In my last post, I brought up the problem of dating photographs. Probably only one in ten of my vintage images has a date that can be considered reliable. The other 90% I have to give an approximate date according to the photographic process used (only reliable to within ten years at the best), a specific event, people’s dress or buildings that existed at the time (again, often only good to within ten years).
On the whole, this is not a serious problem – more of a desire to be as accurate as possible. With many street photographs, it is easy to say 1890s but in quite a few cases, some of my images of bare-footed children were taken up to the early 1900s. (The fact that hand-held cameras only really started to make an impact in the early 1890s is one helpful clue).
Fortunately, the photograph of a busy Pier Head turned out to be relatively easy to date thanks to the internet. Reading up on the history of the ferries, it turns out that the Alexandra (the ferry in the foreground) was only in service for one year – in 1890. It was chartered for that year only (why and from whom is not stated). I imagine it must have been named after Princess Alexandra – consort of the Prince of Wales. I suppose I should dig deeper but, to be honest, transport history is not really my bag. Perhaps some informed reader can fill in the gaps.
One of the frustrations of interpreting historic photographs is correctly dating them. Perhaps the most popular subject for the Victorian photographer was St George’s Hall – and no wonder. When it opened in 1854, it must have been an astonishing sight. Towering above the city, like the Parthenon on the Acropolis, this great statement of civic endeavour and intent must have had an immense psychological impact on the fast growing town.
I remember my first trip to Liverpool from Sheffield in 1966. As I left Lime Street, I was confronted by this immense building which was anything but provincial (as most of Sheffield’s architecture was). Even though it was soot-black, it had a startling presence with its impressive plateau and statuary, including the much under-valued Wellington’s Column.
Getting back to my starting point: dating Victorian photographs can be quite imprecise. Clothing can give a clue but fashions lingered on for years and is anything but foolproof. Similarly, shop names can give an indication. A new shop would have a new sign but many businesses had long lives. The clue in today’s photograph is the original staircase on the Southern facade (below the eight columns on the left hand side). This had been replaced by the current arrangement by 1855: according to Picton ‘Originally access was obtained from the street by two narrow flights of steps descending right and left from the centre: but the taste of the local dilettanti being offended, an appeal was made to the council, by whose authority they were removed, and the terrace finished as it now remains.’
So the photograph can be dated to around 1854 to 1855. Not as old as the photograph I published in October 2010 (which shows signs of construction still in progress) but close enough. What makes the photograph special is that it is signed Forrest – a founder member of Liverpool Amateur Photographic Association (established in 1853 as one of the world’s first photographic societies – it is now part of South Liverpool Photographic Society). John Alexander Forrest was a glass manufacturer in Lime Street and his image is the earliest one of Liverpool by a named photographer I have come across.
St George’s Hall seems to be on the fringe of the city centre rather than a central feature. The shabby state of Lime Street is apparently to be addressed but the soulless dual carriageway and the dreadful lump that is St John’s Market with its crude advertising hoarding also need sorting. Do we really need a dual carriageway? If ever a site need creative thought and design, this would be my priority. By clever design, Liverpool One has brought the Albert Dock and Pier Head back into life. Now we need an equally smart solution for the Lime Street area.
Walton Breck Road, 2011
Walton Breck Road, 2011
First of all, my profuse apologies for the long period of absence. I went to New Zealand to visit my son and the time off threw me out of sync. Coupled with an enforced decision to stop publishing books about Liverpool, I needed time out for a rethink.
The collapse of the local book market is worrying. For the last seven years, the number of bookshops in the city centre (and throughout England) has been reducing at an alarming rate. When I started publishing in the mid-1980s, there were 14 or more bookshops I can reel off. One by one they have closed and now just Waterstones in Liverpool One and News from Nowhere in Bold Street survive as dedicated bookshops. It makes no financial sense to publish books with such a small number of outlets so, until times change, I have thrown in the towel and will concentrate on books about photo-journalism which I can sell nationally. Sad times for me, having published over 200 Liverpool titles over the years. I am proud of my back catalogue and hope that some of the books have helped educate and change attitudes about a great city. Maybe some new publisher will take up the challenge and keep alive Bluecoat Press’s legacy. I doubt it is possible but good luck to anyone who has a go.
Back to today’s images and the point of my blog. I have previously stated my hope that I can open it up to contributors who can add their images and commentary. Increasingly, I would like to post images and thoughts about Liverpool today – without ignoring historic images. Liverpool, arguably, is undergoing the greatest change in the last century. I am very positive about most things that are happening. There is a sense of confidence that I feel every time I walk around the centre. To take one example: I was cynical about the Baltic Triangle Creative Quarter when it was mooted. I was based there and thought it unlikely to attract new businesses in what was then a bleak place, albeit only a five minute walk from Liverpool One.How wrong could I be. There is a waiting list of businesses for space and cafés and performance venues have sprung up as well as an academy for 14-18s. Hats off to the people who had the vision to make it all happen – and this is just one project.
