Andy Burnham is a southern-blessed northerner. He could continue Oxbridge's grip on Downing Street

I first discovered the north of England when one dark night in December, having come home from my evening job as a butcher’s boy for the Queen’s butcher in Knightsbridge, a story of northern folk appeared on the telly. I was exhausted and collapsed on the couch and there on the TV was the black-and-white world of Coronation Street. It reminded me of North Kensington and the slums of Notting Hill. It was so grim and so down to earth in this month of December 1960, me being a 14-year-old at the time.

What a pile of rubbish it seemed, until they went into the pub, and then it seemed like one of the pubs we were barred from for being underage. Now here were people talking about everyday rot, a kind of everyday thinking; and it was fascinating. I became a devotee of Coronation Street.

A few months after this introduction to a grim north where northerners seemed to speak in a different language, an X film – meaning you had to be over 16 to watch it because a piece of breast or bum might get exposed as the story unfolded – appeared at our local cinema. I lined up with the 16-year-olds and older boys and men and women and snuck in, though I was only 15. And I was not disappointed. There was a bit of breast and bum which to a 15-year-old was like gold dust.

But the exciting thing was this new northern world. Although it wasn’t the true north, only midland Nottingham, to us down south it was northern and speaking this strange variation on English. This is not to say I hadn’t heard northern accents previously, but I had never been dropped into a northern world as witnessed in Saturday Night and Sunday Morning, the X-rated film that got one hot. 

A Taste of Honey soon followed, another attempt at capturing the grim north, within a few months. TV then film opened up the world of the north to us down south. And incidentally made by southern filmmakers who wanted to bring some realism into British film making. Wow! ‘Go north to get real’ seemed to be the idea. 

That idea that the north is real and the south living a kind of bloated world of plenty was evident in these films and TV from over 60 years ago. It has not changed. The north is still seen as ‘realer’, more characterful and probably more honest.

A few years later in 1964 I was a reformed boy having spent two years in a youth offenders’ institute called a reformatory, now pushing my barrow one day through the streets of Notting Hill. I was a garden labourer on my way to cut grass for the borough. As I pushed the large barrow along a street, a car behind started hooting at me to get out of the way. I made some gestures, the two-finger gesture, and carried on. The hooting went on and got louder. I stopped and indicated to the car my displeasure. 

Eventually the car managed to swing past and overtake. As it did so it hooted and hooted and I gesticulated as much as I could. Only to see that the back of the car had four of the most famous people in the world of 1964. It was April and there, giving me the V-signs and laughing, were John, Paul, George and Ringo, The Beatles enjoying the chance of returning the insults I was delivering to their driver.

The Beatles were more famous than anyone. They had won America over to them. They had spread their musical message all over Europe and into Asia. They were unequalled and would remain so for a number of years. And here they were in the slummy streets of Notting Hill and North Kensington making their film A Hard Day’s Night, and they had passed me and I had seen them – in person! 

Read more:

• ‘The Beatles were right to preach love. But it’s not all we need’
• Harold Wilson’s failure to reform the country is why Keir Starmer needs to listen to history 
• Coronation Street legend Sue Cleaver: ‘I was always searching for love in the wrong places’

The north is still seen as ‘realer’, more characterful and probably more honest.

The north was definitely in the south now; and they were rich, these four Liverpudlians. Untold wealth came their way, proving that the north was not just billowing factory chimneys and Victorian mills. It was a lively, cultural sort of place and it was about to produce, as if to coincide with the Beatles invasion of the south, the first northern-speaking, northern prime minister: Harold Wilson, elected in October 1964.

The north came south with a vengeance. 

Andy Burnham, the whirlwind from the north, has won the Makerfield by-election. If he wins the prime ministerial contest and becomes the next PM he will only be the fourth Cambridge graduate out of the last 30 to achieve such a task (yes, he is a southern-blessed northerner). Of the last 29, 18 PMs have been from Oxford, including the present incumbent. 

I keep saying this as I believe choosing a PM from such a small intellectual gene pool is bad news for the country. Admittedly they have not all been from the top drawer; but Oxbridge does strange things to you. 

Uniformity and a lack of realism seem to rule. And a lot of promises! A whole lot of promises!

John Bird is the founder and editor-in-chief of the Big Issue. Read more of his words from our archive.

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