That's How The Light Gets In


These days it’s pretty near impossible to get lost.  Turn to Google maps on your mobile phone and that blinking cursor shows you exactly where you are; on city streets we’re tracked by CCTV, and by satellite virtually anywhere on the planet.

But who wants to be lost? Well, Rebecca Solnit has written an exquisite gem of a book suggesting that being lost or losing oneself can pay unexpected dividends:

Leave the door open for the unknown, the door into the dark.  That’s where the most important things come from, where you yourself came from, and where you will go.

A Field Guide to Getting Lost is small enough to fit in your back pocket instead of your phone before setting out for the unknown. You could take solace from it if you did get lost – though her book is a meditation on getting lost in all senses of…

View original post 1,355 more words


This slideshow requires JavaScript.

We will doubtless return to Lewis’s as a subject. So many memories, so many people. So much of the past dissolving into the future before our eyes.


This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Liverpool was a bit ahead of the game. Before floating down the Thames, the Queen and Duke found their sea legs in Liverpool. Great pictures from spiderphoto group, especially John L.

Many families in Liverpool were and are among those affected by the sinking of the Titanic. The tense faces of those shown in the first newsreel as people wait anxiously for news provide haunting images that may remind us of more recent tragedies, and give pause for silence and rememberance.


Leaving or entering Liverpool at night from the M62 is very pretty with the blue LED lights on trees and the projected images on the flyover  pillars.

Liverpool is a brand to be sold. An offshoot of Liverpool Vision, have a look at Liverpool City Brand . They have on board as advocates business people, artists and other VIPs such as writer Frank Cottrell Boyce

Frank Cottrell Boyce talking about what a great city Liverpool is

A small but significant theme of this blog is that historical change is all around us in small details, details. An obvious example is buildings in decay or demolition. The old television aerial below (it was originally a complete X) takes us back to the time when an aerial was like this or an H or just an I. In those days when there were only three TV channels, a new generation of televisions came in which took sets from low resolution 405 lines to super-duper 625. Since then, we’ve had more and more innovations. Widescreen replaced ‘old’ tv’s which you could pick up for a few pounds in a secondhand shop, then the widescreens were replaced by LCD flat screens so that the bulky widescreens can now be picked up for a fraction of their original selling price. Roof tops and chimneys are now adorned with satelllite dishes and a wide variety of aerials, and LCDs are being replaced by LEDs (don’t ask). Soon it may be that all aerials and satellite dishes will be merely historical remnants as we are all wired to fibre optic cables running underground. There’s some good pictures of old aerials here. As today, some of them were made to look ‘advanced’ although they were no better than simpler ones. Design sells!

Telephone poles are quite quaint too. They still exist as part of our everyday experience but they too will probably be great oddities to future generations. The older pole pictured above has the interesting addition of an ornament at the top. We may consider why in our recent past we were careful to try and make functional objects look more ornate. Some lamp posts in Liverpool still demonstrate great care in their design to wrought iron adornments.

In  the authorised biography of Paul MacCartney, Many Years from Now, Barry Miles discusses how Paul and his brother Mike, where country boys at heart. Like thousands growing up as Liverpool expanded into overspill estates, they were raised on the borders of country and city:

