Written by Anonymous Visitor and posted in North East, United Kingdom, Yorkshire

With more than a passing resemblance to some nightmarish Aphex Twin video, Bransholme was contructed back in the dark days of the cold war as an example of what the world may look like after a nuclear holocaust. Officially the largest council estate in the world (yeh take that Cabrini Green!), this far flung outpost of utter misery and despair is populated almost entirely by slack jawed drug-addled cavemen, their battered companions and numerous evil offspring. To venture into this terrifying void is like decending into the underworld. I have been shot at with air rifles and had bricks thrown at me several times while enduring a mad max like bus journey through this boarded up, semi derelict sprawl.
Take a car through here (doors locked) and pere wide-eyed at the calamity outside. 4 year olds shove lighted fireworks through some unfortunate OAP’s letterbox while 12 year old baseball capped arseholes tear up and down the rubble strewn streets in stolen Corsas. Meanwhile 13 year old Chardonnay takes her twins Rooney and Brooklyn to see the social worker at the local heavily fortified ‘outreach centre’. Down at the local shopping arcade, security guards fight running battles with schoolage smackheads as tatooed neandathals in England shirts heap crateloads of cheap lager and economy burgers into trolleys which they’ll later throw into next-doors garden. Rumour has it, John Carpenter was inspired to write ‘Escape from New York’ after mistakenly straying into Bransholme and being beaten up by a girl chav gang wielding iron bars.

Written by Anonymous Visitor and posted in North East, United Kingdom, Yorkshire

Bransholme, or BransHole as I prefer to call it, is one of the largest council estates in Europe and is situated in the arsehole of England, Hull, or ‘ULL if you emanate from that region. In 1642 Hull became famous as Sir John Hotham closed it’s gates on King Charles and told the king to “fhuk off you ain’t enough Bizzell”.

The gates remained shut on this isolated Town and centauries of inbreeding have given us this remarkable city. To the north of Hull, Bransholme is known as home to thousands of third and fourth generation Chavs.

The schools in this Estate are more like transition camps as kids progress towards their future lives in Hull infamous Prison. Parents are keen to see their kids do well and often involve them in their family businesses from an early age. In fact you would hard pressed to find a kid that can not out run Oscar, the Police Helicopter, or hotwire a car in under ten seconds.

The Estate has a weird culture for naming their children, it seems you take the names Billy, Booby, Joe or Ellie and pick two for a Christian name and pop them down to the local vicar is anything silk by Von Dutch or Fila.

The middle of the estate is a shopping complex know as the “Senner”. Parents congregate is various Burberry attire and double buggies filled with Bobby-Joes to swap stories of their recent muggings, twockings and to nick as much as they can before being chased out by security.

When you enter the centre you are fairly impressed with it’s lighting and cleanliness, there are even two banks in it, staffed with burley bouncer type cashiers, but as you walk through you slowly realise you are in another world, the land the gene pool forgot. Pensioners on electric scooters race up and down the main thoroughfare reliving the twocking accident that “robbed them of their pins”. The other customers include many gannies, though women tend to be gannies at the age of 30 on Branshole and their numerous siblings that meet up for ritualistic interfamily slagging contests and general gang warfare. If you are on your own these mutants will glare at you looking for any sign of weakness before they collectively remove you all your worldly goods.

However, despite the low life people are still tempted in for the bargains. On a Saturday afternoon you can get a bag of nearly rotting veg for just a pound and meat that would make your dog vomit for even less. This can be thrown together and fed to “the bairns” thus leaving the parents with enough money for the weekly supply of baccy, Becks and 20/20.

Branshole is a national contender for Chav Central and a small thermonuclear devise could put a significant dent in the national crime figures and income support payments.

  • Peyton

    Does anyone even understand the meaning of the word chav? Its just a stereotypical name such as a goth or emo. How dare people who have never even visited this place have such negative views, i have lived on bransholme for the past 21 years 4 months and never have i had any crime around the area. Basically what i am trying to say is that there are good and bad everywhere you live, the handfull of people spoil it for those who do try and make an effort to the area. I went to a school on the area (Winifred Holtby) and i am now working in the forensic science department, i think people should just try and take a look at thier own lives before commenting on other peoples who they clearly have no clue about.

