The rise and fall of Hornsea Pottery has the makings of a Hollywood movie

Few had cars of their own, so they either took the train or had day trips out by the local charabanc. The small hotels and the bed and breakfast establishments of Yorkshire’s east coast towns were reopening. The theatres of Scarborough and Bridlington were returning to the presentation of summer seasons – often stretching from early May right through to the end of September.

As a souvenir of their visits, many of the newly free tourists and visitors wanted to take a little something home with them. And two Hornsea brothers, Colin and Desmond Rawson, saw a potential market. Both had attended Batley School of Art but neither had any experience at all in pottery. So initially they went into business selling little models – made of plaster of Paris. Their “factory” was the scullery of a house on Victoria Street. Seed funding for their fledgling business came from a family friend and a local businessman, Philip Clappison, who obviously saw the potential. He suggested that they bought themselves a small kiln, so they ditched the plaster of Paris, and started working with clay.

Hornsea does indeed sit on a vast reserve of clay. But it is the wrong clay and not suitable for making pots. All the correct clay had to be transported from the Staffordshire area, which added to costs of production. It came in by train, on the branch line from Hull, and was unloaded at Hornsea Town station, right on the seafront. Nevertheless, the products did well, and they moved to premises in Hornsea Market Place, and took on their first employee.

The Rawsons discovered that Philip’s son John had an amazing eye for design, and he produced their first big winner, a range called Elegance, and there are still avid collectors of it today. There was another young talent, Dorothy Marion Campbell (who worked from her home in Hull, and took her ideas over to the Rawsons by bus), and another, Alan Luckham. The business moved again, to the Hornsea Brick and Tile Works, and the concentration by now was mainly on affordable tableware design, small ornaments and objects which brought a little style to the tables and kitchens of the Sixties and Seventies.

“They were never going to compete with makers like Wedgwood and Royal Doulton,” says Paul Bickerdike, who worked at the pottery for decades, rising to senior positions. “But they were several steps higher up the ladder than the ‘churn them out cheaply’ companies in the Potteries.”

Hornsea had found its niche, and by 1974 it was in the Edenfield Works and employed 250 people – archives show that there were several generations of families involved. It was Hornsea’s biggest employer and turned out millions of items every year, each of which had been developed, designed and made on one site.

“They were wonderful to work for,” recalls Laura Embleton, a local councillor – and this year’s Mayor of Hornsea. “There was a terrific social life. We had our own club, there were all sorts of affiliated associations, Christmas parties, and the place used to virtually shut down for a week or so when Hornsea Carnival time came round because so many of us were involved with building the floats, many of which won prize after prize. There was a great camaraderie, there was a very happy atmosphere, and you were never bored.”

Laura started working in the cafe while on holiday from college, and then went full-time on the shop floor. She has a quiet pride in revealing that she was employed as a “sponger and fettler”. She picks up a Hornsea mug of the time, and explains the process of fettling – it means that the two pieces of the handle are stuck on to the main body, and then “fettled”, with the seam wiped away to make it look as if there is no join at all. Laura could fettle a few thousand mugs every day.

It seemed that Hornsea Pottery could do no wrong, the products were flying off the shelves, and they sold not only at home but all over the world, to places like New Zealand, Australia and Canada and even to the upmarket US department store chain Nordstrom. Major UK companies asked for specific ranges, and they were sold in stores like Harrods and Fortnum & Mason. If you wanted a superior souvenir range of mugs or ashtrays to celebrate an event, you went to Hornsea – in most cases you were required to place an order of 500 or more. But an exception was made when the Humber Bridge was opened, and a commemorative plate was presented to the late Duke of Edinburgh. There were celebrity guests of the day – Bernard Bresslaw, Acker Bilk, Kenny Ball, all from local summer shows.

With the closure of the railway branch line, and more and more people turning their attention to holidays overseas, someone had the idea of making Hornsea Pottery into what would be called a “destination experience”. Every square foot of the multi-acre Edenfield site was developed with children’s rides, an aviary, pets’ corner, picnic area, go-karting, the lot. With, of course, plenty of free car parking – and a tour of the pottery itself.

A special sandwich was even invented for the trippers – the “Goliath”. “It was a great long fat bread baton, with almost a complete salad as a filling,” says Laura, laughing. “Families would buy one, cut it into sections, and that would be their lunch!”

Ever-expanding Hornsea even set up a pottery enterprise in Corfu, after one of the bosses met a Greek businessman who wanted to establish a holiday village with all the national crafts represented on site. Paul went over to advise. “The guy was immensely important, he must have owned most of the island,” he recalls.

The Corfu “branch” was deliberately targeted at the souvenir market, but there were some little gems amongst the generic Greek items, and Paul is fond of a cheeky little figure of a priest, reminiscent of a bishop in a contemporary chess set.

By the end of the Sixties, it was clear that the Hornsea site had to expand – but the council of the day was firmly against giving planning permission. So another location was found. It was across the Pennines, in Lancaster. “I went over to get things going and to train the new staff,” says Paul. “But it all took far longer than expected.” It was a terrible miscalculation. Lancaster lasted only 12 years, and profits were in a steep decline. A huge order from BHS was ready to be shipped out but the retailer cancelled the order – and Hornsea hadn’t bothered to ask for the cash up front.

It only got worse from there. Receivers were called in, and key personnel were dismissed, among them the brilliant John Clapisson. The irony is that John was immediately offered a new job by Royal Doulton.

When the crash finally came, around 700 people were made redundant, and the intellectual property rights were sold off. The only evidence of the glory that was Hornsea Pottery that remains today is a stunning 6,000 pieces on display in the town’s museum, where there are examples of nearly everything that the pottery produced.

Some were for the masses, others (such as the Abbey Lantern light) are very rare indeed. Denise McGranaghan, who volunteers at the museum and cares for the pottery collection, says: “It’s an extraordinary and almost unbelievable story but it has an amazing legacy. Even today, it’s almost impossible to walk around this town, and find someone who wasn’t involved in some way with the Hornsea Pottery.”