Clock Tower - Between The Esplanade and Seashore, written and performed by Lel Melayal: In this place I love life. A tree canopy sheltering a neglected looking bench on a mossy path is where my wife and I watch the birds. The usual suspects turn up, blackbird and robin, starling and finches and the herring gulls always noisily demanding to be noticed. All give us moments of joy. Every inch of the South Cliff Gardens is steeped in stories of love. I gather the stories told on uncountable numbers of memorial benches peppered along every path and nestled in nooks with stunning headland views. The cliff-face paths were never designed to be a route from A to B but a meandering, romantic promenade. A place for Victorians to be seen in the new, fashionable spa resort of Scarborough. Olive and John walked the paths. Records are lost so we don’t know much of their story. We know they promenaded together, loving Scarborough and each other, because they donated a bench saying so. Not everyone in the gardens wants to be seen. How many illicit kisses and secret trysts have been shared in the thirteen pavilions and arbours? How many stories of forbidden romance are hidden in the fabric of the shelters dotted along the paths? Does the bench plaque of Glen and Roy for whom a shelter was where it all began, hint of such love perhaps? George Beeforth loved roses so much he planted fourteen hundred of them. A century later, friends restored his Rose Garden, planting eleven thousand more. Romantica, Blessings and Good Tidings gift the vibrant, fragrant backdrop for those like Mary Beckett and her dog Folly who loved to walk among the blooms, and for Walter who proposed to his girl there. In the Italian Garden parents missed are remembered on bench plaques as are young people tragically lost. We don’t know 25-year-old Chris Green’s story, but we know he is missed by his family who leave flowers for him on his bench. A place to pause and reflect perhaps about the preciousness of family and of life. I stop at a bench with a brass plaque that always makes me smile. ‘This Keighley man was quite amazing, made his brass in double glazing, a man of modesty and wit upon this cliff he loved to sit.’ A woman joins me. She is smiling too. ‘It is one of my favourites’ she tells me. ‘I think I would have liked Mr John Wilson Balmer.’ Angela Grassham loved both the sea view and the scones at the Clock Café. Her bench is near the newly built children’s playground. From it I hear the happy noise of children enjoying a birthday picnic shriek with delight as candles are blown out. Their unbridled joy sounds like love feels. I chat with a woman on a mobility scooter and she shares her story. Meera Singh loves what she calls the yellow brick road - the new accessible path which allows her to travel all the way from the clock tower to the Spa. In the gardens she feeds peanuts to the squirrels. ‘They take them right out of my hand!’ she says. She shares friendly nods with the other rebels who ignore the ‘do not feed’ notices. Meera has never seen a name like hers on any of the benches along the path. She has saved and left instructions. Her plaque will say ‘Meera Singh from Bradford. She fed the squirrels.’ My wife and I will one day have a bench plaque. It will read ‘Lel and Caf loved watching birds, and folk can make of that what they will…

The Shelter - The Cottage of Love, written by 'Bright Eyes' performed by Tim Tubbs: I’ve never told anyone this before. I met him working in the hotels in the 70's. He was a stocky, masculine man, he wore padded body warmers and smoked a sweet-smelling pipe, even while washing the dishes. He had a very soft voice for a man of his size. I was in a reasonably happy marriage at the time, with kids on the way but I had some very loud doubts of myself. I never thought that he might be "a man like me" until I tripped on a carpet one day and he called me "dizzy." He put his hand on my shoulder, and that’s when I knew. One day we finished work early, a coach tour from Blackpool had never arrived. He asked me if I wanted to walk home together, take the long way around South Cliff gardens. We stopped at a wooden, cliffside shelter, where nobody could hear us for the roaring of the sea. "I know about you" - he smiled. The relief. I could be myself for the first time in my life. We met many times in that same shelter. We called it our "Cottage of Love". We gave each other nicknames. I was "Bright Eyes" he was "Tegz". We both got dogs so we could take them for walks and meet each other after dark. When I was anxious he would tell me to ‘cheer up’ and my troubles would melt away. Our meetings were short, because we both had families that we loved, but those nights in the cottage with the wind howling in from the North Sea were all the more passionate for their urgency and bracing crispness. On those nights I was truly happy. Tegz made me a much better father and husband. Each of my two lives - one of duty and one of passion – each gave sense to the other. Our meetings slowed down as we got older. We lost touch. A few years ago, I found out through an old work colleague that Tegz, my big, masculine angel, passed away. I wasn't able to attend his funeral, but I did walk up to the old cottage instead, it’s still there now. I looked out over the grey water. As my tears fell, I heard his voice blow in softly from the sea. ‘Cheer up Bright Eyes.’

