2 days ago
16
Is it possible to have a soft spot for a place you’ve never been to and know next to nothing about? I think it is, in my case anyway, for I have developed warm feelings for Runcorn. On reflection, this has been in the making, quietly, in my subconscious, for a long time. In the last century, I was at university with a lad from Runcorn and, as he is the only person I have ever known from Runcorn, he is bound to colour my sense of the place. Big Everton fan. Could occasionally, like most of us in our gang, get a bit boisterous on a night out, but otherwise had a heart of gold. Reconnected with him recently and the boisterousness seems to have dissipated while the heart of gold still beats. I met his dad once, too; he was nice as well. All good for my own personal sense of Brand Runcorn.
Also in the last century, I got talking to the bloke sitting next to me on a train out of Euston. I was squashed up next to him and his suitcases. He had a lot of luggage, so wherever he was going it looked as if he would be staying there a while. He turned out to be American, and a Mormon. I had, not long before, been to Salt Lake City, so we had a nice chat about that. When I asked him where he was heading, he said Runcorn. This led me to ask why. He replied: “Because that’s where the Lord has sent me.” There’s no answer to that, or at least not one I could think of as we rattled our way north. A shroud of mystery now settled over my idea of Runcorn.
Thirty years on, this week fate, if not the Lord, brought me to Runcorn. Its station had presented itself as the most convenient place to drop my daughters to catch their evening train to London. There had been a bit of grumbling from them, questioning the logic of this plan – my daughters have scant appreciation of what goes into my decision-making. There is near algorithmic complexity involved in weighing up such a range of factors – road conditions, routes, traffic, weather, train timetables, even football fixtures (Everton v Leeds Utd that evening, so potential for nonsense around Liverpool Lime Street station). I fed all this information into the dad-computer and this was what came out. We were Runcorn bound.
I had an idea that the journey would at some stage entail going under or over the Mersey and/or the Manchester ship canal. A sign detailing toll charges presented itself, but before I could start stressing about what to pay, to whom and how, a magnificent bridge rose up before us, similar to the one over Sydney harbour. OK, smaller, but no less impressive. And all beautifully lit, in red. And then, as we crossed, it changed colour, to green I think. And soon it changed again. “Wow,” said my older daughter, “Runcorn is groovy.”
I don’t know the history of the Silver Jubilee Bridge lighting scheme. I expect there has been the odd moan questioning the cost, or the point, of the exercise. But things like this are important, saying something about a place’s sense of itself. And sparking a sense of wonder in anyone on a rainy Monday night in January is no small thing.
There was more evidence of Runcorn’s grooviness to come. Having successfully executed the drop-off, and even been commended for my clever planning, a photo was pinged to me of the station cat. Yes, Runcorn station has a cat, which has been provided with a little home next to the information desk.
Runcorn, what a place. I almost never want to pay a proper visit lest the magic be dispelled.
My only quibble was that I found the Merseyflow website a bit confusing and fear I’ve paid the £2.40 toll twice. I’ll let that pass, though. For such joy, £4.80 is a small price indeed.
Adrian Chiles is a broadcaster, writer and Guardian columnist
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