  • love it

    im from leeds and went to bransholme 2 visit my fiance it is not as bad as wat every1 makes out at all! i was expectin a sh*thole n its not its actually alright so lay off you wouldnt like it if people startd slaggin off wher u live so get a grip grow up n get a life!!! saddos!

  • robbie

    alrite im one of dis frm da estate its a gud place most ppls on here are frm scummy leeds ya lowlife fo,oking sh*te bags coz we got the bestest football team naw a yer foo.kin nuffin you r all scum cnt wait 4 u fo.ok jobless twat to visit us

  • razza bhe

    u al need to grow up ya lil moshas

  • Rebecca

    Christ all you people starting a fight over this realy prove the point.

    Thanks; For making people from bransholme sound like even bigger d**k heads.

  • Sophie03
    Are you sure you arnt writing about where you live ? coz i live on Bransholme and it isnt like that so wot you onna bout muppet 🙂

  • Densor

    Ok, i live in bransholme and i dont even go outside much and i know its a sh*t hole. BUT  i dont see why people are complaining about it most of the people complaining live in kingswood so if you live in bransholme and hate it so much GET THE F**K OUT.

  • Onethatgotaway




    It all began in 1984. I’d been roughing it up Orchard Park at a mate’s flat in one of them tower blocks up there, when I got the letter to say I’d been given a maisonette on Bransholme estate. My friends from OP took great delight in telling me horror stories of ‘Alcatraz’ and the ‘rough lot’ that lived up there. Well, I thought the inhabitants of the Park somewhat dodgy, especially those encountered in the Arctic Ranger.
      The Maisonette in Iona house was palatial. Three good-sized bedrooms, kitchen/diner, massive sitting room, two balconies. What more could you want? It would appear however, that they were riddled with damp, which of course isn’t pleasant. I was here until the eviction notices came out and was moved to a nice little ground floor flat on the garths in about ’86 at a guess, though could be ’87. Now the garths seemed quite nice, large open spaces of green intersperced the rows of very same looking houses, and real countryside just across Noddle Hill way, that led to the motorbike frames graveyard, the drain (or dyke) down the bottom of the fields. Certainly less bleak than Orchard Park and it’s concrete underpasses. Some mates and I had great fun one summer playing cricket on the green between Finingly garth and the one that began with G and had a tower block on it. It was all hunky dory until I accidently smashed some guys window, the end house, called ‘Dunrentin’…..I guess it was the only privately owned house on the whole estate, it’s value must be next to nothing now!  It was all resolved amicably when I went up the partially demolished maisonettes and provided him with a new pane of glass!
      As for the locals, they weren’t too bad and I soon found my feet and got on with them. With hindsight, I can now see the foundations of today’s problems developing. This was late 84, about November if my fuddled mind remembers correctly. Of the people I was coming to know, some still had jobs, but others had by now been out of work for a few years.  Thatcherism I suspect was beginning to bite. With only low paid jobs going, the family men were beginning to think “I can get more on the dole so what’s the point?” The lads of my age probably hadn’t had more than the odd labouring job here and there in three or four years, so all around poverty was beginning to bite. I can imagine what 10 or more years of this was going to produce.
      I met some smashing people in that time. Good hard working folk and there was quite a community spirit. Folk who looked out for one another, always popping round for a cuppa and a chat. This was particularly useful because what day of the week your giro came on depended on your surmname!
      I was unemployed from ’84 until I got one of those community project jobs with the Hull Energy Action Team (HEAT) doing draught proofing to houses on the estate in about ’88. We operated out of commandeered five-bedroomed house on………………….just across from the ‘Cenner’.  I made some good mates on that job, and going in folks homes doing the draught proofing got to meet a right mish-mash of people.
      To my knowledge, there weren’t any chavs. Burberry hadn’t even been invented then. Of course you had the odd gang wandering around, scallies and P***y’s, but no hoodies. I can’t say I really experienced that much crime then either, except the occasion when two younger siblings of a one Albert Higginbottom esq, king of the home brewed cider nicked my giro and cashed it one fortnight! I’m sure it happened, I just didn’t encounter that much of it. Just like the drugs. I often partook of the weed when I could afford it, but I certainly never went out robbing if I couldn’t. I was vaguely aware of harder stuff doing the rounds, but I never had the desire to ‘chase the dragon’ or shoot sh*t into my veins. As far as I know crack cocaine and crystal meths didn’t exist then!
