Hello, does this look familiar? It may do, not because you’ve visited, because it is a scene above the beautiful Yorkshire town of Whitby framed by two whalebones. Dracula probably saw this view at some point in his travels, he looked at the distant abbey through reddened eyes, or at least you can imagine he did. You can see the ruined abbey in the distance there is definitely a spot within it that is inhabited by spirits of the long gone, or there is if you are in tune with those who need to keep us aware of their presence for whatever long forgotten reason.
Whitby is a lovely town, it has the usual tacky seaside rip offs; the double priced over-cooked chips from the bottom of the fryer, the slot machines and children being dragged away screaming for more cheap fluffy toys plucked from the greedy jaws of pleasure in the glass tank. It also has some of the best scenery you will ever see in Britain and the spookiest graveyard , even when you walk around in day light.
The sad thing about this beautiful town is that I can foresee its slow demise, much slower than the pirate’s who reside in the cemetery near the Abbey. You can saunter down numerous crooked streets lined with stereotypical tiny fisherman’s cottages but sadly none are occupied; many even have vulgar signs advertising their price. Bizarrely it makes me thing of working girls in Victorian England screaming their current price to passing punters. It’s too crude, maybe acceptable on second hand cars but surely a step too far on a home. Some owners have even gone to the expense of having classy house signs made, but totally corrupted them by adding beneath the ‘Fisherman’s Rest’ and ‘Cliff’s Edge’ a mobile phone number and price per week. The cottage windows are shrouded with the security blanket of absentee landlords, the obligatory and elitist net curtain; it defines the property alongside the price. If you won’t pay you can’t look inside, surely the home is part of the community or should be, not excluded from it by such easily gained cheap fabric.
I truly hope some sort of legislation or tax system will be brought in to stop this wholesale purchase of affordable housing by the elite for temporary enjoyment, and allow local young couples to buy their family home. For these idyllic cottages to become occupied by them and their offspring, loud laughter of sun-bronzed wellington donning children and not the sound of the key dropping the lock and temporary landlords walk away to their large cars decrying the state of the world.