The Thistle, Breck Road

Unknown house interior c1890

Most of us who collects photographs finish up with family albums and family photographs which offer a tantalising glimpse of the past – even if the people and location are often not known. I have dozens of photographs ranging from WW1 soldiers, young children in prams, proud shopkeepers outside their premises, families on the beach – even children on their death bed. So many questions arise – but even unanswered, they are fascinating social documents. Quite a few years back, Audrey Linkman, realising the historical significance of such photographs, established the NW Documentary Photography Archive – which is now housed at the Greater Manchester Record Office. Most of its holdings are from the Manchester area and are a rich and important resource for the wider community. Is it time we did the same for Liverpool and bring together the thousands of photographs held in family albums – along with the stories behind each one? The NWDPA in most cases just copied the original – but the result is a regional treasure trove.

Here are two of my images which would benefit from more information. The first of an old lady and dog outside The Thistle. What was it? It says high class but the only clues are pots of aspidistras in one window and a few bottles in the other. The other photograph is equally enigmatic, showing an old lady in her well-furnished living room. The pictures on the wall suggest she is relatively well off – but there are no clues as to where the house was.

The photograph is of HMS Eagle in Brunswick Dock. It is a small photograph I picked up many years ago. Not particularly eyecatching as an image, it was only when I read the pencil note on the back that I realised that here was a forgotten history of Liverpool. The pencil note reads:

Court martial held on HMS Eagle in 1915. The Offenders on HMS Ambrose lying in Mersey during the European War.

Initial research led quickly to the use of HMS Eagle as the divisional HQ of the Royal Navy Volunteer Reserve (RNVR) – who still retain their presence in the city. HMS Eagle – a 74 gun frigate – was renamed the HMS Eaglet in 1919. Unfortunately, I have not traced details of the court martial – although it would have been a serious matter during wartime. My particular interest is that my grandfather was in the RNVR during WW1 and served on the notorious Q-ship SS Baralong. Q-ships were disguised merchant ships that were used as a weapon against the U-boat threat. They would fly a neutral flag until within attacking distance and then change flag and attack.

On August 19, 1915, about 100 miles south of Queenstown, Ireland, U-27, commanded by Kapitänleutnant Bernard Wegener, stopped the British steamer Nicosian in accordance with the rules laid down by the London Treaty. A boarding party of six men from the U-27 discovered the Nicosian was carrying munitions and 250 American mules intended for the use of the British Army in France. They ordered the freighter’s crew and passengers into lifeboats, and prepared to sink the freighter. U-27 was lying off Nicosian’s port quarter firing into it when the Baralong appeared on the scene, flying the ensign of the United States as a false flag. When she was half a mile away Baralong ran up a signal flag to the effect that she was going to rescue Nicosian’s crew. Wegener acknowledged the signal, ordered his men to stop firing, and took U-27 along the port side of Nicosian to intercept the Baralong. As the submarine disappeared behind the steamship, Herbert steered Baralong on a parallel course along Nicosian’s starboard side.

Before U-27 came round Nicosian’s bow, Baralong hauled down the American flag,hoisted the Royal Navy White Ensign, and unmasked her guns. When U-27 came into view from behind Nicosian, Baralong opened fire with her three 12-pounder guns at a range of 600 yd (550 m), firing 34 rounds. U-27 rolled over and sank in less than a minute. Twelve men survived the sinking of the submarine, the crews of her two deck guns and those who had been on the conning tower. They swam to the Nicosian and clambered up her hanging boat falls and pilot ladder. Herbert, worried that they might try to scuttle the steamer, ordered his men to open fire with small arms, killing all except six on the Nicosian. Wegener is described by some accounts as being shot while trying to swim to the Baralong.

Herbert sent a party of twelve Royal Marines to the steamer to hunt the German sailors down. They were discovered in the engine room and shot on sight, an action which may have been spurred by revenge. Earlier that same day, U-24 had sunk the White Star liner SS Arabic with the loss of 44 lives. The Baralong had been about 20 miles from the scene, and had received a distress call from the ship. Her Royal Navy crew considered it as an atrocity equal to the sinking of the Lusitania – which they had been involved in the aftermath, seeing the corpses lined up on the harbourside of Queenstown.
The Baralong incident was a defining moment in the naval war – regarded as a war atrocity by the Germans. Naturally, the British exonerated the crew but the immediate result was to remove any semblance of fair play on the high seas. Interestingly, my grandfather, a quiet and unassuming man, was in total agreement with the Baralong’s action – feeling the Germans got what they deserved. For me, a small photograph of seemingly little interest has opened a window on a sequence of events that I feel the need to research further. That is the thing about photographs I love – the moment frozen in time that tells a compelling story if you can unlock it.

Victoria Square (original layout)

St Anne Street 1937

Holidays over and time to get back to my blog!

