Literally just a map of every town in the lyrics to ‘It’s Grim Up North’ by the KLF

Finding images of the KLF is surprisingly hard, but on the right is Jimmy Cauty, one half of the band, playing the Big Chill festival in 2005. Image: Getty.

Where does the north of England begin? The debate has been raging for decades.  But what if I told you the question has already been answered – specifically, by the techno-slash-art project the KLF.

In 1991, the band – then going under the name “The Justified Ancients of Mu Mu” – recorded a ten minute song called “It’s Grim Up North”. The majority of the song consists of town names being delivered in a Scottish monotone over a pulsing techno beat, listing towns that are “are all in the North”.

If the KLF says it, who are we to argue? I’ve taken the song lyrics – using Wikipedia’s interpretation of ambiguous lines (so “Cheadle Hulme” not “Cheadle” and “Hulme”, but “Accrington” and “Stanley” not “Accrington Stanley”) – and, ignoring the fact that Leigh appears twice, mapped them all.

So, what is in the North?

The first thing you’ll notice is that “the North” doesn’t actually go all that far north. Barrow-in-Furness is the only Cumbrian town to appear, and there is not a single settlement in the North East: no Newcastle, no Middlesbrough, no Hartlepool, no Berwick.

By and large, the KLF’s North is the M62 corridor. Rugby league land. Roses territory. Lancashire and Yorkshire, basically. And not even all of Yorkshire – North Yorkshire barely gets a look-in, and Hull is the only East Riding settlement to appear. (At the time “It’s Grim Up North” came out, Hull was part of the unloved Humberside)

On the other hand, there’s quite a lot of Cheshire, even though many beyond the Tees sniff at its claims to Northernness. Lincolnshire gets a look in too, with three towns (all part of former Humberside), as does Derbyshire with two. Here’s the full historic county breakdown:

  • Cheshire: 10
  • Derbyshire: 2
  • Lancashire: 30
  • Lincolnshire: 3
  • Yorkshire: 24

Number of places mentioned from each historic county.

It looks like the Red Rose of Lancashire is victorious once more.

But the historic county boundaries don’t bear much resemblance to the modern day ones – especially in the part of the country the song covers. Lancashire and Cheshire have been chopped up, as Merseyside and Greater Manchester broke away; Yorkshire has been cut into four parts; and towns like Barrow-in-Furness and Warrington have been traded from one county to another.

Going by today’s county borders, the picture is a bit different.

  • Cheshire: 9
  • Cumbria: 1
  • Derbyshire: 2
  • Greater Manchester: 13
  • Lancashire: 12
  • Lincolnshire: 3
  • Merseyside: 5
  • East Riding of Yorkshire: 1
  • North Yorkshire: 4
  • South Yorkshire: 4
  • West Yorkshire: 15

Number of places named from each modern ceremonial county.

West Yorkshire comes out on top now, with Greater Manchester and the rest of Lancashire close behind. These are all fairly urban areas (many of the Lancastrian towns are either on the fringes of Manchester or along the M65 motorway around Preston and Blackburn). More rural regions like North Yorkshire and the East Riding are largely ignored.

A few more interesting facts: the northernmost town mentioned is Scarborough, the easternmost is Cleethorpes, the southernmost is Nantwich and the westernmost is Barrow-in-Furness.

If you average the co-ordinates of all the places mentioned, you end up just outside Rochdale Town Centre, which means the town probably has a good claim to being the most Northern place in the North.

The most populated place on the M62 that’s not mentioned is Liverpool, while the smallest place that is mentioned (not including windy Ilkley Moor) seems to be Pendlebury.

Anyway, I felt bad for the towns of the North East and Cumbria that the KLF never mentioned, so in their honour I’ve composed a fourth verse:

Birtley, Whitby, Whitley Bay,

Darlo, Boro, Hartlepool,

Kendall, Keswick, Windermere,

Norton, Stockton, Seaton Carew,

Amble, Alnwick, Berwick on Tweed,

Ripon, Richmond, Redcar, Thirsk,

Manors, Byker, Jesmond, Shields,

Tyneside, Wearside, the Lakes are also in the North.

Should the KLF ever reform, they’re welcome to this. And don’t worry about royalities – I know money’s a bit tight.


 

 
 
 
 

Does it matter that TfL are renaming White Hart Lane station Tottenham Hotspur?

New White Hart Lane. Image: Getty.

Pretend for a moment that you’re travelling in the London of 1932. You’re taking the Piccadilly Line northbound and alight at Gillespie Road station. The name should be obvious: it’s inscribed in bespoke brown tiling on the platform.

But that 31 October, following an intense campaign by the eponymous football club, the London County Council changed the station’s name to Arsenal (Highbury Hill). The area’s growing association with the name “Arsenal” ended in a lengthy negotiation that changed maps, signs and train tickets alike. Football had acquired so much power that it changed the name of not just a Tube station but an entire suburb, even before the era of Wenger or the Emirates.

Now the spectre of name changes is on the horizon once again. As Tottenham Hotspur FC inches closer to completing its new stadium, the club is clamouring for a renamed Overground station. Despite the fact the new stadium is located on almost exactly the same site as the old just off White Hart Lane, and fans have long been calling the scaffolding-laden mess “New White Hart Lane”, the club’s executive director is adamant that the station’s existing name cannot stand. White Hart Lane station, on the Overground line leaving Liverpool Street, is set to be renamed “Tottenham Hotspur”, at a cost to the club of £14.7m.

Little has been made of the fact that this peculiar PR kerfuffle is tied to Spurs’ failure to convince Nike to sponsor the venue. Some sources have even claimed that the sponsorship is yet to be finalised because it is somehow contingent on the renaming of the Overground station; beyond the ridiculous Johnson-era vanity project that was the Emirates Air Line, it seems improbable that TfL will allow any more corporate-flavoured information pollution. There will be no “Nike Stadium” station on the way to Enfield, much as there is no “Emirates” on the way to Cockfosters, especially if public consultation gets a look in.

The scene of the crime. Image: TfL.

But there’s a problem with the new name, all the same. “White Hart Lane” already means “football stadium”, in the same way Loftus Road or Stamford Bridge do. Changing it to “Tottenham Hotspur” risks opening the floodgates to an “O2 North Greenwich” or a “Virgin Euston” at some point in future, names as banal as there are dystopian. The Greater London Authority has promised to spend the £14.7m fee on community programmes in the local area – but that’s not much money to set the precedent that a private company can mess about with the Tube map.


What’s more, as CityMetric has often observed, there are plenty of station names across London that could do with a tidy up. Picking one that’s perfect already and asking for £14.7m to change it is adding insult to injury. How much would it cost a community group if they asked to change the name of Goodge Street to Fitzrovia? Why does a vast corporate entity backed by international sponsors and thousands of season ticket holders get to set the standard?

Back in Arsenal’s day, changing names on the Tube must have been easy; changes could be accommodated gradually without bothering the every day traveller. But in our world of online information, maps and apps, name changes are rather more complicated.

The question is – if TfL can bring itself to balefully accept this particular proposition, why can’t it accept ours? Why sort out a single non-issue on the Tube Map when you can catch lots of real ones in one go? A day’s pandemonium might just be a price worth paying to fix the Bethnal Greens problem once and for all.