Nostalgia - Part 1

Remembering my childhood haunts

I was a baby when my family moved from the centre of Liverpool to the comparative safety of Huyton Quarry at the outbreak of World War II, after a short period of evacuation when the family had been split up. Huyton Quarry was a village, not far from Liverpool geographically, but a world away in its pace of life. My childhood memories are mostly centred around Huyton Quarry, and Huyton Village, a ten minute walk away. All our day to day requirements were met virtually on our doorstep; a butcher, a grocery store, a greengrocer - and a newsagents and sweet shop next door to each other, businesses carried out in the front rooms of terraced houses by brothers called Echo Jones and Toffee Jones, for obvious reasons. Oh, the excitement of entering the small, dark sweet shop clutching my ration book, waiting as a coupon was stamped before my twopence was handed over in exchange for a paper cone of sweets. Back in those days, a child could also go into a newsagents and ask for 'Ten Woodbines for my dad, please' - cigarettes were mostly kept 'under the counter' and reserved for regular customers.

There was another parade of shops on the other side of the railway line that bisected the village - these  shops were larger and purpose-built; one was a hardware store where I would pay in regular small sums of threepence or sixpence from my pocket money to save up for Christmas presents for my mum and dad. I still have the Dick Turpin toby jugs I bought almost 70 years ago!

My favourite place, apart from my Junior School, Sylvester County Primary, was Huyton Library. As soon as I was old enough to have my own ticket, I would walk the mile or so with my best friend, Pat. Rain didn't deter us, the children's section was equipped with large, green leather armchairs where you could lose yourself in a book until it stopped. We were voracious readers and during school holidays must have visited the library most weekdays. One day, having finished our new books before lunch, we returned them in the afternoon, only to be told that we had to keep them at least 24 hours!

Very close to the library was the baby clinic where my mum bought the concentrated orange juice and cod-liver oil she hoped would keep me healthy. I loved my daily spoonful of cod-liver oil, and she also dosed me up with every other supplement available; malt-extract, Virol, Scott's Emulsion, and Parish's Food - which tasted of iron and left you with a purple tongue.

I remember Saturday matinees at The Mayfair cinema in Huyton,  boisterous lads whooping and hollering, as they poured out through the big iron doors of the side entrance, blinking in the bright daylight, still lost in that make-believe world of 'cowboys and indians' or Flash Gordon.

As I grew up, my horizons widened. I attended High School in Childwall and made friends who lived further afield. I took two buses to visit my dad's family in Bootle on Sundays, and eventually started work in a city centre office. In the late 1950s, I enjoyed lunch-time sessions The Cavern Club, this was pre-Beatles when The Cavern was a jazz club. Weekend evenings were spent at The Locarno, The Grafton,The Harlequin, and other dance halls, or as a regular at the many cinemas in and around the city, with the boyfriend I would eventually marry.

Once married, and when my new husband had completed his National Service in the Royal Navy, we moved about 20 miles out of Merseyside to another small town where we brought up our family and where, 54 years later, we still live. Although I visit Liverpool on a very regular basis, and frequent visits were made to Huyton Quarry and Huyton-with-Roby while our parents were alive, it's now many years since I've walked the streets of my childhood. I knew that The Mayfair closed in 1960; I'd seen Huyton change while my parents were still alive. But as my train into Liverpool passes through Huyton Station now, I can see that even bigger changes have taken place and being curious as to just what remains of the scenes of my childhood I felt it was time to take a walk through my past. Would anything remain of my childhood haunts?


[I am indebted to various sites on the internet for some of these photographs, if anyone needs a personal accreditation, please contact me.]

'Knowledge is Power' - The Victoria Gallery & Museum, Liverpool

The closure of many public libraries is currently a contentious issue, widely discussed in the media, so what better time to visit the Victoria Gallery's exhibition 'Knowledge is Power' and discover the roots of Liverpool's own library services. The exhibition opened last November and runs until the 18th of June, 2016. On the Gallery's website, I read about the drop-in reading group sessions, Reading is Power, run by Richard every Wednesday at 1pm as part of the exhibition. These sessions were described as friendly, informal, and free, with no prior booking required, which meant I could attend as and when it was convenient for me, without having to make a long-term commitment. Its intention is to 'explore stories and poems by great writers', no prior reading required, another plus, although I did hope that I would be familiar with some of the works.

It was the Wednesday of Easter week before I had a chance to 'drop in' and the timing probably explains why only four of us, two men and two women, turned up that particular day. It also explains why Richard was unavailable, although we were lucky that Kate, one of the Visitor Services Team, stepped in to lead us, handing out photocopies of an extract from George Eliot's Silas Marner. We each read out a short section of the extract and then discussed it as a group. The reading aloud is voluntary. I can vouch for the description 'friendly and informal', as I spent a very enjoyable hour in the company of others who also love reading. Which brings me to the exhibition itself.

I arrived early and had time to look at the exhibits before the reading session began. The first thing to catch my eye was the quote from Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice : 'I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book!' This statement by Miss Bingley is a ploy to attract Mr D'Arcy's attention but is none the less true for many of us. There were very few books in my childhood home yet thanks to the local library, I became an avid reader at an early age. I wonder whether the character in Sheridan's, The Rivals (1775) reflected the playright's own view when he says, '...a circulating library in a town is an evergreen tree of diabolical knowledge! Had I 1,000 daughters, by heaven! I'd as soon have them taught the black art, as their alphabet!' The Public Libraries Act 1850 was introduced by Liverpool-born MP William Ewart and funded by taxpayers; without this free service my access to 'the tree of knowledge', diabolical or otherwise, would have been very limited.

There were 'public' libraries long before the 1850 Act, of course, but they were available only to privileged members of society, allowing them to pool resources and gain access to commercial and professional information. Liverpool's Athenaeum (1797) was a private members' club and in 1802 the 40 guineas fee to join, and therefore have access to its library, was prohibitive to all but the wealthiest men in the city.

Books from the Medical Library (1779) which individual members of the medical professional would not have been able to afford, gave valuable information on the symptoms and cures of diseases. Some of these books were on display in the exhibition, along with pieces of equipment such as a Georgian Resuscitation Kit - a rather gruesome contraption!

There were books on display that I would love to handle, my fingers itched to turn the pages of William Enfield's The History of Liverpool (1758). Almost 50 years later, The Strangers Guide to Liverpool described the city as '...one of the finest towns in the world; the abode of industry and of opulence; the home of commerce and magnificence', and William Roscoe believed it was 'the new Florence'. I knew a little about William Roscoe, the abolitionist, but I didn't know that he was 'one of the best-selling historians of his generation'. Both the draft copy and the final printed version (1805) of his Life of Pope Leo X are on display in the exhibition. They are huge tomes and he must have spent years handwriting that first draft; I wonder how many modern writers would have been up to the task.

There is a large Survey Map of Liverpool on one wall, dated 1836, and I was able to find Upper Frederick Street, where my mother grew up in the early years of the 20th century. There is also a hand-written census from 1801, the first to document the whole population of the city; it was interesting to see the mix of occupations in one street - a Turnkey (at the Bridewell), labourers, mariners, and even a doctor.

The Athenaeum and The Lyceum shaped the elite culture in Liverpool but it was interesting to read that Henry Gearing, the Athenaeum's first librarian was 'reprimanded for drinking spirits'. It seems he wasn't dismissed from the post, which he held from 1799 to 1817! During the  late Victorian era, the working class began to benefit from free libraries; access to knowledge was the means to self-education, and reading for pleasure a welcome relaxation. Richard Warbrick's English and Foreign Circulating Library on Lime Street held 6,000 titles - which could be borrowed for a day, a week, or a month. The annual subscription was £1.10s, or you could borrow novels, romances and plays for the cheaper rate of £1.00! Also, the Athenaeum began taking boxes from Mudie's Select Library Ltd - there is one of the original boxes on display in the exhibition.

