John Edward Cooper’s Notes
Friday 9 July 2004
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[2004] Visit to Glasson Dock, Heysham and Morecambe I mentioned on 6 July 2004 what Janet dislikes about visiting Mum and Dad: that even on short journeys she starts to feel sick, but they always want to take us out. What I dislike, similarly, has been having to go out for longer journeys in the car, for it’s not been long before I’ve felt great discomfort and a pain in the back. However, this time I adjusted the seat-contour knobs to take away the outward curvature of the lower part of the backrest, and that made it so that I didn’t get the usual discomfort. This morning we set out and went, via Shard Bridge, to Glasson Dock.  We turned left off the B5290, following a sign — I can’t remember if it said to “Old Glasson”;—  — anyway, it looked like it was the way we should take — but we ended up at some small dockside industrial estate; so we retraced our steps, got back on the B5290 and entered Glasson, crossing over the lock between two dock-basins,—  — and parked outside the post office cum general store in the road leading up Tithe Barn Hill.  We went in the post office cum general store.  I noticed an ATM in there, so decided to get £20. But when it was going to charge me £1.50 I aborted that transaction in disgust.  The dock-basin to the south of the lock is a fairly large pleasure-boat marina.  The basin to the north is an industrial area, with working boats.      Mum and I walked a short distance through a small works yard,—  — to look at the Lune estuary.          Not finding Glasson as interesting as hoped, we went on to Heysham.  The grey-roofed semidetached houses that we passed at first corresponded with what impressions of Heysham I had, for that’s the kind of house Audrey’s grandma and grandad lived in when I cycled there to visit her in 1966; but I had no idea that descending beyond them, we would find the picturesque old village that we did.  We parked in the village square.  At the back of one of the houses on the village square, on the back-yard wall, we found two black cats.  One of them stayed and was very friendly.  To the right, off the village square,—   — we found the Royal Hotel, where we had lunch.    As with the Thatched House, Poulton, there was a sign — this time “Mitchell’s” — yet, again, the staple was Boddington’s. I had a couple of pints of this; again, as at the Thatched House, it was too warm to be fully enjoyable. What I had for lunch, though — shoulder of lamb in a minted gravy — was very satisfactory. Just along the road from there, and turning right,—  — I found a view of Morecambe Bay, the Lakeland hills beyond, and in the distance to the right the rest of Heysham,—  — including some of the grey-roofed semidetached houses that I mentioned earlier. Many of these have yellow ridge-tiles, which I guess is a local feature.  We wanted to visit the ruined chapel of St. Patrick, but following the signpost, ended up at the power station; some bastard — may they die in pain and go to hell! — had swivelled the signs round.  The correct road was the one on which the Royal Hotel stands.  We looked in the old church of St. Peter—        — (which I’d seen in pictures, though had no idea how it fitted in with the recollection of grey-roofed semidetached houses), and the elderly guy there gave us a guided tour.        Then, which was a great strain for Dad, less so for Mum, we went up the knoll to look at the St. Patrick ruins.             After that we went on to Morecambe. As a holiday-place, Morecambe has become really run-down and tatty nowadays. Mum and Dad wanted a cup of tea, which I didn’t, so I left them and had a wander round. Took photos of the memorial to Eric Morecambe.    
Sat in the car to wait for them; and then we headed home. A day or so ago, Mum brought out, from the drawers below the telephone, a small address book that had been Grandma Cooper’s, and seemingly Grandad’s before her. I think we wanted to check when someone had died, for such information had been added to the book. When Mum and Dad had gone to bed tonight, I got it out again. (On a previous visit, I looked through their telephone numbers book for any reference to Mary née Fry, tantalisingly in vain. Inter alia, I had this in mind this evening, but again my search was in vain. It even has a reference to Audrey, for goodness’ sake; but nothing about Mary.) Here are a few selected examples from the book:
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