The Give 'Em Beans! Guide to... SOUTHPORT
I've always thought Southport was a strange name for a seaside town in the North West of England. It isn't in the south and it hasn't got a port. Southport must have been named by someone with an appalling knowledge of geography, a wicked sense of humour and an incredible streak of optimism. For not only is this place ever going to be in the south of anywhere, it could never, by any stretch of the imagination, ever have a port. The miniature boating lake on the seafront promenade doesn't count. You've no doubt heard all the jokes about how far the tide goes out here. Sadly, they're not jokes. At low tide, Southport beach looks like the Sahara without the camels; miles and miles of windblown sand stretching as far as the eye can see. When the tide goes out, it really means it, and it looks like it's never coming back. Like some rebellious, angst ridden teenager, It spends more time out than it does in. When it finally does come back, and there's a chance to get in some serious swimming, you find that because the sand is so flat, it's a three mile hike before the water reaches your knees. If the donkeys on the beachfront ever made a dash for freedom they'd be lost for days. At low tide, looking out to the horizon, you'd swear it would be possible to walk across the Irish Sea all the way to Dublin. When the tide does come in, it doesn't arrive with foaming white water and a great, rolling crash of breakers. It just trickles apologetically along as if it doesn't really want to come in at this particular point on the coast. But all that sand is no ordinary sand; it's really what Southport is famous for. The greatest steeplechaser of all time, Red Rum, trained here to become a Grand National legend. 300,000 tons of Southport sand is excavated every year and sold for uses as diverse as top quality glass making, foundries, pipe lining, turf cultivation, aggregates and road making. There's nothing quite like it anywhere else. Fifteen years ago it was shipped to Saudi Arabia because the Middle Eastern kingdom's desert sand, with its fine and rounded grains, was no good for specialist foundry work. But there's no danger of it running out, quite the reverse. There's more of it every year as about 1.5 million tons of fresh sand are naturally deposited each year by the sea. So how did a place like Southport ever turn into a holiday resort? It was probably the nearest place to Liverpool where the Scousers could be trusted not to go in the water and drown themselves. With the sea being so shallow it would take a determined man to do a Reginald Perrin here. You'd be exhausted long before you reached a point where it became deep enough for you to shrug off your mortal coil. There's a long pier sticking out into the sand like some shipwrecked wood and steel monster washed up far beyond the tide line. Given the reluctance of the sea to show any kind of presence the pier is hardly ever surrounded by water, which must save the council a fortune in maintenance. The Palace Theatre showcases the music hall turns that still do the rounds of British seaside resorts every summer; Les Dennis starring in 'Summer Variety', while Pleasureland is one of the most depressing funfairs I've ever been to. It's full of rickety old rides that look as though they should have a condemned notice slapped on them. The promenade is actually quite pleasant. A wide pavement is separated from the sea, or rather the sand, by a series of gardens full of colourful flowers, boating and bathing pools and typical resort attractions like crazy golf, putting greens and bowling greens. It's quite a nice place to go in summer for an evening stroll. You can imagine them holding the Miss Southport contest, the girls wobbling along in their swimsuits and high heels, in front of a colourful flowerbed which spells out the town's name in geraniums. The floral displays are quite something, but I suppose that for the town which boasts the premier Flower Show in the country, it's hardly surprising. But cross over on to the other side and there's the usual mix of tatty amusement arcades, bingo halls and fish and chip shops. Fortunately, they don't go on forever. Southport isn't as brash as Blackpool, Morecambe or Rhyl. Surprisingly, for a place that attracts more than its fair share of Scousers, it's quite restrained, almost genteel. And nowhere is this more obvious than in Lord St, one block behind the seafront. Here the main shops stand discreetly behind an attractive tree lined avenue. The pavements are wide and the shoppers shelter from the elements under an ornate, Victorian canopy. It's all very middle class from the upmarket department store to Marks and Spencers. One word really sums it up. It's nice. Yes, that's it. Southport is really rather nice. It doesn't change as you move out into the residential areas further inland. The houses are strung out in lines parallel to the coast behind Lord St. It's the same sort of semi-detached suburbia found in other seaside towns, but in Southport, there seems to be more of it. And the streets are all lined with trees and grass verges. Southport is so middle class that they don't even have any council houses. Or if they do, I've never seen them. As if to emphasise its middle class credentials the town is surrounded by golf courses. Not just any old courses. They hold the Open at Formby. Between there and Southport the coast is lined with mile after mile of sand dunes, emphasising the similarity the area has with the Sahara. But there's still no camels. The only blot on the landscape is the huge gasometer which is visible for miles around across the flat, Lancashire plain. But it's a useful landmark because Haig Avenue, the home of Southport FC, is right underneath it. Although the football ground is just off the main road into town from Preston, it's hidden from view by a school. This being middle class Southport, it looks like it's a grant maintained school. If it isn't, it should be. Architecturally it resembles Park View School with its buildings set in the centre of a huge area of playing fields. Turn right after the school, and that's Haig Avenue. The ground is one of the best in the Conference following its refurbishment several years ago. When Southport lost their Football League status, the ground quickly degenerated into a very sad affair. The large grandstand fell into a parlous state with broken seats and litter all over the place, while the terracing on the other three sides was bulldozed flat. That's all been sorted out and there's an air of confidence and authority at the place. It's the same feel you used to get at Holker St when Ray Wilkie was in charge. No wonder they're doing better than Barrow. So Southport isn't that bad a place. It's not really a football town, but the fans turn out when the team are successful. You wouldn't want to spend your holidays here, but it's all right for a day trip in summer when there's nothing on television. One word of warning. Don't go in winter. It's probably quite depressing. Issue 038 - January 1999