The philanthropist, Andrew Carnegie became the main force behind the spread of the library service. Between 1883 and 1929 he donated funds for over 2,500 libraries, 660 of them in the UK and Ireland, with a dramatic increase from 1899 onwards. Many of us will have a Carnegie Library in our town - if it hasn't already been closed! He required each town to make some financial commitment towards the cost, believing that people would feel more involved in the service if they had some input. And, of course, Liverpool is indebted to Sir William Brown MP, who paid the entire cost of the Brown Library in 1860, now the Central Library in William Brown Street. Later, six branch libraries were funded by Andrew Carnegie. My local library, built in 1906, is a Grade II listed Carnegie building. Fortunately, after a public compaign and consultations with the Council, this has remained open, although with reduced hours; another Grade II listed library some five miles away has been converted into office space.

As readers, we have much to thank those early benefactors for. I think everyone who is interested in keeping our libraries open should visit the VGM's exhibition to appreciate how much effort went into opening up the world of books and knowledge to the wider population. The rise in the popularity of e-books does not mean we have to make a choice, the physical and the digital can co-exist happily. When travelling we can have an unlimited supply of reading material at our fingertips without the extra baggage charge! In whatever form,  'I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading'!

When exploring the Victoria Gallery and Museum, a visit to the Waterhouse Café adds to the pleasure. Being surrounded by stunning architecture makes it a unique place to enjoy lunch, or one of their delicious cakes with a coffee.

Photographs courtesy of The Victoria Gallery and Museum

Out of the Shadows - Part 2

In Part 1, I mentioned the newspaper extracts provided, and translated, by Kirsty Hooper, which had given me an insight into my Spanish grandmother's family background. One item in particular solved a mystery which had puzzled me for the past 15 years. I had always been told by my mother that my great-grandfather was an artist and I understood that the painting of the Madonna and Child which hung in my grandmother's house in Liverpool, and was buried with her when she died in 1950, was one of his. I was also told that my great-grandfather used to travel between Spain and Buenos Aires to sell his paintings, and undertake commissions painting murals for churches. Yet on my grandparents' marriage certificate, Micaela's father is described as a 'labourer'. A Spanish newspaper extract from 1904 which mentioned his return from Buenos Aires was proof that he did travel to Argentina, unlikely if he was a labourer, but there was more exciting information to come.

An article in El Compostelano dated 16 July 1923 describes a 'Regional Exhibition of Painting and Sculpture' taking place in the Casino de Santiago, and lists a selection of the works on display. These included two paintings - Fuente de las Platerias, (Fountain in Silversmith's Square) and Interior of St Mark's Venice, (oils), both by José Vilarelle Vázquez - my great-grandfather! I reasoned that if he had been so well-known as a painter that he had exhibited, then perhaps I could find some record of his paintings and that was the main aim of my trip to Santiago de Compostela last March.

We had visited the Museo do Pobo Gallego - the Museum of Galician People - on previous trips to Santiago de Compostela simply as a matter of interest, now that I had some clues perhaps I could find out more. Ever the optimist, I was hoping the museum might even have one of his paintings! The young woman on the reception desk spoke excellent English and I had no difficulty in explaining my mission. She introduced me to Rosa, who I think was the head archivist, and translated my request. Within minutes, we were being led down corridors, up staircases, in and out of lifts, until we reached the administrative heart of the museum, where it is unlikely any other tourist had ever been admitted. For the next hour or so, Jim and I sat at a desk, in awe at the willingness of Rosa and an assistant to search through boxes and boxes of documents looking for paperwork relating to the Exhibition. I was beginning to feel embarrassed at the time they were investing when Rosa, smiling triumphantly, handed me an original catalogue. It was small, unlike the expensive, glossy catalogues one would expect at modern art exhibitions; photographs of some of the paintings had been glued onto the pages, and at the back of the catalogue were printed the names of the exhibitors and the titles of their paintings, in alphabetical order. Sadly, there were no photographs of my great-grandfather's two works, but there was his name and I was holding physical evidence of his profession.

Obviously, I was unable to keep the original, how wonderful that would have been, but Rosa did scan the front of the catalogue and the relevant page to take away with me, and that was the next best thing. Rosa thought she remembered seeing one of the paintings, she wasn't sure where, but it might have been the Consorcio de Santiago, and we left with the address, again in the Rua do Vilar, the street which seemed to have so many connections with my ancestors, and the name of the man to ask for. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts at trying to explain in Spanish, we were asked to return the following day and when we did were simply handed a business card with an arrow pointing to the address of their website!

We had more luck in the History of Art Archives at Santiago's University, where again two archivists were more than generous with their time and efforts. Another couple of hours produced a second catalogue; in August of 1923 the Exhibition had moved to Coruna and there was my great-grandfather's name, but this time only one of his paintings was listed - Fuente de las Platerias. Did this mean that the other painting had been sold? I hope so.

Another department of the University Archives holds plot numbers of the graves in Boiseca Cemetery, where my great-grandparents were buried but despite a thorough search, and finding their names and dates of burials in the archives, the plot numbers were missing. I've visited the cemetery several times, but it covers acres of ground, and together with the Spanish system of removing bones and 're-using' graves after a number of years, it's impossible to find an original burial place without an exact plot number. So my wish to place flowers in memory of my Spanish great-grandparents, on my grandmother's behalf, has to remain unfulfilled.

However, this latest trip had proved fruitful. I now had definite proof that José Vilarelle Vázquez was an artist whose paintings were worthy of exhibiting. Not only that - the Casino de Santiago, where the Exhibition took place, is now a café bar, and is only a couple of doors away from where my great-great-grandfather had his hat shop! A very fitting place to end my visit, enjoying churros, the treat my grandmother used to make, but this time dipped in thick, hot, melted chocolate, unimaginable in those war-time days of my childhood.

The 75th Anniversary of Rationing

When the first stages of food rationing were imposed on the British public in January 1940, only months after World War II broke out, I was eight months old. When it finally ended in June 1954, I was 15 and about to leave school. I therefore spent the whole of my childhood accepting as the norm that the amount of food my mother could buy for the family – Mum, Dad and three children – was restricted not only by what she could afford but by how many ‘coupons’ were left in the family’s ration books. I watched my mother cream together lard and margarine when she was making sandwiches, without realising that it was a thrifty measure to make the margarine ration go further. I can remember that a childhood favourite was a slice of bread spread with dripping from the meat tin, sprinkled with a little salt – very tasty! Years later, when creaming together 4ozs of margarine, two eggs, and 4ozs of sugar to make my own children a batch of fairy cakes that would disappear very quickly, I’d forgotten that I was using one adult’s weekly ration of those staple foods.

My father, a small, wiry man, had failed his medical for the army due to an untreated childhood illness (possibly polio) which left him with wasted muscles in one leg, yet throughout the war he did a physically hard job and fire-watched in the evenings. Needing energy, the meagre sugar ration was a particular problem for him; we used to joke that he put tea in his sugar rather than the other way around. As we children grew, my mother, in the interests of fair play, used to divide the week’s sugar ration into five separate jars with our names on. Of course, Dad’s jar always emptied first, and ‘selling’ him what remained of my ration at threepence a go earned me my first pocket money!

I don’t know at what age a child received its own ration book, presumably at eight months old I would not need margarine, eggs, sugar, etc, but I do remember queuing up with my mother at the Congregational church in Huyton to renew the green ration book I was entitled to up until the age of five. This enabled my mother to buy me bananas or oranges – although since it was extremely rare for these to appear in the shops during the war years, it was not much of a concession.

There were aspects of rationing which would have had absolutely no bearing on my family. I’ve read that central heating was prohibited during the summer months. To working-class families, central heating would have been a ‘pipe-dream’! The living room in our ‘two-up, two-down,’ terraced house was heated by a coal fire which scorched your legs whilst leaving your back freezing! There were also small fire-grates in the bedrooms but you had to be practically at death’s door before a fire was ever lit in those – and if it was, the black smoke that billowed back into the bedroom would probably make your illness worse. I can remember winters when there was ice on the inside of the bedroom windows and you put your socks on in bed before putting your feet down on the freezing lino. Living in the north of England, I believe that we were entitled to a higher coal ration than those lucky southerners basking in warmer climes – but the coal still ran out before the month did. It was common to see children walking along the railway line that led from the colliery to the goods yard, picking up pieces of coal which had fallen from the wagons.