The photos I have posted were taken six years ago (when the two American cowboys announced that Anfield was to be rebuilt in Stanley Park). I decided to start recording match day as a historical record and was particularly taken by the fast food outlets around the ground. These are the kind of images I am looking for – images that will give a picture of everyday life in the 21st century. Send in your images with an explanation of where, what, when and who and I will hopefully take this blog in a new direction along with my publishing.
Looking north from the Cathedral tower, 1962
Looking south from the Cathedral tower, 1962
The view from Liverpool Cathedral’s tower is one of the best vantage points to observe Liverpool. I have photographs dating back to the early 1950s and it is intriguing to see how much change has taken place. The two featured photographs, taken in 1962, are a case in point, although the view north needs close examination. Much of the foreground is relatively unchanged. The domed church on the right is St Philip Neri on Catharine Street. Behind it is the old Women’s Hospital. Beyond, the rows of Georgian terraces have since been thinned out, almost to nothing. The massive chimney, top right. is near Crown Street. I have a history of it somewhere but cannot put my hands on it. I am sure someone will be able to both name it and give its location (and year of demolition). On the far left is the Lybro jeans factory on Mount Pleasant – removed during the extensive roadworks to improve access to the M62. The church tower on the horizon is Christ’s Church on Kensington.
The view to the south is dramatic. The river view is dominated by the two huge granaries, which were demolished in the late 1980s. Cain’s Brewery, immediately in front, is dominated by their huge bulk. On the left are the twin domes of the David Lewis Hostel and Theatre, another unnecessary 1980s casualty (to the inner ring road that was eventually abandoned). The roofs of the old Georgian houses that ran down from the western side of the Cathedral to Great Georges Street were all to disappear within twenty years. In fact, the only noticeable survivors of this view are Cain’s Brewery and the Contemporary Urban Centre (the large warehouse to the far right, which is now an academy. The building that intrigues me is the tall, turreted building to the left of Cain’s (on the edge of the photograph). Any ideas?
Enough of Lost Streets and the past for a while and on to what could have been (and still could be) the future.
In 1956, when the survival of Liverpool Overhead was being fought for, and lost, a model of its potential replacement was shown in Liverpool by the International Monorail Company. The £2000 model was for a suspended railway to run between London and London Airport, carrying 60 passengers at up to 70 mph.
I am a great fan of monorails. Their installation appears to cause far less disruption than trams and are visually more stimulating. They also have a wow factor which Liverpool is ideally suited to benefit from. Imagine a monorail linking the city along the waterfront out to John Lennon Airport! Liverpool needs ambitious transport infrastructure projects. John Alexander Brodie, as City Engineer, was a man of great vision – planning the orbital Queens Drive, the first major modern inter-city road connection (the East Lancs Road) as well as the Mersey Tunnel. He saw the necessity of building a proper transport network to ensure economic growth and the argument is no different today, with the pressure building up to extend HS2 into Liverpool directly. What is important is not just to cut journey times to London and provide faster and more efficient freight transport (particularly with the new L2 Container project well underway) but also to make sure we have a more efficient and environmentally sound internal network. I think monorails are well worth another look.
St George’s Hill 1967
Terraces, Everton, 1969
Unknown street, Everton, 1969
Three more views photographed by Alan Swerdlow in the late 1960s. I hope I am right about the first view being of St George’s Hill – if not, I am sure I will be quickly corrected. The newly completed tower blocks only add to the bleakness of the view. They have since been demolished and Everton Park now fills the space. I have made my opinion known before about the disastrous effect of the way in which the post-War housing clearances were imposed upon Liverpool and I know most readers share my views. Perhaps the point of disagreement is over the extent of the demolition. Looking at the other two photographs, I have little doubt that they had reached (over-reached!) their lifespan and had to go. The middle photograph, in particular, illustrates the remarkable ability of property speculators to cram in as many houses into the smallest space. The rich landowners made their millions out of capitalising on the misery of the poor. Rings a bell somewhere!
Havelock Street 1967
Cicero Terrace 1969
Michael and Alan Swerdlow will be well known to many. Their pioneering company, Modern Kitchen Equipment was a familiar site next to the Philharmonic Hall (and before that on the corner of Duke Street and Colquitt Street). Sadly it fell victim to the recession that hit hard back in 1999. In their time, they were well ahead of the competition and, had they survived just a few years, Liverpool’s recent restaurant boom would have seen them prosper and expand. Apart from his work with MKE, Alan was also Chairman of the Bluecoat Society of Arts and a keen photographer. Today’s photographs were taken by Alan and kindly supplied to me by his brother Michael.
More about MKE in a future post. To continue with the Lost Streets theme, the photograph of Havelock Street will hopefully lead to a few gasps of recognition from the children in the photo – who will all be in their 50s now. If readers put Havelock Street in the search box, they will be able to compare today’s image with Karl Hughes’s photo of a few years earlier.
The second photograph is of Cicero Terrace, less than a hundred yards from Havelock Street (off Northumberland Terrace). A suitably winter’s scene but hardly in the Christmas card category.
