It’s Yorkshire Day, a.k.a. the best day of the year, which warrants an excessive consumption of pints and a dose of Indie music taken from the 2003-07.
God’s Own Country is an idiosyncratic mess, a white rose that should be watered into full bloom by the people who know it best. Anyone from Yorkshire bleeds Yorkshire, and the pride of its people is out in force on this, the holiest of days.
So the celebrate, here’s an official ranking of the socioeconomically vulnerable yet beautiful cities that make up this county, produced by a Yorkshire native.
Ripon, I hear you cry. Does Ripon even count? Does Ripon even know it’s born?
Ripon, which is basically Harrogate, betrays Yorkshire by being a painfully Tory stronghold. Go visit the cathedral for a day trip, but pay no attention to the plummy accents that taint an aesthetically pleasing city. You have entered the Bermuda triangle of Yorkshire. I fear it might be ruining our reputation.
Rivals. Cod heads. Bastards. If I push it, I suppose I could say thanks for not burning down your side of the Humber Bridge.
The Humber Bridge. Image: Wikimedia Commons.
(Editor’s note: Grimsby was historically in Lincolnshire but is now in the Yorkshire & Humber region so still qualifies for this ranking. By the same token, Middlesbrough has been excluded. Sorry, but I don’t make the rules.)
Same as Ripon, but with worse tea-shops.
The Harrogate Cenotaph. Image: DS Pugh/Wikimedia Commons.
Rotherham gets a hard rap, and is often framed in right wing sensationalist rags as the epicentre of obesity, teenage pregnancy and depravity. Jamie Oliver used to frequent it to make himself look good.
Rotherham, in all honesty, doesn’t give a shit what you think of it, and I believe will exist in humdrum monotony when the apocalypse has taken the rest of us down.
Hudds is weird, man. I don’t feel like I’ve given Huddersfield the time it deserves, but then I think most people don’t dwell on Huddersfield and it’s generally for good reason.
Huddersfield. Image: Richard Harvey/Wikimedia Commons.
Huddersfield doesn’t have a grand identity like the rest of the cities on the list. It’s the kid that got the fourth places badge in the egg and spoon race. Huddersfield, try harder. You have it in you.
Doncaster, aka God’s Waiting Room, is a purgatorial space that people only visit because of the connective powers of its train station. Gains several points for its nickname, Donny, which sounds like a teenager who got sacked from their weekend job for trying to sniff boot polish in the store room.
Sheffield likes to pretend it isn’t really a part of Yorkshire proper, like it stands alone somehow, and it sometimes feels like it shits on its less hilly cousins in order to get there. People set comedies in Sheffield when they don’t understand the rest of Yorkshire. It pisses me off.
Sheffield by night. Image: Benedict Hunjan/Wikimedia Commons.
It did spawn Pulp, mind, and in recent times, its local politics have shunted it up the list. Its current lord mayor is the brilliantly-named Magid Magid, a Green party rep who invites his constituents to come see Mamma Mia: Here We Go Again with him. Coincidentally, he is the only man I am willing to marry.
While we’re here, I should remind you that the Tory government took the Northern Powerhouse jobs stationed in Sheffield, plonked them in London and told Sheff’s employees that they could commute. Will you kindly fuck off, London.
Halifax is all about the Eureka! National Children’s Museum. Go there, watch an electronic Archimedes shout ‘Eureka!’ In the bath, produce some counterfeit money, and leave again.
Wakefield is pure Yorkshire, in the way that the city that spawned The Cribs would have to be. The Hepworth Gallery is an obvious win, but as the city’s main attraction it is a bit of an attention seeker.
Wakefield Westgate, c1900. Image: public domain.
Wakefield, however, does well for its size, and its close connection with the Pennines (a range of hills unfortunately shared with the north west, boo hiss) is somewhat of a plus.
Barnsley is home to one of the best accents in Yorkshire. A small, post-industrial town often forgotten thanks to Sheffield’s peacocking, it is a place that has struggled and is often misunderstood.
I have a lot of time for Barnsley’s working-class credentials, and like any other city struggling to be seen in a country in the grip of London-centrism, believe that you should visit it to understand how the other half live.
Broke: screaming “Kes!” at its civilians.
Woke: realising that Kes is fifty-years old and the city desperately longs for new working-class representations to depict its idiosyncrasies and socioeconomic struggles.
Tourist trap. Got a mighty soft spot for it, though. Stunning and feels like Hogsmeade every day of the year. (For those who don’t understand: Harry Potter reference that denotes a city that looks like Christmas all-year round, except for basic bitches.) Roam around the Shambles. Get shouted at by the owner of Mr £wich, who creates the best sarnies in town. Most people leave York knowing that they will never feel that happy again.
The Shambles. Image: Peter K. Burian/Wikimedia Commons.
York loses a few points because awful people go to university there. Despite that, it’s a town for 40-somethings, and now that Willow, it’s Chinese restaurant-cum-karaoke bar has shut down, all nightlife has ceased to exist. Go to Leeds like a normal person.
Bradford is fantastic. Not only are the curries perfect and the Wetherspoons conveniently located (sorry, I’ve been in London too long, please visit some independent pubs), its aesthetic power lies in the fact that it hasn’t given way to a series of homogenous shop fronts that haunt the city centre with corporate sterility.
Bradford, however, is not an entry-level Yorkshire city. The rag ’n’ bone men, complete with horses, still tour the streets, and people WILL attempt to speak to you. Bradford is authentic Yorkshire, however, and gets extra marks for the way it’s embraced multiculturalism with open arms.
The National Science & Media Museum. Image: Dupont Circle/Wikimedia Commons.
(Note on the author: once got chucked out of the National Science & Media Museum for snogging my boyfriend at the time too passionately in the stairwell.)
Leeds, the city of the cities, is a hard contender for first place in the list. Leeds absolutely has it all: the architecture, the shopping, the music venues, the art galleries, the cheap eats, the nightlife, maaaaaybe not the transport networks (come on Northern Rail, get your act together) but the people. Top accent, too.
Life starts and ends at the Brudenell Social Club, and The Bridge in Kirkstall is the best pub on earth. I don’t know how a city manages to seamlessly flow between rural landscapes and the packed excitement of the city so well. As you can tell, I dream of living in it again one day. Full marks.
This cheap, cultural tour de force undoubtedly deserves the number one place on the list. Hull is a phoenix, rising from the ashes of some poor op-eds written by idiots who have never stepped foot out of the M25.
The River Hull Tidal Barrier: Phwoar. Image: Andy Beecroft/Wikimedia Commons.
Despite having recently been known as the shittest town in the UK, the once-thriving maritime hub is now the cultural epicentre of Yorkshire. I mean, don’t just ask me, Hull’s least favourite daughter: ask its Capital of Culture title, which it holds until 2020.
Oh, and it’s cheap. Where else can you pay £60k for a four-bedroom house these days? What other city serves chips in its nightclubs to sober you up after you’ve drunk a £1.25 pint? Hull is home to no-nonsense, friendly, hardworking characters that do not care whether you’re from London or Lyme Regis – as long as you’re not from Grimsby. Every man in town is named Dave, Lee or Paul, and not a single Pret A Manger exists in its confines.
Move Parliament to Hull. Move yourself to Hull. Honestly, it’s great.
Jasmine Andersson is a freelance writer based in London. By coincidence, she is originally from Hull.