      What finally made my decision to get the hell out was the depressing cycle of the following, and I’m struggling to find a word to describe this phenomenon. Let’s say for example, Sharon gets together with Steve, they get a place, set up home have a couple of sprogs. Two or three years down the line, Steve ups sticks and moves in with Bev up the road who has three kids to three different blokes already. Sharon meets new bloke, say Phil, and he moves in. A couple of weeks later, Steve, after a night in the Swallow gets off his trolley, goes round to his ex’s, puts a brick through the window, gives Phil a smack warning him to stay away ‘from me bairns’. Likewise, Bev’s ex does exactly the same to Steve. And this went on, and on, a depressing cycle and all the while the poverty bit harder. I freely admit to shacking up with some skinny anorexic tattooed freak with a mop of permed hair that had a whole can of hairspray liberally sprayed over it everyday then went rock hard that had two kids.  I even have to admit I stuck it out for nearly two years (I still had my own place and claimed seperatley, no one claimed as a couple if they could help, you got more money being separate!)  But in my defence, I was 21, it was shags on tap, I was fed and had my clothes washed! I’m sure it’s a hell of a lot worse now. I think if I hadn’t gone when I did I would be a dribbling basket case by now.
      I woke one morning and thought to myself ‘what the f**k am I doing here? I’m better than this’. By this time I had taken on one of those ‘training scheme’ things that paid a tenner on top of your dole and travel expenses to go work at a ‘proper firm’. I was at a joinery place down stoneferry road. The gaffer actually was a decent bloke, and although years on,  looking back with hindsight I was being well exploited, but he used to pay me a couple of quid an hour for overtime, and some weeks I was earning quite a bundle compared to the usual amount I’d have got if I hadn’t been doing this. 
      This scheme came to an end, he didn’t want to take me on properly. In September 1989 I couldn’t face any more of the ‘cycle’, so I abandoned my gaff, my furniture, the people I knew and, like Dick Whittington, headed for London although since I couldn’t afford the fare, I thumbed it to Rotherham first and cadged the train fare off my uncle. I almost crumbled in February 1990 for a lass believe it or not, with a kid, and now by all accounts, a smackhead prostitute! Thank god I didn’t eh? A couple of friends came down that year to work as well, but they didn’t hack it, I guess because they had family back there, whereas I didn’t, although I nearly went back in ’91, but again resisted the temptation.
      I’m still in touch with one person from that period of my life. He has moved from a niceish place out of Hull onto what he calls ‘an up and coming new area’ on North Bransholme! How I laughed, especially after having read an article from a link on this site!
      I am so intrigued I feel I just have to go back for a visit. In truth I don’t think I ever fitted 100% with the Bransholme mentality. Having come from a middle class background (well mother was a civil servant) but fallen on hard times, (mother got skint by doing the house in Sheffield up and married an okie from Holme-on-Spalding moor who shagged sheep when he wasn’t beating the crap out of me or her) I flunked my last year at school and joined the army at 16, but discovered I’d swapped one repressive regime for another and flunked out on that too! I ended up in ’Ull as ‘home’ and was a no go zone, the rest of the small and ‘up their own arse’ family members from South Yorkshire were too busy and engrossed in their own lives  to help me out, so I ended up with a buddy who had been medically discharged from my army unit. At the time it was him and his mum and I was welcomed there on Orchard Park in August ’83 … only to be asked to leave when his dad turned up two weeks later, after a couple of years away (probably the nick, only I was too naïve to realise at the time!)
     From there, it was a B & B just off Spring Bank run by a gay ex thespian, and then a flat above a fridge shop on Spring Bank. The summer of ’84 I dossed at some guy’s on Holderness Road while I did a community programme job cleaning up a stretch of old railway line nearby, and when that finished it was up to Orchard Park where my story started.
      I visited once or twice, and the last time I went for a drink up there must have been around New Year of ’92 or ’93 in the Wawne Ferry(?)  I could sense hostile undertones in the youngsters.  (I was 27/28 by this time, so they was kids!)  that I had encountered before in the time I lived there and spent every other Friday/Saturday night in the Swallow watching the resident house band ‘The Muff Divers’ bang out their 60’s/70’s covers!  Deliberate barging and vicious scowls with the sole aim of provoking a reaction so they could launch into some frenzied glue induced attack.  I suppose these days they by-pass the first stage and just glass a total stranger!
      I last visited in 2004, August bank holiday and had a drive round the old haunts.  It seemed like a ghost town compared to what I’d known 15 years previous.  There was a total lack of human life visible, no people walking around, no groups of kids playing out.  I guess they were all indoors glued to their playstations!
      Bransholme was certainly an experience. It opened my eyes to the real world and I think I learnt some valuable life lessons in my time there.

