Bootle to Blackpool

On the way to Blackpool, we drove into Bootle, Merseyside (Liverpool), which is where the Jacksons came from. (Jackson was our mother's maiden name.) The street they lived in is no longer there but we got a good sense of the area. It's a very poor area, no different really from when our ancestors lived there, according to my research.

We drove on from there towards Blackpool, on some lovely quiet roads, and through some quaint villages with some doors opening almost onto the street. Our GPS was better behaved (or we are getting used to her) until near the end of our journey when she neglected to tell us that after turning right at one point we would need to be in the far left lane to almost immediately turn left. I indicated and began to move over, only to step hard on the brakes as one idiot came from nowhere at well over the speed limit. He missed us by a whisker.

Driving down into Blackpool was a nightmare, with one-way streets, endless rows of cars, both parked and moving, and crowds of people. I'd been to Blackpool before, but it hadn't been as busy then. We were visiting Blackpool only to see where our Grandmother's family lived until they left for Australia in the mid-1920s.

We had to drive beyond The Albany, on a one-way street, because there were no parking spots free for some distance. We put 50p into the machine, for half an hour, until we found out where the car park was. When we came inside to check in, we were told that because we had booked online, we were at the top. More stairs! When I asked about parking (I'd requested it when booking), I was told that parking couldn't be reserved online, that it has to be done direct. How antiquated is that? However, the receptionist told us, the owner could possibly have a spot for us, but we'd have to wait until he returned. We returned to the car and collected just enough stuff for the night and next day and returned to trudge our way up endless stairs.

I walked downstairs again to see the owner, who agreed to park our car in his private car park, for £5. I gave him the key, then walked back upstairs to collect £5, down again to pay him. He told me that there was to be a light show on 'the front' (which is what they call the area in front of the sea) that evening, so Lindy and I decided to go. We also thought fish and chips was in order for dinner, but before that, we needed to find High Street, granny's family home. We asked at reception if there was a map or any brochures, but all we got was 'no', so we asked if there is a tourist bureau. On the front, was the answer, so off we went. 

The Front was packed with people either standing, sitting on low stone walls, or walking to and fro. There were cars and trams and booths where one could buy all sorts of laser lights and fairground sort of stuff. The ocean was very quiet, not seeming to move at all. It was high tide, and the only 'beach' we saw was mud. There were seagulls everywhere. 

We finally found the Info Centre and were given a map of the city. I had an idea of where High Street was but 10 years is a long time, and there are a lot more high rise buildings now. 

We found the house and rang the bell. We told the young woman who answered the story of the house and showed her the old photos we had. I had hoped she'd invite us in, but we could hear a child in the background, and she seemed anxious to go. She did give us permission to take photos, so we did.

As the family story goes, our great grandmother and great grandfather bought this house to run as a boarding house after great grandfather was injured in a mining accident. After they had purchased it, they found out that it had previously been a house of ill repute. Great Grandma took to emptying a bucket of water from the upper floor onto the single men who rang the doorbell at all hours. They soon got the message.

After taking our photos, we thought we'd find the library so we could use the Internet to find a map that showed the church where they were married. Although we asked for directions to the library, we never did find it, so back to the Albany we went, and up those dreaded stairs once again. On the way, we called into a supermarket and collected a few supplies.

At 7:15 we set off to find dinner. Lindy had fish and chips; I opted for chicken and chips instead. The little fish and chip shop was crowded and noisy, but the food was delicious. When we left the crowds had swelled considerably and down on the front it was wall to wall people, including kids, babies and dogs. The whole street was lit up, and so were a few vehicles. Sideshow alley was in full swing.The Tower was lit up with changing laser lights, and still, the crowds came. At 8:30 the fireworks began. This is apparently an annual event, where teams set up firework displays and are judged each week to find,the best. Tonight it was France. Next week, we were told it would be Canada.

Once the fireworks were finished, we escaped to the relative quiet of our hotel. I say 'relative' because in Blackpool, if it's not a freezing night, most people spend the evening hours on the front steps of their houses and we could hear them talking and laughing well into the night.

I don't know what it is about the English and their bathrooms, but as usual, we had a struggle with the shower. At the Albany, there were no taps. The dial on the box on the wall of the shower stall was at stop, so I moved it around, but still no water. My turn to call for help. We figured out that the red switch on the wall outside the bathroom door was to turn the water on! Success. Wouldn't you think there would be a sign above the switch to indicate what it was for?

We staggered down the Mountainous stairs at 8 a.m. for breakfast, only to have to wait - breakfast is at 8:30 we were told. Who eats breakfast so late? Maybe all those people who stayed up until all hours. (We discovered later that breakfast is earlier on weekdays.) The dining room was below ground level with the kitchen behind it, and we remembered Granny's stories of the family giving up their rooms to boarders and sleeping in the kitchen.

It was worth the wait - a true 'English breakfast' with cereal, fruit, yoghurt, juice, eggs (scrambled or poached), bacon, sausages (various), black pudding, white pudding, hash browns, potato gems, tomato, mushrooms, baked beans, toast and tea or coffee. We ate enough to last us through the most strenuous of days.

After we'd recovered from breakfast, we got permission to check out after ten, leaving our car and bags there while we went to see if we could find the church Granny was married at, if it was still there? It was only a 15-minute walk to the corner of Dickson and Cocker Street, and there it was, still there although a Methodist Church now; it was described as a Wesleyan church on the marriage certificate. We took a few photographs and began to walk back. We passed a post office so stopped in to buy a stamp for my postcard to Aunty Dolly, Granny's youngest daughter. There was a man being served, so we made a queue while the customer and the postal clerk carried on a conversation. We finally got our turn and what a talkative man he was. He said he'd been there for 20 years and had seen the place deteriorate in the last ten. Apparently, it's now an area of high unemployment, ex-cons and thieves. We could quite believe him.

We returned to the Albany to check out and headed off to Haworth, although it took us some time to clear the one-way streets. I can't say we were  sorry to see the back of Blackpool.