News The way things used to be: The Goole they left behind
Goole has no attractions revered internationally, nor even nationwide.
It has no great moment in its past which demands continuing homage; no celebrated relic or dramatic scenery calling for regular viewing. So why do those who have moved elsewhere keep coming back, if only for a day or two or a few hours?
Drawn away initially perhaps by further education or employment, just what is it about Goole that prompts so many people to revisit the town long after they left? Family reasons? Naturally. Old friendships? Certainly. School reunions? In some cases. Sheer curiosity? No doubt. But there is at least one other reason, too.
As much as anything, it is all about Goole's role as the place where they grew up and spent their formative years.
They may dwell elsewhere now, as much by choice as anything else, but approaching the town from any direction, the moment they see that familiar backdrop of Salt and Pepper Pot water towers, dockland skyline and Parish Church spire, memories coming flooding back. And, in those memories, in the sights and sounds of 40 or 50 or even 60 years ago, the Goole they knew lives on.
Memories of Goole in all kinds of weather; on all manner of occasions; times when crowds packed the town centre and others when streets were as silent as a forgotten grave.
Memories - of a friendly little town that owed just about everything to its port, a place which belonged to itself; when going anywhere else involved a seemingly substantial journey.
Memories - of Saturday mornings when, around Market Hall, Clock Tower and the eastern end of Boothferry Road, to the young and unworldly a busy and bustling Goole seemed to be just about the centre of the universe.
Memories - of those eternal crossing gates banging together, barring the roadway and forcing the life of the town to pause countless times in every hour.
Viewing the railway station now, the visitor contrasts the spartan present-day set-up with the way it was back in the age of steam, before those Sixties cuts stripped the simplicity and convenience from so much rail travel.
Constantly then the station was a place of tearful goodbyes and joyful reunions - of crowds awaiting the arrival of every main daytime passenger train; cheerful porters whistling while they worked, collecting tickets and on first-name terms with regular travellers; a roaring fire in the waiting room; good business at the bookstall and strong, hot tea in the station buffet.
STEAM LOCOMOTIVES
As those scenes play in the mind, back, too, will come images of steam locomotives; the snorting impatience of a passenger train's brief halt in the station, the shrieking whistle and slow, then quickening, pomp and power as engine and coaches moved off; then the silent, distant disappearance from view south towards Doncaster or north to the Ouse bridge and Hull.
Before quitting the station the returning visitor may also recall the scores of goods trains which came and went daily, and the thudding clatter and teeth-grinding screech produced by shunting in nearby sidings.
If any kind of haze greets the visitor it is easy to recall times when a cloying mist would roll upriver with the incoming tide, or a November fog would cloak town and port for days; when every home or factory chimney added to the murk with fumes and smoke; when passers-by were merely muffled silhouettes, flitting in and out of view like ghosts in a nightmare.
In the mind's ear, thoughts of the river and docks can summon back a whole symphony of sounds - the siren of a ship soon to leave port; the fog warning of another out in the river but nearing journey's end; the deafening roar heard across the town with the tipping of coal from a Tom Pudding.
BRIDGE STREET BIKE-RIDERS
With the workaday Goole of yesteryear still in mind, there will be memories of swarming hordes of Bridge Street bike-riders heading to or from docks or shipyard or, in Rawcliffe Road, at what was then the edge of town, women workers surging out of Burton's clothing factory on the dot of a five o' clock finish on Fridays.
Contrasting with all the urgency of those scenes, and recollections of 'great' occasions such as Whit Monday parades, there will be memories of a town silent and deserted on Sunday mornings, with just an occasional paper delivery boy going lightly about his business in a time of severe restrictions on the use of newsprint.
So much so that each newspaper would be barely enough to wrap a single helping of fish and chips. Incidentally, in those days, fish cost sixpence and chips a penny, but - like the town's three cinemas then - never on Sunday.
Three cinemas? Yes, and one would expect to queue outside any of the three on Saturday nights - for a comedy cartoon or a documentary about some part of the world no one ever expected to see for themselves, the latest edition of a newsreel and a 'big' picture, usually in black and white.
Searching for more colourful memories, returning visitors may recall the trees then numerous in Boothferry Road lit by the vivid sunlight of a cool September morning, or the softer autumn evening tints of the horse chestnuts at Knedlington or Airmyn.
There will be memories, too, of the Cenotaph or Riverside Gardens dressed in pristine snow and, at other times, the clip-clopping horse-drawn deliveries from the station goods yard, and by coal-man or milk-man.
Yet, no matter what the reason for each return visit, at least some former Goole folk will depart impressed by the convenience of motorway access - for the port's much-changed trade and the town's population.
They will note, too, perhaps, evidence of expanding long-term employment prospects, locally and not far away.
But, human nature being what it is, above all most will leave still fondly remembering the faces and places, the moods and the moments which made up the Goole they knew back in the days before they were drawn away.
Published on 28th August 2008 in News.
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