Can you really go on a Pilgrimage to somewhere you visit most weeks? I had planned to go from my childhood home to my current one; alas, Northern Rail were not cooperating. No matter - I reversed my route, got on my bike, and planned to get the train back instead.
Billingham was my home from the age of 10, until 22 - albeit three of those years were spent much of the time away at University. Even so, part of it still felt like home - my Mum only moved (round the corner, almost literally) in 2010, and until she died in 2012 I was still a fairly frequent visitor. For the last five years, a Church Hall at the other end of town has been where I go to for a Woodcarving Group most Fridays.
The advantage of having an e-Bike is that the prospect of cycling about 20 miles isn't a particularly daunting one - even less so when you're navigating mainly on quieter roads and cycleways. Being a leisure cyclist rather than a commuter or more serious speedster, I'm generally a big fan of the separated cycle path: many of them are shared with pedestrians, which means you always have to be a bit more careful and tearing along at 20MPH or higher is not recommended. They also seem to me so much safer than the ones, often on a busy road, where the existence of a dashed white line can often be seen as some sort of magical force field to protect the cyclist from the backwash of a close pass... Sometimes it seems that road users of different types can be very tribal - from the "Two wheels good, four wheels bad" crowd, to the "If you want to use the road you should have insurance/number plate/pay road tax" brigade, with many variations in between. How about we all just say that the important thing is to keep an eye out for each other, and keep everyone as safe as we can regardless of vehicle or lack of it? I have found, since getting the bike about four years ago, that I'm much more aware of cyclists even when in my car - after all, one of them could be me, or my son! Was I less careful before? Maybe. Walking (or in this case pedalling) in someone else's shoes can't help but promote empathy.
I was musing on some of these things, gliding serenely along Dixon's Bank on the shared path next to it, when, CLONK! I don't know if something was on the Tree Branch, or whether it was just the branch itself - but it made me glad I had the helmet on. And this is the sort of thing that really gets on the goat of many cyclists - how long would a low branch last if it was hitting the top of a van? By the time I reached my destination, I'd had to duck or squeeze past a couple of other bits of undergrowth. I'd also had to navigate round six vehicles parked on cycle paths I was trying to use, and virtually stop once when one walker in a large group either couldn't hear or simply refused to acknowledge my politely-rung bell, meaning the whole, double-width, path was taken up. Poor maintenance, poor enforcement, lack of consideration by others, lamp-posts in the middle of them - next time you see a cyclist not using a cycle path, bear in mind there are probably good reasons why...
Ironically, as I pedalled through Coulby Newham, one of the hazards to be avoided were some people doing some path maintenance - so some at least is being done!
Down, skirting Albert Park, and the towers of the Newport Bridge looming ahead of me. I'd cycled across it before... I couldn't help but recall it: the year was 1992, I'd watched some of the previous editions of the Tour de France, and now some of the top riders were taking part in the Tour of Britain - one of the stages starting in Middlesbrough. I'd just bough a second-hand bike to use to get me to and from Uni the following term, when I'd be living off campus; so off I set, discovering that I was nowhere near as fit as I thought, to cycle through to watch the start. I recall Greg LeMond, a cycling hero of the time, pulled out that morning; others were signing in, and I utilised my AS-Level German to persuade Olaf Ludwig, Olympic Gold Medalist in 1988 and winner of the Tour de France Green Jersey, to sign my autograph book. I still have it somewhere I think. I watched the start, cycled the ten miles home, and lay exhausted on the sofa for about two hours to the consternation of my Granny. A motor makes the journey a lot easier!
After a not particularly pleasant stretch parallel to the A19, I arrived in Billingham; the route brought me out at the back of the Town Centre, past Billingham Forum, and then on past John Whitehead Park. Billingham Town Centre used to feel vibrant, especially on Market Day; now, large parts of it await demolition, with empty shops galore. I've been there occasionally over the last year or two, so felt no need to visit; I carried on. Down Low Grange Avenue, picking out the odd landmark.
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| St Luke's Church |
The Road Names, mainly named for Battles - Naseby, Tunstall, Bannockburn, Neasham... I was surrounded by history that I had very little knowledge of.
