Newcastle upon Tyne: My Hero Hometown

I've been trying my hand at travel writing recently, noting that, no matter how much I love to travel to faraway places and how much I love those places, my favourite place in the world will always be my hometown. So I thought I'd write a "travel blog" as such about said town. To cement my appreciation. But it occurred to me, when I was deciding what to write about, that I'm not really entirely sure of what it is that I love about my hometown. The reason for this, probably, is that I don't fit the stereotype of a "Geordie" ie. a Newcastle resident. I don't even really have the accent, which is instantly recognisable all over the UK. I think a sense of common identity with other residents is usually what attaches people to the place they come from. But I think, for me, it's something different, and I'm going to attempt to figure out why over the next few paragraphs. I mean, I hope that this will also advertise the city to potential travellers, but I have no idea where I'm going with this.

I come from an area of Newcastle called Gosforth. People from the city tend to refer to Gosforth as "posh" and indeed it does have a fairly middle-class population. I think the perception of Newcastle, which has a reputation as a working-class area, to people who have never been is that no parts of it are middle-class, which is ridiculous obviously. And, yes, my parents did have a nice house when I was growing up. But they are hardly rich. They just saved hard because having a nice house was important to them. My Dad left school to join the army and my mam is a nurse. I never felt strange or out of place growing up in Gosforth, but things changed when I went to high school. See, I'm a Catholic and so, whilst every area of Newcastle has a Catholic primary school, there's only three Catholic high schools. This meant that I attended high school in the opposite end of the city. I was "bused" off, age 11, to the west end, where my school was, and suddenly I was surrounded by people from all over the city. And, being from Gosforth, I was quickly regarded as posh. Cue the usual high school teasing and a sudden confusion and bewilderment on my part. People often talk about being embarrassed about where they come from in a new environment because of class, but it's usually the other way around. And, of course, I wouldn't disparage the experiences of a working class 11 year-old thrust into a middle-class community and being ostracised, and of course I imagine their experience would be a hell of a lot worse than mine. I was never bullied or anything like that. I just feel like it can happen the other way, too. I spent most of my teenage years trying to avoid telling people where I lived and trying to speak with more of a working-class accent. Same thing happened to my sisters, much to the confusion of my mam. In fact, there's a lingustic insight into the whole experience. Only in the North-East of England to people refer to their mothers as "mam." I refer to mine as such, as does my mother to my grandmother. Yet, before I went to high school, I called her "mum" like any other Englishman/boy. The shift to "mam" was convergence, an attempt to feel accepted.

Now, this all probably sounds like the pathetic whinging of an entitled little brat who can't handle a bit of schoolyard patter. I don't intend for it to come across that way. I'm not complaining, obviously, just making observations. Nobody chooses where they came from, and most kids don't choose where they end up at that time in their life. And sometimes it could overstep the mark. My sister, who is way more headstrong than I am, was once reduced to tears when she started high school and stayed at a friends house in another part of the city, only for a family friend to bully her all night for being from Gosforth and playing the piano. Suck it up, some might say, you don't know how lucky you are. Well, if you'd met my sister you woud know she isn't exactly a cry baby or easily hurt, so I don't really understand the necessity of a fully grown man with an inferiority complex reducing a 12 year-old girl to tears for something she has no control of. I'm not pretending this is a thing that happens a lot, I just think society's obsession with class is ludicrous sometimes and it burns bridges unnecessarily. Criticise the flawed system in which we live all you like, I'm totally for that, but don't hold it against people who haven't wronged you in the slightest. It's judgmental.

Fast-forward ten years and I'm a degree-educated freelance writer who pays his way by working nightshift in a McDonald's. I'm working-class. These days, it's family parties and meeting new people that makes me feel awkward, when they ask me what I do (Oh, I am ehm .... a manager at a very successful restaurant ... got 4 stars actually - how are they to know they're for cleaning toilets not michelin stars?). I've essentially turned the whole situation on its head. I'm not embarrassed of my life, though. Maybe the feeling I had about my background in high school was embarrassment. This is different. I just can never be bothered with the likes of "oh well actually McDonald's is a great company to work for." I get the fish-out-of-water perspective from the other direction now. I've never really been enough of a stereotype to fit into either camp. And that's never bothered me. And it's never made life hard. I have good friends who are non-judgmental. I must admit, as well, that liking football helps, in a city where it's in the blood. I did as a kid but went through a period in high school of not being interested, a time when it would have made a lot of sense to be. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, on the whole I'm quite happy, but there's always going to be that feeling of not fitting in, I think, present throughout my whole life. And that's fine, why would you want to be a boring conformist anyway? I'm not ashamed to be me. But, like I say, that isn't to say that life does not come without its fair share of existential/identity crises, and sometimes you can be left feeling isolated. I recently saw a tweet which summed it up I thought:

