I’ve
never been to Coventry, Stoke-on-Trent or Swansea, and my only experience of
Paisley was watching a play one snow-filled evening in early 2013. I’m sure all
four places are as deserving of the title of UK City of Culture 2021 as
Sunderland is. I won’t begrudge a non-North-Eastern winner, but being a
Sanddancer, and therefore a cousin of the Mackems (as well as, for my sins, a
lifelong SAFC fan) I am throwing my hat into the ring in support of Sunderland’s
bid.
The
Sunderland I first got to know over a decade ago is a different place to the
city we see at the end of 2017. Thirteen years ago, in 2004, when I started
travelling into St. Aidan’s sixth-form on the 35 bus from South Shields, the
city was…well, it was an unknown quantity. Making the mile-and-a-half trek
between Park Lane interchange and sixth-form in Ashbrooke, twice daily for two
years, I began to see the place as more than just home to a football stadium.
When I attended Roker Park as a very young bairn, and later matches at the
Stadium of Light, there was no need to travel into the city centre itself, especially
given that we were always heading home in a northbound direction. In the
confines of the SoL (and Roker Park before it) both occupying sites to the
north of the Wear, it is easy to forget that Sunderland is an iceberg: two
thirds of it lying below the water line. I feel that, in the run up to the DCMS
decision on the 7th December, Sunderland probably still occupies
such a position for many people—especially those ‘down south’, but even those
in the wider region. How many people in Newcastle, Northumberland, North
Tyneside, Durham or Middlesbrough – even
Gateshead or Jarrow – have really spent much time in Sunderland? The facetious
answer, and I’ve heard it all too readily, is that Newcastle has it all; why
would you bother going to Sunderland? I think it’s important that we cease
thinking along these lines: partisan tensions between cities which, after all
are only thirteen miles apart, are
not only old-fashioned and redundant, they are preventing the region as a whole
making progress. It’s time to go diving.
Let me be
absolutely clear and upfront from the beginning: Sunderland city centre, as
well as some of its outlying suburbs, are still materially deprived. The
reasons as to why are manifold and do not form the core concern of this blog,
but let it be hypothesised that several things have (or, crucially, have not)
happened. Recently, seven years of brutal austerity measures have cascaded down
from central government to the Labour-ran local authority, Sunderland City
Council, which, like so many other local authorities, has had its hands tied.
Forced to make savings in one area at the detriment of another, there is
resentment and confusion (Witness Brexit, and Sunderland being unfairly lauded
as its ‘poster boy’). The same formula is true in Newcastle, as it is in other
towns and cities up and down the land, but the consequences are felt most
keenly in the North, Midlands and South-West. In Sunderland, the closure of local
libraries, museums and domestic violence services – to name just three – are
the direct result of this callous government and its lack of concern for
ordinary people.
Secondly,
the vacuum left by the calculated withering of once-thriving industries such as
shipbuilding and mining (did you know that the Wear, not the Tyne, once
produced more ships than any other river in the world?) since the 1980s has
largely not been filled. The opening of Doxford Park, a 1990-designated
Enterprise Zone four miles south of the city, has no doubt stemmed the flow of
further emigration from Sunderland, but its physical remove from SR1 has had
the knock-on of making the city, at 12 o’clock on any given weekday, void of
sandwich and coffee-buyers. I’m not suggesting that a city’s entire economy can
or should be propelled by a one-hour sales window of hungry office workers, but
there’s a certain illogical premise to situating several thousand of your
gainfully-employed populace away from the nucleus of the place they live and
work in. The re-development of the Vaux site, then (derelict for a staggering
17 years) into mixed-use office, leisure and retail, can only be a good thing
for a city which all-too-often feels like the shutters have been pulled down
before closing time.
 |
| Sun rise, Roker Beach: A new dawn? |
Right, no
more negatives! In February this year, my partner and I moved to a flat just
north of Sunderland, in the suburban village of Cleadon. Quick bit of history:
originally a part of the city until the Local Government Act of 1972 created
the metropolitan county of Tyne and Wear, Cleadon was then subsumed into the
newly-formed borough of South Tyneside. This is why it still has an SR6
postcode (like neighbouring Whitburn) and Sunderland on the address, despite
its bins being emptied in Shields. Equidistant to both Wear and Tyne, however
(with its wealth coming from industrial magnates building grand homes here from
the 18th century), Cleadon has always felt to me like a hinge point:
the liminal space between Geordie and Mackem. As somebody writing a PhD about
North-Eastern identity, this makes it an opportunistic vantage point: both for
ease of access to the wider county and an ideal spot from which to observe, and
participate in, Sunderland’s bid.
