Back in 2001, I published The Churches of Liverpool. Written by David Lewis, it was a record of many of the city’s churches, past and present. I was not completely happy about the book; it was in the early days of digital photography and some of the images were bitmapped but, more inexcusably, the book lacked an index, which made navigation particularly annoying. That said, the book did present a topic well worthy of further work. The incredible explosion of church building in the nineteenth century was fuelled by a religious fervour created by the turbulence of the effects of industrialisation, scientific discovery and social uncertainty of the times. If Liverpool had a pub on every corner, it also had a church in every street, or so it seemed. These ranged from the simple mission ‘hut’ to the fully blown high gothic masterwork.
Of course many fine examples have survived but others fell victim to declining congregations, fire, war and civic replanning. Churches are, unfortunately, difficult to adapt to other uses without destroying their integrity and it is difficult to argue that, for most, they had outlived their use and could not be kept in a satisfactory condition without huge sums being spent on their maintenance.
Over the next few weeks, I will post some examples of what I consider to be the most important losses, starting with this fine photograph of St George’s Church in 1875. Designed by Thomas Steer, the dock architect, and consecrated in 1726, it was considered the most handsome church in Liverpool. Built on the site of Liverpool Castle, the church fell out of popularity in the late nineteenth century and closed in 1897, to be demolished two years later. The, to me, ugly and unexceptional statue of Queen Victoria now occupies the site – a very poor ’swap’ for what would today be a beautiful building in a landmark position .
Two fascinating photographs from WW1. The factory of James Troop, a brass foundry, on Pleasant Hill Street (off Sefton Street), had evidently been turned into an aircraft factory. Although women had worked in factories and mines from the start of the Industrial Revolution, the necessity to recruit women as part of the war effort was to give the suffragette movement the momentum required to gain the vote (in 1918 for women over 30 but 1928 before they gained the same rights as men).
I received an interesting query regarding yesterday’s posting about Church Street. The question was about the white building protruding between the Compton Hotel and Bon Marché. My first thought was that this was the original street line prior to the completion of Bon Marché. The white building was clearly removed at some stage since today’s photograph clearly shows the whole building set back from the street. If so, that would date the previous photograph to 1877/78 – well before my estimate of 1890 – unless the corner building was demolished a few years after the main Bon Marché building was erected and replaced by an extension. Certainly a check in Gore’s 1887 directory shows AT Smith (fancy toy dealer) and Dixon & Moore (auctioneers) at that corner address. Unfortunately, my maps are either too early or too late to answer this question. Any answers?
By 1893 (as seen in the photograph), the corner site was owned by Richardsons, a shop selling mantles/furs and waterproofs. Bon Marché appears to have no frontage to Church Street (its entrance being through the arcade on the left. The other premises to the street were The Avondale Café and Durandu, a well-known tobacconist.
Bon Marché took its name from the famous Parisian store and had a very successful history. The original building was replaced in 1918-22 (by the George Henry Lee building) and the store was famous for its promotions (Gracie Fields appeared there during the 1930s selling stockings for fifteen minutes) and, in 1937, it introduced Younger Liverpool, an early example of a boutique style department. During the 1950s, its fortunes declined and, having been briefly owned by the Liverpool Co-operative Society, it was acquired in 1961 by the John Lewis Partnership, who decided to merge it with George Henry Lee.
I am guessing at the year 1880. It certainly is not much later, the Bon Marche building (with a flag on top) was built in 1878 and still looks quite new. On the right is St Peter’s Church, which was dismissed by architectural critics as being a poor copy of the school of Christopher Wren. Consecrated in 1704, it was sold by the diocese (to Woolworths) to fund the building of the Anglican Cathedral. The church was demolished in 1922 and the site is now occupied by the Top Shop store.
The main focus of interest is the building on the left, what is now Marks & Spencers. When I was working with Quentin Hughes on Liverpool City of Architecture, we had numerous discussions about which significant buildings to include (for either architectural or historical reasons). For some reason, this building was left out although it was possibly the first purpose-built department store in the world (pre-dating Bon Marche in Paris by five years). Completed in 1867 for JR Jeffrey, the store faced a losing battle to pay off the cost of building it and, in 1871, it closed its shutters. Sadly, the strain was too much for Jeffrey, who died a few months after the faiure. The store reopened as the Compton Hotel with retailing on the ground floor. In the world of retailing, this is a hugely significant building and, when I complete my revision of City of Architecture it will get the recognition it deserves.
Over the years,I have planned to write a photographic history of Liverpool. The problem is that although there are numerous text references to the earliest period (from 1840 to 1870), there is a distinct lack of images to substantiate the city’s undoubted photographic activity. The earliest image of the city I have discovered is a lantern slide copy of the building of St George’s Hall in 1850. The exterior is virtually complete and looks like many other later photographs of the building.
I still hope that a hidden cache of photographs will emerge – either in a public archive or private collection – so the hunt goes on. The idea of this blog was to pose questions and widen the research into the way Liverpool has been represented in photographs and, hopefully, others might have knowledge of early images.