Putting Green View Point - From Then to Now... A Tale of Transformation, written and performed by Lynne Matthews: It’s May Whitsuntide 1969 I’m 8 years old, sat on the train with my red bucket & spade. Whistle blows, we are off! Leeds to Scarborough, all packed up and safe. Dad guarding the suitcases. Singing to the rhythm of the train, Diddly dee, diddly dah, diddly dee, diddly dah. York, Malton Seamer, Scarborough! Settled into our digs on Scalby Road. Ready for the long walk to South Cliff. “You get a better class of people at the Spa end’ said me Mum. The gardens, for that week, in that place we had time. “ See that, si thi?’ said me Dad. “That’s wild garlic is that!’ said me Dad. “What can you hear?’ he said. “Not just seagulls tha knows. All sorts of birds in here!’ My Dad: Son of Barnsley. Tall, distinctive. Well read, clever. Apprentice to Manager in a lifetime of graft. Took pride in his appearance. Collar & tie, shoes polished, even when he was on the Bowling Green. But here, in Scarborough, when he caught the sun, he was all ruddy red in his flat cap. Tie loosened, sleeves rolled up (just a bit) to show a pale forearm. Let his guard down. Here, he became unbuttoned. I can see us all in the Rose Garden. Mum is sitting, never without her needles, knitting her love in double knit wool. Clickety clack, clickety clack, clickety clack My Brother, head in a book or fiddling with his fishing net. ‘Hey Doy… calls me Dad. I’ve gorra a bag of Monkey Nuts for yon squirrels. Here you are!’ Me & Dad on the putting green; just me & him. Pulling my leg when I missed a shot. “Eee lass; what do you call that? Get the ball & try agin’ I got to know him here. The real him. He’d laugh, eat ice cream. Relax. Closed up like a clam when we got back home though. I craved his love. I lived each year to year, longing for Scarborough. To be seen. To be heard. Grew up, moved `Down South’. Always came back to Scarborough though! Teenage Northern Soul week enders, Parents Golden Wedding and brought my own lad to feed the squirrels. I got very ill, suffered with my health. I had cancer. Never dreamed I’d move back North but I did! “I want to live on South Cliff, near the gardens’’ My Husband arranged it all and we moved! Now I can be here every day, together, alone or with my dog Ramsey. It’s a place to sit, my favourite place. See the sea, hear the waves & birds singing, feel the wind. Watch children making their own memories. I can see myself, that 8 year old girl in white socks, wool skirt & cardigan, craving her Dad’s affection. I have come to realise now that I don’t need to look externally for affection, for love, for approval of others. I can just be me! I can love myself for who I am! The gardens have been a healing space. They have helped me to appreciate the woman that I have now become. A happy, carefree space! My inner beauty mirrored in the wildlife & flowers all around me. A place of safety, of continuity. A place of a million memories. Not many places are so special. Here I can be ME for ME! I wake up with a smile & feel like I am on holiday every day! I am now strong, healthy and happy. I don’t have a red spade anymore, but I’ve remembered how to play. I thank the Gardens for holding me, for being my healing balm.

The Italian Gardens - Love Lives Here, written and performed by the Love Stories ensemble with Script Editor Hannah Davies: INTRO They’ve seen some right sights, these gardens over the years. We know where the best bits are. So come on. We’ll show you. Feel free to wander. Or pick your favourite bench and have a rest. Come off the beaten track. Sit there and lend us your ears. South Cliff gardens. Where everything is calm and chill. Come with us, we’ll be your guides. We are Cupid’s best scallywags. We’ll give you the low down of the place, South Cliff. Tell you where the best Scarborough loves stories are hid. Where to start? RUSTY AND RON Rusty and Ron. Rusty and Ron! They fell in love when they were 16 years old. Both born in Scarbs. On the very same day. Friday 20 December 1940. Sound of war planes up above. I’m Rusty and this is Ron. Very nice to meet you. How do you do? We were just teenagers when we fell in love. We walked a lot. We talked a lot. We danced a lot. We had nights out at the Olympia and the spa. We loved the rock and roll. And we courted in South Cliff gardens. It was a long walk up. We cuddled up in the shelter. Enjoying the soft silence. Just the two of us. And do you remember that time we got caught, when a face just popped up at the window? We nearly jumped out of our skin. We made a quick mad dash to the top. Clutching tight to each other's hands. We parted ways in our 20s, lived our own full life journeys. But I always kept a lock of her rust coloured hair. And I always kept the brown leather shoes that I wore on that Youth hostelling trip we took to Snowdonia. Well they say true love prevails. Because they met up decades later, did Rusty and Ron. Yep. By chance, at the Nag’s head, at the start of the Scalby Walk. I went down for a drink with my brother and there she was my Rusty. I’ll never forget - it was fancy dress, I was dressed as a cheer leader! Still as beautiful as the day I saw her last. Rusty and Ron, reunited and both single once more. They got married in 2019. On our birthday. On our birthday. And we still visit that shelter from time to time. We do. Loved you then Love you still Always have Always will ALL SORTS These gardens. Feel frozen in time. Life moves through them. I come here when everything wants a piece of me, and I need to switch off, get away, stop scrolling, stop using my eyes for a bit and just be me, in the green. Get a lot of rough sleepers in here, I’ve noticed that. Yeah, and there was that guy, who just kept acquiring more things. A mattress, a children’s trike, and then this keyboard! And every now and then you’d hear keyboard music floating up through the Italian Gardens. We had some good chats me and him. And what about that time