The Floating Landing Stage was a marvel of engineering. Originally constructed in 1874, it was consumed by fire before opening. Two years later, it had been rebuilt and, with additions, became the largest floating structure in the world, stretching for nearly half a mile. Sadly, in 1974, the structure was dismantled and replaced by a concrete pontoon – which sank, rather inevitably in January 1976 only to be rebuilt. I suppose neither the old or new structures are of any great aesthetic appeal – purely functional – but the top photograph shows the original in use in the late 1880s.
Back in the early 1990s, I met a young American, Zane Branson, who was trying to raise funding to bring a Mississippi paddle steamer over to Liverpool as a tourist attraction. The timing was completely wrong and the idea went back across the Atlantic with him but, as the photo shows, paddle steamers are not a new phenomenon to the Mersey. The nineteenth century ferries were nearly all driven by paddles. What a great shame none have survived.
Brunswick Square 1973
Southern General, Caryl Street 1975
Which post-War decade was the most damaging for Liverpool’s heritage. The 1950s and 60s are strong contenders but what about the 1970s? Looking through my photographs, I am struck by how much was demolished and how much the city changed over the decade. Perhaps only a small handful of key buildings were lost, the Sailors’ Home without doubt the single most important, but the general clearance of Georgian terraces, warehouses, churches and other features of the landscape was quite staggering. Here are two such examples taken by Stan Roberts. He took the panoramas in sections which, thanks to Photoshop, I have tidied up a bit.
The first is of Brunswick Square, which I was unaware of. It was directly off Westminster Road, close to the junction with Barlow Lane, and was an unadopted street as the sign indicates. A look at the 1927 Kelly’s Directory shows it to be a ‘respectable’ square with a doctor, police constable, farrier, engineer and mariner amongst the occupants. The 1970s photograph shows a more distressed street in its last throes.
The bottom photograph is the Southern General on the corner of Caryl Street and Hill Street. With opening of the new Royal Hospital both the Southern and Northern became superfluous and two key features disappeared from the skyline.
In my next blog, I will post two more 1970s panoramas.
St George’s Hall 1851
This is a special post – my 100th. When I started in January, I had a reasonably clear idea of what I wanted to do, which was to highlight the importance of photography in our understanding of the history of Liverpool. What has been a passion of mine has found focus in this blog, which gives me the flexibility to move from subject to subject and place to place within a fairly loose structure.
What I could not predict was how my blog would be received and whether it would have the legs to carry on for any length of time. In fact, I have been overwhelmed by the response which, thanks to the internet, has come from all over the world. Thank you to everyone who has logged in and emailed me with suggestions, requests and corrections for the factual errors I make from time to time. Such a following brings its own pressures – so I have to keep upping my game.
Today’s post is, possibly, the most exceptional one I have made. It is the earliest photograph of Liverpool I have discovered in 30 years of looking. It is a copy – from a lantern slide of the original print. I found the slide hidden away in a drawer in LRO and I suspect it has not been seen for many years. Why is the photograph so important? There are newspaper accounts of photographs taken in Liverpool but I have never discovered any physical evidence, There were a number of amateur photographers in Liverpool, including Francis Frith, and some set up the Liverpool Amateur Photographic Association in 1854. However, it is not until the 1860s that any images of the city begin to surface in any number (and not many at that). St George’s Hall is not surprisingly the subject matter. Most of us are familiar with Victorian photographs of the Hall but here it is still in construction with the original pillars being constructed along the plateau. What really strikes me is what the building must have meant to the people of the time. Its scale is so huge that it must have overwhelmed everyone that saw it. It was ambition on a fantastic scale. Today we may be more blase´about it – after all it has been around for 160 years – but the photograph gives us a window in time to its scale and original setting.
Now the pressure is on to find earlier images … I am certain they exist somewhere.
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.
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.
