I am not sure what is going on in Scarborough, North Yorkshire.
It gives the impression of being a very nice and cultured place.
Impressive sweeping North and South Bays, the silhouette of the Castle ruins atop the craggy cliff above the shelter of the harbour, attractive Victorian buildings from the halcyon days of its status as a genteel resort, a busy shopping area, and the hills and deep valleys across the townscape.
Most of us have an idealistic image of the place. I suppose it is natural in that we are usually there by choice, visiting for the day in the peak summer period amongst the crowds or with only a few scattered souls and our own thoughts in the off season. It can be bleak in November when all hospitality and joviality has upped and left and the shutters are down on the Amusements and kiosks.
It is a wealthy place with the successful and prudent retirees enjoying their golden years in relative affluence. The old moneyed families whose fortunes were made in the industrial areas of West and South Yorkshire invested in Scarborough decades ago and still retain a granite fronted flat with a sea view or an expansive Edwardian detached or semi with a back garden rising steeply up the slopes of Weaponess to the physical landmark of Olivers Mount.
And yet, just beneath the surface veneer of a well to do and happy seaside town lurks all of the usual social and economic problems of a recessionary Britain.
This is borne out by statistics of poverty amongst the resident and transient population, high unemployment albeit fluctuating with the level of holiday and leisure trade and one of the highest levels of house repossessions in the country.
Common to many of the great resort towns around our shores the abundance of struggling hotels and Bed and Breakfast establishments has provided a facility to relocate and temporarily accommodate families from our largest cities and conurbations. I am not really sure of the mechanics of this, whether the displaced family units come with a bounty of cash, in effect they are transferred from one council to another local authority lock, stock and barrel. A bit like an on loan football player.
The hopes and dreams of those settling in Scarborough may have foundered shortly after the feeling of being on a prolonged vacation also evaporated. It can be a hard life living in such beautiful and dramatic surroundings and yet struggling to find sustainable employment that extends beyond the Easter to mid September boom months. It is in this comparatively short window of opportunity that the income has to be generated in order to support the majority of the businesses and livelihoods in the quieter and longer part of the year.
As I drove up to Scarborough early this morning I found myself in a long convoy of vehicles which I joined from the very outskirts of Hull consisting , apart from myself, entirely of white vans.
These were liveried with the names of contractors of all trades and expertise, running low on their suspension from, what I took to be a full load of tools, materials and workmen. The roof racks bristled with lengths of copper pipe, plastic fascias, ladders and parts of scaffolding rigs.
The long drive up and over the hilly cross country route through Langtoft and Foxholes was a slow procession. There was either an inability to overtake because of the increased axle weight of the vehicles or a general reluctance to start whatever work they were contracted for. A few cigarette packets and bacon butty wrappers bounced or flapped down the road as they were discarded from the passenger side windows at regular intervals.
The steep descent of Staxton Hill onto the flat valley approach to Scarborough saw a flash of brake lights in sequence as the drivers struggled to control the speed of the overloaded vans as they threatened to plummet out of control and actually make use of the otherwise overgrown and infrequently required sand pit of the runaway lane.
I took the convoy to be a positive thing. There must be a good volume of work to be had in Scarborough in order to entice the tradesmen away from their normal local areas.
It was May, after all, and a good proportion of the skills on offer would be in demand to spruce up the cobwebbed and mothballed holiday lets, flats, B&B's and to refresh the dormant shops and attractions.
Perhaps a bit late in the year but then again the weather had only just improved for the Mayday weekend after a pretty dismal first quarter.
Scarborough had not, after all, forgotten or betrayed its heritage and was preparing to put on the equivalent of its best smiling face for the next five months which was expected and indeed demanded by its fans and regulars. As with every preceeding year it would not disappoint.
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