Howard: Dead Roses

I spent last weekend in Lancaster. I had no reason to be there, other than having never been, and having a few days off.

What follows is a full and frank review of Lancaster. If you’re from Lancaster and feel like complaining, hold your horses, son.

Twin

First, I’ve always referred to Lancaster as York’s evil twin. Historically it has much in common with our home city, experiencing similar groups of people living there at similar times. It wasn’t until the middle ages when the rivalry truly kicked off, thanks in no small part to the War of the Roses.

The royal houses of York and Lancaster duked it out for the crown, Game of Thrones-style, with Lancaster’s Tudor dynasty prevailing. They might have won the war but get this: Lancaster is a bit of a dump.

The city between

Again, if ye be of Lancastrian descent, hold ye tongue a moment. Although I shall stick to my use of the phrase ‘bit of a dump’, I do so with the greatest of respect. Because York is also a bit of a dump these days, too; but in very different ways.

On one side of Lancaster sits the ancient castle, which was until 2011 a working prison. On the other side a hill stretches upwards, adorned with the enormous (and climbable) Ashton Memorial, offering sweeping vista all the way to Blackpool Tower. Lancaster city centre, however, is a compact cluster of shops, markets, concrete malls, and derelict mills.

I wandered around expecting to find attractions, historical interpretation on every lump of old brickwork, and a towering cathedral worthy of the so-called capital of Lancashire. I didn’t find any of that. Sure, the castle was interesting when I took the tour (90 minutes of gruesome execution details) and there were a couple of art galleries to be found on the older streets, but that was it.

Goggles

Then I realised I was still wearing my York Goggles. York Goggles are what makes a guy originally from Doncaster, of all places, completely judgemental when he visits other cities. I slammed Birmingham a few years back in these pages and have attacked the aforementioned Donny several dozen times. Why? Because York breeds snobs.

It’s easy to see why. York is undeniably a beautiful and interesting city. It’s England’s Norway, constantly being voted the best place to live and work. We are historically important, which makes us famous both in history textbooks and on TV. There aren’t many violent historical dramas about Romans or Vikings that don’t mention York.

And that’s the problem.

The illusion

A few days before arriving in Lancaster I was in London. Now, in a fight between the three, London would win. London would win in a fight against any other city, even one of the really over populated ones in China. It’s a leviathan, both in terms of historical significance and modern-day importance. But it’s mostly not a real place.

Walk along The Mall to Buckingham Palace and you aren’t in England. Cross Westminster bridge in the shadow of Big Ben and you aren’t in England. Sit in Trafalgar Square and let a pigeon try to eat your sarnie and you aren’t in England. These places are all England-referencing illusions that exist purely to adorn the backdrops of Instagram posts.

Get out of the centre of London and take a walk through Brentford, where my hotel was, and then you’re in England. Because it’s a bit of dump. But it’s real.

Reality

That’s the difference between York and Lancaster. York is Tower Bridge with views over to the Shard, designed with aesthetic intent. Lancaster is the Sainsbury’s local I popped into on South Ealing Road because I needed a bottle of water. It’s a real place where real things happen.

I realise this may seem like I’m being down on York, calling it an unreal place, but that is increasingly how it feels. I’ve called this place my home for almost 20 years now, but even in that short time have seen a huge transformation from a picturesque and interesting city, to a pre-packaged tourist offer.

Lancaster seems to have mostly avoided that, for now at least. It still feels like a city in England where people live, work, and do stuff. Whereas York (or, to give it its brand name, The City of York) can be purchased, be it on a keychain or emblazoned on the chest of a generic hoody. If we’re not careful, Disney will soon notice our profit potential and snap us up, installing Mickey Mouse as Mayor and Yoda as our MP.

So, to see York from yesteryear, before the city’s character was eroded by its own success, visit Lancaster.