I was born in Newsham in 1952 and then moved to Malvins Close shortly after my sister Joyce was born at the end of 1953. I t was a great place to live and Ken Dawson and I roamed all over the place: the beach, Humford Woods, Plessey Checks, the staithes, the piers, Seaton Sluice without a care in the world. Morpeth Road School then the old and new Grammar schools led to University and eventually a life in Switzerland. The decline of Blyth started with the closure of the railway, then the shipyard and then the final catastrophes of 1985-6. When I go back to see my Mum and some old and dear friends, it pains me to see the tired place Blyth has become and the miasma of hopelessness that hangs over it. The great grey desert that is now the market place, the endless charity shops and the open abuse of drugs are no great advertisements for the town. Coupled with the eyesores that are the bus station and the old Coop do not make Blyth inviting. The real shame is that the vast majority of in Blyth are decent folk but a small minority make life hell for the rest.
Blyth needs jobs and lots of them.
A memory shared byon Jan 21st, 2013.
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