Glorious Blackpool Illuminations

The Blackpool Illuminations was one of the most iconic sights in British culture which I managed to see and experience up close.

And what a sight it was, too.

It was nothing quite like I’d ever seen in Malaysia. Perhaps the closest to what could be called an illumination display back home for me was the annual panjut displays in Kota Lama Kanan, Kuala Kangsar. Every year, during Ramadhan, to coincide with the malam tujuh likur, folks residing along the main road from Kuala Kangsar leading towards the Iskandar Bridge over Sungai Perak would decorate their housing compounds with lanterns. After buka puasa, hordes of locals would take slow drives to enjoy the spectacle on display on both sides of the road.

But this one in Blackpool was totally something else altogether. All bright and colourful, it was super extravagant and on much a bigger scale. It was that particular time of the year when as if Blackpool was having one big, two-months-long carnival along its sea front.

At ten kilometres long, and using over a million bulbs, the Blackpool Illuminations was said to be the biggest free light show in the world. The original illuminations started back in 1879. But the first event similar to the current, modern-day displays began over a hundred years ago in 1912.  It was to mark the opening of a new section of the Blackpool promenade by a member of the British Royal family. Thousands of lights were festooned and lighted up along the promenade. They created so much interest – and not to mention good business – that the local business community decided to stage the Illuminations again the following year. The rest, as they say, was history.

The event usually ran for sixty-six days from late August to early November each year. It is, in a way, Blackpool’s shrewd strategy of lengthening its holiday season. When other resorts have pulled down the shutters for the year, Blackpool continued to pulsate with activities attracting millions more well into autumn.

The illuminations run along along the entire length of the Blackpool seafront promenade from the Starr Gate in the south to Red Bank Road at Bispham. It is launched every year with a Switch On concert whereby top celebrities are invited and given the honour to flick on the Lights.True to its tag as the premiere seaside resort in Britain, the illuminations displayed the town's gaudy grandeur at its best. All along the main road and tram ways a variety of stunning colourful light displays could be seen from lasers, to neon, light bulbs, searchlights and floodlights, all attached to lamp posts or buildings and linked together with festoon lighting.

The lights were also presented in the form of scenic designs and features displaying all sorts of patterns, popular cartoons and famous TV characters. I remember some of the more popular displays being Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy from the Muppet Shows. Another firm favourite was Dr. Who, the main character from a hit British television adventure drama with a cult following. The trams which went up and down the Promenade would also be specially illuminated and designed almost like parade floats. Three hugely popular ones were the Rocket Tram, the Boat Tram and the Train Tram.

Most visitors drive through the Illuminations by car, coach or bus, making the main road on the promenade jam packed. Then of course there were the trams, some of which with open tops which would allow passengers to get a closer view of the lights. The trams would trundle along very slowly on their tracks to allow the passengers to soak in the sights on display. My friends and I used to just foot it. We tried once or twice to hop on one of the open top trams. But it would have been our lucky day if we could board the overcrowded trams. 

I remember the first time we went to see the Illuminations. The pedestrian walkways by the road sides would be full of people gawking at the lights. The busiest areas were the promenade near the Gynn Square, as well as in front of the three famous Blackpool piers namely the North Pier, Central Pier and South Pier. It was quite normal to have people accidentally bumping into you as most had their eyes transfixed on the lights rather than watching where they were going. As it was autumn, the nighttime weather could be quite unforgiving. Most people could be seen walking with their hands planted deep in their winter jacket pockets with collars folded up and shoulders hunched to protect from the cold draughts.

My friends and I would start our walk from Gynn Square as a few of our friends stayed nearby at Hodgson Road. From Gynn Square we would make our way southwards. We walked and walked, stopping occasionally to admire the more impressive and captivating sets of displays. The Blackpool Tower would be all lighted up, and at 350 meters tall it became a landmark point helping us with our bearing and indications in terms of distance already covered.

Often times though, we got carried away, literally. We would walk on for miles enchanted by the lights until we were so far away from Gynn Square and too cold to walk back.

