The Beauty of Snuff Mill Lane

Picture by Margot K Juby

Hogweed is such a crude name for this little gem of an umbellifer. An alternative of cow parsnip is not really a whole lot better. How about Heracleum sphondylium (Heraclean vertebrate??? Linnaeus has a lot to answer for) does that sound grander? Or (new to me) Eltroot? As it's seemingly de rigueur these days to bring in the Bard at any opportunity I'll just ask what's in a name? ... and move on, quickly.

Snuff Mill Lane whence came this beauty is doing that thing it does in June when it rains lots and is warmish (OK cool ~14C) and muggy. Hay fever sufferers should probably avoid this place for a while. You'll have to imagine, if you can, the sound that accompanies you in this place with dozens of singing birds all competing for my one good ear... It can only be a matter of time before someone comes and strims the whole lot down in the name of tidiness... 

And it pays to keep your wits about you as you never know what you might come across down this lane.

The weekend in Black and White will be blooming here, hopefully.

Underperforming

“Literacy is a fundamental human right and the foundation for lifelong learning. It is fully essential to social and human development in its ability to transform lives.”

... so says  a statement from UNESCO and it's pretty hard to disagree. So, let us say that in the City of Culture, the place where hundreds of thousands if not millions (if you swallow the Kool Aid stats) came to visit and gawp in amazement at the torch lit parades, the fancy dress parades, the installation of  a wind turbine blade, the simply ridiculous Turner Prize, the art-and-fart, here-today-and-pissed-off-tomorrow, paid-for-by-the-taxpayer steaming garbage that oozed through the newly paved streets of this town ... well, in this benighted place far too many adults (42% in some wards) can barely read or write above the level of an eight year old and nearly 40% of their children leave primary schools not able to read properly. To put this into some sort of historical context back in the early 19^th century it was reckoned nearly two thirds of working men could read after a fashion though fewer could write (teaching writing was frowned upon as working folk might start writing their own stories and tales of woe and so on and that most definitely would not do). In parts of this town there seems to have been little progress in two centuries... 

There's no glamour in functional illiteracy, no awards for being unable to write, no visitors from Primrose Hill and Hampstead, no sponsored rainbow coloured celebration in the heart of town, it is most definitely not liberating  ... just a daily struggle to get by as  the better informed, better paid world races on ahead.

You might think that libraries like the one above on Beverley Road could help; it is, after all, right in the heart of one of the most deprived areas in the town ... but some time back (10 or 15 years) this place (along with several others) was closed. "Underperforming" was the accounting term used. It became part of a brand new expensive school, called  "Endeavour". That school lasted but a few years and is no more, it too "underperformed" ... along with all the other underperfoming schools in the town.

So the Council's plan to deal with adult under education as I understood it was to expand the Central library, bring in Learning Zones ... with fewer books and more computers and that essential aid to learning, a modern ambience (think how well Oxbridge would do with a modern ambience!). The result is that Hull is not the worst place in the country for literacy problems; no, no ... it's just the eleventh worst place.

The Northern Library, as it was known, was built in 1895 to the standard pattern of public libraries back in the day. It is now seems to be a Grade 2 listed empty place that is clearly no longer underperforming ...

Gimme Shelter ...

"Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm ..." warbled the ageing Nobel laureate from Minnesota so many, many years ago. Well imagination is a wondrous thing and will be well exercised by our brand new long awaited replacement bus shelter. Those who design these things no doubt never stand waiting for the bus that never comes and give no thought to the very idea that the wind might blow and the cold rain fall from a different direction to the one they decide. Still this marks progress, all we need now is a little sign saying "Bus Stop" and perhaps, if we may be so bold, a timetable for decorative purposes only you understand ...but as someone else warned some time back "You should not ask for so much" ...