In the meantime, I am posting one of my earliest images – a photograph of the Sailors’ Home in 1860 just after a catastrophic fire had destroyed its interior (apparently caused by a disgruntled lodger).
John Cunningham, the architect, had a bit of a disaster with his two important Liverpool buildings. The Sailors’ Home was opened in 1846 and was rebuilt after the fire to serve generations of seamen. With its cast-iron galleries housing ‘cabins’ for its inhabitants, it was scandalously demolished in 1974 to make way for a speculative development that never happened. A major loss to the city’s architectural heritage, its site is now occupied by John Lewis’s store in Liverpool One. Cunningham’s other major building, the original Philharmonic Hall on Hope Street, opened in 1849. Greatly admired for its acoustics, it too suffered a major fire in 1933. Fortunately, its replacement, by arguably Liverpool’s greatest twentieth century architect, Herbert Rowse, is a magnificent addition to the city’s heritage.
Back in the 1980s, I bought a broken up album of Liverpool photographs. Taken in the early 1880s, they covered a rather eclectic range of buildings including the Masonic Hall on Hope Street, the Orphanage on Myrtle Street as well as the Custom House, Town Hall and Sailors’ Home. There is evidence of a photographer’s blind stamp on the edge of one photograph but it is indecipherable. The quality of the set does suggest a professional photographer, perhaps compiling an album of Liverpool views for his own interest.
The photograph of Water Street is typical, centering on the Cunard Company headquarters. Posters advertise voyages to New York on the Atlas (which was nearing the end of its life at the time having served the company since the early 1860s). Oriel Chambers is shown in its original street context and looks so well ‘bedded in’ that it is difficult to understand the criticism its architect, Peter Ellis, received from a hostile press.
I am fascinated by the enigma of Ellis. Why is so little known about his subsequent career? Did he really only design two buildings (Oriel Chambers and 16 Cook Street)? Is there any research out there that can add any meat to the bones? Please add a comment if you know more.
In the nineteenth century, Liverpool was second city to London, yet the wealth of its merchant classes is often ignored in local histories. I am as guilty as most of the others, finding the desperate poverty of most of the city’s population a more rewarding area of study. The huge disparity between the richest and poorest is today being played out against a background of bankers’ bonuses and is perceived largely as a London v the rest of the country. Back in 1890, Liverpool had a significant number of these ‘fat cats’ and the outer fringes of the city were dominated by the estates of merchants and landed gentry.
The Earle family was one such example. Having sold their extensive land of the Spekelands estate, which is where Earle Road is today (St Dunstan’s church was built by the family of the site of their family home), the Earle’s decamped to Allerton Towers (adjacent to Allerton golf course).
The Earle’s are probably best remembered for the statue of General Earle outside St George’s Hall. General Earle died in Sudan at the Battle of Dulka Island when storming the Height of Kerkebam in 1885. His brother, Sir Thomas Earle, lived at Allerton Towers until his death in 1900 and the family moved out to Sandiway, in Cheshire, soon after.
Allerton Towers was a rather dull mid-Victorian villa which was demolished in the 1930s. The orangerie and stable block have survived – although they are in a poor condition. The land is owned by the Council and is one of the city’s finest small parks.
This photograph of Havelock Street was photographed by Karl Hughes to be used as an illustration in
Liverpool author, Frank Shaw’s book ‘My Liverpool’, published in 1971.
What is immediately apparent is the traffic-free street, giving the children the freedom to play outside. With no open space nearby and other amenities very limited, the street became a focal point for the community in a way that no longer exists.
Twenty years ago, back in 1990, a tall, white-bearded American burst into my office holding a box of photographs.
His name was Frank Dugan, born in New Jersey in 1925. Frank joined the US Air Force in 1949 and was sent as a control tower operator at Burtonwood in 1950.
He met Mary Green, from Anfield, at Speke Airport and they married in 1953 after he had demobbed. Fancying himself as a photographer, he took wedding photographs for a living, finishing off his rolls of film with the occasional shot of Liverpool life.
As an American in a foreign city, Frank was fascinated by Liverpool, particularly the endless terraced streets and the poverty he witnessed. Frank returned to the States in 1955 to start up as an antiques dealer and his short career as a photographer was effectively over.
Back in 1990, Frank was hoping to have a book published but there weren’t enough images – so I used many of them in a calendar. The photographs all had that magic quality of freezing time that only photography can achieve. Frank died in 2003 but these images will stand the test of time.
The idea of this blog is to bring to a wider public the thousands of images that are hidden away in archives both public and private. My own collection (of over 5000 historical photographs) illustrates many aspects of Liverpool’s history – the social, topographical, economic and cultural – and I will be posting new images daily to create a unique perspective on the city as seen through the camera’s lens.
Please add your comments. Perhaps you know what happened to the three lads in the photograph. They look desperately poor – but how did they turn out? This is the great thing about the web – it creates communities and shares knowledge in a way that was inconceivable ten years ago.