Another aspect of rationing which would not have inconvenienced working-class families was the restriction on dining out. From May, 1942, the cost of meals served in hotels and restaurants must not exceed five shillings per customer and must not consist of more than three courses – only one of which could be meat, fish or poultry. The only ‘dining out’ I ever did as a child was when Dad occasionally took me to St John’s Market in Liverpool – there was a small indoor café where he would buy tea and toast before we walked the lanes of the outdoor market. I can remember getting upset at seeing the caged puppies and kittens for sale.

Any mention of sweet rationing brings back vivid memories of my local sweet shop, ‘Toffee Jones’s, so called because the paper-shop next door was owned by his brother, ‘Echo Jones’! Sweets were served, 2ozs at a time, in small, cone-shaped paper bags; Dolly Mixtures were a favourite, the smaller the sweet, the more you got in your bag.

Two sweet-related incidents stand out, both involving merchant seamen. A neighbour came home from a trip with blue 2lb sugar bags full of sweets for his two children and also one each for me and my best friend, Pat. I can still picture them, but can’t remember how long we made them last! On another occasion, when I was in hospital for a number of weeks, my seafaring uncle sent me the biggest bar of chocolate I’d ever seen. My excitement was short-lived as I was made to share it among a ward of about 20 children.

I’m surprised to learn that cigarettes weren’t rationed, because they were certainly in very short supply in our district, even after the war. I was often sent out on ‘foraging trips’ to all the local shops within a mile radius, gaining Dad’s approval on the occasions I came home bearing a packet of ten Woodbines which had been brought out from under the counter.

Clothes rationing ended around the time of my tenth birthday. Again, this would have affected the middle-upper classes more than working-class families, most of whom were already used to wearing ‘hand-me-downs’. Shoes were a problem of course; it was common practice to line them with cardboard when the soles began to wear thin – although this probably had as much to do with shortage of money as shortage of coupons, especially in large families.

My mother was a good knitter and would unravel large sweaters, leave out wool that had worn thin, and re-knit the rest into a smaller garment. A maiden aunt was also a good knitter and at the age of five I was kitted out in a warm, hooded coat knitted in dark red bouclé wool. A special treat was again due to my sea-faring uncle – on one leave he brought two gingham dresses, a red one for me and a blue one for my sister.

Often, merchant sailors would bring home jars of pickled hard-boiled eggs – a welcome change from dried-egg powder – large tins of jam, and other delights, which would be shared out among the wider family. My husband remembers his father coming home on leave from the Royal Navy with a kitbag bulging with hard, round objects. On exploring the outside of the bag, he asked what was in it and was told, ‘bombs’, and was relieved to discover the next day that they were in fact coconuts!

One thing rationing taught my generation is to hate food wastage. I will never put on my plate more than I know I will eat, and a recent innovation of our local council has met with my firm approval; potato peelings, fruit skins, egg shells etc can now be re-cycled and turned into compost. In my childhood, these were collected by ‘the pig lady’; dressed in men’s clothing and pushing a wheelbarrow, she would walk the local streets collecting everyone’s leftovers to feed her pig.

I don’t remember ever being hungry as a child. We had a garden where Dad could grow vegetables, and sometimes keep a couple of hens. There was always food on the table, although I know there were children from large families who were not so lucky. My mother was a great believer in supplements, I was regularly dosed with Virol; the iron tonic Parrish’s Food; malt extract; Scott’s Emulsion; and the orange juice and cod-liver oil available from the children’s clinic. Unlike many children, I loved the taste of all of these!

Developing chest problems at the age of eight, I also attended sessions of sun-ray treatment at a local clinic – wearing dark goggles and dressed only in my knickers. It is worrying to discover that a link has now been made between that treatment and skin cancer in later life. On two occasions I was sent to a children’s convalescent home by the sea; for three weeks at the age of eight, and later for a spell of six weeks and here, and at school, I can remember food being adequate – I even liked sago pudding, referred to by some children as ‘frogspawn’! I had my first taste of honey whilst staying at a convalescent home run by nuns who kept bees. It’s been a lifelong favourite ever since.

Whilst realising now that food rationing added greatly to the stress of wives and mothers, especially during the war years, I believe that it didn’t do the health of our generation any harm, certainly obesity was extremely rare. And medicinal supplements and spells by the sea must also have worked their magic for me, since I am still here to tell the tale!

A bus tour, the perfect way to get a taste of Liverpool’s heritage

Sunday, 17th August was LFC’s first home game of the new season; it was an early kick-off and a perfect opportunity for me to spend some time in the city while my husband and son were at the match. Although brought up in the suburbs, I was born in the heart of the city, worked in the Castle Street/Water Street area until my marriage in 1960 and continued my education – as a very mature student – at The University of Liverpool, so despite the many changes over the years, I feel I know the city well. I’m a regular visitor to the Central Library, the Art Galleries and the Museums, so why did the idea of a City Explorer bus tour attract me? They are surely for tourists – aren’t they? But it’s easy to take familiar places for granted, and as I’ve often noticed these buses around town, open-topped and brightly painted in red and yellow, there was something appealing in the idea of experiencing the city as a tourist would see it.

There was a timetable outside the Central Library and I didn’t have long to wait before the bus arrived and I began my journey on “The BIG Yellow Bus Tour”. Sunday afternoon was extremely windy and I opted to sit downstairs. The guide introduced himself as ‘Paul,’ his disembodied voice floating down to me for the next 50 minutes as he remained on the upper deck throughout the trip. If you are new to the city the view from the upper deck would, of course, enhance the experience but as I already know the buildings themselves well, it was the commentary that interested me – and that was excellent.

 This ‘Hop On – Hop Off’ tour stops, briefly, at 13 places of interest, and at four of these venues, the Albert Dock, the Pier Head, William Brown Street for the Museums, Gallery and Library, and Liverpool Cathedral you can buy tickets, but you can also buy tickets from the driver at any stop along the route.

This tour is perfect for tourists. If they have only half a day, they can save long walks, and therefore time and energy, by ‘hopping on’ and ‘hopping off’ the bus anywhere of particular interest to them, such as the city’s two Cathedrals, two Museums, and the iconic Three Graces. If they are lucky enough to have longer in the city, then the City Explorer ticket is valid for 24 hours, in fact during my trip the driver informed us that our tickets would be valid for two days!

As I’ve said, I thought I knew the city well – yet I was surprised at how many additional facts I picked up on this tour. As an avid Dickens fan, I knew that he visited Liverpool regularly, staying at the Adelphi Hotel and appearing at St George’s Hall, giving his Penny Readings – I was even lucky enough a couple of years ago to attend a re-enactment of one of these evenings organised by The Reader. Paul added a little colour to my knowledge by describing how, during his visits, Charles Dickens would walk up Brownlow Hill to visit the workhouse which explains the significance of the name of Oliver Twist’s benefactor – Mr Brownlow! And I didn’t know that Mark Twain, and the Roosevelts, had also stayed at the Adelphi.

I’ve walked past Wellington’s statue in William Brown Street countless times, without knowing that it was cast out of cannon from the Battle of Waterloo. I had a good view of Liverpool’s ‘gin palaces’, The Crown, The Vines and The Philharmonic – and learned that these magnificent public houses were built to actively encourage people to drink gin and beer as these were deemed healthier than the poisonous effects of the city’s water supply!

Facts and figures came thick and fast and Paul must be congratulated on his professional delivery.  I learned the origin of St John’s Gardens; how the world’s first Wet Dock at one time handled 40% of the world’s trade; that one of the Metropolitan Cathedral’s four bells is an original from the workhouse; that the area in front of Salthouse Dock is called ‘Nova Scotia’ because salt from Cheshire was sent from here to Canada, the ships returning with a cargo of wood.
Driving along Victoria Street, we were told that it was originally the home of mercantile insurers and commercial banks – one building still bears the name ‘Bank of Liverpool’ – and the city had its own currency!

I wouldn’t want to spoil the trip for future visitors by detailing the wealth of information Paul passed on – I hope that this little taster will encourage not just visitors, but people who, like me, think they know the city well, to either ‘Hop On and Hop Off’ or just stay on for the 50 minutes duration of the tour to listen to the excellent commentary. I’m trying to commit my pages of notes to memory so that on my next visit in a couple of weeks I will walk around the city with fresh eyes, saying to myself – ‘Oh yes, that’s where…’ or ‘Now I know why the bell tower of the Metropolitan Cathedral stands separate to the main building, it’s because…’     

My thanks to Paul and to Chris, our driver who joined us at the Pier Head – I wasn’t able to get the name of the driver who took the first half of the tour, but thank him also.

