Hartlepool is a port town in County Durham, eight miles up the coast from Middlesbrough. Technically it's two towns, the extremely old one on the headland and the Victorian industrial new town across the docks, but since 1967 they've been administratively united as one. Like Sunderland it was once famous for docks and shipbuilding but has since had to reinvent itself, arguably less successfully, and in the 1980s had the highest unemployment rate in the country. But if you fancy a 4-bed detached house for £249,000, enjoy the marina life and like monkeys it could be the town for you. I was definitely intrigued, and as the first stop on my homebound train from Sunderland it seemed only right to alight and explore...[Visit Hartlepool][23 photos]
I don't think the town gets many tourists because the Hartlepool Art Gallery and Tourist Information Centre is almost all art and barely any information. It's based inside ChristChurch, once the liturgical centrepiece of West Hartlepool, now somewhat adrift in an oval piazza overlooked by the town's Wetherspoons and an Irish bar. I enjoyed what art there was, deigned not to join in with the craft activities in the chancel, and spent about half my visit giving answers to increasingly intrusive questions asked by a steward with a tablet. The two gentlemen depicted in the statues to either side are Ralph Ward Jackson (a coal-trading entrepreneur who bought the local sand dunes in 1839) and William Gray (owner of the largest Victorian shipyard), both of whom contributed significantly to the growth of the town.
Church Street was one of Ralph's and, judging by its width, would originally have been the town's commercial centrepiece. It very much isn't today, indeed as I walked down the mostly shuttered street I couldn't decide if was essentially dead or whether it was the socially essential quarter that 'came alive at night'. A gorgeous ex-pub - vacant. A cornerstone former bank - vacant. The original department store - a nightclub topped by student accommodation. The council had clearly tried to smarten up the street, and mostly succeeded, but you can't fight the forces of post-millennial commercial decline.
I hunted for a replacement shopping street elsewhere but everything was a bit subdued for a town the size of St Albans. Instead it seems everything retail's been subsumed into the slablike warren of the Middleton Grange mall, an overoptimistic redevelopment project from the 1960s that's now a very Iceland/Poundland/Primark/New Look/B&M kind of place. Outside I found the civic hub, which is an oversized war memorial opposite a 1970s brick town hall, but the only bustle was teenagers hanging out or pensioners heading home. The splendid Edwardian railway hotel has survived, the well-named Grand, and the derelict Wesleyan chapel is finally being renovated into a boutique hideaway for guests with above-average spending power. But I never really found a heart to Hartlepool, which is sadly ironic, and also hinted that all the best stuff must be elsewhere.
Hartlepool is very proud of its enormous marina and has been since 1993 when the Queen sailed in on the royal barge and opened it. It was originally the town docks and home to William Gray's mega-shipyard, surrounded by graving docks, warehouses, timber yards and a ridiculous number of railway tracks splaying out alongside lines of cranes. These days a horseshoe of offices and low flats rings the perimeter, small boats bob in the centre and a single stone column rises as a beacon to the old days. What brings modern punters is the lengthy strip of cafes, bars and restaurants on the far side, confirming that Church Street is no longer where it's at, and what perhaps keeps them away is the cost of parking. A complete circuit would be just over a mile, including a crossing of the lock gates at the entrance to the harbour.
A statue by the lock gates remembers the town's most unlikely mascot, a hanged monkey. An apocryphal tale from the Napoleonic wars tells how townsfolk found a uniformed monkey on the beach after a shipwreck and in their ignorance assumed it was a French spy, then when it refused to answer their questions hung it from a noose. This incident has provided generations of townsfolk with a derogatory nickname - monkey hanger - especially when hurled by supporters of an opposing football team. That said, Hartlepool FC's monkey mascot had the last laugh when the man inside the costume became the town's first elected mayor in 2002, and did such a good job that he was re-elected twice. The role was then abolished.
The marina is also home to Hartlepool's chief tourist attraction, The National Museum of the Royal Navy. It's not the main one in Portsmouth, it's the RN's other outpost, but it does boast Europe's oldest floating warship, a Horrible Histories exhibition and a recreated 18th century dockside. I arrived half an hour before closing time so it wasn't worth paying £12 to board HMS Trincomalee, but I was able to walk through the opposite door for free to tour the adjacent Museum of Hartlepool. It's been here since 1994 and blimey it looks it, a tired set of boards intermingled with oversized objects, malfunctioning buttons and occasional display cases. Local families were making the best of the child-friendly elements but I was back outside well before closing time, and you get what you pay for.
To end my visit I headed to the old town, now called Headland because that's where it's located. Were it not for the town's current docks it'd be a fairly short walk but they seriously get in the way so I took the bus. The headland's been settled since the 7th century, originally with a double monastery on a low hill looking out to sea lest there be Vikings. Its first abbess Hieu may be England's earliest recorded female boss, and its second abbess Hilda soon moved on to greater things at Whitby Abbey. In its place came St Hilda'schurch, a familiar sight on the Hartlepool skyline, which I was fortunate to visit in the right slot on the right Saturday afternoon so found it open. It's an Early English gem inside and also staffed by friendly volunteers who made sure to show me the pin-sharp 8th century namestone by the chapel and the herringbone-edged Norman arch in the porch. For centuries this used to be the main entrance, said the guide, but it's too cramped for a ramp so now everyone enters via the back of the Galilee Chapel.
Until the 19th century the entire town of Hartlepool, then more a fishing village, was tucked out here on the headland. You can still see part of the 14th century townwalls along the waterside at Fish Sands, and descend a staircase through the Sandwell Gate to the beach if the tide's out. It's a particularly lovely spot an hour before sunset as golden beams illuminate the fine houses and pubs on the promenade, and was a treasured escape for many a local family, hence the remains of a bathing pool and paddling pool by the breakwater. Look out here for the jolly statue of Andy Capp, the fat-nosed layabout cartoon character created for the Daily Mirror by Hartlepool resident Reg Smythe... yes obviously depicted with a pint in hand.
At the far end of the headland is Heugh Battery, a former gun emplacement which is the site of the UK's only First World War battlefield. The date was 16 December 1914 and the Durham gunners at the battery found themselves engaging with a fleet of German battle cruisers, one of which managed to fire a shell killing a soldier on land. The site is now preserved as a small museum open four days a week, plus the inevitable Poppy Tea Rooms, with a "Pay What You Decide" policy on entry. The Heugh lighthouse lies outside the perimeter (it's still functional), as do the gardens where the WW1 memorial is topped by a garlanded representation of youth. It's an evocative spot and must be doubly so on Armistice Day, confirming that the best way to enjoy Hartlepool is to aim for its historic tip not its post-industrial heart.
