ABSTRACT
Hull is about fifty miles up a creek, well east of the main railway lines and the main trunk roads, with dullish country most of the way across on the A18 or the A63. Even more than most cities, Hull in our time was a place of revolving smells, according to the direction of the wind. Fish from the docks and the fish-meal factories, oil from the oil-seed crushing works, paint from the paint factories, wood from the timber yards, chocolate from Needler’s and mixed smells from Reckitt and Colman’s. Oddest of all, since it creates a faintly Andorran atmosphere, Hull has had for decades its own telephone system, its own call-boxes in their own colours, and slightly cheaper rates than the GPO, as it was. Hull had a University College from 1927, chiefly and typically through the initiative and generosity of a local worthy, Thomas Ferens.