Going for a coffee when I left the bus, I was amazed to see a zip wire running the length of Church Street! It was extremely high above the ground and it was very windy so I wasn’t surprised to see that there was no-one taking the opportunity to zip above the heads of the shoppers at a cost of £15. I’m sure it has been well utilised during the holiday period – and I was also delighted to see ‘Tickle the Ivories’ back in the city, these events add atmosphere to a city that is already buzzing!

Hidden Liverpool

I was fortunate enough to visit Hidden Liverpool’s People’s History Exhibition before it closed on 29th April. It brought back many happy memories of my cinema-going youth and I was reminded of how cinema-going has changed over the years. In the late 1950s, my future husband and I would go to watch at least two films a week, even though he was only on an apprentice’s wage. With the Futurist, the Scala, and the Forum to choose from in Lime Street alone, the Odeon just around the corner, and the Tatler Newsreel cinema, young people – the word ‘teenager’ hadn’t been coined then – were never short of somewhere to go. There were more cinemas on the outskirts of the city, two in Old Swan, the Carlton in Green Lane, the Abbey in Wavertree, almost as many cinemas as pubs, which we were too young to frequent, the minimum drinking age being 21!

I can remember quite clearly a couple of incidents from those days; we sat behind Dickie Valentine in the Futurist one night – he must have been appearing at the Empire at the time. My husband will argue that it was the Forum, but after 50-odd years that’s a minor detail.

I can definitely remember that it was the Futurist where we queued to see The King and I in the early stages of our courtship. In those days the queues for popular films would be the length of Lime Street and we were often entertained by street performers while we waited. You could also get in to see the film part way through, watch it to the end, then stay for the next performance to watch the beginning! On this particular night we had been queuing for some time and were eventually allowed in but had to stand at the back of the cinema until seats became vacant. My new boyfriend turned to me and said, ‘I hope you don’t mind having to stand but you said you really wanted to see this film.’ ‘Oh no, it’s fine,’ I replied, ‘I don’t mind standing, this is the seventeenth time I’ve seen it’; that was nearly the end of the romance!

On another occasion, we’d gone to see Dirk Bogarde, my all-time favourite, in A Tale of Two Cities. The film opened with Dirk Bogarde sitting, white-faced and tragic, in the back of a coach on his way to Paris to do his ‘far, far, better thing’. I couldn’t help myself, a little shriek escaped into the otherwise silent cinema. I was reminded of this many years later when I actually had the chance to meet and shake hands with Dirk Bogarde after one of his shows at The Royal Exchange theatre in Manchester – but I wasn’t tempted to tell him.

The earliest film I can remember seeing was The Legend of the Glass Mountain, at the Carlton in Green Lane, my best friend’s mother took me with them when I was about ten. I have always loved the music from that film.

We didn’t spend all of our spare time at the cinema though; we also had a great love of dancing that was well catered for in the city. In the People’s History Exhibition there was a photograph of a building in Dale Street that housed, at one time, the State Ballroom. I have a photograph of the two of us taken there one Saturday night; I’m wearing the bridesmaid’s dress I’d worn to my sister’s wedding the year before. I have a great fondness for the clothes from the fifties, the full circular skirts of felt, or taffeta, in bright colours, the layered net underskirts that were soaked in sugar water before drying to make them stick out; the wide ‘waspie’ belts that cinched our 22 inch waists.

There was also a dancehall above Burton’s men’s outfitters in Church Street; the Peppermint Lounge in London Road; and who can forget rocking and rolling at The Locarno, or dancing to the band at The Grafton? Happy days! And I mustn’t forget The Empire Theatre, still going strong on Lime Street. We spent many Sunday evenings there watching top entertainers from the UK, America and beyond – Nat King Cole, Johnny Mathis, Shirley Bassey, David Whitfield in The Desert Song (I took my mum), Timi Yuro, Frank Ifield, to name just a few, although Bill Haley and The Comets performed at The Odeon cinema when they came to Liverpool. I also remember that every time we went to see Ken Dodd, we missed the last bus home because he would still be on the stage at midnight!

Hidden Liverpool is a year-long project from PLACED, funded by the Heritage Lottery Fund. The final exhibition ‘Looking to the Future’, will take place in May this year and will explore residents’ views on the potential of the city’s empty buildings.

Thank you, Hidden Liverpool, for unlocking such happy memories.

Mother's Day in Liverpool

I spent Mother’s Day in Liverpool with one of my sons, who had travelled up by train for the day. Sunday is not a good day for rail travel! After regular updates on his progress from 8am onwards – his first train was delayed, he would miss his connection, he would be two hours late – my husband and I eventually met him at Lime Street Station, only one hour after his expected arrival. This meant we were still in good time for lunch at The Italian Club in Bold Street before Dad had to leave us for the all important LFC game.

The Italian Club was buzzing, it seemed busier than on the same day last year, when again Liverpool had been playing at home and two of my sons had been able to make it ‘up north’. The tables were attractive, with vases packed with daffodils and pink balloons floating above our heads; and the food and service, as always, was excellent.

After lunch, we left my husband browsing in his favourite art shop, a few doors down from the restaurant, and wandered down to the Pier Head. Church Street was crowded with people enjoying the warm weather and a group of talented street musicians added to the holiday atmosphere. I love hearing music as I stroll around the city; it reminds me of pleasant holidays spent on the Continent.

At the Pier Head, we were both ready for another coffee and as Matou had been recommended by a friend, decided to try it for the first time. What a perfect location! Inside, the restaurant was busy with diners, but outside, the terrace was virtually empty and we could enjoy our coffee, chocolate, and conversation, with an uninterrupted view of the city’s magnificent ‘Three Graces’. All too soon it was time to make our way back to Lime Street Station, with just half-an-hour spare to spend in the Walker Art Gallery, always a favourite when any of the family are visiting.

When time is short, we always spend it in front of just two or three of our favourite paintings in the 19th century rooms rather than dashing around seeing more, but remembering little. William Frederick Yeames’s And When Did You Last See Your Father? is one of those favourites I never tire of looking at; the gallery’s website tells ‘The story behind the painting’. Another family favourite is Frederick Cotman’s One of the Family. I have looked at this painting countless times, a print hung on my mother-in-law’s wall for many years, yet it was only on this visit that I noticed the knitting on the window-sill – and my son noticed the steam coming from the horse’s nostrils!

We stood for some time in front of Hubert von Herkomer’s Eventide: A scene in the Westminster Union. Among the faces of the old women in the workhouse, one in particular stands out – it may have been painted in the 19th century, but I see in her face a resemblance to my own elderly, long-gone relatives. Eventide was painted as a companion piece to the Last Muster, which hangs in the Lady Lever Gallery, and this is represented by a print on the wall of the workhouse depicting the dead pensioner and his companion. The lives of the women in this painting are in strong contrast to the old woman in One of the Family. She sits at the table, cutting bread, a valued member of what is depicted as a happy, loving family.

As my son caught his train, my mind flashed back over fifty years to when I used to wave my then young husband off from this same station after his 48 hours leave from National Service in the Royal Navy. Because of LFC’s 4pm kick-off, I had an hour left to wander around the city before the match ended and he drove back into the city to pick me up. Couldn’t catch the train home – they don’t stop at our station on a Sunday. High Speed 2 – huh!

My hour wasn’t wasted. The shops were closed, the streets were emptying, and I found myself looking more carefully at the buildings instead of in shop windows. Liverpool One is attractively set out, but I’m more interested in the old, original buildings of Church Street, etc. Yes, some of the in-fill building is ugly and soul-less, but I marvel at buildings such as the one inhabited by Marks & Spencer. I would recommend anyone to stand on the opposite side of the street – at a quiet time of the day, if possible – and let your eyes sweep across the whole façade of this architectural gem. You won’t be disappointed.

And Liverpool won 4-0 – so ended a perfect day!