Old Post Office Place 1913
Hale Street 1913
I have been asked many times which were the most important buildings that Liverpool has lost over its relatively short life (little more than 300 years since it began its transformation from small market town to a world city. Only the Bluecoat Chambers of 1717-25 and the Town Hall – which was substantially reconstructed in 1807 – remain of its eighteenth century key buildings). Of course there is quite a list of buildings: the early city centre churches, the Custom House and the Sailors’ Home among the most important losses. However, it is not the individual buildings that I think were the biggest casualties but the overall townscape, such as the network of streets around St John’s Market and Queen Square and the old ‘sailors’ town around Canning Place, Wapping and Mann Island. These areas represented the early, haphazard port of the mid-nineteenth century, a maze of small streets and alleys off the main streets, housing hundreds of small businesses of a multitude of trades.
Old Post Office Place was one of these ‘lost’ streets. Its starting point is still there – the Old Post Office pub on School Lane – but its existence was wiped out after wartime bombing levelled the area. The site was purchased by Littlewoods for its post-War site and Post Office Place was absorbed into the new Church Street. In the photograph, the building at the end of the street is Bon Marché (later taken over by George Henry Lee – now John Lewis). The clock advertises Oldfields, diamond merchants and jewellers.
Hale Street is another street that has vanished under post-War development. It was a narrow alley connecting Dale Street with Tithebarn Street (it was between Moorfields and Vernon Street). Fortunately, other alleyways such as Hackins Hey, Hockenhall Alley and Eberle Street have survived and give character to the city’s commercial centre. The building at the top of Hale Street is Exchange Station but I do not know which factory the chimney belonged to.
First of all, best wishes for 2014 and with it my New Year resolution – to get back to a weekly (or thereabouts) blog. The last few months have been a difficult time but there is nothing like a New Year to get back on track.
Today’s image is by that prodigious producer of local views, Priestley and Sons. The family originated from Huddersfield, where they had a successful studio but relocated to Wallasey in the 1890s. For a couple of decades, the company produced hundreds of images of local landmarks on both sides of the Mersey, specialising in shipping subjects. The views were ‘popular’ subjects which could be easily sold – so there were plenty of images of St George’s Hall, the Town Hall and the Landing Stage.
This particular photo (number 1495) is of King Orry of Douglas, one of the Isle of Man Steam Packet Company’s fleet. It was the second King Orry and was built in 1871. In 1912, it was scrapped and replaced by King Orry (3), which sank during the Dunkirk evacuation in 1940.
Liverpool has a colourful history. We all know its wealth was largely founded on the Slave Trade and the dreadful poverty of the nineteenth century had been well documented. Sometimes, however, shocking events just disappear into the mists of time without a mention in the history of the city.
The events of August Bank Holiday, 1947 showed a side of Britain that we may well wish to hide. Britain occupied Palestine and Jewish guerrillas were at war with the colonial power. Two British army sergeants were captured and, in reprisal for Britain’s hanging of captured Jewish fighters, hanged. A great outcry followed, and in a wave of anti-semitism, Jewish communities in Leeds, Liverpool and Manchester were attacked. In Birkenhead, slaughterhouse workers had refused to process any more meat for Jewish consumption until the attacks on British soldiers in Palestine stopped. In Liverpool, crowds of angry young men gathered in Jewish areas and attacked shops and businesses.
My account is taken from Jerusalem Your Name is Liberty, by Walter Lever, a one-time Communist who lived in Manchester.
‘On Sunday afternoon the trouble reached Manchester. Small groups of men began breaking the windows of shops in Cheetham Hill, an area just north of the city centre which had been home to a Jewish community since the early 19th century. The pubs closed early that day because there was a shortage of beer and, by the evening, the mob’s numbers had swelled to several hundred. Most were on foot but others drove through the area, throwing bricks from moving cars.
Soon the streets were covered in broken glass and stones and the crowd moved on to bigger targets, tearing down the canopy of the Great Synagogue on Cheetham Hill Road. All premises belonging to Jews for the length of a mile down the street had gaping windows and the pavements were littered with glass.’
By the end of the weekend, anti-Jewish riots had taken place in Glasgow and Liverpool, with minor disturbances in Bristol, Hull, London and Warrington, as well as scores of attacks on Jewish property across the country. A solicitor in Liverpool and a Glasgow shopkeeper were beaten up. Nobody was killed, but this was the most widespread anti-Jewish violence the UK had ever seen. In Salford, the day after a crowd of several thousand had thrown stones at shop windows, signs appeared that read: “Hold your fire. These premises are British.” In Eccles, a former sergeant major named John Regan was fined £15 for telling a crowd of 700: “Hitler was right. Exterminate every Jew – every man, woman and child. What are you afraid of? There’s only a handful of police.”
Arsonists in West Derby set fire to a wooden synagogue and the caretaker was attacked and badly injured when he opened the gates to the fire brigade; workers at Canada Dock in Liverpool returned from the holidays to find “Death to all Jews” painted above the entrance. The photograph shows the burnt-out wooden synagogue in West Derby Cemetery. Just two years after British troops had liberated Bergen-Belsen, the language of the Third Reich had resurfaced, this time at home. Anger about what had happened in Palestine was one thing, but it seemed to have unleashed something far more vicious.