Blasting in from a restless Atlantic, Storm Bert – one of the first of the season’s named storms – was starting to make its presence known. We were on holiday in tourist hotspot, the Lake District, but it was decidedly chilly as we set off for the nearby Lancashire town of Morecambe.
This is a resort with a grand history, a patchwork present, and yet a most exciting future. We’d bought rail tickets for our first full day adventure weeks before and had faced a tough decision at breakfast time – to while away the gathering storm in front of a roaring fire or to take on the elements head on?
Common sense was defeated so we left our delightful Ambleside holiday home, Top Notch, to take bus and train rides to our destination. Driving snow was on Storm Bert’s leading edge as we alighted our bus and trudged to Windermere station.
At Lancaster, where we changed trains, heavy rain had replaced the white stuff and brought with it the penetrating cold and dankness unique to railway stations in bad weather. But at least the trains were running and we trundled merrily along the branch line to arrive in Morecambe on time.
Raining “cats and dogs” or “falling like stair-rods” are descriptions my wife and I heard on this restless day and we were glad of our all-weather gear as we alighted at once-grand Morecambe station. As the wind picked up, heads bowed, we started for the seafront – on what, amazingly, was to become one of the great days in recent holiday memory.
Where else could a stormy day give you a face-to-face encounter with an all-time legend, a meeting with a much-loved hero hound mascot, a VIP entrance to a glorious concert arena and a slap-up brunch as a finale?
It’s fair to say Morecambe has been “hanging in there” in recent years. Gone are the coaches and trainloads of trippers who came in from across the North of England summer after summer. But hope never died and the love for this fascinating town was evident as we dodged between those few shops which had dared to open.
First, we had to meet dear Eric Morecambe, late and adored comedy pioneer, whose statue in the town he adopted has been a lynchpin of attraction in recent years. Photographs copying the late genius’s famous pose were a challenge but we got them.
Next to step was forward Andy Winters, mercurial owner of the Beach Bird emporium on the seafront near Eric.
“Why on earth are you open in this grim weather?” I asked. Winters – a one-time magician who once toured all over Europe – said you never know who might pop to buy an armful of things, or share a story or two.
Part of that philosophy was our visit, I suppose.
Andy, who lives in the fascinating nearby sea hamlet of Sunderland Point, cut off by tides twice a day, is the growly-voiced rear gunner of the Sunderland Point Sea Shanty Crew. His shop of a thousand and more curios would grace the Antiques Roadshow, his tales would enliven a book.
Before we left to brave the next 100 yards of the Bert-swept front, there was just time to meet Frontier Fred, cartoon hound beloved of generations of visitors to the resort’s Frontierland which closed in 1999, after opening in 1906.
Frontier Fred, aided by those part-time staff who braved his sweaty confines, bounded amongst the happy holiday crowds and was much loved. It’s possible Fred, or a descendant, may bring forth his laughter again – there are plans to renovate the site as part of a huge Morecambe regeneration project. This will be built around a Northern Eden Project when the giant bubbles of a tropical wonderland arrive before the end of the decade.
Andy had tipped us off about a much-loved cafe for a slap-up brunch, but we got sidetracked at the incredible Winter Gardens. Warm and welcoming, the Gardens were saved from a bleak future and possible demolition by determined townsfolk.
From the tempest outside another hero emerged! Just as spirits might have waned the venue provided more shelter and a big storm day surprise. Concierge Justin Stovold ushered us inside to where scores of children were being taught the joys of opera. We came in at the end and heard the professionals singing Puccini’s Nessun Dorma as the culmination and highlight. Incredibly moving.
Rita’s Cafe warmed our cockles with a splendid and value-for-money feast, but soon we retreated to Lancaster where mayhem reigned. All trains north were cancelled because of flooding and staff were suggesting booking a hotel room. No way. A trudge to the bus station followed and we got the last service of the day calling at all points to Keswick.
On this special holiday we decided to visit places on the edge of the Lakes – not just the crowded ones – and had another great day out in North Yorkshire. At Hellifield, between Settle and Skipton, there’s a unique, middle-of lines, platform cafe and museum, 24H. This is named after the loco shed which once cared for locos on the Settle-Carlisle route. Hugely worth a visit, if only for the epic Fireman’s Breakfast.
Nearby we found the Ingleton Waterfall Trail – five tough miles around many glorious waterfalls amid two tumbling rivers, the Twiss and the Doe. As we slogged up and down with an ascent of more than 500 feet we finished with incredible views of magnificent Ingleborough, one of the famous Yorkshire Three Peaks.
As we pondered our trip we realised that it’s not only the honeypot destinations that should gain your attention and thoughts went back to Morecambe. The resort gave us such a great day out – the jewel of yesteryear may be covered in thick layers of dust, but is surely soon to sparkle again.
