Why does going back to old haunts feel strange?

A reflection on a place I used to call home

Me, visiting the Larkin building at The University of Hull - where I had many English Literature seminars.

I went to Hull for a weekend away. Not a common phrase that’s uttered, I imagine…just an educated guess. When I told people I was going, I could see this quizzical look appear on their faces. Too polite to say “Hull?...Why?!” yet a look too obvious to hide the preconceived feelings about the city that sits upon the Humber estuary. 

A place no one goes to unless they have to. A city that seems all but forgotten by the British Isles. Described in the poem Here by Philip Larkin as: 

“Here, silence stands/Like heat. Here leaves unnoticed thicken/Hidden weeds flower.” 

And Larkin should know. The writer was the librarian at the University of Hull from 1955 until his death in 1985. Which I still find such a curious choice for him, being such the cherished writer that he was. Maybe it was his miserable disposition that landed him in Hull. Perhaps he saw it as a place to be left alone. A place where he could be bleak and no one would complain. But I think it’s something more. 

And I should know. It’s where I called home for three years.  

After graduating from The University of Hull I’ve been back maybe once or twice. You’d think from what you’ve read so far that I don’t have a fondness for Hull. No attachment as such. But, wow, do I. I will defend and celebrate Hull’s charm until the cows come home. It holds a tender place in my heart. It’s a part of me. 

I felt the pull back to Hull at the start of this year when I was deciding with my partner what we wanted to do with our 2023. We didn’t meet until after university and we’d visited Leeds together, where he’d studied, so naturally, I felt the need to share my city of study with him. A fish lover…I lured him in with Hull’s aquarium, The Deep, and the promise of a good time.  

So, in late October, we went. To visit the old town, the student area, to see the campus in all its autumnal glory, and to go to The Deep. We really packed it in - going to all corners of the maritime city. Exploring what feels like a large market town, yet has an important past that I think carries through to the present, if you scratch underneath the typical high street surface.

We arrived, and immediately took the back streets through the old town, over the cobblestones and past the inviting pubs with their little warmly lit windows; meandering around the marina with the unmistakably northern wind attacking our cheeks; down Newland Avenue and into the aptly named Larkin’s pub for good beer and cheap but hearty scran. Along the way, met by the people of Hull, unassuming yet friendly. With an edge but not standoffish. A little bit like in Manchester, Hull has a sense of ‘we do things differently here’...or maybe it’s ‘we do things exactly how we want to and no one’s stopped us yet’. 

The inviting Larkin’s on Newland Avenue, Hull

And the charm I was talking about? It hasn’t faded. Not for me anyway. It hit me as soon as we stepped out onto those cobbled streets and into the history-rich pubs. There was a new shiny part of Hull, too - in part, I imagine, to the investment into the city since Hull was 2017’s City of Culture. Hull’s Fruit Market district is now a destination. Humber Street has been completely redeveloped, with independent shops, restaurants, and bars, all neatly lining their way up to the Humber Estuary in yesteryear’s merchant buildings.

Hull welcomed me back, even though I’d only called it my home for a short time. I felt happy and ready to reminisce, but I was left with a kind of sadness - or maybe longing. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on at the time. 

---

Until recently when I read this beautiful piece by

Janelle Hardacre

about grieving for a place. Janelle’s piece led me to understand that funny feeling I had when I was visiting my old home that weekend.

Hull was where I first felt ownership over a place - it felt like it was just for me. Where the independence I’d been craving for what felt like a lifetime, was finally mine. I made it my home and I belonged. I felt safe to grow; a whole new part of ‘me’ was created. 

Going back, 10 years after graduating, it all felt familiar - not just the place, but the memories, a sense of revisiting who I used to be. Like I was almost re-living and re-feeling everything that happened there. The excitement of independence…the love/hate relationship with academia…the heartbreak and misunderstanding boys…the lack of self-esteem, and then the confidence that popped up out of nowhere (never in the opportune moment, by the way). 

And yet there I was, a 32-year-old. No longer a resident, no longer a student, but a tourist.

There is only forwards

Being a tourist in a place I used to call home gave me a tinge of sadness. I could go back to the place, but never truly resurrect those uni days. But maybe it wasn’t the place I was grieving for, but an old version of me. 

As I start to depart my early 30s and move towards the scary and seemingly ‘responsible’ mid-30s and beyond, it becomes even more tempting to resort back to a younger, carefree me. I’m now at the age where I keep feeling like I should’ve made all the decisions for the rest of my life. Like I should know exactly how it should look, play by play. But I only feel like I’m just getting into the swing of it (life, that is).…I just want to, you know, hold on for a second? Catch my breath.  

Maybe that’s why there was a part of me during that weekend in Hull that thought…I could come back here. Live here, maybe get a job at the university, have a house on one of the leafy roads nearby, where I’d write and have a quiet, yet content life. I’d be left alone to do as I please. Like a female Philip Larkin. It was a comforting idea. I’d already done the work of growing up there! I could just go back and feel fully formed, a nice easy option with minimal decisions, and a comfort blanket of a small city and familiarity. 

But, alas. We have to move forwards to truly be present in life. And as much as I love Hull, my heart is in Manchester.

Instead, I think I’ll leave the student me there, proud of what she did with her time in Hull. 

Proud of getting a degree, yes, but proud that I got to know the city that served me so well. It nurtured me. As if I’d arrived at the port and it incubated me in a safe space of learning before going out into the big wide world. I’m proud that I connected with the place and its people. I got to dance again and teach students and locals my beloved ballet and tap; I got to write for the university paper; I got the wild student nights out and the walk of shame home the next morning. I got to make my mistakes in love; I got to revel in my own company. I got to ignore the naysayers and explore the unique charm and culture of Hull, hidden by its tough and weathered maritime exterior. 

Revisiting Hull has given me the confidence that I’ve still got room to grow in whatever way I want to. I just have to trust myself and let it happen. Put up my metaphorical sails and see where the winds from the Humber take me next.