Now, you're probably wondering where on Earth I'm going with this. There's a song by a band I like, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, called 'Under the Bridge.' In the deeply autobiographical lyrics, lead singer Anthony Kiedis, in a description of his bitter isolation from all that he loves, laments that he feels his only friend is the city of Los Angeles, as he heads 'under the bridge downtown' to bury his misery in a cocoon of drugs and self-harm. Now, I of course am not comparing myself in this vein to Anthony Kiedis, who's had a hell of a harder paper round than little clean-cut, middle-class me and my first-world woes. The list of places where we differ is of course long, but the difference I want to address is the the role of the city in the song. Kiedis sees this as his lowest point. The city is a non-entity, essentially; it's just geography. He craves his friends and loved-ones again.

I, on the other hand, do not view my hometown in that way. When I've felt ostracised, or left out, sometimes I, too, have felt that the city is my only friend. But I've never lamented that. I'd often finish school, feeling miserable, and take some time to myself by shunning the school bus and travelling home via the city centre, the bus through the west end, where everyone viewed me as some entitled posh kid, goes past a beautiful view of the city, especially at sunset, which always made me feel welcome. Over the rooves of the houses you could see the Angel of the North, a huge statue that overlooks the city.

And then I would spend hours in the town. Bookshops were the frequent of a little nebbish like me. There's a lovely Waterstones in an old building opposite Grey's monument. In fact, if you're ever walking around Newcastle, look up once in a while. The architecture of the buildings is very pretty. It's a beautiful town centre. I never left the city for University, where I would frequently introduce myself to non-local (usually actual-posh, from down south), students as being from Newcastle only for them to be disappointed that I did not possess the novelty accent. But I always felt welcome in the beautiful cafes and coffee shops in which I spent most of my time (this is another story, available on my page), and could easily walk down to the quayside and marvel at the bridges over the river.

The respite I've found in the parks of this city has always been nothing short of therapeutic. In my teenage years, when I went through patches of extreme isolation, I would take two buses to far-flung parts of the city because I liked the parks. And even nowadays, if I'm feeling the need for a break or the world is getting me down, the city always lifts me up. I can go to the artisan cinemas or the lovely craft beer pubs and all the other things I love, but there's a bittersweet nostalgia sometimes about just walking around this city. Whether it be a park, a street or even a shopping centre (I have a soft spot for a day out in the metrocentre). Owning a car these days means I can drive up to the gorgeous coastline too. We are blessed in this part of the world to have such beautiful geography. And, like I say, it isn't just the city centre or the famous coastline that the travel guides will assure you you must visit while you're here.

I've lived in six different areas of Newcastle now, and I've always found something beautiful wherever I've been. And, most importantly, I've always felt at home. But why is that? The area I live now is nowhere I've ever been before I moved there. I spoke of how welcome I felt in New York and how beautiful it was, but what's the difference? Why didn't I instantly think of a way I could move there? Why did I describe it as the second-greatest city on Earth?

When I started writing this, I didn't know, but I think I've figured out why in the process. The isolation I've felt throughout my life is born out of living in a city, and the obsession with class and status that exists in that culture. That said, the city itself retains the least-judgmental role in all this. Never has it made me feel unwelcome. And believe me it may have saved my life once or twice over the years. For Anthony Kiedis, it was an indication that he'd reached rock-bottom, for me, I think, it was a reminder that you don't need to be something you're not. I love this part of the world because no matter what anybody tells me about what my identity should or shouldn't be, it will always be mine. Perhaps the Angel of the North was a guardian angel, after all. Halfway through this, I noticed there's a competition of sorts to enter about hometown heroes, and I think I might enter Newcastle as my nomination. It doesn't fit the rules, of course. It's a place not a person. But my hometown is my hero. And I'd just like to share that feeling. Anyway, night beckons and so do Big Macs. Don't forget where you come from. It won't forget you.