Prescot- a shining jewel.

 Prescot- a shining jewel.

Liverpool is the city where unparalleled greatness was once born. It came out into the world as the bonniest baby you've ever seen and it never stopped believing, retaining the faith, a city where dreams grew up and then flourished in a way that we would never have thought possible after the Second World War and certainly not before the Swinging Sixties or the austerity of Post War Britain. There was also the greyness that surrounded the 1950s, where the Albert Dock must have looked very dull and sorrowful. But then everything was bleak and dreary anyway so the whole of Merseyside had to be forgiven. Hitler and his cronies had left Liverpool in tatters and broken hearted so now was the time for unashamed celebration.

Then there was the explosion of hope, colour, personality, prosperity, pop music and the boy band who were just irrepressible and then became world famous for an entire decade. The 1960s was that seminal point in British history where a city's culture and heritage would undergo a life changing facelift. Music had moved into the neighbourhood and a once severely damaged city flowed with nectar and ambrosia, the sweetest sounds in the world and a powerful message to the rest of the world. 

And suddenly the world had discovered the Beatles, the Fab Four, John, Paul, Ringo and George, a female singer with the most distinctive voice by the name of Cilla Black and a comedian who had hitherto reached the height of his powers. His name was Jimmy Tarbuck and he would dominate the showbusiness fraternity for decades after his first angelic appearance as a young gag teller on Sunday Night at the London Palladium. It was TV entertainment at its finest and the only show where devout Sunday church goers would rush home from prayer and worship after Mass just to watch the television.

Then there was Gerry and the Pacemakers, a band so vibrant, happy-go lucky and infectiously enthusiastic that by the time they came off the stage, their audiences were still smiling, humming, clicking their fingers and cheering from the rafters. Sadly, Gerry Marsden, who had established such a firm stronghold in the nation's hearts, died a couple of years ago so we would never know how far their popularity would take them. Ferry Across the Mersey and You'll Never Walk Alone would become notable achievements in the band's repertoire. Legendary status would be conferred on Gerry and the Pacemakers and they would never look back.

But last week my lovely wife Bev and I paid a flying visit to Prescot, a neat, compact, comfortable and tightly knit community who go about their business in much the way they'd always done so. Prescot is a friendly, welcoming Liverpool suburb and lies in a small pocket of England's rich tapestry. It never bothers, upsets or offends anybody because Prescot is very modest and self deprecating, completely apart from the hectic convulsions and overwhelmingly deafening noises of the big city. Prescot is quiet, simple, unfussy, never troubled or troublesome, just agreeable and working at its own pace.

We were there to see our wonderful son Sam and daughter in law Lucy, our wonderful grandson Arthur in an immensely satisfying week which included a riverboat ferry across the Mersey and the Gerry Marsden Ferry site, so appropriately called. Our journey took us on a round trip of the Mersey, passing the celebrated Liver Birds  building and dockyard sights that were once home to, quite possibly, vast quantities of sugar, tobacco, tea and coffee. The Industrial Revolution had now come and gone and Liverpool would, several decades later, come alive with a magical and melodious vibe. It felt almost too good to be true.

Meanwhile in Prescot we were finding new smells, fresh fragrances and local attractions that somehow belong to Prescot. On one walk we came across Prescot Cables FC, a football club so small that it wouldn't have appeared on any radar had we not known it was there in the first place. But Precot Cables FC was just stupendously charming and just traditionally enchanting. You looked up at these giants of football's Non League pyramid and found that all is well in North West England.

In front of us two beautifully painted doors and turnstiles just stood there proudly and nobly. Next to these stunning pieces of architecture there was a row of terraced houses that reminded you of Premier League newcomers Luton Town, whose snug Kenilworth Road ground can be accessed through back alleys and quaint, quiet roads completely undisturbed by the stampeding footsteps of Manchester City, Arsenal, Chelsea, Spurs, Manchester United and, of course Liverpool.

Prescot's ground sits peacefully next to the most beautiful wall adorned by floral graffiti and bird life. The wall had artistically striking flowers that just took the breath away. Out of the corner of your eye you could see the most delicious illustration of a red ladybird flirting with Mother Nature. A walk through Prescot's shopping centre did come as a shock to the system. On Monday morning it was more or less empty, completely deserted and there were very few people in sight. Admittedly, most of Prescot was at work, school or university so this may have been a totally misleading impression.

Of course there were the familiar Turkish barbers, bakeries galore, nail bars in profusion, bookmakers taking well calculated bets from the public, vegan cafes, cheap Poundland bargain shops and butchers selling chicken, beef and lamb by the lorryload. There was nothing out of the ordinary or surprising about these local retail treasure troves. But despite the rain we all had the grandest of times and back at home we tucked into our meat pies and bread with enormous relish.

At the moment Liverpool is enjoying an immense renown if only because of its historic associations to light entertainment, stars that shone and still shine with a luminescence that may never ever fade from view. The Albert Dock is busy, bustling, the Maritime museum, a building that told the story of Merseyside with a moving eloquence and admirable detail. There were the shops situated on leisurely walk ways that resembled bridges. Then there were the charity shops and homely tea shops with sandwiches and cakes on offer all day and every day or so it seemed.

But Prescot made you laugh and smile, giggle and chuckle. Prescot never hits the news headlines for any particular reason nor does it ever make you feel inferior or inadequate. Prescot is happy to say hello to you without any questions asked. It is both inclusive, patient and understanding, never judgmental or critical because it just feels obliged to be civil. The houses are straight backed and respectable, the people straightforward and practical  while also oozing warm authenticity and politeness by the hour, minute, week, month and year. It is Britain at her prettiest and most uplifting and our family week was now over.

On our final day in Prescot we kissed our gorgeous grandson Arthur and set off to Wigan railway station for the return journey back to London, Euston. Sometimes your faith in humanity is completely restored by the things we tend to take for granted. And then there are the moments when your hearts are captured by the Beatles statue on the Albert Dock, now a tourist magnet that has to be acknowledged because those from distant continents and countries will always be fascinated by the Merseyside beat.

We said farewell to our wonderful son Sam and daughter in law Lucy because they are our family, precious, adored and adorable and how blessed and grateful Bev felt. Prescot had made us feel like royalty and we were utterly appreciative. We'd never heard of Prescot but it almost felt as if we knew it like an old friend or some cheerful uncle who keeps telling the same jokes and probably knows you better than you know yourself. Prescot, thanks for being brilliant.