One of the most fascinating aspects of Liverpool’s social history is that of public housing. Astonishingly, no comprehensive book has been written on the subject in recent years – I await one with great anticipation! – although the importance of the many initiatives undertaken is more than worthy of an in-depth study. The first major project was St Martin’s Cottages in 1869 – which survived until the 1980s. Victoria Square was the second initiative, although not until 1885. The Housing of the Working Classes Act of 1890 (imagine calling a piece of legislation that today) resulted in a rapid expansion of local authority housing – and Liverpool took the lead, including the St Anne Street flats of 1914, which showed the imaginative design using high quality materials.
Victoria Square was an ambitious scheme, considered a pioneering venture at the time. It originally contained 270 dwellings but, following war damage in 1941, these were reduced to 215. Substantial improvements were made in the early 1950s, including installing back-boilers for hot water and wiring for electricity. Particular care was taken to maintain the external features – but, in 1961, the original four blocks were reduced to two. Even these improvements were not enough to save the Square and it was demolished to make way for the Wallasey Tunnel.

I raised the point in an earlier blog about the opportunity missed to create a museum of housing. This was mooted at the time of St Martin’s Cottages future being considered and was dismissed on cost grounds (there was a similar proposal for Duke Street Terrace). Somehow, money has been found for the new Museum of Liverpool, a building I consider one of the best modern buildings in the city. However, I have serious misgivings about its proposed content – too early to judge but the advance information suggests style over substance. The collection of the old Museum of Public Health (now in the possession of NML) would have provided a substantial element to a real museum of Liverpool life utilising the structures of buildings which had been part of the great housing initiatives (imagine had Gerrard Gardens been used for such a purpose – and within walking distance of William Brown Street). Building expensive, ‘iconic’ buildings is one thing – history is another.

Girls swinging c1963 (Karl Hughes)

Boy climbing street lamp c1963 (Karl Hughes)

Girl in street c1953 (Frank Dugan)

Three street scenes with a street light as the common factor. A perfect piece of play apparatus – not too high and with the bar at the top for hanging or swinging on. What is particularly sad is that this kind of impromptu photography is rapidly becoming a thing of the past. Most photographers today would avoid such subject matter. The law is still on the photographer’s side but candid street photography is an increasingly difficult problem, especially where children are involved. Clearly such images as the ones shown here are not exploitative – and are a valuable record of yesterday’s childhood – but I do wonder whether we will leave a comparable record for the future.

Vernon’s Pool, 1936

Central Cafe´, Central Station

Looking through all my posts to date, I was somewhat surprised how little emphasis I had placed on the people of Liverpool. The great majority of my photographs were of street scenes and buildings rather than the people who lived in them – so I am making amends this week with a series of images celebrating the lives of working women and their contribution to the economy of the city.

The first photograph is of women working at Vernon’s Pools in 1936. Football pools has started in 1923 when John Moores and two friends handed out 4000 coupons outside Old Trafford. Initially, the business was slow and John Moores bought out his two partners who had lost confidence in the loss-making enterprise. Moores quickly turned Littlewoods round and millions of working people began to spend a few pence each week in what was the only national gambling competition (at that time it was based on agents house-calling rather than by mail). Vernons followed in 1925 – making Liverpool the centre of an industry which employed thousands of women checking the weekly returns.
The February, 1936 press photograph relates to the Football League’s attempt to keep secret football fixtures to crush the pools industry. They were angered that none of the £20 million a year profits were going to the game and had decided that enough was enough. The tactic was impossible to sustain but it did force an agreement whereby a percentage of pools money went to the League. The importance of the pools to the area took a mighty hit in 1994 when the National Lottery was introduced – but the photograph is a reminder of one of the key industries of the city in the twentieth century.
The bottom photograph is of Central Cafe´in Central Station. I guess it was taken in the 1930s. A Mrs Carey was the manageress (seated above the hot-pot sign). With 14 women employed, it must have been a thriving enterprise. It is sad that this kind of photograph is no longer as common as it was. Companies used to take a pride in assembling their workforce for group photographs but that, like the Central Cafe´and Lancashire hot-pots, is a thing of the past.

Mann Island c.1898

Mann Island c.1890
Liverpool’s constant renewal has left the city with a legacy of buildings spanning three centuries. The top photograph can be placed immediately because of the presence of the White Star offices, which opened in 1897. Around it are three of the city’s architectural losses. To the left, are the Goree Piazzas – magnificent early nineteenth century warehouses which were firebombed during the War and then pulled down for road widening. In front of them runs the Liverpool Overhead Railway – opened in 1893 and demolished within a few years of the Goree in 1957/58. The church in the background is St George’s Church in Derby Square (as it is now named), which only just lasted to the end of the nineteenth century before demolition.
The importance of photographic documentation can be seen in the bottom image, which was taken before the Overhead Railway was built. The tower in the centre was the hydraulic tower for James Street Station – again a victim of wartime bombing.
Looking at sites such a YoLiverpool – it is refreshing to see so many photographers are making the effort to record Liverpool’s changing face. Not all photographs are masterpieces but in 20+ years time, a new generation will be grateful for today’s photographers who are so passionate about their city.

