Last updated 20:50, Thursday, 06 November 2008

I FINALLY feel as though I belong here.

It has taken nearly six years but now I know where my heart is – and it is all thanks to writer Hunter Davies.

I read his column on Maryport in this month’s Cumbria Life magazine and I puffed up with both the resentment and pride of a local at what he said; I even resented a visitor to the town criticising “us” at all.

Maryport, he claimed, cannot make up its mind whether it is a dump or a little gem.

Well, those who live here know the answer.

He said that when he walked around the harbour there was never anyone there, and he described our young people as “pale grey, flabby, deprived looking youths with nothing to do.

His heart sank at “the handful of cheap, useless shops.”

He talks about “greasy caffs” although he gives Her Citi in Crosby Street the thumbs-up – and so he should, because it is a wonderful cafe with a very friendly owner and staff.

But he has completely overlooked the Aquarium, where there is gorgeous food and coffee, or The Wave, or Ma’s Pantry, which serves delicious baked potatoes, or McMenamins, catering for the kind of market that Mr Davies obviously prefers.

He may have thought that the Curzon Grill was his idea of a greasy spoon but go inside and you can sample hearty food for very reasonable prices.

That’s just five places I can think of off-hand – and it does not include the many pubs all over Maryport which offer tasty fare and value for money.

Then there is the empty harbour. I don’t know when he went down there, but one of the things I have particularly noticed about Maryport is how well the harbour area is used.

On a good day you will find people sitting on the sea wall eating fish and chips – and the town’s fish and chips are delicious – or just wandering around enjoying the scenery.

I’ve never known so many people with so many dogs, and they all walk around the harbour, rain or shine. There are also so many beautiful walks here, including the new coastal park – and you are never alone there.

As for our fat, pasty youth – Maryport kids don’t look any different to those you find in Carlisle, Workington, Cockermouth or anywhere else with the same genetic stock.

For those people who work so hard to provide for the young – Brian Thompson and his Boys’ Club, John Anderson and his team at the John Street youth centre, Angela Good’s groups up at Ewanrigg Community Centre, the team at Netherhall Community Sports Centre, the coaches and managers of sporting clubs for the young, and even the Maryport police – the suggestion that there is nothing for the youth to do must seem like a bit of a slap in the face!

Tatty shops? Well, some of them are, and some of them are being given a make-over even as we speak.

There’s quite a bit of life in the town. I can look out of my office and see the beautifully painted old Carlton cinema which is shortly to be revived as a factory where bespoke china will be decorated for some of the most luxurious hotels and some of the wealthiest people in the world.

There is tat and there is decline, and Maryport has suffered more than some places with unemployment and poverty.

But the people here have spirit and a sense of community that is stronger than most places. The people here care about their town.

They recognise its faults but they care.

I interviewed Hunter Davies once and thought he was lovely. He also wrote my favourite – and most readable – biography on the life of William Wordsworth. He is a clever man and very far from a nasty one.

He did acknowledge that he hadn’t got to the bottom of Maryport – that he was making up his mind whether it was indeed a dump or an emerging gem.

Well, I can tell him that it is somewhere in between. It is home for many people, it has a lot for us to be proud of, and proud of it we are.

There are some here who think the money spent on the harbour should have been spent in the middle of town or on the estates.

But no matter – money is being spent on Maryport because it’s worth it.

Take time to poke around some of the “tatty” shops, talk to some of the pasty-faced youths and have a cuppa at one of the greasy spoons. You might just be surprised.