you nearly blew yoursen up, messing about with a lighter near that gas valve? Yeah, well, we don’t talk about that. Not my best moment. CASTLES AND MARS BAR WRAPPERS It’s the 1980s. A time of turmoil. This is David. Back then, I was a mixed up young man. And then you met me. Came to Scarbs on one of our very first days out. We came on good old British Rail, we won our tickets on Mars Bar Wrappers. My Nan saved up the coupons and you could swap them for free train tickets. Bless her, she was lovely Dave's Nan. Anyway, we stayed in a little guest house, up near the castle and I wore a fake wedding ring. I don’t know why, nobody bothered about stuff like that, even back then. Still, I was a bit nervous. I told her the landlady knew it was fake. And when I asked him how he said… …because your finger was turning green! He likes to crack jokes, some of them are even funny. I think that’s why I liked you. I remember we walked down to the south cliff and looked out from the Italian gardens, over the bay towards the lighthouse. It was beautiful and I knew I wanted to live near the sea, you know the sort of thing, in a little cottage overlooking the bay with roses round the door and a picket-fenced garden full of kids, only he wasn’t so keen on the kids part back then. And here we are forty years later, living just down the road in a house by the sea, and we have four grandchildren. We're still happily married too, but his jokes aren’t any better. PASSION And there’s all sorts of ways to fall in love, you know. Wide shot. Jump shot. Close up. Edit. Not all just kissing and cuddling. This is Matthew. From Barrowcliff. Who fell in love with film making in these gardens. A summer course it was, at Beeforth’s Hive. We made a film about zombies. But now I want to make documentaries. About me and my mum and all the other kids where I live. Just me and my camera. Retelling others stories. A passion reborn GRANDMOTHERS & PIGGY BACKS And what about Oliwia and her grandma? They used to come here loads didn’t they, on walks through the roses after school. Yeah. That’s a special kind of outing, is that. Everyone needs a Nan. Me and my grandmother Talking about my bad day She made me feel loved And my beautiful Jess. When she walks among the flowers, I know she remembers hers too. The roses transport me As if she were here I miss her so I feel her now Walking beside me How did you and your Jess meet anyway? At uni. Came here for one of our first dates. Kept that one quiet didn’t you! We went for a walk along southcliff, walking along the beach and up the hill to look out over the cliffs. It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm. On our way to the beach we walked across the star map. We didn't realise the time but the tide had started coming in, and getting back onto sand was quite a big drop, well for me anyway. But he came over and offered me a piggyback ride. I was so nervous being so close to him but I felt safe and it just felt right. We’ve had some hardships along the way, but everything worked out for the best didn’t it? I’m so happy and proud to call you my best friend. Me too. Aaaw. You guys. MAGIC And there’s magic in these gardens too. Definitely. They used to come here for miles, believing it were in the very waters. The magic waters of the spa. And if you do believe, I know where the fairies live. Down near the Rose Garden, if you look up right close, there’s a little tiny door in a tree. And my friend Aggie, she nearly saw one once. I sat there in the garden for ages. I were waiting for the fairy to come out, but it never did. Keep waiting Aggie. STAR MAP / SCARS Have you been down to the star map, where you can find true north? And the big dipper. Good to have a map when times get tough. The course of true love never did run smooth. I think it’s sad, really. When you think about what this town used to be. And when I see the star map, where south bay pool was before, I think of it as a scar. Not the only scar in Scarborough, there’s been lots of broken promises along the way. I sometimes feel that everything that had been promised for the people in this town has been lost in progress plans. I have such happy memories of here but I see scars. Scars crying. Hopefully waiting to be filled by the joys of the future. LOVE LIVES HERE Them views those. You gotta love ‘em. The red brown cliffs against the blue sky. When the world’s on yer neck. Telling you to toughen up. Get on with it. Be a man. You can come up here and rise above it. Watch the waves curving into each other. Watch the surfers out on the sea, falling off their boards. Sit here on your own all night and wait for the dawn. I came here with my mates one night and we saw a big blood moon, hung in the sky, like the top of a can of san pellegrino. All of us, just sat there in a row, silenced, staring at the moon. Big and red. When the world’s on your neck and you can’t think straight. X 2 My place to walk, a place to talk. Lose yourself, find yourself, be yourself. Love lives here. Love lives here. Love lives here. Love lives here. Love lives here. Love lives here. Always has. Always will.

Wildflower Garden - A Garden for All Seasons, written and performed by the Love Stories ensemble, based on a story by Jean: CHORUS Visit the gardens Walk and remember Get a garden fix Enjoy the peace Visit the gardens Walk and remember Get a garden fix Enjoy the peace VERSE Spotty dogs dalmatians I couldn’t live without them We got him as a promise Sam never let us down CHORUS Visit the gardens Walk and remember Get a garden fix Enjoy the peace Visit the gardens Walk and remember Get a garden fix Enjoy the peace VERSE Someday we’ll have to say goodbye I’ll plant a tree and remember Even in the darkness of November Somewhere to go and be in the green CHORUS Visit the gardens Walk and remember Get a garden fix Enjoy the peace Visit the gardens Walk and remember Get a garden fix Enjoy the peace Forget me not, forget me not, forget me not, forget me not.