In the end, we had no choice but to take the tram back to Gynn Square. But have you tried standing in a long queue, waiting for a tram on a cold and windy night? It was pure misery. The night breeze would get noticeably colder every minute that we stood still in the line.

We would reach home cold and hungry but still gabbing away, excited by the sights and sound of the Blackpool Illuminations. A quick meal of the now soggy fish and chips that we took away from the local chippy, and were contented and ready for bed.

Living in British Flats

In Malaysia, the word “flat” would conjure the image of a multi-storey living dwelling as in “Flat Pekeliling” at Jalan Pekeliling in Kuala Lumpur. But in the UK, apart from multi-storey dwellings, it is also used to refer to a set of rooms for living in, including terraced housing.

Upon arrival in Blackpool, after putting up for a couple of nights at our temporary accommodation at the Marlowe Hotel, I moved into my first flat at No. 4 Cheltenham Road as arranged by Susan Didsbury from the college’s Student Service Affairs Office. I remember it had a lovely little rock garden with small plants that had colourful white and purple flowers in the front yard.

After only a month, I moved to another flat closer to college at No. 20 Norbreck Road. A few months later I moved just next door to No. 22 when our seniors Rashid Salleh, Majid Kamari, Sharif Haron and Ahmad Said moved out to enter universities. No. 22 Norbreck Road was a two and a half storey terraced house with the landlord occupying the ground floor.

I remember the flat had a textured glass front door with white wooden frames. Inside, it was all carpeted. As I entered the house, a side mirror would be on my left, and to my right, continuous right up to the back part of the house, would be the living area for the landlord, Alex, and his family. Proceeding on, keeping to the left, would lead me straight to the flight of carpeted stairs leading to the first floor. Upon reaching the landing on the first floor, if I went straight ahead, I would go through a narrow corridor which took me the rooms of Ghani and Azhar at the back part of the house.

But I would usually make a 180-degree U-turn towards Shaari’s big room located in the front part of the house, and there make another U-turn to take another flight of stairs towards Hamidin’s room. Another U-turn in front of Hamidin’s room would finally lead me to my room and the kitchenette which I shared with Hamidin. Yes, my room and the kitchenette were located on the top most floor. It was actually part of an attic, located directly below the pitched roof of the house.

The kitchenette had a small dinner table for two by the wall on the right side, and at the far end to the left was an old Philips telly with two old sofas arranged facing it. The kitchenette had a small window with views to the street and Norbreck Castle Hotel just across the road in front of our house. A cooker with electric stoves was located by the window and a small grey fridge stood next to it. The kitchenette was always brightly lit as there was a skylight opening in the roof which flooded the area with natural lighting.

The bathroom was located on the first floor. It was rather small but had a bath tub and was equipped with an electric shower. We Malaysians never used the tub for taking a bath. Instead, bringing our habits from home, we preferred to shower – whilst standing in the tub. The British traditionally use bath tubs for their personal hygiene. But then again, they were not that famous for their cleanliness. It was a regular joke amongst us Malaysians that the English shower or take the bath just once a week.

The tap water in UK was always very cold. And it can take quite some time for one to familiarize and adjust the tap in order to get the water to the right temperature for a shower. So, the first time I attempted to shower, there was I standing in the bath tub half naked, in the cold, fiddling with the shower head for a good few minutes.

But it could be worse. You see, most rented flats in the UK had electricity supplied through a coin-operated meter. It worked like a parking meter. We drop 50 pence coins in the meter’s slot and get a certain amount of time to receive electricity. If that time elapsed while you were in the midst of a shower, then you’re in trouble. You wouldn’t want to be running around the house covered in soap suds hunting for 50 pence coins. The only choice was to soldier on – continue showering using the freezing cold water.   

But old habits die hard. We continued to shower every day and this was occasionally a source of concern to Mr. Alex Stent, the landlord. Being so used to having long, splashing showers back home, we had this great tendency for getting the floor all wet and damp. 

