A Storm in a Port

As boats go, it's pretty impressive.

The days of the big liners in the Mersey are gone, now. Ship building is a pale shadow of what it was, and containerships have concentrated activity to the humungous container ports, that of nearby Seaforth, but to the detriment of the docks as a whole. When I was young the docks thrived with activity.

So, when the cruise liners do pay a visit, it's a bit special these days.


This is the Queen Victoria. She's in Liverpool to commemorate 170 years of Cunard operating services from the Mersey. Their first ship, RMS Britannia, set sail for America on July 4th, 1840. For its day, I suspect it was every bit as grand as this vessel.

Stormy skies, and the Liverpool skyline, make a fitting backdrop.

Of Camp Statues

This has to be the most camp statue I've ever seen. Approaching it from its right, it looks all rather heroic and steeped with derring-do. But when one gets round the front, one realises it's really just some bloke and his sword loitering about waiting for a boyfriend with a beard fetish and a love of metallic tights to show up.


In truth, I rather like the idea of gay warriors. Warfare would be less brutal, I should think, were it a requirement that all the participants be gay. There'd be a bit more hair pulled out, I suppose, and some hurtful fashion comments tossed in, but not so many soldiers coming home in boxes. I think I should write a story about a gay army. I wonder if I can make it humorous without resorting to worn stereotypes and tired homophobic stuff.

The statue stands outside the rejuvenated Palm House in Sefton Park, one of Liverpool's oldest and grandest public parks. I'm not entirely sure whose statue it is. The name is written on the plinth that forms part of the statue proper, but I can't make it out in the photo, and rather foolishly didn't take notes. If I pop back there at some point I'll edit in the identity.

Autumnal Colours

Autumnal Colours
Sefton Park, Liverpool


I love this time of year.

A Brief History of Here 4

There's a gem of a cemetery, one I'd no idea previously existed, to the rear of the Anglican cathedral. Named St James' Gardens, it's a former quarry site which became Liverpool's main cemetery in 1825 and is now listed as a public park. Of course, these days there are bigger, more modern sprawls to home the dead. But this cemetery has real character.

It's below ground level, for a start, hidden away almost and which possibly explains why I'd not discovered it before, accessed at one end by a tunnel and ramp.

I love the thought of a tunnel leading to a graveyard. It adds a sense of journey, of mystery. And that the ramp is itself lined with graves gives the odd experience of having to walk over buried bones just to get into the place.

There's food in that for a horror writer surely.

Beyond the tunnel, there's the Dead's Council. It's a curious circle of graves that in my mind becomes a meeting place.


Here, the dead might decide if they'll permit me further into their domain, or whether they'll rise up shrieking and send me running homeward.

Maybe on occasion they decide to keep the living who stray here. Perhaps the dead howl as the tunnel slams shut. Perhaps that's when they feed.

I really should Photoshop this picture. The green grass and daylight doesn't do it justice. It should be dark and misty, streaked with ghosts, and monks lurking, stooped against a squall of rain.


Some of the tombs appear older than 1825. And in truth that only adds to the charm of the place. These two flank the Oratory, formerly a mortuary chapel for the cemetery. The inscriptions are so worn and chipped I've no idea whose bones are laid here.

There are some notable graves, though; William Huskisson (1770-1830), for example, Member of Parliament for Liverpool in 1823. He has the rather dubious honour of being the first man ever killed by a steam locomotive.

I suppose it takes someone as self-absorbed as a politician to fail to notice a 100 tonne lump of metal rumbling, hissing and steaming towards him. Still, I'm sure it was an unusual demise, particularly in those times.

Even in daylight, there are places here permanently dark and shadowy.


I imagine the dead would walk here all day long, never mind waiting for the decency of witching hour. There are ghosts; look closely through the gloom under the branches.


And what had these people done in life to be denied the sun even to warm their headstones in death?

This surely is a sinners' patch; of murderers, and cut-throats, and black-cloaked vagabonds.

And these old trees growing outward horizontally from the bank, again lined with graves, must make an eerie sight on wintry nights. They could hang careless interlopers like me from those limbs.


It's an atmospheric stroll indeed. But a word of warning should you visit Liverpool and look for St James' Gardens—there are some dodgy characters down here, living I mean, not dead. The Red Light District is close by, and my reverie was disturbed by a woman clearly of disputable honour leading some fresh-faced boy to the slaughter. I was also approached for a cigarette by some character whose pupils couldn't safely dilate further.

Maybe the dead don't mind this—I suppose you get your entertainment where you can when dead—but it is something to be wary of. And it's a shame, because otherwise the place is secluded and peaceful.

Apart from the wail of ghosts, of course.

A Brief History of Here 3

"If you want a cathedral, we've got one to spare…"

So says the line from the folk song, "In My Liverpool Home". And it's true, when it comes to impressing God with big, airy buildings, Liverpool is way ahead of the competition—there is indeed not one cathedral, but two of the buggers.

