100 Alfred Gelder Street

Next door to Essex House is a completely different building, turn-of-the-century Queen Anne revivalish offices with art nouveau trimmings. Did I mention eclectic? 

The upper dormer windows are described , somewhere or other, as a tasteful addition. Hmmm.

Essex House

Essex House is a late sixties/early seventies addition to Hull's eclectic architecture, a substantial office block squeezed into the corner of Manor Street and Alfred Gelder Street that, as you pass gives little sense of its height due to the narrowness of the streets. It houses a range of businesses, solicitors, a call-centre, local government departments and last but not least the Coroner's Office. At one time it used to be the place where countless thousands signed on for their unemployment benefit but that's all been moved elsewhere.

Dancing in the street

As I walked down High Street on Saturday I came across this group in Georgian costume and thought little of it (it was that kind of day, there was a jester and a monk by the church earlier) until after I visited Maister House when I heard music and they were all lined up ready for an 18^th century hop. Naturally I filmed it for posterity.

After this the crowd was to be regaled with the weary womanly woes of a whaler's wife. Too much for me so I left.

Maister House again

I posted about Maister House  sometime last year, well I finally had a look inside on Saturday. The main attraction is the staircase and upper balcony with its neat geometrical arrangement. There was a limitation on the numbers who could stand on the balcony, six at any one time, and a bit of a queue waiting for the privilege so I didn't wait around. The house is a National Trust property and you can have a look round most days if you care to. The pictures give the impression of Stygian gloom, it's was fairly dark but not as black as that.

The ceilings are richly decorated but not very well lit, so my little camera had a few problems picking out any details.

Know your limitations

This weekend was the Open Heritage Days, when various old buildings and some not so old are open for us public to come in and have a good gawp. Previous years I've either forgotten about or missed it but this year I was in town. Now for some reason I found myself in Holy Trinity Church waiting to go up the tower. I somehow had forgotten my hinky knee and my lifelong fear of heights. So anyway I managed to climb up the medieval spiral staircase and get up on to the roof and forced myself to take a few pictures without completely losing the plot. The further ascent up to the actual top of the tower was, I decided, going too far. Yeah I know, I'm a cowardly wuss. 

Queen Street

Tidal barrier and the Deep

Looking north

No, I ain't going up there, thank you.

Contempt, who me?

A little bit of Humber Street

I'm pondering whether or not I hold the city of Hull in contempt, an odd thing to do on a Friday evening but there you go. Someone in response to a comment I made to a piece in the Guardian newspaper remarked that I held the city in contempt. I don't where he got this idea. I confess to being sceptical, utterly unconvinced by any of the gushing praises currently being heaped upon the place, I'm frankly amazed that people put up with the ridiculously poor service from the Council and its, at times, idiotic staff. The schools, the roads, housing, health provision and so on all these things are far from good. Is pointing this out an act of contempt? I could, of course, say that the place was one big gloriously happy family, I could do that but, frankly, I'm not good at fiction.

The Weekend in Black and White is here.
And Weekend Reflections are here.

Making a start

The public pathway by the river has reopened now that they've finished knocking down whatever buildings stood in the way and work on the C4DI thing at the old dry dock goes on its merry way. Scaffolding down to the floor of the dock is a development though I'd be a tad wary of that dock gate patched up as it is with bits of wood and expanding foam. Still it's not visibly leaking. (The circus tent in the background was to do with the Freedom Festival event that this year attracted thousands more than ever before)

T'other side

Enough navel gazing, time to look out at what the world outside this place has to offer. Ah yes the delights of Killingholme! Here to entertain our eyes are two oil refineries and two natural gas power stations and last but not least a liquid petroleum gas storage facility. Should that little lot go bang I wouldn't give much for the two miles of Humber to protect this wondrous city, but let's not dwell on that.

No, today comes news (well it's oldish news really I just hadn't got round to it) that Hull will, according a leading councillor, have a cruise liner terminal! Well at least lots of money (will £380,000 be enough?) is being spent to think about having a terminal. (This council's caution before making any decision has led to a small boom in business consultants eager to help HCC make up its mind, I wonder if this is just a local thing or do other councils spend small fortunes on these expensive exercises?) It is to be placed near the Deep so, realistically, somewhere in the middle of this picture. Now I know you're all thinking ah Cruise ships, sundowners on a sundrenched deck, Love Boat and all that baggage. Hmmm this the Humber, basically the North Sea by another name so I'm thinking more frost bitten Kate O'Mara of Triangle infamy. (Did I just show my age there?)

