Off To See The Wild West Show Part 2: Prologue (June 1904: Hull, Yorkshire) (3/3) By Frank Beill 1886: Hull, Yorkshire

(1/3), (2/3), (3/3). Part 1 Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20. Part 2 Prologue, Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4.

Electric trams weren't a novelty for me after travelling on them in cities on both sides of the Atlantic. I decided to walk. It was a warm early summer day and I wanted to see everything I could of my old hometown before leaving it again. Hull was much larger now but it wasn't any size compared to the places I'd visited. Maybe it was still small enough for me to bump into the people I was looking for without needing the help of the new Master. But would I recognise them? Would they recognise me? I promenaded towards the town centre; a strange flamboyant figure moving among the sober clothed townspeople. I provoked stares from surprised eyes but more in amazement than in any recognition of someone returning home.

Hull was a major port and, although it traded with the world, its population was strangely uncosmopolitan. The main trading connections were with the old world of Europe rather than the new one of the Americas and beyond. Every person I could see was pink skinned for want of a better description.

Many of my friends would more accurately call them pale faces, for most displayed the unhealthy pallor of life in an industrial town. Even though it was summer few looked as though they spent much time out in the open. The town's smoky atmosphere wouldn't entice me to stay outside any longer than I needed to. I shouldn't be calling Hull a town but it still felt like one to me. Mind there was a new centre under construction, sweeping away some of the old slums. There was a large modern Hull Co-operative store at a major road junction where new streets came together to form the beating heart of this growing metropolis.

I wandered past this fine emporium and strolled along Jameson Street. This new street was only half built. Behind me roadmen were still working. I continued walking and came to the statue of someone called Andrew Marvell. I don't know who he was nor why he was worth commemorating but with his flowing hair he reminded me of my mentor, although the stern expression set in stone failed to mirror the warmth and excitement of my friend's personality. The new streets were wide enough to allow trams to glide majestically through the town (sorry, city) centre together with bicycles - lots of them - and horse drawn traffic. These new streets with their tall buildings were canyons of prosperity. If my sister, Mary and my friends were still here then surely they must have done well for themselves.

Copyright © Frank Beill 2006

Continued.. Part 2, Chapter 1

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