With some important points at stake D3D4 Morecambe correspondent Roger Fitton headed to Blundell Park to watch his Shrimps take on the Mariners but not before taking in the delights of the locality…

How’s About That, Then?

Last season, after Morecambe’s Great Escape at Coventry in their final game, `Cyprus Shrimp’ was kind enough to post this comment on the fan’s website, Shrimpsvoices: 

“We shall all look forward to next season and your usual high quality match reports – and possibly the occasional special report like this one. Maybe on our visit to (let’s say) Crawley, or Grimsby (no disrespect intended to either) – this might give you rather more of a challenge!!!”

Fair enough, with suitable apologies to Grimsby correspondent on this site Shaun Bennett (who I suspect might have something to say about this remark…)

So here we go…

Let’s start with a few inspiring words:

“As I lay dreaming in my bed, across the great divide,

I thought I heard the trawler boats, returning on the tide.”

Shakespeare? Longfellow? Wordsworth. Byron?

No, not the latter (by Ron) says he poetically himself…  but… by John.

Elton John to be exact. Or – to be even more accurate, his lyric writer Bernie Taupin, who was born in Grimsby and wrote a song about it by the same name.

So what else do we know about Grimsby?

Is it really Grim? Who can say?

Are the natives deserving of a reputation for being Barbarians?

Certainly not. If you come from this place, you are actually a Grimbarian. I kid you not.

Another thing that nobody can dispute as far as the town is concerned is that it stinks. Literally.

Absolutely reeks in fact. Of fish. Much of this is to do with the huge Ross plant on the route towards Cleethorpes as you drive through the town from Scunthorpe. In the 1970s, Grimsby had the biggest fishing fleet not only in Britain but on the entire planet: over 400 ships. Five years ago, this was down to just five trawlers.

Which leads us to our next gobbet of knowledge: Radio Caroline. Pause as everybody scratches their heads and tries to think of a link between the two…

This legendary pirate radio station has broadcast to Britain on a succession of ships over the years. These have included the ill-fated Mi Amigo which ran aground in a gale in 1966 before finally sinking during 1980. This is very loosely portrayed in the excellent film The Boat That Rocked – even though this did not show the real-life rescue of the ship’s Canary, who was named – with deliberate irony – after former Labour Prime Minister Harold Wilson. (It must be remembered that it was Wilson’s Killjoy of a Postmaster General – the self-styled anti-Establishment figure Viscount Stansgate who re-invented himself as plain old Proletarian Mr Tony Benn – who made all the pirate stations illegal in the first place. Pop music rots the brain, Old Boy. Cup of tea and the life of Stalin, anybody?…)

So what has this got to do with the price of fish – or anything else for that matter? Radio Caroline still has a ship even these days: the converted trawler Ross Revenge. This German-built boat was initially owned by the Icelandic government and enjoyed a victory over the British in the so-called Cod Wars of the 1970s long before the Viking War Chant echoed in English football fans’ ears as further humiliation on the European stage was exacted during 2016. The Ross Revenge then spent most of its working years based in Grimsby with the unique identification number GY 718. Here, it earnt its place in Fishipedia:

“Ross Revenge holds the world record for the biggest catch. In 1976 she landed a catch of 3,000 kits (approximately 218 tonnes) of Icelandic cod at Grimsby, subsequently sold for a world record price of £75,597.”

Much of the catches netted in the North Sea and even further away by this extraordinary trawler ended-up in the smelly plant after which it was re-named. By the 1980s, it was languishing in a Breaker’s Yard before it was rescued to embark on a totally new broadcasting career.

