it was around lunchtime. There had been talk of a final pint and a pub meal, or possibly us both going back to my house, but Dad was keen to get back to my Mum. So instead we ended up in one of the cafes in the arches by the station for some tasty chips and to consult the billy do before Dad caught a train to Manchester and then on to Stoke.

Our trip to Poland was a very enjoyable and memorable experience. We were lucky with the weather, it remained dry and mild for the majority of our stay, with just a bit of drizzle on the Thursday morning. We visited some very interesting places, and encountered friendly people wherever we went. There were plenty of laughs. But most important of all was the opportunity to spend some quality time with my dear owd Dad doing things that we both enjoy. It’s important to savour those moments especially thanks to COVID-19 we now haven’t seen each other for months. Kraków with Dad is a time I’ll treasure always.

Photo gallery of the Kraków trip