A day out in Liverpool

Weather-wise, Saturday, 8th February was a horrible day, but LFC were kicking off at midday so it was the perfect opportunity for me to be dropped off ‘somewhere along the East Lancs’ and catch a bus into town. I love that bus journey on a day when Liverpool are playing at home, love people-watching as the bus slowly makes its way through the throngs of supporters, young and old, male and female, most sporting their club colours. It amazes me just how far the fans will walk to reach the stadium on foot; maybe the car parking charges have a lot to do with it, but the sense of camaraderie is also evident – and walking has the advantage of being able to enjoy a pint before the game, as well as one or two afterwards! I know from my husband that many fans also have their ‘lucky’ route – after parking the car a mile and a half from the ground he always crosses the road in a certain spot and enters the stadium through the same gate each time. I don’t know how this works when the team loses, but then that hasn’t happened much this season!

Meanwhile, there was plenty to occupy me in the city centre on a wet, blustery afternoon. I began with a little shopping in Liverpool One, and in Waterstone’s picked up a copy of the 18thC gothic novel The Monk by Matthew Lewis that I need for my reading group. From there, I decided it would be worthwhile battling against the head wind to make one of my regular visits to St George’s Hall. I love having my afternoon coffee in Bread & More, easily accessible from the side entrance to the Hall. Not only are the coffees, teas and snacks excellent but it’s good to know that Bread & More is run by The City of Liverpool College, which helps young people gain employment in the hospitality sector through apprenticeships. I chose a seat where I could watch the comings and goings through the side entrance and enjoyed seeing several wedding parties arriving; such a pity about the weather as adults and children had to brave the wind and rain, shivering in their finery. I wish all of the couples a long and happy marriage.

A real treat on this visit to the Hall, was spending some time looking at The Liverpool Tapestry – People, Places and Passions – which hangs in a room near Bread & More. Conceived and funded by Home Bargains and created by the Merseyside Embroiderers’ Guild to celebrate Liverpool’s Capital of Culture year in 2008, it was completed in 2012 and originally hung in the Liverpool Life Museum at the Pier Head. It is now on permanent display in St George’s Hall and the statistics relating to its creation are truly amazing. The wall hanging consists of 338 individual six inch squares depicting every aspect of Merseyside life; its iconic buildings, sport, music, Super Lamb Bananas – far too many subjects to mention individually. One hundred and three miles of wool were used, 5 million stitches crafted by 152 embroiderers, and once the squares were completed a professional conservator took nine months to hand-stitch them onto a canvas 7 feet high by 23 long. As someone who struggles to sew a button on, I was in awe of the embroiderers’ obvious skill and love for the task in hand. I congratulate you all.

It was when I was picking up some leaflets at the information desk I heard that LFC were by that time 4-0 up against Arsenal!

Time to visit the Central library which, as usual, was a hive of activity, I made my way to the Local History section, found a comfy seat and settled with a couple of books of photos of old Liverpool. I love leafing through these books and have many at home; certain photos bring back memories of my childhood and my early working life in the city.

A quick dash through the rain to rendezvous with a jubilant husband and the news that Liverpool had won 5-1 – the excitement of the FA cup clash beckons!

My first job - Sweeting Street

I left Grammar School in 1954, aged 15 and with no qualifications. It wasn’t that I was stupid, I was in the A form, but family circumstances dictated that I should leave school early – there was no possibility of my being able to stay on in the Sixth Form, so I might as well have that extra year’s wages.

I left school on July 25th and a couple of weeks later I was interviewed for a job as a typist in a Law Stationers’ office in the heart of Liverpool, about 15 miles from my home. (I was born in Toxteth, but the family moved out ‘to the sticks’ at the beginning of World War II when I was just a couple of months old.) I’d gone to the interview armed with a letter of recommendation from a neighbour, who just happened to have some distant family connection to the owners of the firm. The letter did the trick – although I prefer to think that I got the job because I was a presentable, obviously intelligent, 15 year-old!

I began my job with two distinct disadvantages. Not only was I completely baffled by the term ‘Law Stationers’, but I had never even seen a typewriter, let alone used one. However, like Barkis, I was ‘willing’.

The firm was owned and run by a father and son whom the staff called ‘Mr Charles’ and ‘Mr James’. Mr Charles was an elderly, distinguished-looking gentleman with silver hair and a refined voice; he occupied an inner sanctum from which he rarely emerged. Mr James, on the other hand, was a short, portly man with a strong Liverpool accent, a rough and ready boss with a knack for getting an enormous amount of high quality work from his typists. On my first day he sat me between two older girls at one of the long wooden benches that filled the ‘typing room’. In front of me was a black, shiny monster of a machine, round keys with metal rims steeply banked (you soon learned to keep your nails short) and a carriage that was at least two feet long. Mr James’s first instruction to me was, ‘Sit there and teach yourself to type’! As a puny, six and a half stone 15 year-old I soon learned to tame that beast – in fact I grew to love it.

Watching all the other girls, I marvelled at their speed and accuracy, although most, if not all, of them typed with only the first two fingers of each hand. Eager to learn, even more eager to please, that September I enrolled at my local night school for typing lessons. Determined to prove that this could be something I was good at, at the end of the first year I had gained a distinction in both the RSA I and RSA II exams and was rewarded by a special mention from the local Mayor at prize giving!

I was soon enlightened as to what Law Stationers actually did. We typed documents for local solicitors – one of whom is still a household name – wills, house conveyances, legal briefs, even divorces, although there weren’t many of those in the 1950s. I can only assume that it was more cost effective for the solicitors to out-source this work than to employ their own typists. Two skills were essential in order to keep your job – speed and accuracy. Speed because we were always working to deadlines, accuracy because legal documents back then were a world away from the present day versions which can be spell-checked, copied and pasted, then spat out from computers and scanners in minutes.

We typed on parchment, blue for wills, sepia for house conveyances, and erasing or tipex-ing a mistake was not an option. Any alteration to the document and it was no longer legal. Each double sheet of a conveyance document was hand ruled in red ink and the first page began with an illuminated letter, drawn in coloured inks by a very elderly clerk. He sat on a tall stool, hunched over an ancient desk and looked exactly like a character from Dickens. Working inches away from the parchment, his eyes were always red and rheumy and he had a permanent dewdrop suspended from the end of his nose, no matter what the weather. To my knowledge this never actually dropped! You can imagine my trepidation at first being handed these pages on which I then had to type the final version of the solicitor’s draft. The parchment was thick; feeding it into the machine, getting it perfectly lined up with that first letter, and knowing you must not hit a wrong key throughout the whole document was a stomach-churning experience at first. Of course, the odd mistake was made, but very few; not just because of the telling off from the boss for wasting time and expensive stationery, but because we felt real guilt at increasing the workload – and eyestrain – of the clerk. Sadly, after all this time I can’t recall his name, yet I still remember what he looked like.

Once you had completed a job you would sit next to Mr James at his desk, reading out from the draft while he checked every word of the conveyance before hand-stitching the pages together with narrow red tape. There was a real sense of satisfaction in a job well done when it was finally delivered to the solicitor’s office.

At this point, I should say something about my physical surroundings at work. The office was situated in a very narrow, cobbled dog’s leg of an alleyway which ran between two main thoroughfares in the city – Castle Street and Dale Street. Although ‘ran’ is not the best description, this was a street that wasn’t going anywhere; unless you worked in one of its offices there would be no reason to enter. Most people bought a newspaper from the stand at its entrance and passed on by.

And the office itself? I can remember the noise created by a room full of typewriters, bells ringing with each carriage return; a voice reading aloud to Mr James, trying to make itself heard above the clatter. I remember general untidiness, dust and the lack of fresh air. A telephone which must have been a museum piece even then, was situated in an outer office on a wooden surround attached to the wall; you spoke into the mouthpiece and unhooked the trumpet-like earpiece to listen. A trip to the phone brought its own dangers. The bare wooden floors throughout the building were uneven and worn, with many loose boards, but in the outer office they were particularly bad. Light as I was, I still managed to put my foot through the floor on one occasion, no Accident Book then; no compensation for laddered stockings, which you could get repaired at the drycleaners for sixpence per ladder!