Not so popular Poplar Street

Unromantic Valentine Grove

The debate over slum clearance has been well aired over the last fifty years. There are many who believe the wholesale clearance of housing across Liverpool was an unmitigated disaster and that communities would have been best served by careful renovation of run-down properties. On the other side, there is the argument
that the housing stock was in such a poor condition that only demolition and rebuild would be appropriate if living standards were to improve. The residents of Valentine Grove along with their neighbours in equally inappropriately named Venus and Cupid Streets (off Larch Lea) had already departed when the photograph was taken in 1972.(Who thinks up such street names?). In nearby Poplar Street, the inhabitants were prepared to voice their indignation in a graphic and eye-catching way.
Perhaps not the most photogenic images – but such records are an important reminder of what the city was like and the kind of conditions its citizens endured.

Myrtle Gardens, 1969

Boys’ Orphanage, Myrtle Street, 1885

Girls’ Orphanage, Myrtle Street, 1885

The site of Myrtle Gardens has an interesting history as these three previously unpublished photographs show. In 1800, the original Botanic Gardens were sited there before being removed to Edge Lane in 1836. Myrtle Street was a pleasant rural lane but was soon absorbed into the rapidly expanding town. A female ophanage school was commenced in 1843 and opened in November of that year. The boys’ orphanage school was completed in 1854 (at the same time as the Church of Holy Innocents on the same site). The architect was John Cunningham (architect of the Sailors’ Home) and the buildings are in a simple, unpretentious style in keeping with their purpose.
In 1934, the multi-storey Myrtle Garden flats were built on the site (subsequently sold in the 1990s to a private developer for refurbishment into modern apartments and renamed Minster Court). There were, until recently, reminders of the original Botanic Gardens in the street names: Grove, Olive, Almond, Laurel, Mulberry, Peach and Vine Streets. To help with locating the site. here is a 1930s map:

Walton Gaol 1974

Walton Gaol 1930

If a gaol was to be built on your street, you would probably care little for the architecture – you would just want to move to another place. Prisons stir up deep emotions and it is unlikely that one would be built in the heart of a residential community. Nevertheless, there is no reason why prison buildings should not have architectural merit. Architect Charles Peirce and John Weightman, the Corporation Surveyor, realised the need to reassure the community and their castellated Norman fortress (of 1855) certainly suggests military strength. Unfortunately, in remodelling the prison c1974, the outer fortified gatehouse was demolished to make way for an ugly brick bastion topped by a curved metal string course. A shame, from an architectural perspective but I am sure most people would not consider the reshaping of the prison with much sentiment other than that of relief for the additional security provided by the new wall.
Interestingly, it is apparently against the law to take a photograph of any HM Prison. I was stopped from taking a shot of the new exterior wall by a prison officer, who politely asked me to put my camera away.

Who would have believed 50 years ago that there would be no Tate and Lyle in Liverpool and that the company would no longer be in the sugar business? Last week’s news that the sugar business had been sold brings to an end a company history that started in Liverpool in 1859, when Henry Tate became a partner in a small sugar refinery in Manesty’s Lane (just off Hanover Street). My own business career started back in 1973 in a warehouse owned by Tate and Lyle on the site of the original refiners (although the warehouse was built in the 1870s and demolished in the 1980s).
The history of sugar in Liverpool is, I imagine, likely to cause more than a few readers to stifle a yawn – but, pay attention at the back, as teachers used to say in school, it really is an interesting part of the city’s history. Along with tobacco and cotton, the wealth of the city was built on the import of goods from the New World. Sugar had its own spin-offs. The famous Everton toffee mentioned in an earlier post was the fledgling start of a much bigger confectionary industry (Barker and Dobson amongst others) as well as providing the basic ingredient for the massive Hartley’s jam business.
The Love Lane Refinery was completed in 1873 and in its time employed thousands from the surrounding Vauxhall district. Other local refineries such as Farrie’s and Macfie’s could not compete with Tate’s and were absorbed into the sugar empire. Henry Tate, himself, was a benefactor on a significant scale – building the Hahnemann Hospital on Hope Street, providing the funds for Liverpool University’s library block, as well as generous donations to the Royal Infirmary and Liverpool Institute. His biggest gift was to found the Tate Gallery in London – now with its Liverpool offshoot. Ironically, the opening of the Tate Liverpool came only a few years after the closure of Love Lane in that brutal period in the early 1980s which also saw other great names including British American Tobacco pull the plug on their Liverpool bases.