And thus we move seamlessly from Strictly Gone Fishing to Strictly Come Dancing and sibling stars Joanne and Kevin Clifton, both of whom hail from the town on the mouth of the River Humber. These people are not only obviously very proud of this fact but are also tremendous ambassadors for the place: if their football team was even half as talented as either of this pair, they would be European Champions at the very least. (I noticed that one of the reserves for Grimsby on Saturday is a Grimbarian called Harry Clifton – is there any relation I wonder?) It occurred to my Better Half that the parents – or even grandparents – of this talented duo might once have waltzed within this Art Deco classic, which was originally built as a dancehall within a stone’s throw of Blundell Park:

 It’s unusual to see the original leaded lights (stained glass windows if you prefer) still in place: this place must look amazing at night when all the interior lights are on.

From a personal point of view, the first time I ever experienced the fishy stench of Grimsby was about twenty years ago. Then, I drove a bright yellow double-decker HGV recovery truck from Morecambe to Ings near Kendal to pick-up a broken-down Land Rover and the two young lads and a dog which went with it. It was swelteringly hot in south Cumbria on the day. But several hours later – when I dropped the car and its passengers off in Cleethorpes – thick fog had descended. So as I ate chips and mushy peas on the promenade nearby as I had my break before returning home, I could see no further than about fifty yards out into the river. I also felt decidedly cold. But I am from Lancashire and we’re all far too soft to make Trawlermen, aren’t we, Fleetwood supporters?

Anyway, at this point – Cleethorpes – we arrive at the home of the town’s football club, the Mariners. (I once saw Paul Mariner render Liverpool hard nut Tommy Smith spark out at Anfield. Paul was a tremendous – and in my opinion very clever but consistently underrated – player but he was wearing an Ipswich Town shirt at the time and has nothing to do with Grimsby Town as far as I know.) But there again – according to the internet – it could be argued that neither does Grimsby Town itself:

“Grimsby Town FC do not play in Grimsby. Grimsby Town, known as ‘The Mariners’, have their ground Blundell Park in nearby Cleethorpes. Locals joke that they’re the only British football club that play all their matches away.”

The shock to the system delivered by Morecambe’s dicing with death last time out has persuaded me to take the opportunity to travel ever further afield this season to visit football grounds I have never been to before. It may not be possible in the future, let’s face it…

So long-suffering partner Annie and I set off on the latest adventure on the day before the match.  After a week of two which had definitely been Autumn – with rain and strong winds more often than not – even the weather conspired with us on the day before the game. It was warm and sunny as we took the A roads through Skipton; Ilkley; Selby and finally the motorway past Scunny before arriving in Grimsby at about half past eight in the evening. We stayed in a hotel next to St James’ church in the centre of town – and very nice it was too; the food really excellent and if you spent over nine quid each on this, you got a free drink: in my case, a pint of the local IPA from the Axholme Micro–Brewery in Cleethorpes. Not bad at all…

Last time I wrote a report about an away town I had visited – Crewe – one of the gobbets of information I unearthed about the place was that it had the worst Wetherspoons in Britain. Not so Cleethorpes. The Art Deco former cinema just off the sea front looked absolutely amazing from outside at least (we didn’t go in). Shame that the original windows have been filled-in. Maybe I should suggest personally building some replacements for them…

Wetherspoon Cleethorpes

Further north, right next to Grimsby Town railway station, the Yarborough Hotel can be found. This is Wetherspoons’ outpost there. The hotel was once clearly a really classy place to stay. You still can. We had our slightly overpriced breakfast (the ‘free drink’ with set breakfasts is a bit of a con in my humble opinion) on the day of the game. After it, we enjoyed a very reasonably priced nightcap before turning-in. It was warm enough (just about) for us to sit outside and watch the sun set over the land (a novelty for us North Western folks who expect it to go down over the sea…) But I get ahead of myself.

After breakfast, we walked the short distance to the station and took the next train to Cleethorpes. It was fascinating to see the sprawl of the docks and the surrounding area on the way. Grimsby is a large Industrial town from which most of the traditional industries – most obviously fishing – have disappeared in recent years. There is a lot of dereliction and the knock-on effect of this – poverty in the wake of long-disappeared jobs – was obvious. But what’s new? This is the reality right across Europe and further afield in what some people tell us is the post-industrial West. But it wasn’t all Doom and Gloom – the extraordinary Victoria Flour Mill (which dominates the skyline away from the river) has just been converted into luxury flats.