  • jhull

    So what job have you got? – i hope its not a proof reader, my budgie can spell better,….idiot.

  • jab-ov-ull
    oryytt  wooo!!! bransholme haha  fkin swnd az place gt sum gd sh*t ther n its a reete place foo a p*ss up wit che mates on a fri nyt init galz n boiz!!?  enywayz i luv brannie to bitz we av sum ryt laffs rwnd ther n mi bloke alsoo livs on ther so givs mi mre ov an exscuse to go rwnd ther lmfao!!  thers sum reete fyts that appen mate but its all gd  dno wat else too say reeeali but eny1 uw dissez bransholme needs swtin arrt mate cuz its a ryt phat place!!  enywayz im off soo ina bit xx Mwah
  • MrB16

    After all the recent heavy rain in Hull, it seems as the prophecy of flooding predicted by the previous poster has been fulfilled.

    Is there any news of Elizabeth Duke-wearing chavs being swept away and drowning under the weight of their sovereign rings?

  • candii-kisses

    ey im on f**king ema im at college got as and b in my exams doing well dont start

  • heebygeeby

    i agree with you Neo, but you forgot to mention the smack heads!!

  • demiovope2k7

    u r out ov orda mate i live on the ope and bransholme is orite like ano our estates r like a bit of a sh*thole but dey well sorted n ace ORITE! so stop dissin our estates titwank

  • jeffster
    its sad but the problems like we have in bransholme are takeing place all over the country . people just dont have any respect for anything anymore . but who can blame them when theres nothing to respect. the countrys a sh*thole . a dumping ground for europes unwanted . they come over her take what we give and give nothing in return . our kids look forward to uncertain futures. the are no jobs . nothing to do no where for them to go so trouble soon follows . i live on bransholme . have done all my life . but ive worked all over england and believe me when you go to places like bradford you see what scary is . so take heed because its coming to a town near you real soon.

  • xxkirstyxx

    well neva bin here so i aint gunna dis it but i just dnt understand how every 1 is saying that all these places r chav towns. just the way how sum 1 dresses and acts dis means that the town gets called sh*tty n that. wt bout the ppl that dnt dress in a certain way do they get called chavs 2? just dnt understand it but guess every 1 is intiteled to there own opinions 🙂

  • xxkirstyxx

    well neva bin here so i aint gunna dis it but i just dnt understand how every 1 is saying that all these places r chav towns. just the way how sum 1 dresses and acts dis means that the town gets called sh*tty n that. wt bout the ppl that dnt dress in a certain way do they get called chavs 2? just dnt understand it but guess every 1 is intiteled to there own opinions 🙂

  • appy-ov-bhe

    yh m8 go on ozza ya big hre chav n guess wot i c i u

  • ozza-ov-ull

    ello ppl im frm hre nt bransholme bt bhe int scum neva r chavz we rule all we r ace so shussshhhhhh ya dik weeds gt a life n if ya gt a prob say it 2 our faces if ya der well do ye all ova ya dirty bum likin camel bummerz lol innabit dog sh*t

  • ozza-ov-ull

    ryt ppl im nt frm da bhe bt dont diss chavz im a chav frm hre n we are ace n defo not scum we rule all ya swety borin farts dnt diss uz ant ya gt owt else 2 do??? gt a life or shut up haha fergie im sat nxt t ya!!!!