Top Ten: Quirks Of Character That Make Hull Folk

#setteeofculture

When I thought it'd be a right laugh to stick a sign on the abandoned sofa at the top of Park Grove, as a cheeky nod to Hull getting to host the Turner Prize in 2017, I never expected the impact it would have. That it would go viral, appear in the Hull Daily Mail, Look North, in magazines, fanzines, across social media and even have vlog on YouTube dedicated to it. Among all the comments that were made about what became known as the "Settee of Culture", one thing came up time and time again... How it represented the "Hull sense of humour!" It made me consider what that meant, and whether my sense of humour has been formed by the culture of the city I am from. My sense of humour doesn't always sit well with people. It's often acerbic, though I like to call it irreverent, it can be cutting. And often teeters on that fine line between sniggering childishness and out-right offence. As was said about Hull humour recently on a social media thread, we don't just "call a spade a spade", we sometimes "call a spade a c**t".

All this prompted me to ask a question, what are those quirky aspects of our shared character that define us as Hull folk? The first thing that people would notice when they meet someone from Hull is their accent. The what we say, quite literally accentuated by how we say it. So top of the list of our shared characteristics, is the unique Hull accent. Flat vowels, for a flat landscape. An accent forged over hundreds of years, rooted in the linguistic style of the Angles and Saxons. None of that poncey Norman French stuff for us. We was 'avin nowt to do wiv dat. It is good old guttural Germanic rooted Old English that the Hull accent and phraseology is based on. A no nonsense accent for no nonsense people.

In our relative isolation on the banks of the 'umber. A port town formed at the confluence of the Hull and the Humber, we were chowing at our bairns in harsh Estuary English, long before phonetician John C. Wells gave the label to those southern softies living along the Thames, in the 1990s. As the city developed, and the nithered sailors brought words and phrases 'ome with them, we added them to the made up words for things that grew, in and around the rerds of the flourishing city. The industrial expansion from late 1800s, prompted by the wealth of the fishing industry saw the creation of a tenfoot city, where kids larkin' out, plerin' block down tenny would yope "gizza coggy", because their mam had sent them on't rerd for 'alf a dozen breadcakes. Meaning that it's not just the accent, it's the words we use to describe the world around us that also defines what it means to be from 'ull.

On the whole we're a friendly bunch in Hull, people will happily strike up conversations with complete strangers. In shops, on buses, down the pub and on the streets, the enquiring chatter of Hull folk is everywhere. We love to state the obvious, whether the weather is mafting or cowled, someone will blurt it out. You're sat on the bus going into town? You'll still be asked if you are goin' int' town. Or on the way back, that you paid too much if you paid more than narn narty narn, for those new kecks you just bought from Primark.

While we are a friendly bunch, don't cross us. We can rag on 'ull, but if you ain't from round 'ere, don't you dare say anything negative about the city. We're strong meat, and we love a good scrap if pushed too far. Sure sometimes that spills out onto the streets after one too many pints on a weekend. But for the majority of Hull folk, that inherent fighting spirit is channelled in times of adversity, to make positive change and the achieve great things. We're a stubborn bunch, that won't take no for an answer.

We turned away King Charles from the gates of the city, one of the sparks that ignited the English Civil War. The tenacity of Wilberforce helped bring about an end to slavery. The single minded vision of Amy Johnson got her all the way from England to Australia. The Hull Blitz, saw us rise out of the ashes of the most bomb damaged town outside of London, during World War II. (95% of houses in the city were damaged in some way.) The tireless fight of "Big" Lil Belocca and the Headscarf Revolutionaries, brought about change in the fishing industry, and potentially saved thousands of lives. So don't mess with us, we're 'ard we are.