Low Grange Club, of which my parents were members, for what I think was the sole reason that they ran an excellent Children's Party close to Christmas, with presents and selection boxes all round. Now? An empty building, waiting for redevelopment apparently.
The Bungalow my Mum moved to.
The house that I lived in for a dozen years... Garage converted, a skip on the drive - looking like the garden being redone, a major undertaking as it's on the outside of a corner and the garden felt huge, with about eight possibilities if the ball went over the hedge.
The other local shops, and something the same: although it's now branded as a Premier, the convenience store is still called Boltons.
The back entrance to my Secondary School, the muddy gap now fenced off.
The Merlin, now looking rather smarter than it used to.
The front entrance to what used to be Billingham Campus - I was in the first year when it was called that, 1984, as before that it was two schools - Brunner and Furness - on the same site. Even earlier it had been four... All that seems to be left of the buildings I remember is the PE Block - home to four sports halls and a Swimming Pool complete with Diving Tower - now apparently a Community Sports Centre.
On the Opposite Side of the road - Billingham North Methodist Church, mainly known to me as the place I did a lot of my exams as the school had an arrangement with them.
Further along Marsh House Avenue - Bede Sixth Form, where I did my A-Levels. Back then it was a fairly small concern - now, it seems to have grown considerably, with shiny new buildings that dwarf the one in my memory.
Back towards the station to catch the train, and stopping off at Tesco - once upon a time it was where Dunnes Stores opened their first mainland UK Supermarket. Food, Clothes, the St. Bernard branded Rich Tea Biscuits that I maintain to this day were the perfect size and thickness to dunk.
It felt strange to see so little that I remembered, to see so much changed. I have to remind myself that it's now 30 years since I lived there, almost 15 since I was a regular visitor. Billingham is the sort of place that there are so many of, especially across the North; a town that grew up around a specific industry or company (in this case ICI), struggling to find an identity now that the company, and so many of the jobs, have gone. Someone at the Woodcarving group tells the tale of how he finished school, and was looking forward to having the summer off - only for his parents to have spoken to ICI, who sent a recruiter round and told him he could start as an apprentice the following week!
I've lived in a couple of what you might call "Company Towns" - often, those companies were far more than employers, they were paternalistic creators of modern society. Social Clubs, Leisure Facilities, Sports Teams - all part of keeping the workforce happy and productive. Parts of ICI are still there - but there's no unifying company, and the facilities are disappearing. Even Billingham Synthonia FC - "The Synners", named after one of ICI's key products, no longer play in the town; after a nomadic few years that even saw them playing at Stokesley, they are now ground sharing a little closer to home in Stockton.
It's one of those places which you really feel is being left behind. Locals will tell you that Stockton Town Centre, whose council also cover Billingham, is getting all the attention and money while Billingham moulders; it feels like they have a point given even the planned demolition is running months behind schedule, never mind the promised developments on the site. "Change and decay in all around I see" as Henry Francis Lyte wrote in "Abide with me". What is there to bring people to Billingham? It's not exactly bursting with tourist potential. And yet, it was the place I lived in for a dozen years, and so many of the people and places helped shape me. As I wandered into Tesco to buy some lunch to eat on the train, I couldn't help but wonder: were some of those walking the aisles people I went to school with? Their children? Grandchildren? How many of my schoolmates never left?
Reflecting now, one of the things that comes to mind is that when it comes to being part of the Itinerant Methodist Ministry, I've been well prepared. West Midlands, North-East, North-West - all were places I lived for a number of years before I ever thought of candidating. That can be quite a powerful thing, as you get used to a sort of approach which, to quote a song made famous by Paul Young, "Wherever I lay my hat, that's my home." You have to be prepared to love the place you live, to make the best of it, especially in Ministry; to trust that God has led you to this place, and that it's the right place for you to be.
It's not always an easy thing, and I know colleagues who have found stationing (as we call allocating Ministers to places seeking them) a painful process - it certainly doesn't work out well for everyone every time. By the grace of God, it has worked three times for me - and I pray that it will do so for all of those who are preparing to move this Summer - including of course Deacon Jo, who joins us in September.
Sometimes the attitude of those you come to serve is as important as the place where you live. The attitude of those who come to serve can also be a factor. Getting back to something from my cycling musings earlier - a bit of care and compassion might make all the difference.
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