A kind of magic

As you go up Newland Avenue (up meaning Northwards) you pass under a rail bridge and maybe pay little heed to the patch of land just to your side. It is hidden behind some protective fencing and only measures a few square feet. It used to be a bit of a problem with litter and "stuff" accumulating there, really just an ugly nuisance; but then some locals took it in hand and transformed it into a teeny magical garden where not everything is as it appears... So a big well done and many thanks to the folks who did this.

A case of the s'pose'das

Last year I read that this old trawler, the Arctic Corsair, was supposed to be moved from here next to the museum of streetstrife and transports of delight, where it has been since 1998, eventually to one of the ancient dry docks upstream. The move was supposed to allow for flood defence work to be carried. Then I read, that the boat was supposed to be moved last October on the equinoctial high tides. Well, that did not happen. I read that a bunch of regulations and paper work were supposed to in place before that could even begin to happen. Also the silt was supposed to be washed away before they could move it. A new date for moving was set; supposed to be equinox in March this year... (and here we are in June which is supposed to be warmer than February but this year's weather has decided to do things arse over tit ...)

The old dry docks are, of course, silted up and the mud, I read, was supposed to be used to make building bricks. The work to clear the mud was reportedly delayed by a brood of ducklings which had no idea it was not supposed to be there (naturam expelles furca, tamen usque recurret...). As you can see the trawler and the old silt are still where they are (per omnia saecula saeculorum)... and the next equinox is supposed to be in October ... at least that's the supposed to date.

et in Argos ego ...

This was for many years an Argos store until it shut a couple of years ago. Before that, I remember it was the Habitat store selling overpriced 1960/70s designed household furniture and lighting, clearly Hull wasn't quite the market for such goods as the store closed years ago. (Obviously this was before "Culture" came to the town.)

Argos is an odd kind of store where you chose your goods from a catalogue that runs to over 1000 pages with many, many thousands of products, write the product code on a slip of paper take it to the checkout, pay for it (declining the offer of buying a warranty, thank you, but I wasn't born yesterday), wait a short while and your stuff appears by magic from behind a counter. Do they make up your item as you order it? or is there the biggest warehouse in the world hiding in the back?

Now, of course, you can browse the catalogue and order/pay online; go to the shop and pick up your goods ... I think they even deliver (we live in wonderful times). Few folk take home their own copy of the Argos catalogue which used to be reprinted twice a year (I think). Hundreds of these thick glossy tomes would be stuffed in boxes outside the doors of each store. They made excellent door stops but mainly they made even better landfill. 

PS I now read that the Argos catalogue has in fact been withdrawn from many stores with a view to scrapping it completely ... which goes to show how much I know about anything.

At least the Weekend in Black and White is still here.

Preventing a Collapse of the Banks

That's river banks in case you were wondering. At long last work is under way to repair, fix and generally improve (upgrade could be the word I'm looking for) the riverside defences. Here the rig is on the stretch running along Tower Street but much work has already been completed upstream on Bankside and Wincolmlee  to the amusement of the many drivers who were unable to use that route as a short cut  ... It's a real big job and costs a mere £44 million but then you've  got to count the cost of losing bits of Hull to floods and the moaning and the groaning and the blaming and so on and so forth for ever and a day ... money well spent.

That river bank doesn't look too bad does it? But a few yards upstream it's much, much worse ...

The Weekend in Black and White will be here at the appropriate time.

"This is summer, you have to make an effort ..."

After the excitement of the Lord Mayor's Hanse Day I was at a loss for something to do and to make things even more interesting it started to rain, heavily. Now a little rain never harmed anyone and a temperature like today's of 11C (I'm wearing two jumpers to keep warm!) is not going to cause any impediment to enjoying the delights this fair city has to offer ... as I was told as a child "You can't put the heating on. This is summer, you have to make an effort!". So I took my own advice on what to do in Hull on a rainy day and shuffled on over to the Streetlife Transport Museum to see what, if anything, had changed since I last visited some seven years ago. The short answer is nothing has changed at all as far as I could tell. Rebuilt railway signalman's hut still there? Check. Red bus with guy still hanging out of window? Check. Blue bus still going to West Dock Avenue? Check. Biplane still swooping low over a typical Hull Street scene as they did so often back in the day? Check, check and checkedy check for all the other things ...
So while Pluvius did his thing outside I had a quick shifty round and took a few piccies, then I put on my old green bucket hat, zipped up my coat and made my way home. You can have too much fun in a museum so best to limit yourself  or so I convinced myself ... oh and in future if it's rainy and cold in Hull I'm just going to go home and have a nice cup of tea while summer pulls itself together.

