I was born and grew up in Hull in the 1960s and 70s. My mother was one of those 'grim head-scarved wives'. Hull was, then, about as provincial as towns got, despite it being a port. East Hull, with its streets and crescents of terraced houses filled by dockers and fishermen. West Hull, with tree-lined avenues and large houses that were the homes of solicitors, shipowners, landlords and the rest. North Hull woth its concrete estates where people worked for the Council, or for ICI at Saltend - newcomers.

But to me, the 'here' Larkin speaks of are the farming villages scattered across the sweep of land between Flamborough Head down to the Spit at the mouth of the Humber. Not the suburbs like Cottingham, or the market towns like Beverley, Market Weighton or Driffield. But little villages like Patrington, Roos, Leven, Swine, Wetwang and Burstwick. Clusters of houses among fields of wheat and rapeseed, a single road passing through and perhaps a couple of lanes leading to even more remote farmhouses. Few trees, no hills, just flat land to the horizon. Small communities, not unfriendly, but taciturn. Little to say because little ever happened.