At the very centre of any culture and people is its food. And Hull may not be the epicentre of haute cuisine, but we do have foods that quintessentially ours. Top of the list, the humble pattie, the batter herbed mashed potato delight that it is. The spiritual home of the pattie has to be Bob Carvers, famed for their slightly greasy and wonderfully soggy chips. What could be better as a kid, going into town on a Saturday afternoon, with enough change in your pocket to buy pattie and chips from Bob Carvers? If you were feeling a bit flush, maybe having some thick salty chip shop gravy poured over the top. And of course all garnished with scraps. The best bit, that chip shops around the rest of the country mistakenly throw away. And by the 1980s, all delicately sprinkled with a light dusting of American Chip Spice. Starch on starch, a massive carbohydrate fix, to give you that energy kick you need to fuel that fighting spirit. It may never get Hull a Michelin Star, but that's that poncey French stuff again, and as already mentioned, we have no truck with that.

The fight came out in us when Hull was named the top Crap Town in 2003, with the strap-line "Hull smells of death". To be fair, once we calmed down, we all had a right laugh over it. As to be honest Hull did used to stink if the wind was blowing in the wrong direction. From the fish docks, and the Hull Fish Meal & Oil Company on St. Andrews Quay, to the Cocoa Mills and the Tannery around Wincolmlee.

Once the smell had died down, and we could venture outside again, as kids we'd take in all the free museums in the city. Stopping off at the aforementioned Bob Carvers on the way. The Museum Quarter is genuinely something to be proud of, and Ferens Art Gallery is a beautiful place. Due for a major overhaul for 2017, when it will host the Turner Prize. However just across the road is one museum that hasn't changed a bit in some nearly 40 years that I've been going there. The Town Docks Museum is as ragged around the edges as the moth eaten polar bear that sits in a downstairs corner of the main gallery space. Yeah the giant whale skeleton was impressive the first time I saw it, but now it just looks small and insignificant. But there are two aspects of the Town Docks Museum that never fail to amuse, even after many repeated visits. The whale noises and the mermaid. There's something delightful about walking into the room that has little to see, but much to hear, as the ethereal whale songs play on a loop. And then whipping round to gawp and point at the monkey/fish hybrid that is the mermaid, gawping back at you.

Earlier I said how in Hull we "call a spade a c**t", well that's a word often levelled at the straggle hold that Kingston Communications have on this city. Sure we all love the white (they're actually cream) telephone boxes. Though no one ever seems to use them in these days of easily accessible mobile technology. Apart from drunk blokes nipping in for a quick piss on the way home from the pub. What we hate about Kingston Communications, is the utterly shite and overly expensive Internet provision. Sure they're spreading out super-duper mega fast blink and you'll miss it broadband. But they'll make us pay big for it!

So no-one ever seems to use the phone boxes any longer, but we'd never want to see them disappear from our streets. Another of Hull's institutions that we all hold fond memories of, and would hate to see go is the Joke Shop. As kids we'd press our faces up against the window of Dinsdales, and marvel at all the jokes, gimmicks, smutty playing cards and signs you could buy. But we'd only ever really nip in to buy stink bombs, to drop surreptitiously on our Saturday journey through the city centre. We love a good laugh in Hull, and in many ways the Joke Shop is the spiritual home of the Hull sense of cheeky fun. Like Dinsdales window, the Hull sense of fun has remained the same for donkeys years, it's a bit smutty at times, and maybe in parts still trapped in the 70s. But it's ours, and we love it, and we wouldn't ever want to see it change too much. As if it did, it'd lose all its charm.

Like Jackson's becoming Sainsbury's. They may have changed the sign above the door, but underneath that bland corporate exterior is the intricate golden beauty that was Jackson's. In our hearts and in our minds it will always be Jacko's. There are big plans afoot for this city, as we move towards the city of culture year. The city centre is getting a facelift, they're building a new "flashy" bridge over the A63. We'll be rebranded again, as an aspirational city. (Remember that bloody "cog" and the lower case "h"?) As if "aspiration" is something we've forgotten to have. We've always aspired to bigger and better things, while at the same time holding on firm to where we came from. It's who we are, with our roots firmly planted in the flat lands, we look up at the vista of the big sky stretching out in front of us and dream.

So bring on the city of culture, we're ready for it. As no matter what they do to tart up the city and make it all pretty for the hordes of visitors the city officials are hoping for, the true culture of this great city is in character of the people they will meet on the streets.

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