Looking at this façade I realised it looked familiar, it's a copy of the entrance to Hepworth's Arcade on Lowgate ...

You don't know what you've got till it's gone ...

What you've never had, I suppose, you'll never miss. So future new visitors to Lowgate might wonder at older folks shaking their heads and sighing a little at the loss of the 1970s brown glazed façade of the block opposite Holy Trinity. Gone forever now the near perfect reflections that any and I guess every local photographer and tourist snapped up on their first trip around town ... I know old empty offices serve no purpose and folk need places to live and poor threatened landlords die such a painful death without income ...and all the rest... so anyway here are new apartments whose occupants will no doubt complain about old folk pointing their crooked fingers at their windows, shaking their heads and sighing.

Well, OK then just once more ...  for old times' (and old timers') sake ...

*Shakes head and sighs*

Half-hearted Hanse

I read that at the last formal meeting of the Hanseatic league in the 17th century only nine cities bothered to turn up, maybe the weather was bad or maybe they'd heard and seen it all before and just couldn't be bothered... So it felt yesterday when I revisited Hull's Hanse day celebrations; the event had been rolled into the Lord's Mayor's Parade which did not not bode well (if you need to combine two of your events into one biggy;  "the Lord Mayor's Hanse Day", then probably neither are worth the effort of visiting). 

By the time I got there just after two in the afternoon I'd missed the parade (thankfully) and everything looked to be over... we were promised all sorts of goodies but there were I think about four possibly five pathetic stalls in the square outside Holy Trinity church, a few more tucked onto Trinity House Lane and something silly was going on in Queen Victoria Square... this was nothing like as big an affair as back in 2016 and visitors were few and far between; granted the weather was as the weather was as it often is in early June; varying between somewhat disappointing and absolutely pouring down... and maybe we've all heard and seen it all before.

... and what I asked myself do these folk do when it's not Hanse Day? I know King's Lynn has a Hanse Day and there were a few other ports with Hanseatic connections but is that enough to keep the wolf from the door?

In case you were wondering why folk (or fools even) don't wear such fabulous headwear any more, so good at keeping the ears warm well fashions change and things evolve ...

"Thanks drive!"

Living where I do and the town centre being where it is some form of transport is needed to get me from the one to the other and nine times out of ten this delightful East Yorkshire 103 or 105 service carries me gently to my destination. There is, of course, a Simplibus service 3 but that is simply more expensive and not quite the door-to-door experience I expect for the exorbitant fares. 

Oh, and should you ever ride the buses in this town never forget to thank the driver when alighting ("Thanks drive!" is an accepted mode of expressing appreciation, though I once said, my mind being elsewhere you understand, "Muchas gracias señor" without any reproach). If you do so you will surely find yourself amongst the blessèd ...

An Englishman's Home ...

“It could be an almost heavenly development,giving scope for infinite variety and the opportunity to create a real community.”  Herbert Walford Anderson, Lord Mayor of Hull, 1967

In 1352 a certain John of Sutton was given permission to crenellate his building, Le hermitage, in a place called Braunceholm near the village of Swine in Holderness. This was after he'd been brought up by the justices for having built a castle without permission. The justices, from the nearby upstart new city of Kingston upon Hull had taken a dim view of castles being built in the neighbourhood and grassed the said John of Sutton up to the King, Edward III. John prayed pardon for the trespass and palmed the King 20 shillings for his troubles and King granted his pardon and the all important licence. (That was the way business was in those days and probably still is ...) Now John must have had a good reason to want protect himself and maybe he'd had a vision of what was to befall his lands in the centuries to come ... 

