Heading for the Seafront from Blackpool North Station
As I made my way to the seafront from Blackpool North station, I couldn’t help but notice the gleaming new tramlines. Blackpool’s iconic trams, which have been restricted to the promenade since the early 1960s, will soon be running inland once again. The nearby hoardings proudly proclaimed the “renaissance of Blackpool,” a positive sign for a place that often doesn’t receive much good news.
Madelaine Bunting’s book, The Seaside, delves into the indices of deprivation in different coastal towns, including Blackpool. Reading it made me feel guilty for always enjoying my time there, despite its challenges. However, I prepared myself for the sensory overload that Blackpool offers as I walked along the promenade towards the towering Blackpool Tower with my overnight bag in hand.
Entering the tower’s base, I climbed the wide stairs, passing by beautiful turquoise ceramics depicting underwater scenes. From time to time, I caught glimpses of the riveted girders that anchor the tower to the promenade, which had an uncanny resemblance to scaly dinosaur legs, contrasting with the Victorian elegance of the area.
Inside the grand ballroom at the Blackpool Tower, I was greeted with a Fellini-esque spectacle. A dapper man played a white Wurlitzer organ on the stage while his feet danced about on the pedals. Couples engaged in a medieval courtly dance, called a gavotte, on the ballroom floor. The spangly dresses and shimmering shoes sparkled under the softly golden lighting. As I enjoyed my meal of crustless sandwiches and variegated small cakes, the organist switched to a quickstep, creating vibrations that sloshed my tea.
Leaving the ballroom, I took the glass lift to ascend the tower. The rusty parts of the lift hinted at its possible past life under the sea. At the top, I found myself in a series of large, ornate birdcages collectively known as the Tower Eye. From this vantage point, I could admire the vast expanse of beach and the enigmatic sea stretching out before me. Directly below, I could see the bunker-like Coral Island amusement arcade, now standing where the old Central Station used to be. The grey car park in the area is destined for redevelopment as part of the ongoing renaissance of Blackpool.
After leaving the tower, I asked a woman serving at an open-fronted shop for directions to my hotel, The Imperial. She cheerfully pointed me in the right direction, offering helpful details about what I would see along the way. The hotel is located at the quieter, north end of town, where colonnaded walkways provide a view of the sea wall. The Imperial exudes a stately charm with its wood-panelled interior, reminiscent of Blackpool’s prosperous days from 1867 onwards when it first opened. While some amenities, like the Turkish Bath and the Aperitif Bar, have closed, the hotel has retained its grandeur.
That evening, I enjoyed a traditionalist dinner in the Palm Court at The Imperial. I returned to the promenade afterward, where Friday night festivities battled against a soft, misty rain. The illuminated tower changed colors, flickering from lime green to purple to pink—a reminder of the sweets that don’t boast “no artificial colors.” To the south, a sea fret obscured most of the Pepsi Max Big One rollercoaster, except for its red aeroplane warning light at the top.
The next day began with a grey sky, but the sun eventually broke through as I spotted a vintage 1930s tram on the promenade. Blackpool’s modern tram fleet is supplemented by these classic vehicles throughout the year. Special stops along the promenade allow passengers to hop on these trams, which start their journeys from the Talbot Road depot. The depot is undergoing redevelopment as Tramtown, an upcoming visitor attraction that contributes to the renaissance of Blackpool. I had booked a tour of this museum-in-the-making and was excited to see novel trams such as the 1960s “rocket tram” that seats passengers at a 45-degree angle and the “boat trams,” including one modeled after the trawler from Fisherman’s Friend lozenge packets.
I continued my walk south along the bustling promenade, reminiscent of its interwar years when signs directed “Excursionists keep right.” I entered the Pleasure Beach funfair, a surreal transport interchange where people embark on various bizarre rides at different angles, sometimes even upside down. The well-maintained funfair gives off a museum-like vibe, and I particularly enjoyed the older rides, like the Captive Flying Machines from 1904, which spin passengers around in open-topped rockets. The nostalgic Grand National coaster, made of wood in 1935, manages to maintain its sense of controlled excitement. Even the most confident of kids turn silent after experiencing it.
To relax, I had an early evening white wine at The Albert and The Lion pub on the promenade, a converted art deco Woolworths store that basks in sunlight. Afterward, I made my way to the Grand Theatre to watch a delightful performance of The Mousetrap. The venue itself, designed by Frank Matcham in 1893, was a highlight for me. Matcham was also the architect behind the Tower Ballroom, and I could see echoes of its opulence in the Grand. The theater was packed with women in long summer dresses fanning themselves with their programs and men in pressed short-sleeved shirts.
For a late dinner, I dined at the Beach House, a stylish and slightly askew postmodern building located on the seaward side of the tram tracks. The ambiance was lively with loud music, and the cuisine had a delightful Mediterranean influence. The sunroof was rolled back, revealing a starry sky, creating the illusion of being in Spain. However, the presence of the delicate Victorian legs of the nearby North Pier reminded me that I was in a place that was unique and eccentric.
On my final morning, I took a ride through the rain in a narrow wooden tramcar built in 1901 for Bolton council. I spent the rest of my time before my train departure wandering around the town under a large colorful umbrella I purchased for a mere £3 from a friendly local. The cheerful man had set up a shop on the forecourt of his well-maintained guest house and was a testament to the town’s resilience, just like Blackpool itself. Better days seem to be on the horizon for this beloved coastal town.