They sit merely a half-mile apart, each filling the skyline in their own way, two great behemoths to organised religion staring down at each other, big enough to dominate the mere mortals scurrying about below. Which is what it's all about, really.


Both are relatively new buildings. The Anglican cathedral is the more conventional in form. It's a Gothic styled creation, built with four annexes about a central tower, itself a crucifix of brick and mortar. Its design was by Giles Gilbert Scott, a controversial choice when it was revealed that Scott was himself a Roman Catholic. The foundation stone was laid by King Edward VII in 1904, but warfare and escalating costs meant it would be seventy-four years later before the cathedral was declared finished in 1978.


Believer or not, it's hard not to be awed by the sense of space inside. Unlike the Roman Catholic cathedral described below, the lighting, while provided naturally in part by large stained-glass windows, is much more muted; much more in keeping with what you'd expect in a church. There are nooks and shadows, here, places where saints might lurk or demons hide.

The Roman Catholic version is more adventurous in style. "Paddy's Wigwam", is its rather derogatory nickname, based around the large Catholic Irish population of the city, and, of course, the general shape of the building.


It was designed by Frederick Gibberd, and building began in 1962. It took less than five years to build, opening in May 1967. While it's not nearly as 'roomy' as its Anglican rival, you have to love the 'feel' of the place. The lighting inside is both subtle and stunning.


I was raised Church of England, but were I now a religious man I think I'd prefer to worship at the Catholic cathedral, simply because it has a more intimate feel to it.


I've never felt there to be a difficult rivalry between faiths in Liverpool, certainly not between Christian denominations. It's not like in Ireland, or perhaps Glasgow, a city itself much compared to Liverpool through the years. Others have suggested problems have been rife, but it's not something I've found personally.


This is a statue, or a pair of statues perhaps, of David Sheppard and Derek Worlock, who were the Bishop and Archbishop respectively of Liverpool in the 1990's. The statue was commissioned in 2005 to celebrate the work both did in unifying the church in Liverpool. It stands midway between the two cathedrals, and takes the form of a door that opens to reveal both in each direction.

This is the view looking toward the Anglican cathedral, whose tower can just be seen behind the buildings to the right.

A Short History of Here 2

A friend of a friend of mine was beaten unconscious a week ago.

I've not seen the report in the press; possibly the police are keeping things quiet if their investigations are at a delicate stage. She, yes, it was a female, was beaten up in the city centre because she dared to pull a drunken youth back from an oncoming taxi cab. She saved the youth injury, and in return her jaw was broken on both sides, she lost most of her back teeth, and God knows what mental anguish will result. There are also some suggestions that a girl who was with the youth stole money and a mobile phone during the attack.

Scum, eh?

It's hard after that to sit here and say how wonderful Liverpool is. Clearly, it's a dangerous place to be. But, of course, so can be anywhere. There are violent sumbags lurking in all our cities, and the trick is to be wary and ever vigilant, sad though such a sentiment might be.

And for the record, I've been down town many, many times--I've lost count of the number of times I've even walked home at two a.m. in my youth---and never seen the merest hint of trouble.

This is the 'suitcase' sculpture in Hope Street. It's a work created by John King, and each suitcase is labled to belong to a famous Liverpudlian. It's a celebration of Liverpool culture, yet given the opening tone of this posting, I think there's a certain irony that maybe these suitcases are packed so Liverpool's famous can get the Hell out as soon as they're able.

A Short History of Here 1

Who, what, where is Liverpool?

If you’re British, you probably have an opinion about Liverpool and its denizens. Much is often said about the city and its people, some of it even good :-)

If you’ll indulge me, I’d like to allocate some space on this blog to offer you an ongoing virtual tour of Liverpool and what it means to be Liverpudlian. If, along the way, one or two myths are dispelled, then so be it. But I don’t want to preach, and I hope not to flinch at the good or the bad.

There is no truth that we’ve personalised seats down at the unemployment offices. But there is the possibility we’d mud wrestle our granny for a tenner.

• Scouse (noun) Scow-ss - A cheap, thick broth or stew made from left over meats and vegetables originally favoured by the poorest population of Liverpool.
  
  
• Scouser (noun) Scow-sir – A person who comes from Liverpool.

It’s also true that all Scousers are comedians. Even the miserable bastards are usually good for a quip or two.

The city is steeped with a rich history. It has more listed buildings than any other city outside London. Its wealth is built on the shame of slavery, though in truth it has existed as a port since the middle ages. In modern times it suffered from the German blitz, and from the subsequent blight in urban renewal. For many years the name Liverpool was synonymous with Militant Unionism, a brush its labour force struggles to rid itself of to this day. 2008 sees Liverpool acting out its European Capital of Culture year. It's not clear to me whom of the visitors or the resident Scousers has seen this as the bigger culture shock.

But it is clear to me there's a lot of good in this city, and hopefully I can blog this in an interesting and informative way.

Thank you for reading this far.