Fast forward, as they say in the movies, a few hundred years and John's castle is but a grassy mound beside a disused rail line but his precious Braunceholm is now home to thousands in one of the biggest housing estates in the country, behold, I give you Bransholme...

After the last war with half the population homeless and most of Hull's housing damaged and in need of knocking down (the slums that is) the Council and others had a wizard idea, why not build a new town, a model community, well outside of Hull to rehouse all these poor folk (and no-doubt pass what ever problems they might have on to the new town's council) ... well the new town idea didn't come off but land was bought to the north east of town and by the mid sixties everything was ready to rock (I know some twenty years after the end of the war, this is Hull everything takes time (and a little greasing of parts that needed greasing no doubt)) and in a decade Bransholme was built with ~20-30,000 inhabitants (I've read varying figures) a handful of schools, a shopping centre (that closes at 5.30-6.00 and then they throw you out!) and a few pubs. The place was and remains a vast, sprawling warren of meandering pointless roads that lead nowhere but back upon another meandering road. The houses, being built so quickly and so cheaply were as you might expect and within a decade or so demolition of some of the worst was under way, most notorious were the so called misery maisonettes or "alcatraz", a concrete man-made hell hole. The estate  is described as being a place of multiple deprivation with social problems that are common these days (drugs, petty crime, anti-social behaviour and so on) ....and still and yet folk who live there seem to love it ... or so some of them say in the local paper.
So what was I doing in this place? I was on my way home from the delightful Kingswood Shopping Centre on the 11a Simplibus service (simple fares, simple routes, simple times, simple numbers!) that takes what is possibly the most circuitous route from A to B;  it's basically the scenic route taking in the delights of Bransholme, Sutton and Holderness Road, just don't be in a hurry.

"Little boxes made of ticky-tacky ..."

"... little boxes, little boxes, and they all look just the same ..."

This odd looking building is a pub called the Nightjar and not, as we both thought, the Nightmare.


The weekend in black and white is here.

A very parochial tale

Picture by Margot K Juby

Towards the end of October last year somebody, OK it was a man, decided that it would be a good idea to drive his car at a fair old speed into our bus stop and demolish the bus shelter in the process (as you can see below). The story in the local rag was that the driver had been drinking (gosh, I am shocked, shocked...!) and the police had arrested said driver as they put it: "on suspicion of drink driving". There's a pub just 400 yards down the road ... do I need to paint you a picture?

Anyhow that was back in October and still we have no bus shelter nor even a pole saying this is an actual bus stop. The orange barriers have been lying on their side all the while, sometimes being moved by youths who lack anything better to do. Bus drivers are no longer seeing this as a stop and sometimes run past as we, with our shopping bags full, shout at them to stop ... it was getting to be beyond what they politely call a joke... 

So about three weeks ago and somewhat unhappy with this situation I wrote to the County Council who are responsible for roads in these parts asking what was going on ... "Oh we'll send someone round to have a look" came the speedy reply and that was it, no more did I hear. That is until the other day when, still fed up with the state of play, I contacted the Council via Twitter ... "Oh it's nothing to with us, mate, it's a Parish Council matter" came the stern reply. ( I got no answer when I asked why they could not have told me this three weeks ago).

The Parish Council clerk was quite apologetic when I asked about this. "We're a small organisation with no reserves, so we have to wait for the insurers to pay up" was the sad story and it seems that the Parish now has the money, has ordered a brand new shelter (from a company called Shelutions, I kid you not. ) which should be with us in a few weeks (I'm not holding my breath) and all should be well. And as a ps "Did I know the precept for the Parish Council was one of the lowest in England?" (No, I did not, but I was delighted to hear this)

I never found what happened to our (alleged) drunk driver ... I just hope he's waiting for a bus that never comes ... in the rain.

