Fair Scarborough

Just last Bank Holiday Monday was a time travelling visit to the North Yorkshire seaside resort of Scarborough.

On reflection the day was wonderful.

I can honestly say that of my many and varied experiences at and around the coast of Britain it was right up there for surprise and entertainment value.

After an early start from home in Hull we stopped off for a coffee and a bit of breakfast at the cafe high up on the natural promontory of Olivers Mount. It was a balmy morning even by 10am but sitting at a table on the roadside terrace there was a faint and cooling breeze. That landmark on the south side of the town, with its monolithic war memorial,  gives a panoramic vantage point over the grey slate and red clay tiles roofscape.

Scarborough is a rare blend of historic castle, rolling topography, bustling harbour, notable buildings and the traditional trappings of a very well patronised resort that has welcomed and thrived from the seasonal influx of visitors from the industrial conurbations of Yorkshire and beyond.

There is no place like it anywhere else across the nation.

Descending from Olivers Mount along the course of the motorbike circuit which, even in the relative cocoon of a motor vehicle is still a frightening sensation, we made our way through a gap in the long line of stationary traffic on Filey Road and headed briefly out of town.

Our destination was a car park just above the natural amphitheatre of Holbeck Hill .

I say natural but qualify this description in that what now exists used to in fact be the site of a large and well regarded Hotel and grounds but following a rapid and media covered landslip were completely destroyed and subsequently cleared.

It is a steep and rough dressed track down to sea level but seeing the clear blue sea and clean sands makes any prospect of a slip or fall somehow worth the risk.

My wife and her family were regular holidaymakers in Scarborough in her younger years. There is a bit of a tear in her eye as she recalls the hours spent in the sea water lido but sadly this is long gone and replaced with a patch of ornamental turf and a circular paved feature.

A few beach huts stand in an abandoned state although others were being advertised for daily hire for £32 or on a heavily discounted equivalent for the season.

The area of the South Bay is a throwback to the halcyon days of the Edwardian and inter war eras.

At the concert hall of The Spa we intrude on a recital by a band dressed in peasant garb playing waltzes and classical folk tunes. By intruding I mean that we didn't pay but loitered around in defiance of the notices not to do so on the balcony walkway above the stage and public seating area. There was a reasonable attendance of Seniors in smart casual attire and straw boaters as though they had arrived in the 1930's and just stayed on for an everlasting matinee.

We left those genteel and civilised surroundings on the hydraulic lift, the oldest in Britain, which travels in a perpendicular action up to a walkway and bridge into the main part of Scarborough. It was cheating really as the alternative route by foot is lengthy and tiring.

The town was buzzing with Bank Holiday visitors.

The Grand Hotel, at one time reputed to be the biggest building in Europe and rumoured to have been selected by Hitler as a post invasion North of England Headquarters, was a hive of activity with coaches dropping off and picking up as though on a conveyor belt.

A snaking path took us back down to the shoreline where the beach was already crowded, similarly the amusement arcades and retail shops selling knick-knacks, buckets and spades, fudge and doughnuts.

It was a case of dodging the mass of pedestrians all of the way to the harbourside. Queues were waiting on the slipway for a seat on a powerboat, the noise of which was echoing across South Bay as it made frequent circuits of the Bay. Others dangled hand lines into the waters around the fishing and pleasure boats.

The funfair at the quay marked the farthest north of our walk and we struck along a path below the Castle and into the Old Town.

The narrow streets have some character Georgian and early Victorian town houses but remaining a well kept secret being just off the main footfall areas of the resort.

The winding lanes took us back to the hustle and bustle and we followed the signposts for the Italian Gardens.

Although I was aware of their existence I had never actually made it to this landscaped wonder. They are not to be missed if only for the peace and quiet and the view through the trees of a sparkling ocean.

By now we were hungry and last stop off was The Clock Cafe for a cold drink and homemade cakes. You could be mistaken for thinking you were on the Riviera in that spot such was the weather and outlook.

A bit hot and bothered but nevertheless happy we returned to the car park.

The interior of the car was sweltering and took a few minutes to cool down to a comfortable temperature.

It had been a truly remarkable day in Scarborough.

Of course, I would be back there within a couple of days in the course of my work but that glimpse of the good old days of an English coastal resort would still be fresh in my mind and for many years to come.