Arguably the UK’s first major holiday destination, alongside
contenders like Brighton, Whitby or Scarborough, hundreds and thousands of
British people would flock to the south-eastern coastline to bathe, seek
thrills on the Scenic Railway at Dreamland with soggy teenage kisses, and soak
up whatever they could of the summer, strolling along the numerous natural and
beautiful bays to Broadstairs. It’s curious to think how somewhere so ruddy prime could ever have fallen into the
shadows in the way that Margate had done in the decade or so before now.
Somewhat downtrodden and deserted, one could almost see
tumbleweeds scurrying along the sands that once beckoned to Turner to rest his
easel and paint the sea skies now so famed and cherished by the nation. “Margate?” spat locals in neighbouring Canterbury
“Why the bloody hell would you want to visit Margate?” I would argue of its charms but before I knew it I’d be
drawing another pint of ale, for attentions would have been turned back to the
daily crossword with a shake of the head. “Be quiet. 4-letters.” “HUSH.”
And for those stepping off the train to be greeted by an
unsightly tower block and an abandoned stretch of beach, it might have felt the
same. Perhaps I’m a romantic but wandering down the promenade, past the faded arcades
and listening to the sound of creaking two-pence machines and the soft lull of
the waves, Margate always had my heart. Its grey skies and lost soul were
enduring.
There was so much to discover, even then. Highlights
included hour-long rummaging at Scott’s Junk Emporium, or getting unnerved by
yourself visiting the Shell Grotto – a dimly lit underground cavern of over 4-million
British seashells arranged in short tunnels leading to an atrium which, to this
day, no one really knows the truth of. You can ask a dozen people and they’d all
tell you a different story but consistently feature the little boy who climbed
down a hole to retrieve a lost tool in the 1800s and instead found Margate’s
biggest mystery.
Even then, overhearing the townspeople themselves gathered
in hushed groups, complaining of the lost glory of Margate, you could feel the
beginning of a new kind of spirit emerging; a fighting community. And, even
then, the sun would come out from behind the clouds and bathe the town in
light.
I probably am a romantic after all, but I wasn’t the only
one.
I probably am a romantic after all, but I wasn’t the only
one.
When the Turner Contemporary was built on the seafront, on
the site where Turner would often rest up at a local B&B with an inspiring
view, the county was abuzz that this would be the turning point for the town
and yet while it set wheels in motion, it wasn’t until independent shops and
cafes started to pop up in the Old Town that people really started to consider
it. It wasn’t until Dreamland tenaciously fought for years to reopen its doors
to the public that the rollercoaster started to pick up speed.
Speaking with a fellow Margate-lover, we mused over what had
really stolen our hearts upon our first visit. Or what had consistently
captured attention across the country at the turn of recent events. We
concluded on a key word that you might have already seen used in reference to
Margate and other areas of the UK: Regeneration.
I hope they never ‘finish’ Margate. Along the coastline,
gentrification moves steadily in as high-speed railways are established, as
flood defences improve, and as old-town charm waltzes back to the dancefloor.
However, in the capital, we’ve seen the effect that overdoing this can have on
a community, notably in East London, where locals, grit and character are driven
out and prices driven up, leaving only those who can afford to stay.
To keep those tumbleweeds from turning once more, must
Margate remain in a state of construction, and glinting promise? Call me a
romantic for certain, but what I really want to know is how will Margate keep the magic
alive this time?
