On Yorkshire

Though I’m a Londoner at heart, a part of me will always belong to Yorkshire. I spent four years ensconced in the comforting embrace of York, and it came at such a formative time in my life that I think it shaped me more than it would have if I moved there now.

I didn’t necessarily fit easily into life in the north. There was some…how can I put this…reverse snobbery, I suppose? I faced quite a few knowing nods and snide asides about my southern status, made all the worse of course by the fact that I was “a Londoner” (so obviously a pretentious snob). This probably wasn't helped by the fact that I speak in what is arguably a bit of a posh voice. None of the comments were uttered with malicious intent, but I did spend my first few weeks up north feeling a bit defensive about my non-Yorkshire roots.

However, all of the above came much more from the fact that I was dealing with northern students – all slightly nervous, insecure teenagers like myself, who had been let loose in the wild for the first time and were trying to work out what it was to be independent and “an adult”.  Once we’d all gotten to grips with that, and noticed that our differences were far outweighed by our similarities, we rubbed along together quite nicely.

If I had to put my finger on exactly what it is that makes me love Yorkshire so much, I don’t think I could do it easily. There’s a whole host of reasons that combine to create a pretty potent, gut-based feeling that turns me into a silly mess when I pass through York on a train (cue embarrassing tears), or makes me do an excited double-take when I hear a Yorkshire burr out and about on the streets of London.

A lot of it has to do with nostalgia and personal significance, of course. I did a lot of my growing up in Yorkshire. I learnt to be on my own there. I had my first real relationship (and my first real heartbreak). I made friends who were, for the first time, completely unrelated to who my family knew, or who I went to school with. All of those things are important turning points in a young woman’s life, so York – for me – has a rosy tint to it that has nothing to do with its geography or character.

However, I also quickly learnt that there was something about the nature of the region that suited me well. York itself was the perfect size and pace for me – not too big, not too small – and had so much history seeping out of its pores that you could feel it like a physical presence. The people, too, were on the whole very different to those I’d grown up around in London. They were less self-involved. Friendlier. Sometimes (read: often) a lot more blunt and forthright…but I loved that. In a city like London, everyone is rushing from one thing to the next, trying to dodge tourists, trying not to catch the eye of a stranger who might try to talk to them. In York – and, as it turned out, in other cities, towns and villages in Yorkshire that I explored – people acknowledged each other and didn’t seem to be in their own bubbles so much.

There’s an honesty about the Yorkshire attitude that I like. And there’s a picturesque Englishness, a sense of culture and history, about the place. I’m not saying that you can’t find these things in London, but as a capital city my hometown is a beautiful melting pot of cultures, experiences and people. I love that – I’m happy to be surrounded by that – but a part of me will always pine for the sense of identity and homeliness that I feel every time I go back to Yorkshire. For me, it will always be my second home.