GEMMA ROSE

SCARBOROUGH: A CULTURAL APPRECIATION

 

“Babe, I got you a present.”

“Is it edible?”

“Yes.”

“Well, as you’re in Scarborough I’m guessing it’s a willy shaped lollipop.”

 

How did he know? Perhaps he has been along the seafront at South Bay when some of the classier items for sale include smelly balls and insult rock, (quite how someone like my dad would react to a stick of rock with ‘you arsehole’ written through the middle) but at least we know these things are meant to be tacky and insulting. But some of the other things, I’m not so sure.

 

The reclining nymphs for example were difficult to categorise, but the miniature gnomes are even more difficult to understand yet easy to find in a shop that purported to sell serious mementoes in one of Britain’s premier seaside towns. Walking along the seafront with its arcades and souvenir shops was an endless source of temptation. Not to buy the rubbish that was generally on sale, but to test the reaction of people and to see if they thought about it the same way I did.

 

I so longed to take to the counter a statuette of a woodland hedgehog, accompanied alarmingly by a slightly bemused seal, both with my name printed on the front in a prominent position for no extra charge, and say to the proprietor with the slightly wistful tone of someone who would spend more money if they had it: “Ooh you’ve got some lovely stuff.”

 

Scarborough has two bays, two sides of life and needs at least two visits before you can take in everything the town has to offer. Which at first impressions would appear that anything edible was in the shape of a penis, and anything that wasn’t in the shape of a penis supported an impressive pair of boobs.

 

The harbour however, is somewhat of a delight to walk around. The small boats are illuminated as the lights come on in the old town and you can hear the wind clinking the ropes against the masts of the small craft at anchor. And I defy anybody to be unimpressed by Scarborough castle. We parked the car next to the ‘do-nut’ shack where for the paltry price of 60p your body got to decide which comes first: heart attack or projectile vomiting. The footpath up to Scarborough castle did not fill us with much promise, but when you reach the top it is unexpectedly impressive.

 

You cannot fail to appreciate the grandeur of the panoramic views of the North and South Bay and at the same time gain the first bit of understanding of the power of the ocean and the effect it must have had on the development of the town since it first became an inhabited outpost some three thousand years ago. Two thousand years before the Vikings had even heard of it.

 

The contrast between the two bays is remarkable. The North is a mix of a 1950’s seaside town with the traditional, brightly painted beach huts complemented by modern cafes and bars. Meanwhile, the South Bay has the natural magnificence of the beach. The wooded path into town juxtaposed with the tackiness of the Olympia Leisure Arcade and Coney Island - both promising fun for all the family. The faded elegance of The Grand Hotel lies metaphorically somewhere in between, and sadly seems to be, in spirit, getting closer to Coney Island by the day with its faded paintwork and overgrown garden.

 

If you ever find yourself in Scarborough, hunt down the seafront shop selling the large mugs with a handle that you are somehow reluctant to take too firmer grip of. Perhaps it should bear the slogan: ‘Scarborough. Come again.'

 

I’ll leave you to work out the implications.