Victoria Mills

Wow. Further away, you could see the Minaret-like tower which dominates the docks. Well – you can hardly miss it. At 309 feet high (Blackpool’s is 519 to get a sense of scale), this tower once held huge pneumatic pistons attached to a thirty thousand gallon cast iron reservoir built 200 feet up within it.

Grimsby Dock Tower

This marvel of Victorian engineering used to open and close the lock gates and was once the largest brick-built structure in Britain. It is so enormous that the Luftwaffe deliberately avoided bombing it during World War Two so that their fleets of Junkers, Dorniers, Heinkels or whatever could repeatedly use it as an aiming point for blitzing Hull docks on the other side of the Humber several miles further upstream.  Although the pneumatic pumps no longer work, lots of money has been spent on this iconic structure in recent times as well to prevent it falling into ruin. Sadly, other buildings in Grimsby have not been so lucky. The Grade II Listed Art College on Eleanor Street is now derelict, for example:

It has seen better days

Hewitt Brothers’ Tower Brewery on East Street still exists, minus several key bits admittedly. But it has been redundant for decades and is now derelict and slightly fire damaged – apparently by arsonists:

What a shame. Time will tell if Grimsby and the rest of previously industrialised Britain prospers or fails in a post-Brexit future. Working Class people in Grimsby have undoubtedly had things much tougher in the distant past which predates the NHS and the Welfare State after all, Old Boy. Another cup of tea and the life of Chairman Mao, anybody?…

But as Viscount Stansgate would probably be the first to tell you, Football League stadia (not stadiums, you uneducated so-and-so!) were traditionally built right among the Working Class communities which supported them.  There wasn’t one on his vast estate after all so that in itself is proof of this, isn’t it?

And Blundell Park is a perfect example of a Working Class Stadium built in a Working Class area of an unashamedly Working Class town. And once we reached Cleethorpes, we set off to find it.

But not before a quick tour of the place first. And another train ride up the promenade:

On a sunny day by the seaside, what could be better?

I’d spotted a station – Old Clee – on Google Maps near the football ground and expected the real train from Grimsby to stop there. But it doesn’t: you have to catch a further one from Cleethorpes to Grimsby Docks to reach this station and there weren’t any due. So we went on the bus instead.

We took the Number Three bus from Cleethorpes after being warned that “Number Threes sometimes turn into Number Fours – and you don’t want to go on them!” by a very helpful local. And as Anne was answering the call of nature, a Number Four equally magically turned into a Number Three and we only just managed to get on it.

We got off near the ground. You can’t miss it – the 128 feet high pylon floodlights are a bit of a give-away. Blundell Park is very much an old-fashioned football ground. Nothing fancy about it. A wooden stand – I didn’t realise these were allowed anymore after the tragic fire at Bradford’s Valley Parade in 1985.

The pylon floodlights reminded me of the past, too. (Such as those at Burnley with `Watson of Bolton’ written on them…) Unlike the ones at Turf Moor, the Blundell Park floodlights are embedded in reinforced concrete bases which have seen better days. It turns-out that the floodlights themselves had also seen better days before being rebuilt by the side of the North Sea. They are actually second-hand. The four towering works of rusting lattice metalwork were bought from Wolverhampton Wanderers during 1958 and installed two years later.

The Main Stand – The central part dates back to 1901

The Youngs Stand

So everything about Blundell Park reeks of the past.

Particularly the toilets; where the reek even in the Ladies apparently was pretty unbelievable…

Here are some pictures of the delights awaiting away fans under the Osmond stand, where we were all corralled throughout the match.

Two versions of Strongbow; Fosters (four quid a pint) on draught or white wine out of a bucket at the bar there.

“A Champagne bucket? – wow, that’s pretty sophisticated!” I suggested to the lady behind the counter.

