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Our Own Little Badlands
No monkeys, no island, but Monkey’s Island was the place for adventure
As a child, I don’t think I ever experienced the evaporation of keen excitement into bitter disappointment more quickly, or more forcefully, than the first time I went to Monkey’s Island. Not only were there no monkeys, there wasn’t even a bleedin’ island.
With those words, I started a post on my Facebook page, which garnered a host of replies from compatriots for whom adventures at Monkey’s Island were a rite of passage. It was a barren wasteland where we were free from authoritative eyes to undertake those pastimes that were frowned upon by elders; lighting fires, smashing things and, for the older kids, riding motorcycles. It was our own little badlands.
Why is it Called Monkey’s Island?
Monkey’s Island is, in fact, a local name for a stretch of land that runs along the south side of the river Blyth. As far as my research goes, the name came about following an incident in which a dead monkey was found in the hold of a ship, and it was thrown ashore to become a ghastly curiosity. Since my early disappointment, much of the area has been developed into an industrial estate, but back in the day it was a kid magnet, despite it being a desolate plain, devoid of amenities.
Here’s what my friend Jaisen, much…