Another thing which made Alex grumble was our liking for hanging our wet socks and underwear on the central heating radiators all along the corridors. We used to wash our clothes at the self-service laundromats. But for small items like socks and undies, they were washed at home. And where better to hang them out to dry then on those lovely hot radiators. Barely an hour placed on them and you’d get some nicely dried and warm undies, ready to wear.

My bedroom was quite small and, being in an attic, a part of the headroom was an awkwardly sloped ceiling. Its walls were painted white. It had a study table and a chair where I’d spent long hours on my studies. On the desk was a white study table lamp, two bottles of black Parker Quinck ink and a row of books arranged against the wall. Pasted to the wall just in front of me – using Blu-Tack – would be some photos, a to-do checklist and a paper cutting of Lat’s cartoon strip.  Directly behind me was my queen size bed. On the wall, next to the bed was a Pink Floyd poster, left behind by my senior Sharif, a Pink Floyd fan.

To make the room feel fresh and homely, I kept a balsam plant bought at the Fine Fare supermarket. It sat on the fireplace just next to the study table. I used to feed it with liquid plant food and when it was about 7 or 8 inches tall it started producing lovely pink flowers.

My room was always cold. Heating for individual rooms were from electricity supplied through the coin-operated meter and – as far as possible – we students tried not to switch it on in order to save money on heating. Thus, during winter, most of the time I would have my socks on in my room and sometimes I’d even be wrapped up in my sleeping bag while studying.

During weekdays, our daily routine was fairly fixed. After a quick breakfast of cereals, we’d walk to college and only return home in the evening. Hamidin and I would take turns to prepare a simple dinner. We had our dinner usually seated in front of the telly and sometimes we’d be joined in by Shaari from just downstairs or Ghani and Azhar.

As weekends approached, we would start planning for some recreation with a spot of badminton or tennis. But I would especially look forward to invitations for lunch or dinner from the guys at other flats, with Hodgson Road being my favourite hangout. Weekends were also set aside for a visit to the local laundromat to wash my clothes or to do shopping for our kitchen essentials at the Fine Fare supermarket at the town centre.

When I moved to Manchester, my flat at 25 Shirley Road, and later at 39 Woodlands Road in Cheetham Hill, were owned by British Asians. They may have been older and not as well kept as my Blackpool abodes, but they were conveniently close to halal shops and the local mosque.

At Shirley Road, the furnishings were also very basic and there was no television – or the telly, as the English would call them – for my housemates Ahmad, Syed and Yusni to sit around and watch together. So, I bought a small, very old telly which I kept in my room to watch the news and keep a tab on weekend football results. But it was also used to brighten up my mornings by catching TV presenter Selina Scott on the BBC’s Breakfast Time.

My room at Woodlands Road was much bigger than at Shirley Road. That was nice, yes. Only thing was, during winter it would be a big challenge to heat up the room, especially when you have two or three big, drafty windows. A bit of industriousness and effort were needed. After a trip to the local DIY superstore, I sealed up the windows using clear window insulation film which created a simple double-glazed system. They worked quite well. Other housemates Ramli, Zainal and Ahmad also had them.

In Manchester, we didn’t have our landlords staying with us. So, we could take showers to our hearts’ content and we could dry our undies – and even lots more – on the heating radiators. As long as we paid our rents on time, the landlords would leave us alone. And now we could even order our own fresh milk delivered to our doorstep by the local milkman.

I liked to open our front door in the mornings to the nice, fresh outdoor air and picked up our bottles of milk inside. The milk would have been just nicely chilled by the dawn air to be drank or taken with my cereals.

On weekend mornings, I would sit on my bed facing my old telly with a mug full of fresh, chilled milk, specially concocted by throwing in a pinch of Nescafe and two cubes of sugar. With the Sunday paper, The Observer, spread out in front of me, and with Selina Scott glancing at me, throwing her sweet smiles from the television screen, it was a perfect start to the day.