I stayed in that job for four years and enjoyed every moment of it, although the tedious bus journey and the 45 hour week were tiring. In fine weather, a group of us would take our packed lunches and sit in the gardens of St Nicholas’s Church, or on the grassy area at the Pier Head fronting the Liver Buildings. When it opened in 1957, The Cavern became a favourite lunchtime haunt, pre-Beatles of course! But by the end of 1958 I was engaged, saving up to get married, and found a job nearer home that paid better wage. I returned to the city a couple of years later to work in an insurance office in Water Street. One of the offices in the same building was, I believe, a Cotton Brokers, and we used to see Paul McCartney’s father arriving for work.

Fast forward 20 years. On a visit to Liverpool with two of my young sons, I decided to take ‘a trip down memory lane’.

‘While we’re here, I’ll show you where I worked in my very first job when I was just 15.’

We walked up Castle Street and turned left into the alleyway.

‘Down here, towards the end, on the right hand side.’

We got closer. My feeling of nostalgia turned to one of shocked surprise as I quickly shepherded two bewildered boys back to the main street.

‘Come on boys, let’s go. I must have made a mistake. I don’t think this is the street after all.’

My fondly remembered Dickensian office building had blacked-out windows and discreet posters advertised the fact that it was now A SEX SHOP!  

[I checked again recently, once more it looks like a respectable office building which I can now point out to my granddaughters on their next visit!]

Many thanks to Seven Streets for permission to reproduce their photo of Sweeting Street.

At last I feel ‘Christmassy’!

When Christmas cards appeared in my favourite card shop at the end of August my reaction was ‘Bah Humbug’! Close family members have birthdays in December and unless I buy their cards months early, choice becomes limited. 

When they started playing the same old tired Christmas songs in every shop at the beginning of November, I silently screamed ‘No! Please, not again!’ Shelves in food stores have been piled high for weeks with mince pies, Christmas cakes, chocolate goodies and all the usual temptations. Not a good idea to ‘stock up’ for Christmas so early – if I buy them now I’ll eat them now then have to buy more. Of course! That’s their cunning plan!

So why do I suddenly feel Christmassy? Because I spent the afternoon in Liverpool city centre, that’s why. First, it was coffee and cake followed by a glass of wine with friends at www.theitalianclubliverpool.co.uk  to celebrate the safe arrival of my third beautiful granddaughter. By the time we left, it was going dusk. Christmas lights twinkled. The Christmas market was buzzing, tempting my purse and my palate. And those two, huge reindeer in Liverpool 1 – an amazing sight. Not enough time to see everything so I’ll be back in a couple of days.  www.visitliverpool.com  Now I’m in the mood for Christmas. Tomorrow I’m off to the shops to buy mince pies, Christmas cake and anything else that takes my fancy – and yes, I’ll probably eat them long before December 25th. Then I’m going to start writing my cards and wrapping presents. ‘So here it is, Merry Christmas’ – bring it on!

Cirque du Soleil – Alegría

Translated from the Spanish, Alegría means ‘happiness, joy and jubilation’ and these were all in evidence at the Echo Arena on Sunday, 3rd November. The performance space, half its normal size, had been transformed into a dark, autumnal, fairytale setting and for two hours on a cold, blustery Sunday afternoon, the audience were transported into a magical world of colour, music and movement.

We were still settling in our seats, children dipping into bags of sweets, adults of all ages checking mobile phones (have we lost the knack of concentrating on the present moment?), and it took a moment or two to register that a clown had shambled into the arena. A word of warning to all potential audience members – if you don’t want to find yourself taking part in a performance, then don’t sit near the stage! The laughter that followed settled everyone down and we sat back to enjoy the show. I was relieved when the audience were given a stern warning not to use mobile devices or cameras during the show, even without flash, as these could prove dangerous to the performers, but this didn’t deter someone sitting a couple of rows in front of us from videoing part of the show on his phone. Fortunately, vigilant arena staff were on the spot in seconds, and the device was swiftly switched off!

The show consisted of 55 performers and musicians of twenty nationalities. The set was designed by Michel Crete, costumes by Dominique Lemieux with the soundtrack by Rene Dupré. But these are mere facts, what these people created for us was a stunning visual and aural spectacle that set the nerves tingling and the pulses throbbing.

I have to admit that I’ve never been fond of clowns, their slapstick comedy routines usually leave me cold, but this show certainly changed my opinion – I never knew you could have so much fun with paper planes! The routines involving unsuspecting members of the audience were so hilarious I did wonder if they were ‘plants’ – if they weren’t then congratulations are in order. And the ‘pantomime’ horse may be a cliché, but it still made me hoarse with laughter (pun intended!). I did find one of the characters appearing between acts rather grotesque; not being able to follow the intended theme of the show (should have bought a programme) I wasn’t sure what he represented. Dressed in black and red, short, with impossibly bent legs, a huge belly that wobbled and an enormous hump on his back, he was the stuff of nightmares – did he represent ‘chaos’? Every time I saw his painfully twisted body strut around the stage I worried that his act would leave him permanently injured.

We needed the clowns’ routines to give us some light relief between the breathtaking acts otherwise the excitement might have been too much for some of us older members of the audience! The mesmerising Fire Knife Dancers, twirling their batons of fire, should have come with a warning, ‘Children, do not attempt this at home’. Seeing them set a section of the stage alight was another reason I was glad not to be sitting at the front, even though I knew it was quite safe.

Acrobats performed incredible feats on The Russian Bars, somersaulting high in the air and landing on narrow planks supported on the shoulders of their catchers. While watching the performers you also have to appreciate the phenomenal body strength and perfect timing of these catchers. The audience were spellbound by The Mongolian Body Twisters; by performers on metal spinning rings; and especially by a contortionist – there were times when I couldn’t make out the individual parts of her body as she twisted it into shapes that seemed physically impossible. I found myself wondering how she gets out of bed in the morning. Feet first? Head first? Stomach first? Not slowly, with creaking joints like me, that’s for sure.

The female vocalist and the excellent musicians linked and accompanied all the acts perfectly. Sometimes, there was so much going on, so many people on stage, so much colour, noise and movement it was almost hypnotic.

It seemed all too soon before it was time for the Finale. And what a Finale it was! We watched, holding our collective breath, as the acrobats, two at a time, climbed swaying ladders until they stood on a platform 40 feet above the arena. What followed was an awe-inspiring spectacle of high-wire acrobatics. With two catchers suspended on swings below the platform there was an ever-changing movement of bodies flying through the air, swinging, catching, being caught, at death-defying, incredible speed. It was like watching a kaleidoscope, the pattern changing constantly. I marvelled at the complete trust members of the troupe must have in one another. And the fact that for the Finale a net had been suspended beneath the performers in no way detracted from their skill and bravery as they each jumped 40 feet into the net at the end of the act.

Performance over, it was a shock to emerge, blinking, into the bleak daylight of a late autumn day, our eyes still filled with colour and movement, our ears ringing with music, bodies still vibrating with the thrumming of drums. A truly wonderful show, spectacular in the true sense of the word; a show to recall and wonder at in the dull days of winter.

Thank you Alegría, and thank you Echo Arena, for a memorable afternoon. We’re now looking forward to André Rieu’s concert in December.

The Lady Lever Art Gallery, Port Sunlight

Port Sunlight – the very name takes me back to my childhood; Sunlight soap, red blocks of Lifebuoy (used for personal hygiene before deodorants became commonplace among the working class) and the oval-shaped, almost translucent blocks of Pears soap, a luxury to most. I can remember my mother scouring the kitchen with Vim – do we really need our cupboards full of different cleaning products that we now stock up with on our supermarket trips?

When my family was using Lever Brothers products in the 1940s and ‘50s, I’m sure no one gave much thought to the man whose original vision created the multinational company – William Lever, later Lord Leverhulme. Now of course there is a wealth of information, in books and on the internet, about Lord Leverhulme and Port Sunlight Village, www.portsunlightvillage.com is an excellent source and also gives information on forthcoming events in the village such as the Heritage Open Days. William Hesketh Lever believed that ‘Art can be to everyone an inspiration’, although in the beginning he collected paintings for business reasons. Between 1886 and 1906, he spent £2m on advertising, buying paintings to illustrate his brands. By far the most memorable of these was Millais’ ‘Bubbles’, used to advertise Pears soap in 1914 and still instantly recognisable. Not all artists appreciated this use of their paintings – William Frith Powell, for example, objected to ‘The New Frock’ being used in this way. But Lever had hit on a very successful marketing tool; soap wrappers could be collected and used as vouchers to exchange for prints of these paintings. I remember something similar when I was a young housewife in the early 1960s when packets of soap powder came with plastic daffodils or tulips. Not as tasteful as prints of beautiful paintings, but it didn’t stop lots of housewives putting them in vases on their window sills. I can’t remember now which brand of soap powder they were given away with, so perhaps their advertising wasn’t quite as clever as Lever’s!