Postscript:
It's not every day you learn something new. So I am grateful to Christine Hasman for telling me that Killingholme Creek is where some of the Pilgrim Fathers, the Scrooby Separatists, managed to embark for Holland in 1608. Below is the memorial erected by the Anglo-American Society of Hull in 1924, this is now at Immingham as a petrochemical plant sits on the original site and is visited by many Americans each year.

Thanks once more to Christine Hasman for these photos.

The price of failure

I have mentioned Neptune, the tidal power scheme, before and also how it proved to be not quite the raging success that had been hoped. A few weeks ago I noticed that it was no longer moored just past the Deep and thought that it had gone for good. Imagine my surprise then to see this little boat with the unmistakable yellow cabin just chugging upstream the other day. Off to the scrapyard no doubt.

Looking for business, mistah?

County Hall or Guildhall? Meh!

It had got to be written down, it had got to be confessed. What he had suddenly seen in the lamplight was that the woman was old. The paint was plastered so thick on her face that it looked as though it might crack like a cardboard mask. There were streaks of white in her hair; but the truly dreadful detail was that her mouth had fallen a little open, revealing nothing except a cavernous blackness. She had no teeth at all. (1984, G. Orwell)

Many years ago I lived near Paddington Station, an area well known for prostitutes. One of their enticements, indeed the only one I ever heard, was "Are you looking for business, mistah?". It was brief and to the point and there was absolutely no mistaking what the business was.

I mention this because we, that is to say the residents of East Yorkshire who have the misfortune to live near to neighbouring Hull are being solicited for our favours by two sadly, very unattractive ladies of the night. The one playing the role of mater familias urges us not let our eyes stray upon the dubious delights of the younger, pushy tart who has a new German pimp and is eager to swallow us up whole. This second, flashes her eyelashes in a most seductive way and tells us it would be good for business, honey, ah but what kind of business is far from clear. And when you look closely, if you dare, at both these suppurating cankered madames they reveal nothing but cavernous blackness. So we are asked to be like some latter day Paris with a worm riddled apple and like poor Winston we go ahead and do it just the same.

Referendum papers for ERYC's £60,000 farce are being sent out today.

No great loss

Amid the expected wails of anguish and gnashing of teeth of those who think anything old, anything Victorian, must be worth propping up (no matter the cost) the decrepit Wellington House has finally been flattened. Hurrah! And good riddance to all that. Would it be any great loss if that machine were, just let's say, to flatten the whole area and finish the job that years of decline and neglect have started?

Yet, Freedom! Yet thy banner, torn, but flying ...

It's that time of year again when painted pianos pop up around town, a slightly overweight man in a green mask waves large handkerchiefs and local news reporters look grumpy in Queen Victoria Square, a sad looking Freedom Flame lurks and flickers behind safety barriers and flags lots of flags, oh and a night time torch lit parade (banish all thoughts of Leni Riefenstahl) and more so much more. Oh yes it's the Hull Freedom Festival, again, hah! Two and half days of celebrating "through artistic and cultural expression, Hull's independent spirit and historic contribution to the cause of Freedom". (Obviously I quote, I couldn't write pap like that and still breathe.) Always a good idea to see who is paying the piper and in this case the chief sponsors are Hull City Council and the Arts Council. It seems old Friedrich was wrong, culture and the state aren't antagonistic after all, more like lovey-dovey symbionts.

Pathetic is the word that springs to mind here.

Silly Season

The warm Spring and cool Summer have been ideal conditions for a bumper harvest of pom poms this year. And, as we all know, you simply cannot have too many pom poms...