For Paul and Michael, the best thing about living in Speke was the countryside. In a couple of minutes they could be in Dungeon Lane, which led through the fields to the banks of the Mersey. The river is very wide at this point, with the lights of Ellesmere Port visible on the far side across enormous shifting banks of mud and sand pecked over by gulls. On a clear day you could see beyond the Wirral all the way to Wales. Paul would often cycle the two and a half miles along the shoreline to the lighthouse at Hale Head, where the river makes a 90-degree turn, giving a panoramic view across the mud and navigation channels to the industrial complex of Runcorn on the far side. These are lonely, cold, windy places, the distant factories and docks dwarfed by the size of the mud banks of the river itself. 
             In the early fifties the McCartneys moved to another new house, surrounded by a muddy building site, at 12 Ardwick Road in the expanding eastern extension of the estate. It was not without danger. Paul was mugged there once while messing about with his brother on the beach near the old lighthouse. His watch was stolen and he had to go to court because they knew the youths that did it. Paul: ‘They were a couple of hard kids who said, “Give us that watch,” and they got it. The police took them to court and I had to go and be a witness against them. Dear me, my first time in court.’ 
             In 1953, out of the ninety children at Joseph Williams School who took the eleven-plus exam, Paul was one of four who received high enough marks to qualify for a place in the Liverpool Institute, the city’s top grammar school. The Institute was one of the best schools in the country and regularly sent more of its students to Oxford and Cambridge universities than any other British state school. It was founded in 1837 and its high academic standards made it a serious rival to Eton, Harrow and the other great public schools. In 1944 it was taken over by the state as a free grammar school but its high standards as well as many of the public-school traditions still remained. 
             Paul first met George Harrison when they found themselves sharing the same hour-long bus ride each day to Mount Street in the city centre, and identified each other as Institute boys by their school uniforms and caps. George was born in February 1943, which placed him in the year below Paul, but because they shared the ride together Paul put their eight-month age difference to one side and George quickly became one of his best friends. Paul soon made himself at home in the welcoming front room of George’s house at 25 Upton Green, a cul-de-sac one block away from Paul’s house on Ardwick Road. 
             The little village of Hale was less than two miles away, with thatched roofs, home of the giant Childe of Hale who, legend has it, was nine foot tall. Paul and Michael would stare at his grave in wonder. The worn gravestone is still there, inscribed ‘Hyre lyes ye childe of Hale’. It was a favourite destination for a family walk. On the way back Paul’s parents and the two boys would stop at a teashop called the Elizabethan Cottage for a pot of tea, Hovis toast and home-made jam. It was a pleasant, genteel interlude, a touch of quality before they walked back to their very different life among the new grey houses and hard concrete roads of the housing estate. 
             ‘This is where my love of the country came from,’ Paul said. ‘I was always able to take my bike and in five minutes I’d be in quite deep countryside. I remember the Dam woods, which had millions of rhododendron bushes. We used to have dens in the middle of them because they get quite bare in the middle so you could squeeze in. I’ve never seen that many rhododendrons since.’ Sometimes, how-ever, rather than play with his friends, Paul preferred to be alone. He would take his Observer Book of Birds and wander down Dungeon Lane to the lighthouse on a nature ramble or climb over the fence and go walking in the fields.

PAUL: This is what I was writing about in ‘Mother Nature’s Son’, it was basically a heart-felt song about my child-of-nature leanings.

And George Harrison in The Beatles Anthology (Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 2000):

By this time I’d met Paul McCartney on the bus, coming back from school. In those days they hadn’t brought the buses into the housing development where I lived, so I had to get off the bus and walk for twenty minutes to get home. Paul lived close by where the buses then stopped, on Western Avenue. Just nearby was Halewood, where I used to play in the fields. There were ponds with sticklebacks in. Now there’s a sodding great Ford factory there that goes on for acres and acres.

Both George and Paul record their memories too that Speke was far from all roses.

Some pictures aound Oglet today. The silhoutted building is the sailing club. There is a good path now from Garston which will take you to Speke Hall, Oglet and on (with a brief detour onto roads) to Hale Lighthouse.

A great webstie, intelligent and quirky, reaching deeply is Liverpolitan. Great collection of articles and pictures. As a bonus, much material from beyond Liverpool – locally and internationally, often with underlying comparisons to be made with the city.

The above is a detail from the 1947 OS Map 108. It shows quite clearly the ‘white spaces’ beyond the Liverpool boundary, speaces that were soon to fill up with new housing estates to take people from the inner city. Similar white speaces exist at the same time around the tiny town of Kirkby.

Over the next month or so we’ll be looking at some aspects of the transitory time as countryside became built over. In particular, individual memories of childhood, of playing in rural surroundings, of visits to the riverside, of nature and adventure. We’ll look at Paul McCartney’s memories of growing up in Speke when it was being built and Western Avenue ended in fields and mud; we’ll look at his recall of happy visits to Oglet, an almost idyllic escape from urban life. Even today, a walk from Garston past Speke Hall – along the Mersey Coastal Path – reveals the remains of farming activity, second world war defences, and the Dungeon, a major salt waorks. See Mike Royden’s  excellent piece on Oglet and the Dungeon, and the importance of salt to the rise of Liverpool’s economy.