By 1912, William Lever was worth £3m, plus his income, and by 1925 employed 85,000 workers around the globe. His use of art in advertising had given him a taste for collecting and he had begun to buy for his own pleasure. His collection grew to contain 20,000 works of art, including paintings, sculptures, furniture, ceramics, textiles and ethnographic objects, many of which are on display in the gallery. As the collection grew, and to fulfil his ambition of sharing it with the public, it moved from the library to Hulme Hall, and eventually into the purpose-built Lady Lever Art Gallery, begun in 1913 and opened in 1922. He was the only British tycoon of his time to build a gallery.

My latest visit to the Lady Lever Gallery was primarily to view the drawings of the pre-Raphaelite Master, Edward Burne-Jones. These are described as ‘Independent artworks in their own right…Drawing for drawing’s sake’. We were lucky enough to be in the Gallery early in the day before it got busy and so were able to give these drawings the time and close attention they deserve. I was particularly drawn to the ‘Study of a Woman’s Head, profile to left’, dated the 1890s, it has an almost 3D quality, every hair on the woman’s head detailed. Burne-Jones was said to “idealise ‘helpless’ beauty”, but in another room, exhibiting his Preparatory Drawings and Sketches, he also depicts women as “powerful and dangerous”, as in his ‘Study to a Mermaid’s Head’. This is an exhibition well worth a visit before it closes.

On my visits to the gallery I always enjoy time viewing my favourite paintings in Lever’s collection, many hanging in the Main Hall. William Holman Hunt’s ‘The Scapegoat’; John Everett Millais’ ‘Apple Blossoms (Spring)’, and ‘The Black Brunswicker’; Walter Dendy Sandler’s ‘The End of the Skein’ – this painting intrigues me because of the shadow of an open newspaper lying on the hearth, did the artist change his mind? I love Bacon’s ‘The Wedding Morning’ and Joseph Farquharson’s ‘The Shortening Winter’s Day is near a Close’ – this because a large print used to hang over the fireplace of a dear friend who died in 2001. Frederic Leighton’s ‘Head of Spanish Girl’ reminds me of my Spanish heritage – I like to think that perhaps one of my forebears looked just like her. My husband’s favourites are Robert Van Herromer’s ‘The Last Muster’ and Briton Rivier's ‘Fidelity’.

All of these paintings tell a story, and I’ve used postcards of them in my U3A creative writing group as prompts for short stories – with excellent, imaginative result from the members. The frames of the paintings are also worth a mention, some of them being works of art in their own right.

Lord Leverhulme also collected 20th century paintings, some of which are displayed in the East Gallery. Unfortunately, at the time of my visit there had been a problem with a water leak and some paintings had been removed, but Dame Laura Knight’s ‘Ballet’ is still hanging.

All the gallery’s paintings can be viewed on www.bbc.co.uk/yourpaintings, but as well as housing a world-famous collection of Pre-Raphaelite paintings, the gallery also has five period rooms containing Neo-Classical sculptures, English furniture, tapestries, Chinese Art, etc – far too many interesting exhibits to do justice to them here, it’s necessary to pay many visits to appreciate the richness and diversity of the collection. I will mention one of my favourites – the statue of Kuan-Yin, Goddess of Mercy, from the Ming Dynasty. It is inscribed, ‘made by ten of the worshippers of the Temple, for the donor’. Unfortunately I don’t know which Temple, or who the donor was! I like Stella Benson’s description of Kuan-Yin, it begins, ‘Her hands are empty of weapons…’ and ends
‘She is still,
She is very still, 
She listens always.’

Ending the visit with our usual appreciation of the coffee shop in the basement, I was also amused to find that the doors to the Ladies toilets in the basement still have the brass machines that took payment of one penny. With its warning, ‘No bent or damaged coins’, it took me back to the days when ‘spending a penny’ was meant quite literally. Now it costs 30p to spend a penny in many public toilets – no wonder my grandchildren get confused!

From Lighthouses to Cemeteries!

Today, I’m speaking to John and Diane Robinson.

John and Diane, your book, Lighthousesof Liverpool Bay, is beautifully produced and for someone like myself, with no previous knowledge of lighthouses, or the lives of lighthouse keepers, it makes for very interesting reading. It portrays a lonely, arduous and often dangerous way of life that now belongs to maritime history but which would have been of tremendous importance to people like my grandfather, a seaman with the Liverpool-based Larrinaga Shipping Line.

Can you tell me something about how the book came to be written – did the idea come from a personal interest, or were you approached by the publisher, Tempus Publishing Limited?

It all started with family history research when it looked as if Diane’s ancestor, an overseer of the embankment, lived at Leasowe lighthouse. So one day we called in at the lighthouse and Eric, the chairman, persuaded us to join the Friends of Leasowe Lighthouse. John did some research, at Merseyside Maritime Museum archive, on the keepers of the light and wrote a little booklet. After that we were hooked. We gave tours of the lighthouse, helped set up an archive and eventually we went on to research the wider aspects of what we now realised were Liverpool lighthouses.

How did you set about your research? How much were you able to discover from local archives?

Having already discovered that the Maritime Museum held the papers of the Dock Trust, which preceded the Mersey Docks and Harbour Board, we began researching the minutes of the Dock Committee in particular, finding all references to the building and maintenance of the port’s lighthouses and the hiring and firing of keepers, etc. We also found much valuable material at Liverpool Record Office and various record offices and libraries in Wales and on Merseyside.

Did you actually visit the site of each former lighthouse?

Yes. In fact we stayed in a keeper’s cottage at Point Lynas lighthouse. We were in the West Cottage and the sunsets were wonderful. Each evening we’d watch the dolphins playing off the point. The walks are marvellous, too. Even today it’s very isolated, but for the keepers it must have been a really remote place. Lynas was one of the earliest of Liverpool’s lighthouses and it was, since the 1780s, a pilot station where pilots boarded ships to take them into the port. However, the present lighthouse, as is the case with many of Liverpool’s lighthouses, is not the original building. Although the buildings at Lynas are privately owned now, the automated light is still in operation. We enjoyed standing under the light as it flashed into the darkness. Fortunately, the fog horn never sounded while we were there.

I was intrigued to read that Ormeshead lighthouse was eventually converted into a bed and breakfast establishment – were you able to stay there? If so, knowing its past history, how did the experience affect you?

We’ve stayed there twice, in two different rooms. The Lamp room is now a sitting room. It’s 325 feet above the sea and is particularly atmospheric on a stormy winter’s night. As we sat, cosy and warm while rain beat on the window, we felt for the poor keepers holding on tight as they cleared the snow from the outside of those great windows!

Lighthouses of Liverpool Bay, is full of human interest stories, were there any humorous moments during your travels, or poignant ones?

For Diane in particular, New Brighton lighthouse was terrifying to get into because it was Liverpool’s only rock lighthouse. So, twice a day it’s surrounded by the sea. All of Liverpool’s other lighthouses are land-based. When the tide’s out, it stands in a waist-deep moat which you have to wade through to get to a wooden ladder. This has to be lashed to the base of the fixed iron rungs that lead to the doorway, thirty feet above the water. At the top of the iron ladder you must haul yourself onto a narrow platform in front of the great iron door. Once inside, you get a real insight into the cramped conditions in which the keepers worked and lived.

It may seem a big leap from lighthouses to cemeteries, but there is a link between your two interests. You both belong to ‘The Friends of Rake Lane Cemetery, Wallasey’, and I see from your website www.wallaseycemetery.co.uk that a past keeper of New Brighton lighthouse, John Thompson Francis, is buried in this cemetery. The cemetery also has other strong seafaring links, with many monuments connected with major maritime disasters of the early twentieth century. I believe The Friends lead regular, themed walks exploring these; perhaps you could tell me more about this aspect of your involvement? Who decides on the format?

