Barrow should stop moaning and play to its strengths

The good people of my hometown are not happy. No surprise there, since Barrow-in-Furness, in Cumbria, was once cited as the most miserable town in Britain.

What the compilers of that survey completely failed to understand is that Barrovians, as they’re known, like nothing more than a moan. They’re a proud lot, isolated, on a peninsula sticking out into Morecambe Bay. Inevitably, they tend to see the world in black and white terms, as us against them – with them being very much the distant, ruling class, the sort of folk in fact who ask intrusive questions and complete nonsense questionnaires about degrees of happiness (last week it was the turn of Huddersfield in West Yorkshire, to be named the “worst town in England”, according to a poll).

This time, though, they really are annoyed. The source of their complaint is the author Bill Bryson, once of this parish, back when The Independent was a print-only newspaper. In his book, in which he tours Britain and likes to poke fun, The Road to Little Dribbling, Bryson hails Barrow as being “just about the most out-on-a-limb, end-of-the-line place in England”. Known for its industry, “these days it is famous for being forgotten and depressed”. On his visit, one of the main streets was full of “tattooed and dangerous-looking men”, with an atmosphere akin to a prison yard.

Bryson’s book was published three years ago, but his remarks have surfaced now, because of a recent recording of BBC’s Question Time in Barrow. On the show, Paul Mason talked about the poverty he’d encountered, especially in “the high street I walked down to get here”.

This prompted a council debate, during which Alan Pemberton, a councillor, said that “the image celebrities present is totally false”. He added that he was “fed up with comedians coming to the Forum [a town centre venue], or politicians on Question Time who have a quick look round, and then go on television or in the national press and criticise Barrow when they haven’t seen anything but one or two streets”.

Turning on Bryson, David Pidduck, the council leader, said: “This guy is from America, where families send their children to school hoping they are going to survive the day without some wazzock turning up with a gun. For him to come to Barrow and start talking about prison yards… my advice is, don’t come back.”

Cue coverage in the national media, highlighting Bryson’s description and the councillors’ pained reaction. If the elected burghers’ strategy was to focus unwanted attention on Barrow’s shortcomings, they certainly succeeded.

They’re a fine example of why, sometimes, it is best to say nothing, to not respond. All they’ve done is provide oxygen for further negative publicity.

Bryson’s book, in particular, is meant to be lighthearted. Indeed, as he points out, Bryson has said worse things about other places, notably Bognor. It was obvious he was making a flying visit, as was Mason, as are the comedians.

To compound the sense of an over-reaction, in public anyway, by people with thin skins, Bryson actually said some good things about his trip, that, “Barrow looked okay… clean, reasonably prosperous, respectful of its past.”

Instead of firing from the hip, the councillors should ask themselves, in private, why exactly do visitors react in the way they do, and what can they do about it?

First impressions count, and it’s no use saying there is a beautiful shoreline at nearby Roanhead, taking in the Lake District fells, or at historic Piel Island, and there is a fine set of ruins at Furness Abbey. They’re out of the way, not in the town centre.

It’s a commonly raised question, in the face of criticism, to ask “don’t you realise?”. People won’t know until you tell them. Then they know it is not all bad, and in the example of Barrow, it is really very good, and appreciate they should take in more of the surroundings.

That requires a PR and marketing campaign, to get the press and other commentators and opinion-formers to make the journey and to take in the more attractive bits.

But the councillors should still look at the town centre, likely to be the location for a comedy gig or TV recording, and the first port of call for any business visitor looking to invest. That’s the part that people coming off trains see, the area that is most immediate and accessible.

Get that wrong, and jokes will surely follow. I was there recently, visiting relatives, and the central district does look shabby in places. There’s a distinct lack of pride in the aesthetic, and a lack of understanding about the message that is sending.

And that leads to the tattooed and dangerous-looking men.

It comes down to a lack of aspiration. Difficult, when you’re cut off from the rest, and when so much of the traditional manufacturing base has gone, and so many of the population are out of work or not holding down a job with genuine prospects. But that does not mean it should not be attempted.

Barrow has an in-built advantage over other post-industrial areas. It still builds submarines, and not just any submarines, but nuclear submarines.

Admittedly, the numbers employed in the BAE shipyard are heavily reduced. It is, though, the home of engineering excellence and technology, creator of just about the most advanced product on the planet.

To construct a nuclear submarine requires superb design expertise, and expert knowledge of materials, sonar, electronics, nuclear, digital, communications, weaponry. But where is that know-how stored? In the shipyard. Where are the start-ups clustered around the making of nuclear submarines, the link-ups with world-class academic and technological institutes?

To go down that path – as so many other industrial locations across Britain should, in bio-tech, pharma, aeronautics, to name but three – requires vision. The rewards, though, looking at two economic clusters that have worked – the Cambridge Science Park and the City of London – can be immense.

It won’t be easy, and there will be hiccups along the way. It must be better, however, than the alternative, of shouting down the messenger – be they Bill Bryson, Paul Mason or stand-up comedians.

Chris Blackhurst is a former editor of The Independent, and director of C|T|F Partners, the campaigns, strategic, crisis and reputational, communications advisory firm