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.