When my
partner took a job at the University of Sunderland, at the City Campus on the
south of the river, I once again started making regular journeys from South Tyneside
into Sunderland. A drive of no more than five miles, I feel this year that I
have been re-examining my former self. In 2004-2006, sat on the bus going over
the Wearmouth Bridge, I had had time to build up resentment for the city and
for the wider area. As a hormonal and fickle teenager, more interested in music
made in California than Castletown, I had neither knowledge nor inclination to
think critically about the myriad, complex reasons why this place seemed so
destitute, and so my irrational brain made up its mind: Sunderland was
irredeemable and I had to leave. That did, of course, turn out to be a
brilliant decision: applying to UCAS in spring 2006, the University of Chester
beckoned, and six months later I was 180 miles away in a delightful,
middle-class haven in North-West England. I don’t think I ever considered what
Sunderland and the North-East would be like over a decade later, nor how I would become actively involved in its creative economy and an ambassador for
its cause.
When
making the fatal mistake of reading comments beneath Sunderland Echo (and Shields
Gazette and Newcastle Chronicle)
articles outlining the development of the bid, I have been stunned to see the
reactions of some people from Sunderland and the wider region. Ranging from at
best antipathy to at worst stereotypical jokes about there being “more culture
in a yoghurt pot – har, har”, there is a bizarre (mis-)representation from
certain quarters that people would rather nothing happened. To me, that kind of
mindset is probably an indirect result of the already-mentioned austerity, but
it is not helpful and residents of Sunderland and the wider North-East region
ought to realise that this bid has the potential of being transformative for
the area. Speaking as somebody with vested interests in Higher Education, yes,
but also as somebody who simply wishes the region’s universities to succeed,
the following should be obvious: if your student populace (drawn from national
and international pools) have further opportunities for work, entertainment and
living after their degrees, more of them will feel inclined to stay, rather
than feeling compelled by the all-too-understandable lure of ‘brighter lights’
in London or Manchester (or Newcastle).
I can see
the appeal. Looking at flats earlier this year, I had initially wanted to be
based north of the Tyne. Not necessarily in Newcastle (though I study there, so
it would have been easier), I had in mind the feeling that Tynemouth or Whitley
Bay would be excellent places to live. I’m sure they are: I have friends in
both, and I enjoy visiting them. But, with my partner’s job being in
Sunderland, it made sense to live nearer the Wear. When we found the flat in
Cleadon, knowing it was a short walk to East Boldon Metro station (itself only
a twenty-minute ride into Newcastle), I realised we’d struck very lucky. In a
fifteen-minute walk from our front door we can be up on Cleadon Hills, one of
the North-East’s most glorious areas of natural beauty, with stunning views
over Wearside, Tyneside and right out into Northumberland, County Durham and
North Yorkshire. In thirty minutes, or five in the car, we can be at some of
the best beaches in the country: from Marsden in South Shields to Whitburn, Seaburn
and Roker, there are miles of coastline here which, in my opinion, are much
more varied than anything the north side can offer. The one downside to Cleadon
is its lack of a decent pub. True, The Britannia does a cracking carvery, but
The Cottage is not the bouncing boozer of five years back. But then, two miles
away in East Boldon, there are an abundance of watering holes and eateries,
especially for a small place. Highlights include the recently-transformed (from
sad, sorry and smelly) Sleepers into Beggar’s Bridge, and the stunning wine bar
come Charcuterie, Black’s Corner. At the risk of a) this sounding like a food
and drink supplement and b) me sounding every inch a man on the precipice of
thirty, let us re-focus.
