A diatribe claiming The Midlands exists

    This article is not supposed to be personal, but I am a firm believer in the Midlands. Having visited some parts of the UK at least some times, the evidence for me is near conclusive. Regardless of how carefully a line can be drawn across the ribcage of Great Britain, I will remain adamant that I have lived in the Midlands since my parents moved to Ipswich in 1998. As the butt of many a geographical joke, Ipswich cannot possibly be found in the South, but equally it is far too southerly on a map to be labelled Northern. While Danny Dorling, a professor from Sheffield and the definitive producer of an academic North-South Divide, acknowledges that “it would be possible to identify enclaves and exclaves”, many impoverished towns far south of a single Scouser make it clear that the Midlands exist, and this goes without even mentioning the golden goose that is the Black Country dialect. The Midlands does exist, and it is just as stalwart as the North and the South.

    That this is a thing that exists seems almost enough reason to declare the Midlands an entity in its own right. Moreover, a wide range of Anglo-Saxon and Old Norse cultures that pervade Middle England have long seemed separate from the normative expectation of ‘the Northerner’ or ‘the Southerner’. The canals of Cambridgeshire, the Wash of Norfolk, the Heaths of Suffolk, all the way to the unending horizon that is most of Lincolnshire – none of these places are similar in spirit to, say, the Cotswolds, the Chilterns, the Downs, or even Dartmoor. Many might object and say that the West Country then surely deserves its own subcategory for a pervasive poverty statistic rivalling that of Blackpool. The sorry truth, however, is that it appears more than clear from the 2015 election results that below the façade of a peculiar accent, Cornwall, Devon and even Somerset are still Southern in spirit. Bristol might be just as cosmopolitan as Cambridge, but take a step outside the university town and you’ll suddenly remember that you’re in what is realistically a backwater. The same is true of most towns north of Leicester, but not Bristol, Windsor or Colchester.

    One might expect the question to find its source in what is 'the North' and what isn’t, but, rather unexpectedly, Essex presents a massive problem - which is something no one has ever said. Many statutory bodies place Essex in the East of England region, but others place it in the South East. Clearly, given that Essex borders London, and many of its towns are deeply drawn to said metropolis, it ought to be considered, socially, part of the South East, or the South overall – but this would make the 'East of England' comparatively tiny, leaving only Suffolk, Norfolk and Cambridgeshire. At this point, it seems reasonable to roll the three into the East Midlands. While the East, like any other region, has its own history, at this point in time, the local dialect is dwindling and local cultural and economic factors point far more in the direction of a Midlands identity than a Southern one, no matter what Dorling says.

    Fundamentally, however, the issue can be narrowed down not to economics but to ‘place-feel’. Take a trip to Warwick, for example, and you will find it to not be quite as coddling and tidy as, say, Amersham, but not half as frightening as Sunderland. Furthermore, the further you travel from London, things become gently less Southern, but they don’t grow northern with immediate effect. In that respect, it might seem like defending The Midlands as an entity is just an attempt to excuse gradual changes in human geography. This would be the case if not for the fact that places in this part of England do not sport stereotypically Northern or Southern trends. It goes without saying that the Brummie accent is one that is unique, one that is not oft confused with others, as seen when differentiating the Scouse and Mancunian accents. Southern superiority is only present in false claims to have such a thing, and Northern hardiness isn’t necessary where there’s nary a shipyard to be seen.

    It’s easier than you’d think to cite indicators that give a clear view of a socioeconomic divide that cuts three ways rather than the expected two. For example, there’s many a ‘posh’ chain with little to no presence in parts of what a traditional North-South split would call the South. Dorling’s south included Boston, a town with massive disparities caused by immigration. Further than this, there is a unique staggering to the economic floundering seen region by region. London and the South East rank top, but the South West is in a firm third, with the East of England, most of which could be seen as Midland country, taking the fourth. A hierarchy does exist. It can even be seen in Dorling’s maps.

    This all goes without even mentioning the politics of the Midlands. Far from the North, where Labour fights brutal skirmishes with UKIP, the moustachioed Faragist party has already got its firm foothold in the Midlands, stretching from Ipswich to Birmingham and almost everywhere in between. Additionally, a quick look at the election results from 1997 shows a red horde that develops in the Midlands and then hits its stride in the North. There is no sudden change and there are parts of Dorling’s South that were still Labour. If not for UKIP, the situation might be much the same today. UKIP has roots for a reason, however; high levels of immigration from both Eastern Europe and Muslim nations are latter-day Midlands trademarks. If Boston wasn’t enough, look at Peterborough.

    To summarise, we shouldn’t just be using the Midlands as a geographical term. It’s an economic divider, just as good as the North and the South - if we draw our lines right. It cuts the East Anglia and the East Midlands short shrift if we decide to throw them in with Winchester instead of Chester. Of course, the country would be a better place if it didn’t have this daft, three way division; thankfully, the first step towards solving it is admitting that the North-South Divide is, and always has been, a lie.