Luxury Flats

Buildings with enormous windows are no new fad [ 1 ] as this pair of Victorian villas on Westbourne Avenue show. When the moneyed middle classes left for the delights of Swanland, Anlaby and such places these buildings and others like them were split into unfurnished flats. The cheap regulated rents attracted a certain quality of tenant, artists, poets, layabouts and so on. Many of the Hull poets, in those days a smaller, more select band than the those who have since climbed on the Hull poets' City of Culture bandwagon (Roger McGough, Tom Paulin, Uncle Tom Cobley and all), either lived in or visited 4 Westbourne Ave. Back in the very early 1980's I lived with Margot Juby in the ground floor flat of number 4, second large window on the left. Some memories I recall include  a perpetual state of war with the upstairs soi-disant artist (of the often pissed variety I may add) who seemed to wear lead boots and do a lot of hammering, the bathroom ceiling falling in due to actions of said artist. Another resident, now a well known poet and winner of many prestigious awards, found, after cooking some rashers of bacon, he had also grilled a large slug. The mouse seen on the step which grew and grew until it turned into a rat. Moonshine, a grey cat with good judge of character throwing up over the rent collector's shoes. The young amorous couple next door who did not realise the walls were not very soundproof and ... well I draw a discreet veil over that.
Looking back it was basically squalor but when you're young and daft they say it doesn't seem too bad, let me tell you they lie.

Note there is no garret for the servants, they lived in a freezing cold outhouse at the back with two pokey rooms downstairs and two even smaller upstairs. Ah luxury! And in 1982/3  available for rent at £6 per week with no central heating, no gas fire, in fact no heating at all. The ice made pretty patterns on the windows.
I see there's a flat available at Number 2 with a rent a mere ten times higher than back then, I wonder if that includes slugs ...

Dove House

A common sight on many shopping streets in this area is the Dove House charity shop collecting funds for the hospice for people with "a life limiting illness". When I say common there are over thirty of them spread across Hull and other East Riding towns providing 20% of the income for this charity. This one in Beverley Road specialises in furniture but it's right next to a more general shop selling the usual mix of clothing, books and toys. They also run a lottery. Hospices receive just a third of their funding from central Government so need all the help they can get.

Obligatory Butterfly

I can't go a  whole Summer without a picture of a butterfly, now can I? This Speckled Wood butterfly was taking a breather near the entrance to Cottingham church, may be saying a few prayers, who knows.

Rusty bits

 

This is part of the C4DI redevelopment of the dry dock that I've mentioned so many times you're probably bored by it. Since these pictures were taken the rusty leaking old lock gates have now been patched up and the dock is now dry at long last. Unfortunately the little pathway that runs around the river edge was closed as they take a dim view of hitting passing pedestrians on the noggin with flying debris. 

Today's first of the month theme for City Daily Photo is 'Rust and Ruins' .

The point of delivery

The NHS has undergone many twists and turns over the years. There are many who say it is being sold off for private profit, well that maybe, there are other better places for that argument. Here, however, a private hospital has been sold to the NHS to safeguard the care and treatment of patients. This used to be the Nuffield Hospital on Westbourne Avenue until 2008 when the NHS took it over. 

Looking into the history of the building I find a Mr E H Garbett, a manager of the Hull Dock Company lived here in the 1890's, the house was then called Barcombe House. He was a member of the Primrose League, an organisation set up to promote Conservative Party policies and values, back in the days when Gladstone was PM. I wonder what he would make of his former home being part of a health service, free at the point of delivery, based on clinical need, not ability to pay; one whose founder, Nye Bevan, called "pure Socialism".

I cannot post about this building and fail to mention that this was the place where Philip Larkin died. There is, inevitably, a plaque on the wall outside, a kind of memento mori to all who enter. Cheerful, innit?

High Windows

Squeezed into a narrow plot between a railway line, an old Jewish cemetery and a cut-through dedicated for some strange reason to Saint Ninian lie three or four of these new eco-buildings. No Queen Anne revival style here more your overgrown insulated tea chest. The windows are three stories and give nice reflections but I cannot imagine how dreary the view must be from within . The interiors are extremely spacious with triple height voids(!), how do I know? The architects tell us so and invite us to have a good look round here. I know this should be paradise but what, exactly, do you do with all that space and all that sun-comprehending glass?

Weekend reflections are here.

Like a beast with his horn ...

Unicorns do not exist, 

they only think they do. 

Unicorns do not exist, 

they've better things to do.

This unicorn is neither pink nor invisible nor yet a unicorn. It is one of those tree carvings carried out in the Avenues on trees that have either died or been deemed to be damaging property and killed off. Sadly it seems no-one has taken any care of  it and it is riddled with woodworm holes and will, no doubt, cease to exist in the the not too distant future unless some virgin with a large tin of Borax comes along and tames it.

