I've lived here, in Lymm, for over 30 years. I'm happy here but I don't think I've ever been more integrated than I was when we lived in Whitby.
We moved to the town on October 21st 1966, the day of the Aberfan disaster, from Coventry. It was chilly up there on the North Yorkshire coast but my first view of the town from the top of Blue Bank, with the broad sweep of the North Sea as a backdrop, made up for that.
I remember waking up the next morning with my 2 small children in the bed beside me; their dad had already left for work at RAF Fylingdales, the early warning station up on the moors. My son, 16 months old, sat up and said, "Oogles, mummy!" as he heard the sea gulls screaming. It wouldn't be too long before none of us noticed the gulls' cries as we became so used to them. We always heard the fog horn, though, when it sounded on misty nights. The children would imitate its wail - fitting in the words "You're coming to Whitby," - nah, you had to be there.
Our house was on an estate of RAF married quarters, though we were now civilians, about half a mile from Upgang beach, a couple of miles out of the town. Everyone who lived around us worked at Fylingdales and while there were mostly civilians we also had RAF and USAAF neighbours. We still owned a house in Coventry but it was in an Estate Agent's hands for sale. We were paying rent in Whitby and a mortgage in Coventry so we didn't have much, if anything, to spare.
We soon got to know our neighbours and settled in. Colin had been on a course with 3 other men and we all got on well together, becoming good friends. That Christmas Eve, our first in Whitby, Mike and his Dutch wife, Grete, threw a party and invited us, the children to be put into their bed. As we got the children ready, in pyjamas and dressing gowns, we looked out of the windows and snow was falling fast, making a thick carpet on the ground. They giggled as we carried them up the street to Mike's house, snow falling on to them, but once tucked up in a nice warm bed they were fast asleep in minutes. Downstairs the elderberry wine flowed freely and I discovered a taste for it that has never left me.
To be continued.....
We moved to the town on October 21st 1966, the day of the Aberfan disaster, from Coventry. It was chilly up there on the North Yorkshire coast but my first view of the town from the top of Blue Bank, with the broad sweep of the North Sea as a backdrop, made up for that.
I remember waking up the next morning with my 2 small children in the bed beside me; their dad had already left for work at RAF Fylingdales, the early warning station up on the moors. My son, 16 months old, sat up and said, "Oogles, mummy!" as he heard the sea gulls screaming. It wouldn't be too long before none of us noticed the gulls' cries as we became so used to them. We always heard the fog horn, though, when it sounded on misty nights. The children would imitate its wail - fitting in the words "You're coming to Whitby," - nah, you had to be there.
Our house was on an estate of RAF married quarters, though we were now civilians, about half a mile from Upgang beach, a couple of miles out of the town. Everyone who lived around us worked at Fylingdales and while there were mostly civilians we also had RAF and USAAF neighbours. We still owned a house in Coventry but it was in an Estate Agent's hands for sale. We were paying rent in Whitby and a mortgage in Coventry so we didn't have much, if anything, to spare.
We soon got to know our neighbours and settled in. Colin had been on a course with 3 other men and we all got on well together, becoming good friends. That Christmas Eve, our first in Whitby, Mike and his Dutch wife, Grete, threw a party and invited us, the children to be put into their bed. As we got the children ready, in pyjamas and dressing gowns, we looked out of the windows and snow was falling fast, making a thick carpet on the ground. They giggled as we carried them up the street to Mike's house, snow falling on to them, but once tucked up in a nice warm bed they were fast asleep in minutes. Downstairs the elderberry wine flowed freely and I discovered a taste for it that has never left me.
To be continued.....
