I first visited Sheffield in 1996, tagging along with my United-supporting best mate and her family to watch Howard Kendall’s Blades beat a lacklustre Luton Town 1-0. The hills of my South Wales home seemed a distant memory as we reached Park Square roundabout – the façade of Park Hill flats looming above the crumbling, graffiti-marred frame of a derelict building nestled near the elevated tramlines. My first impression of Sheffield was that it was dirty; grimy, industrialised, part building-site. Yet one spraypainted missive amid the tags stood proud and hopeful. It proclaimed:
Good
As
You
For a closeted queer teen from a small market town it was the warmest welcome I could hope for. I’d barely seen the place but I’d fallen for Sheffield and its possibilities hook, line and sinker.
Over the next couple of years there were regular trips to Bramall Lane where we watched a squad including Sheffield’s homegrown talent Mitch Ward and Dane Whitehouse. Each visit started with a detour to Meadowhall’s Oasis where we’d eat Turners sandwiches laced with ready salted crisps as Georgey Spanswick gurned on the big screen, before heading to the three-sided Bramall Lane (pre-John Street renovation) to cheer on the Blades.
By 1998 I’d moved to the city, living in Woodville Halls on Hallam’s Collegiate Crescent campus. Student life revolved around happy hour at Champs, nights out at Republic and stomach-churning hungover walks into town past Ward’s Brewery on Ecclesall Road. Football was still one of my main interests; as well as having my own season ticket halfway up the Kop, I watched the reserves and youth team games too.
“Student life revolved around happy hour at Champs, nights out at Republic and stomach-churning hungover walks into town past Ward’s Brewery”: the author enjoying a night out in Sheffield.
Sickly Cavendish smells, sticky Leadmill floors, grease-coated chips from Dev Chippy in a bid to sober up. Sunday afternoons in The Yorkshire Grey. A rodent-infested Nether Edge flat above the one musician Adrian Flanagan rented.
Pollards hot chocolate when my mum came to visit. Dates at Pizza Hut with my now-husband. Quiz nights at The Stag with friends, our team’s name ‘The Jackson Four’ a reference to the Nether Edge convenience store where we’d spend our winnings on tubes of Pringles or a cheap bottle of vino. A grade II listed cottage in Norton Hammer with thick walls and thin windows.
“Over the next couple of years there were regular trips to Bramall Lane”: Katey pictured with Blades legend Brian Deane.
Tumbling confetti at the Register Office followed by fake December snow at the Ski Village. A sick baby at the Children’s Hospital, a lively toddler running riot around Megacentre. A red-bricked terrace off Abbey Lane with dangerously slick laminate floors.
Sunday lunch at Wetherspoons, relentless school runs and swim runs and Cubs runs. Graves Park animal farm and Millhouses Park café. A house in Greenhill with noisy neighbours and a worn terracotta carpet on the stairs.
All of which brings me here, to a 1930s terrace in S8. We bought it because of the location – a short walk to the charity shops of Woodseats in one direction, the independent eateries and coffee shops of Meersbrook an equal distance in the other. My favourite is Baked and Caked because of Andy and Wendy’s commitment to exploring vegan flavours (try the custard and fruit-topped Meersbrook bun pastries – you won’t regret it), but Kopi and Chai on the corner of Derbyshire Lane and Norton Lees Road is the perfect spot for people-watching with a coffee and avo on toast. Street art in the area includes pieces by Faunagraphic and Bubba 2000 and Millhouses, Graves and Meersbrook Parks are nearby for dog walks and evening strolls. Micropub Guzzle, tapas bar The Tramshed and pie-gurus The Broadfield are all within a fifteen-minute walk and my beloved Bramall Lane can be easily reached on foot or by bus. No longer closeted (pansexual and proud!) it’s great to be able to stroll to Lykke, the venue Rainbow Blades now meet on matchdays.
A mural by artist Bubba 2000 in Meersbrook.
Grimy? Sometimes. Industrialised? Sadly, not as much as it once was. A building site? Well, for a city that’s undergone numerous major facelifts over the past quarter of a century, the scaffolding and road diversions never seem to disappear. But Sheffield, and I, have come a long way since those visits in the ‘90s. It’s every bit as welcoming as I’d anticipated it would be. It’s my adopted home.
Katey Lovell is an author and freelance writer based in Sheffield. Follow Katey on socials (@katey_lovell) to stay up to date with her latest work.