By the by if anyone knows the source of the verse, please do tell. I can't find any attribution on the web.

The Weekend in Black and White may exist here.

Salisbury Street

Read any description of the Avenues area of Hull and sooner or later you'll come across mention of George Gilbert Scott Jr and his Queen Anne revival style residences on Salisbury Street. Now when it comes to the Gilbert Scotts of this world it's Sir George père (Albert memorial, Midland Hotel at St Pancras station etc) and Sir Giles petit-fils (Liverpool Cathedral and red telephone boxes) that are remembered in the architectural world. George junior's works in the Queen Anne revival style have been overlooked for the most part, perhaps not without reason. These buildings on Salisbury Street with their concrete and brick construction are mind numbingly symmetrical and twee. They have some interesting external decoration but they're not really my cup of tea. They are Grade 2 listed buildings and have I suppose some historical interest in architectural terms.

Last year some brave soul proposed to build a block of flats in the gardens behind two of these buildings. Fat chance! Cue a whole brigade of angry locals and the Hull Civic Society (see here from page 9) all fired up and the Council (which a few years ago subsidised the renovation of these buildings), of course, refused it. 

I wouldn't want you to go away thinking all of Salisbury Street is like this. There are, thankfully,  only eight of these buildings the rest of the street is more typical Victorian middle class terrace, with garrets for house servants, of course.

Catalpa bignonioides

I came across this tree a fortnight ago and it was covered in these pretty flowers that I've never seen the likes of before. Now I know my record on tree identification is exactly tiptop, the infamous jacaranda that turned out to be a foxglove tree sticks in my mind. Nevertheless I'm pretty confident that this is a Catalpa tree because its other name is Indian Bean tree and today it's covered in hundreds of what look just like French runner beans. It's also sometimes called the cigar tree because you can smoke these pods for some mild effects, so I'm told. It comes originally from South-eastern USA. Quite how this specimen got to be hiding in plain sight on Clough Road I can't imagine.

Building for books

The University's Brynmor Jones library is having a bit of work done to it so there's a less than academic air about the place at the moment. No doubt it'll all be settled by the end of next month when the little darlings return from their long vacations. I'm sure some of them will want to use this place, though I know of one student who got a First in English and only ever went in here once.

Seems to grown a new bit at the side and a new entrance if I'm not mistaken

Art deco? What art deco?

Many of Mr Burton's emporia built all across the country during the early years of the last century were noted for their fine art deco styling and this one at the top of Whitefriargate is a particularly splendid example with black marble and gold painted windows. Shame then that, when the ground floor was renovated some years back, this was all thrown out along with the baby and the bath water. 

PS: Following a comment from Steffe I've had a root around the web and come up with this not very clear picture from 1953. As was the style back then everything was monochrome and cars drove on what are now pavements, how quaint. Anyhow I hope you can make out what the old shop front, on the left, was like. There's a bigger version here.

Over the shoulder shot

Is there some photographic etiquette about these things? The guy with the expensive camera and tripod and all the trimmings seemed to be taking an age to get it just right, whereas yours truly just pops up points the damn thing, checks it's somewhat in focus and click and moves on. Today's image is from yesterday's Vista Festival on Princes Avenue. I'd never heard of it before but it turns out to be a once every two year thing where they close off the road and have poetry readings, singers, pottery stalls, arty stuff, dancing in the street and so on. Not everything was entirely crowd pulling; this poor guy was playing away and no-one seemed to pay him any attention save  a guy with a tripod and a weird guy who just popped up and took a photo and moved on. 

A goodly crowd turned up braving the Bank Holiday Weekend weather of sunshine and heavy showers. 

Oily Reflections

Attempting to cross the entrance to the Marina my progress was halted by a siren sounding like an alarm clock on steroids, a flashing red light and the little gate across the bridge slowly closing. Hmm, the lock gates were being opened so I'd have to use the other bridge. Still, not before a shot of the oily film on the lock water and another of the open gates showing just how narrow they are. Big enough, no doubt, for  shipping in 1809 and for pleasure craft now but bigger docks had to be built down river to take modern cargo ships.

Weekend Reflections are here.