No – it was just a bucket. (That’s a lie – I made that bit up.) But they did have white wine of some description…

We had a cider each and got talking to the other fans who were arriving mostly by coach. And some of them had drunk rather more than a pint of cider on the way from Morecambe…

But it’s at times like this – talking to fellow supporters – that you get a real pulse of what is going on behind the scenes at the club. Paul Ince is not welcome at Morecambe for a start. Drums are not allowed into Grimsby’s ground – although they were last year. The partaker of this information – Sam – was kind enough to laugh when I suggested the stewards had told her to `beat it!’ when she tried to take it in earlier. But they let Annie in – even though she was carrying a potentially offensive weapon in her bag in the shape of a glass jar which she had just bought in a Cleethorpes Charity Shop.

“They’ve taken pity on me!” she said, bemoaning what was stamped on her `concessionary’ ticket:

“It’s better than what’s stamped on mine!” I retorted: 

And then we heard the tale that our team had turned-up for the game with too few shirts for the whole squad. Phone calls had been made and several of our number gave up the tops they had brought with them for the duration of the game. Grimsby apparently printed names on the shirts, bless them, but obviously couldn’t replicate the logo to be found above the player’s name on the back. This explains why Centre Half Steven Old played with only his name and number on his back during the match and why the big Kiwi could be seen at the end of the game handing the shirt he had been wearing back to the supporter who effectively lent it to him earlier. I bet that smelt delightful by Sunday… 

So it’s not just Grimsby with non-league tendencies, is it?…

There were only fifty-seven of us – including my mate Michael who told us it had taken him longer to get to Grimsby by train than it had for us to drive on `A’ roads the previous day, such is the shambles on the railways in the UK at the present moment. We were all shoved into just one central part of the stand for the duration.

As for the match itself, the Mariners hadn’t scored a goal for the whole of September in the League. Before today. It took them just eight minutes to end this duck. Hopeless defending by our lot. But in the second half, Rhys Oates drew things level with a fantastic piece of individual skill. Then Liam Mandeville fluked a winner. So everyone was happy in our little bit of the ground at least.

A helicopter flying above was told in no uncertain terms that it was NOT welcome to land if it contained Paul Ince. Zak Mills is a long-haired twit. I think the word was `twit’… We all love Jim Bentley. We really do. (Want to read the match report? It’s here.)

Personally, I loved the trip to Grimsby as well. The home supporters we spoke to were real ambassadors for their club, which I hope survives their current travails. And a word of warning. Be careful what you wish for. Blundell Park is probably in even worse shape than the Shrimps’ Christie Park was before the move to the new ground eight years ago. But Christie Park had charisma; there was a great atmosphere there. The new place – the Globe Arena – is sterile and has no soul. So bear in mind James Richards’ prophetic words on this site about a move to a new ground. As he has experienced at a stadium with only three sides (WHY????) at Oxford, a new ground does not guarantee a better match-day experience. For all its faults, Blundell Park has oodles of character. It would be missed. Better to stay put and redevelop in my view. Just like the Victoria Flour Mill. I wish we had…

Oh – and a final thought. The last time I wrote a piece here about a town I had visited (Crewe) on the road with Morecambe, it went down quite well even with the people tasked to improve the place: the Labour Council there. (Link here) But then BBC Radio Stoke got wind of my article. Sorry – `Blog’. They didn’t actually read what I had written but pontificated about it nonetheless on their early morning show a few days after the Crewe match in August. I didn’t realise this myself before this broadcast but I am actually a git from Lancashire with no sense of humour who rants about other places because his own team is so shit. So don’t be fooled if you think this article about Grimsby is sympathetic to the place or the people. It isn’t – because the BBC says it isn’t. And the Beeb is never wrong… is it? (And if BBC Radio Humberside rings me for another interview this week, I think I might just be unavailable. Yes indeedy. Or – to use the immortal words of One OF Their Own who clearly never was a git in any sense of the term: as it `appens, now then, Goodness Gracious Guys and Gals…)

How’s About That, Then?