The format for walks has evolved into ‘Sea Disasters’ (Titanic, Empress of Ireland and Lusitania, all three have lots of local connections), ‘Local and Maritime History’ (includes The Wallasey Hermit, the pilot boat tragedies and the training ship Indefatigable). The two World Wars are also available, depending on the interests of those on the walk. Usually we end at the cemetery chapel, which has been rescued by Father Paul and his congregation and converted into a beautiful Russian Orthodox Church.

Do you have a group of volunteers who lead the walks – and how many people usually take part?

It’s usually just Diane and John and our chairman, Mark Joynson. Numbers vary. It could be just two people or a group of up to twenty.

Are these walks advertised and is it necessary to book a place in advance?

They are currently advertised in the Wirral Heritage Open Days booklet and on the internet and are available on request.

I believe that you have also undertaken research in connection with the cemetery on behalf of others; from how far afield have these requests come?

We’ve had requests and donations from all over the world, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, Canada, the USA. Often they have also given us extra information about the cemetery’s history and the people buried there.

I note from your website that you also hold monthly meetings, are these open to the general public?

Yes, we’re happy to see anyone with an interest in the upkeep of the cemetery.

Finally, which came first – Lighthouses of Liverpool Bay, or your interest in Rake Lake Cemetery?

The lighthouses came first, about fifteen years ago. The Friends of Rake Lane Cemetery started about five years ago.

Thank you, John and Diane, for taking the time to answer my questions. I hope your answers will encourage many more Merseyside people to take an interest in our historic maritime past.

Lighthouses of Liverpool by John and Diane Robinson

A visit to the Victoria Gallery and Museum in Liverpool

I read a tweet from Liverpool’s Victoria Gallery and Museum advertising their free guided tours. This building was converted from the original University of Liverpool building in 2008 when the city was European Capital of Culture, and I realised that although I pass by on a fairly regular basis and always admire the architecture, I have never actually been inside. Time to ‘seize the day’, and explore this hidden gem. I call it a hidden gem because even though it stands in a prominent position at the junction of Brownlow Hill and Ashton Street, the trail most visitors to the city follow leads towards the waterfront via St George’s Hall, the World Museum, Art Gallery, etc. Yet the VG&M is only a ten minute walk from Lime Street Station, a bit of a climb, admittedly – the clue is in the name, ‘Brownlow Hill’! For those less able, or just to save time, you can catch a bus from the side of Adelphi Hotel which will drop you right outside the VG&M, they run every five minutes or so. And there are plenty of car parking provisions close by.

Arriving just before 12.30pm, the advertised time for the tour, we were soon joined by our guide, Barbara Marshall. We were a small group, five in all, which included a small boy who was not only very well behaved but also very bright. The tour takes approximately one hour and there is no need to pre-book, it’s a case of ‘first come, first served’. I’m not sure how many can be accommodated but I think we benefited from being a small group.

We began the tour outside the building, in Ashton Street, which is actually in the form of a square, so that Barbara could point out the different architectural styles of the University buildings. Architect Nikolaus Pevsner, likened the original University buildings to ‘a zoo’, not, I hasten to add, because of its students, but because the buildings represented ‘one of every species’, architecturally speaking.

The original Gothic Revival building in red Ruabon brick – the inspiration for the term ‘red brick universities’ – sits quite comfortably next to a 1913 building in classical style. Waterhouse must have had quite a quirky sense of humour because, as our guide pointed out, if you look up, above the Grecian pillars there are several sphinxes adorning the building!

Plans for a university in Liverpool were discussed at a town meeting in 1878. Manchester already had a university and there has always been a sense of rivalry between the two cities, with the merchants of Liverpool referring to, ‘Manchester Men, and Liverpool Gentlemen’!

The architect was to be Alfred Waterhouse, son of a wealthy Quaker mill owner from Aigburth. Alfred’s dream was to become an artist but his father advised him against it, saying there was more money to be made from a career in architecture. His advice turned out to be sound – Alfred became a prolific and popular architect, designing some 600 buildings in all, including eleven in Liverpool, Manchester’s Town Hall, and The Natural History Museum in London.

Money for the university was raised by public appeal with wealthy merchants, ship-owners and philanthropists donating large sums. Henry Tate (Tate & Lyle sugar) donated £20,000, with an extra £5,000 to provide books for the library. William Hartley (Hartley’s jam) donated £4,300 to provide the clock and bells for the tower. The original estimate for building was £35,000, but it eventually cost £53,000 – nothing changes! The University College of Liverpool was built near the site of a disused lunatic asylum and in 1882 opened its doors to 45 students. Twenty-one years later it became The University of Liverpool. Who could have foreseen that over a century later Liverpool would welcome tens of thousands of students from home and abroad to its colleges and universities? Although we were visiting during the summer vacation, evidence of student occupation was all around us, with cranes visible on the skyline as another huge accommodation block is being erected nearby.

The tour lasts one hour, and so provides only a ‘taster’ of everything on offer inside the building. The interior is a marvel of pillars and Moorish-influenced arches, tiled in the browns and greens favoured by the Victorians. The floors tiles are the original – mainly in the Roman mosaic design. A moment on the tour to pause and wonder how many feet had trod those tiles before us – what did they go on to achieve?

In what was the Women’s Reading Room there is an original fireplace, designed by a woman and also carved by a woman – the wife of a Professor at the university. The little boy accompanying us was quick to spot the various animals skilfully carved into the surround. A magnificent tiled fireplace still exists on the ground floor in what is now the Waterhouse Café.

The museum exhibits are housed in a mock-Tudor ‘Great Hall’; Waterhouse was obviously given free rein to indulge all his favourite architectural styles – but it works, because a wander through this building provides a surprise around every corner. There are permanent exhibits in glass cases in this room, but there is also a large exhibit which will, I think, change next year. This is a mock-up of a ‘dig’ in Turkey in the late 1800s, when archaeologists went to discover proof of the Hittites, previously thought to be a mythical biblical tribe. This must prove a very popular exhibit with children as there are opportunities to dress up, dig in sand to discover hidden treasures, etc. (For the times of specific events consult their website). I was particularly drawn to a photograph taken in 1913 by Lawrence of Arabia!

This building contains far too much of interest to do it justice here. There are sculptures; zoology and dentistry exhibits (including a complete dentist's surgery); paintings by Turner, Lucien Freud, JJ Audubon; icon paintings from Crete, Greece and Russia collected by Professor Roaf; Rembrandt etchings, and much more.

As a grandchild of Spanish immigrants, I was particularly interested in the exhibition by Kurt Tong, who explores his Chinese heritage through his own modern photographs, treasured family photographs and writing, which he began ‘as a visual storybook to share his roots with his daughters’. A visit to this gallery is concluded at certain times of the day by a Chinese tea ceremony! A wonderful experience hosted beautifully by volunteer Yeshan, who made and poured delicious Jasmine tea into tiny bowls that looked particularly delicate in my husband’s large hands. I’m told there may even be a photograph on the Gallery’s Facebook page!

Once our guide had left us, we wandered into the Quad, a peaceful (at least when we were there) outside space designed and built for the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee. From our seat in the centre we were able to gaze at the historic buildings, the Ashton, built for the Faculty of the Arts in 1913; the Harrison Hughes; the Johnston; the George Holt. Famous Liverpool men immortalised in brick and stone. I spotted a blue plaque on the Johnston building commemorating Sir Donald Ross (1857-1932), the discoverer of the transmission of malaria by mosquitos, who had worked in the building. I thought back to the tiled floor inside the VG&M – had we perhaps walked in his footsteps?

The inevitable conclusion to our trip was coffee and a chocolate muffin in the pleasant Waterhouse café, and as we wandered back down the hill to Lime Street Station, we vowed to come back soon and explore each room in detail.

Thank you to the receptionist who came running after me when I left my handbag on the sofa in Reception. Thank you Yeshan – I hope I’ve spelt your name correctly.

And finally, a big ‘thank you’ to Barbara for being such an enthusiastic and knowledgeable guide. I would recommend anyone visiting the building for the first time, to take a guided tour – without Barbara pointing it out would we have noticed that all the pillars are designed in contrasting pairs?