 |
| Pop Choir at Fausto: Guaranteed to put a Geet Big Smile on your face |
At the
end of the summer, we began taking part in the pop choir at Fausto Coffee. Originally
in a much smaller, end-terrace shop in Roker, Fausto moved around about the
time we did, to a new, purpose-built unit on the seafront. Known for its
eclectic range of sporting events and gigs (bike rides, sea-swims and morning
fitness clubs sit happily alongside acoustic performances), Fausto is a
community-driven café which, I’ve no doubt, would be the envy of everybody from
Jesmond to Hackney Wick. Led by the Cornshed Sisters’ fabulous Jennie Brewis,
pop choir’s short life has already garnered regional attention, with the group
singing live on BBC Radio Newcastle (in support of the Sunderland 2021 bid),
with a Christmas performance at Park Lane scheduled for the 16th
December. While I haven’t been to every meeting (honestly, I’m feeling
withdrawal symptoms having not been for a fortnight now), each Monday I do
attend is a joyful opportunity to make new friends, drink good coffee and belt
out the lyrics to George Michael and Tina Turner. My eighteen-year-old,
NOFX-listening-self could scarcely imagine...
In the
city’s other well-known coffee shop, on the other side of the water, Pop Recs
has been going strong since 2013. Now onto its second location, the record
store come coffee shop come performance space is a genuine grassroots marvel.
Set up by the indie band, Frankie and the Heartstrings, and now operating from
just around the corner to the bus interchange I used to miserably walk past,
Pop Recs is the type of inspirational place that I wish my seventeen-year-old
self had had access to. Of course, my seventeen-year-old self was swigging blue
pints in Ku and gan mental to The Mercury League in the little room above Pure,
so he didn’t miss out too much.
Walking
through Keel Square a few weekends back (having attended an excellent, late
afternoon performance by The Cornshed Sisters at Pop Recs), we went for a few
drinks at some of the city’s newest establishments. The Old Fire Station,
having recently undergone substantial structural and cosmetic surgery, is now a
bar/restaurant and performance space that – when it’s fully kitted out with its
auditorium – will be a fantastic asset for theatre-makers and audiences across
the region. The place already feels like the cornerstone of a palpably-buzzing,
upcoming cultural quarter, the middle of which is already home to what is known
locally as the West End of the North-East: Sunderland Empire. With The Peacock
and Dun Cow, two fine boozers brought back to their Victorian splendour,
book-ending the area, it’s easy to imagine the light nights next summer
being very well spent in this part of town. In fact, the Fire Station and Keel
Square as a whole mark for me a bold statement of intent: with new street furniture,
public art, fountains and clearly classy entertainment venues all in one space,
the real question should be: ‘How much further can we go?’
As I said
earlier, there are still some very worrying visible signs of deprivation in
other areas of the city. But the feeling I have walking through Sunderland, and
enjoying time on its stunning coastline, is that this is a city moving in
absolutely the right direction. Whether or not that is enough for it to be
crowned the UK’s next City of Culture on Thursday remains to be seen, but what
is obvious is that there is huge momentum here and a growing pride across
business-owners, artists, musicians and members of the public that Sunderland
has the potential to be an absolutely terrific place to live, work and visit. Following
Hull’s granting of UK City of Culture for 2017, interim reports already show impressive
and wide-ranging benefits to the city, its wider economy and residents’ sense
of pride. There is simply no way that, were Sunderland to be crowned the winner
in 2021, our magnificent hotels, restaurants, shops, bars and assortment of
other service industries wouldn’t gain. As a proud Sanddancer, I am certain
this would also translate to increased revenue further up the coast, as well as
incentivising tourists to spend time in our other fabulous towns and cities.
Grumpy commenters: maybe you want to re-think your cynicism? If people in
Newcastle – or Sunderland – don’t want to support that, then that’s up to them,
but I’d urge them to brave the thirty-minute South Hylton Metro journey and see
what’s on offer. And, if you live nearby and you haven’t paid the city a visit
in a while, I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. Now, if only Chris Coleman
can get the football team winning...
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