From wikipedia: Bridlington is a seaside resort, minor Sea fishing port and civil parish on the Holderness Coast of the North Sea, in the East Riding of Yorkshire, England.
Val's aunt Barbara used to live there, now she is buried there. She ran the family newsagency, and we stayed with her for a few days from time to time when we were student nurses. The problem was getting there. Having no money, we hitchhiked.
Once we got only as far as Hull before it got dark. (Hull is now referred to as Kingston upon Hull in the east ridng of yorkshire and famous for housing the poet Philip Larkin, now deceased.) This was of no concern to us then. All we needed was a bed for the night free of charge. We called on the police. It so happened that Hull had a system of providing rooms (paid for by the city) for waifs and strays like us. In no time the cops delivered us to a suburban home where we were greeted with smiles.
It was early evening. Not wanting to waste the opportunity for a good night out, we found a pub. Before we knew it beer was flowing and the conpany looked good. Hours later two guys brought us back on their motorbikes to the temporary digs. No smiles from the landlady this time, she thrust our bags upon us and sent us into the night. We'd broken curfew. There was nothing for it but to walk the streets until it got light.
About one in the morning we knocked on the door of a policeman's kiosk. These were small wooden structures in the street to which police on the beat could repair for a break. The hut was warm and the cop was kind, made us a cup of tea and gave us a Kit Kat. But we couldn't stay there all night so he suggested that we return to the police station and throw ourselves on their mercy.
Back we went in the cold March air. We found the police station, explained our predicament and asked for a cell. At 2 am we ended up lying on the waiting room floor, travel bags under our heads for pillows.
The cleaners woke us in the morning, thought we were on the Duke of Edinburgh Award scheme (for genral derring do and endeavour) gave us tea and custard tarts. Our lift out of Hull was on the back of an open top lorry carrying straw bales. The wind sucked all the moisture out of our bodies and the air from our lungs. We fetched up in Bridlington with wild hair and stinging cheeks.
Today's journey was more sedate and much warmer in a diesel engine VW Golf. The tide was out, the sea a sandy brown seguing into grey. Broome this was definitely not. A number of people were taking the air in wheelchairs. The Brits are a hardy lot. It was bracing walking against the wind to the harbour, the scene of another past adventure.
There is nothing more forlorn than an English seaside resort out of season. It was three months before the amusement parks opened and the day trippers showed up. We talked some crab boatmen into taking us out with them. At 4.30am, clutching sandwiches made by Aunty Barb we boarded. The fsherman were brothers, big strapping lads with ruddy cheeks. Did I mention it was March and we were heading out into the North Sea? It was freezing. The toilet was a bucket. I was not game to use it and held on until we docked at noon. The men raised up crab pots, released the crabs into vats on the deck, re-baited the pots and put them down again. Sometimes one of them would cry 'Lobster mine', claiming the lobster which had crawled into the crab pot. The lobsters were dark blue which surprised me. I'd only seen boiled ones before. Mercifully the seas were not rough and the sandwiches stayed down.
After fish and chips at the Dolphin restaurant we, the older versions of those young adventturers, walked onto Bridlington Spa. In the 1960s on another trip to Bridlington Val and I went to a jazz concert there. It was very dairng in those days because it started at midnight and went on until 6am. At one point I stepped out of the large double doors facing the ocean to watch the sun rise. With Johnny Dankworth playing in the background and Cleo Laine singing it was one of those magical moments one sometimes experiences.
The large ballroom area remains although it has seating arranged on it now. They still have regular performances there of a vareity of artists. Now there is a cafe on the upper floor with a sweeping view of the ocean and Flamborough Heads. it looks good, worthy of a future visit.
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