I visited the Shakespeare North Playhouse last night. I was lucky to get home

Andy Burnham, the mayor of Manchester, penned another of his now frequent pieces in The Guardian this week, arguing in favour of “levelling up” the North. 

Addressing the problems of our transport infrastructure, he writes, “[t]he north would have a modern industrial base and a bigger economy. Our jobs and homes would be better; people would be living longer and in better health.”

Whether or not you believe his arguments might well have a great deal to do with your politics. We’re at the point in our public discourse where everything must be divisive, hostile, and tribal. Burnham is a particularly quarrelsome figure because he also represents a version of Labour you might or might not find acceptable in your metaverse, like some non-canonical Batman. Yet, in the North, his arguments continue to rise in urgency.

Simply put: he’s right. It just might not seem that way from the South.

Now, of course, at this point, there will be people who rightly point out that the South is not one great big happy playground. And that’s understood. Friends tell me how grim it is down there and no doubt parts of the South are suffering a decline in many ways comparable to and, perhaps, exceeding that found in the North. 

All we can do is speak of our subjective experience. And in those terms, it is simply a matter of fact that the North is now suffering from successive years of decline, especially when it comes to our public transport.

And yes, at some point, this is going to turn into an argument that boils down to “more buses!” but it’s not quite that simple. This is ultimately about a well-curated ecosystem of culture, opportunities, welfare, health, education, and plain simple business and economics.

Take one example that highlights the good and bad. Back in 2018, The New York Times wrote a very bleak portrait of the small North-West town of Prescot. Written by Peter S. Goodman, the article was titled “In Britain, Austerity Is Changing Everything”. 

It annoyed many here in the UK but, as I wrote for Reaction at the time, the article was more perceptive than people allowed. I came to Prescot (I live just seven miles away) and concluded that “[a]usterity was meant to lay the foundations for a nation’s prosperity. It was never meant to undermine the very things that made it a nation.”.

Since 2018, however, Prescot has had something of a rejuvenation, thanks to the opening of the Shakespeare North Playhouse. It’s a modern, stylish, friendly and (I can’t stress this enough) glorious addition to the North West’s arts scene. If my theology allowed it, I’d marry the place. Speaking as a punter, it has become one of my favourite haunts. In terms of footfall, my size eights are now regularly treading Prescot’s streets. I’m contributing (a little) to the local economy. Its café is simply one of the best in the North West – an amazingly eclectic playlist, delicious coffee, comfortable, and clean – and it employs the friendliest staff. If I only lived a little closer, I’d never leave. Next month, the children’s author Frank Cottrell-Boyce will be interviewing Steve Coogan in the 470-seat timber-framed Shakespearean theatre. The tickets disappeared so quickly that even somebody like me, totally addicted to the place, missed the chance of grabbing one. 

But that’s to be expected. The Playhouse seems to be really engaging with locals. It also seems well suited to Prescot, a town that was previously more famous for its old cable works. Its historical context is also justified, being the site of the only other Shakespearean theatre outside London. 

And it’s not just the theatre that has changed the town. It might well be merely cosmetic, but the town has changed to suit the theatre, themed as it is with suitably subtle adornments. Small statues are hidden around the town representing animals that appear in Shakespeare’s play. Stone slabs covered in quotes are buried in the pavement. Walls are adorned with images of the Bard. In one sense it’s all quite artificial but on another level, it is entirely plausible. It’s a lesson in how to transform a local economy with a little imagination and the investment of some creative capital. Shakespeare has taken over the town and the town is better for it. There are opportunities here to grow and create something very special.

It is exactly the kind of place that needs our support and that’s one of the reasons I’m trying to support it within my limited capacity (including writing this article). It hosts events that encourage engagement with the arts, offering opportunities and – dare one say – hope for many disadvantaged communities in the surrounding region.

However, all is not quite so good. I was there last night for one of their regular poetry evenings, a thing in itself relatively rare to find in these parts. Herein begins the struggle.

Prescot is not the easiest place to get to, even when you live just seven miles away (as the crow flies). In London terms, that’s Lewisham to The British Museum (give or take an Elgin Marble or two). Londoners will have to tell me what kind of travel that involves. All I know is that it takes me about an hour and a half to get there, depending on the connections between the two trains, two buses, or a bus and a train (it’s about the time it would take me to get to London from the North West, though substantially cheaper). Travelling anywhere is a tricky business given the state of our public transport. I either get there an hour too early or an hour late.

A few years ago, three trains an hour went into Liverpool from my local station. Since the government has brought Northern Trains back into public ownership (a sensible move), there is now only one train an hour. Buses, meanwhile, are sporadic. We don’t have live tracking of buses at bus stops – merely paper timetables behind Perspex. Even at the main bus stations, the electronic timetables are automated. It says a bus is “due”. Whether that bus turns up is another matter. I’ve recently stood up to two hours waiting for a bus that was supposed to run every 30 minutes.

Last night was a perfect example of how it regularly goes wrong. The event finished at 21.45. I was standing at the bus stop at 21.50 hoping to catch one of the buses to then make a connection in St Helens. They are supposed to run every 10 minutes. After 40 minutes, I was standing with half a dozen other men all complaining about how nothing works in this country. Three men peeled off and decided to walk home. I had no choice. I had to run the kilometre across town to catch a train otherwise I’d miss my second bus. Thankfully, the train was only running a few minutes late so I made my connection with a couple of minutes in hand. Had I missed it, no more buses were running to get me home, meaning a ridiculously expensive taxi.

It’s a trivial detail but makes a point about the precarious nature of enjoying a relatively inexpensive night of culture. If the transport infrastructure doesn’t take into consideration the night culture of the region, then there’s little point in having a night culture. This has been going on for many years. The last train out of Liverpool departs at 22.50. Often the evening performances at theatres can run that late. Concerts much later. Good luck getting home, especially if you’re a woman. Most likely, you just don’t attend them at all.

Because it was also very noticeable that, at the bus stop, I was surrounded by men. I saw no women travelling at night and no doubt for good reason. I’m a 6’ 2” beaded guy who some people say can look a bit intimidating (a deliberate effect purely for show, I assure you) and even I felt unsafe. I’d walked past one bus stop because an errant member of the Happy Mondays was out of his skull on God knows what, standing topless and spinning whilst shouting something about “happiness”.

The services are too unreliable and because they’re unreliable few people take them. And because too few people take them, the council clearly has no incentive to put on late buses that will run empty.

Extrapolate this experience across the region and you see the problem.

The Shakespeare North Playhouse cost £38 million to build. That’s not an insignificant sum, especially for a relatively small town in the North West, but looks cheap compared to, say, the London Eye which cost £70 million. Without the infrastructure surrounding it, however, that investment begins to underdeliver. The Shakespeare North Playhouse is built right next to Prescot’s new well-lit and secure bus station but connecting buses to the two bigger transport hubs (Liverpool and St Helens) do not run through it. This makes no sense when you want to encourage women and families to travel. The joined-up thinking is not yet there.

I doubt if every person wanting to experience a little culture in the North will be as determined as I am to be at the next event, but I have learned my lesson. It would have been our Mum’s birthday on 28 March, the first since her death in December. My sister has gifted me a ticket to see the great Stewart Lee at Salford Quays that night. I’ve decided not to risk asking her to make the 14-mile journey back late at night and have just booked her a room at the Premier Inn. A taxi would have cost twice that much and I’m not going to risk it.

It’s a rich man’s game this culture… emphasis on “rich” and “man”.

@DavidWaywell

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