A Chinese buffet by day, a debauched disco by night, with the cheapest shots in the north of England and limitless prawn crackers, the Willow was an institution for generations of York youth. Victoria Finan , a regular, bids it goodbye

For those walking down York’s Coney Street, it was easy to miss. A small sign hanging next to La Senza, and a closed door with nothing but a steep flight of stairs in view behind it. Yet, for generations of the city’s debauched youth, what lay behind that door was the stuff of legend.

In the early hours of Monday morning, The Willow Disco closed that famous door for the last time. Its owner, Tommy Fong, as much of a York legend as Guy Fawkes, has finally decided to retire at the age of 70. Its closure has been met with heartbreak and nostalgia from both current students and those who left York decades ago.

I was 17 when I first entered the hallowed grounds of The Willow Disco. A Chinese buffet restaurant by day, the tables and chairs would be pushed back, revealing a small, dingy dancefloor. The DJ would set up and from around 11pm would play every guilty pleasure you could possibly imagine (think Agadoo and the Grease Megamix) until the early hours. But the main draw, for me, was always the bar. Not only did it have the cheapest shots in the north of England, an overflowing tub of prawn crackers sat on it, allowing you to get obscenely drunk while stuffing your face. (Apparently, you could also order a Chinese main course to juggle with on the dancefloor, but I don’t know anybody who actually tested this out.)

Facebook Twitter Pinterest It was obligatory to pose for a picture with your willow stamp on arrival... after a particularly bad night the willow stamp could be found transferred onto your face after a sweaty deep sleep Rossparry.co.uk/Rossparry.co.uk Photograph: / rossparry.co.uk/Rossparry.co.uk

The Willow was very much an end of night disco. The savvy ones among us would begin our evenings by collecting the famous Willow stamp — as big as your hand and stamped wherever you wanted it — and having a quick cursory dance to keep the bar-staff happy, before quickly moving on to cocktail bars, safe in the knowledge that when we chose to return, we could avoid the queues. At around 1am, the dancefloor would begin to fill, and regularly wouldn’t empty until 5am when we would step, blinking into the summer morning light, and still singing S Club 7.

Getting into the Willow was an achievement in itself. The Berghain of Yorkshire, the bouncers’ notorious policy was “students and regulars only’” For a couple of years, I was always allowed in as a regular, and I wore it like a badge of honour - occasionally even promising friends I could “get them in”, in exchange for help with French homework. Once you did get inside, after braving the often hour-long queue, you would dump your coat in a broom cupboard (Yorkshire people are, of course, the most honest in the world, so you knew it’d never get nicked). If you were feeling very, very brave you might go touch up your make-up in the ladies, but as my fellow Willow-devotees will testify, perhaps the less said about the toilets, the better.

The music itself provides me with some of the very best memories. The time I knocked over a table while enthusiastically starting a conga to Come on Eileen. The time the entire disco sat down, arms around each-other, to James’ classic party hit. The time they played All I Want For Christmas Is You in the middle of July, complete with snow machine, and the dancefloor went beserk.

But Willow wasn’t just about the music, it was about the experience. It was snubbing the “high end” clubs filled with stiletto heels and dance music for your battered Primark pumps and a crafty cigarette in the La Senza doorway. It was trying to steal the prawn cracker tub from its place on the bar. It was trying to get a selfie with Tommy Fong, who himself stood outside his empire every evening. It was spotting your friends’ names on the “FOUND DRIVING LICENCES” board inside, a true Who’s Who of York. And it was, for many of us, the inevitable fall down the steep flight of steps at the end of the night, much to the hilarity of the bouncers.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest The world famous, and hugely unhygienic, box of free prawn crackers available through out the night - If you woke up with cuts in the corners of your mouth you knew you had eaten too many the night before. Rossparry.co.uk/Rossparry.co.uk Photograph: / rossparry.co.uk/Rossparry.co.uk

On one very memorable evening, myself and my friends decided to refuse to leave. At the end of the night, the lights came up and we sat on the floor singing We Shall Not Be Moved. Tommy stood and watched, a wry smile on his face, for a while, before insisting that we left. We gave up our protest immediately. After all, everyone in York had to adhere to the motto - Respect the Willow, and the Willow will respect you.

I imagine many felt the same on Monday morning, at around 6am, when the music finally stopped. Clubbers queued for up to three hours to pay their respects to the only place in York that could rival the Minster for its fame. According to student paper York Vision, who brilliantly live-blogged the whole night, Tommy Fong made a speech and clubbers were allowed to take home Willow memorabilia, including the chairs, before slurring their final farewells.

It was a social faux-pas to not stay in the Willow until the very last song. More often than not, it was its very own signature tune, Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing. And we never did, Willow. We never did.