'The Mighty Redcar'

I had a drive up to Ford Castle in the summer. I go there quite a lot with my work as we use it as one of our activity centres. It hasn't changed much over the years, I guess that’s the nature of historic buildings. It seems smaller each time I go, but everywhere does, once you’ve left and returned. This was something my Dad said to me when I first went to live abroad. He was wrong about a lot of things my old man, but not that.

I always look forward to the journey up to Ford, of soaking up the dramatic scenery of North Northumberland. It reminds me so much of writing 'Becoming' as many of the scenes were inspired by time spent there in my youth. Memories flood back of a school trip to the castle in the 1980s, of messing about with mates, chasing girls and running from teachers, of a large group of us playing Ouija board in a cold, dark hall. Memories of a lifetime. Special ones. The ones formed in your childhood and teens. They seem to stay with you forever. This was another thing my Dad was right about. Maybe he was wiser than I thought.

You meet many people as you meander through life. You make many friends. Yet, there is something deeper and more enduring about the friendships forged in youth. Perhaps it is those shared formative experiences. Or the hours spent together when time was plentiful and responsibilities few. It’s the time of hope, of endless possibilities. Some bonds are different, they last a lifetime, and will never be broken. Many of many special friendships were forged on those trips, in that landscape. I miss them.

The other thing I cherish about the journey is the scenery. I have always found the beauty of my home county overwhelming. I love the isolation. In this world of infinite interaction I long for places to lose myself, the space and time to be alone. Age has given me the confidence to enjoy being alone, the realisation it isn’t something to be ashamed of, more to cherish. My favourite places are the beaches, with their miles of golden wilderness shared with only the few. Then there are the rivers, fields, hills and woods all offering so much joy, so many surprises. Every home feels special, but nowhere beats Northumberland.

The trips remind me of something we take for granted. The North is often looked down upon or forgotten, particularly by the commuter classes and suits of the capital. We know something they don’t. We are the fortunate, we are the chosen. We have found a secret of the true treasury of life. One that is not found in money, property, or possessions. Our wealth lies in the fruits of our community, of love and beauty, of joy and shared experience. Our wealth lies all around us. To my mind this makes us the richest people on Earth.

I sometimes think my school trip to Ford Castle had more of an influence on ‘Becoming’ than I first recognised. When I wrote the novel I tried to write about how I felt in my late teens, what my frustrations were, and how difficult it was to make the transition into the adult world. That’s really what the book is about. It’s about young people trying to find who they are, to become. The eighties were the years of my becoming. It was a difficult time in many ways. Being a teenager is tough, and being different at my school was perilous. You had to blend in to survive, and learn to be someone else. An old schoolfriend said to me you should never have to be someone else to survive. He’s right, but I was young and felt vulnerable, so I compromised. I lost myself. Some of the kids at our school didn’t, and they suffered for it.

There weren’t many opportunities for young working class kids in the North East in the eighties. There was the strike, and the pits closing. The scraps of industry were in their final days of dying. The service economy hadn’t really found its way up north. It was a period of major change and education was my way of taking some control of my life and escaping. Education was everything to me. Looking back I realise how important it was, and how fortunate I was I made something from it.

I’m watching ‘The Mighty Redcar’ at the moment. I think many of us are. It’s generating a real buzz. It’s a tremendous piece of documentary making. Gritty, real, powerful and touching. It is honest and true and doesn’t condescend or sensationalise. There’s a universality to its message. You are watching young people struggling to find themselves, to realise their dreams. At the same time, it reminds us of when we were young, and faced the same struggles. Some of us look back with regret, others with relief.

The young people of the ‘The Mighty Redcar’ aren’t just the children of a small, seaside town in Teeside. They are much more than that. They are all our children. Like all great art, the programme is a mirror, giving us a reflection of ourselves. It touches something deep inside us all. Much as I love it, the documentary angers me. In the thirty or so years since I was growing up, the communities I know and love are still facing the same struggles, the same indifference and neglect.

The documentary raises important questions, not least what kind of a society lets this happen? The measure of a good society should be the extent to which our young people find their dreams. Our goal should be to nurture and support them, give them the courage to find themselves, and the wings to fly. Society is about creating opportunities, for all, not just the few. If we fail our children, all our children, then we have failed as a society. Each episode leaves me with one overriding thought. We must be better than this.