Pink Kisses

Which came first the flower or the colour? These are pinks (Dianthus) and have been called pinks since day one or, at least, since the Dutch brought them over; now it seems the colour came from the flower that is to say things were "pink-coloured" eventually this became simply pink... so what word did we use for pink before we had pink? It seems we used 'incarnation' and 'incarnate' (flesh-coloured; you can see a need for a slightly less gruesome word and without religious and other connotations). So from incarnation you might think it is but a very short step to carnation which as you know is also a dianthus or pink but this etymology is said to be confused, or so I read (the whole damn thing is confusing and I wish I hadn't started out on this nonsense), and could come from coronation, the edges of the flowers looking like a crown.  
Still and more, the word pink became a term for excellence ... so these could be said to be the very pink of pink pinks ... and then, of course there's pinkos for those of a not quite red, slightly left of centre  persuasion (persuasion itself is becoming dated notion), pink elephants can, of course, be on parade and pinkie (again from the Dutch) ... and then there's the verb, to pink, meaning to pierce which is totally unrelated and which could give us pinked pinks ... and  I think I'll have a little lie down with a large pink gin.

Anyhow these are Dianthus Pink Kisses and you could buy a pretty pink potful for £3 from a big shop on Clough Road should you wish.

Today's monthly theme, as you might have guessed, is pink.

All mod cons ...

Cor there's posh! Most Hull folk still have to wander down to the corner pump with a bucket ... Cottingham houses have their own private wells.

Gin School

I don't know how these things work; I'm talking about fashions. Now a few years ago you couldn't give gin away, it was mother's ruin, the tipple of the well-oiled sot. From the 1920's through prohibition, to the end of the fifties, if Hollywood is to be believed, anyone who was anyone was fuelled by lashings of gin disguised as a dry Martini.  I must admit that on a hot afternoon a large G & T with ice (and a slice of lemon if you really must) can be a delight,  though by the end of the last century it was really not the drink of choice for the young get up and go types (like what I wasn't). A couple of centuries back, though, it was the patriotic duty of every loyal Englishman to drink pints of gin daily (Think Hogarth Gin Lane, "drunk for threepence, dead drunk for sixpence" ) and none of that nasty French brandy, thank you very much. So it should come as no real surprise that gin is now flavour of the month again or should I say flavours of the month since the plain old juniper berry infused distilled liquor is just a bit passé. Now the thing is 'artisan gin'  made and sold at great expense with any flavour you can pop into the still. Can I tempt you to a rhubarb gin? No? How about plum and vanilla? or strawberry and cream? perhaps a herbal rosemary and thyme would appeal? Cheese and onion, anyone?
Here some enterprising soul is clearly trying to catch the wave in full flood and you can make your very own little bottle of gin to take away and cherish ...cheaper by far to buy a bottle or three or four but then you won't be learning anything.

Oh look we are rapidly approaching World Gin Day ... Saturday 8^thof June 2019.

Green and Blue

I've mentioned before that Cottingham has a fair few splendid trees so I thought I'd post some again because they are still splendid and other things goings-on in the world are somewhat less interesting. This grand old specimen you've seen before but that was in its winter attire; it's a near neighbour of that red beech I posted the other day.

Sweet Williams

Picture by Margot K Juby

Round the corner from the Duke of Cumberland sits this quietly unassuming public house named officially as the  King William the Fourth; a mouthful for anyone so known universally as the King Billy. Now I've only just found that the William referred to here was the fourth, no-body remembers Billy IV. Everyone knows Will I (the Conqueror or Billy the Bastard, 1066 and all that, a good thing), Willy II (aka Rufus, died (murdered?) while hunting in the New Forest) and then our Glorious King William the Third ( the King Billy; the great deliverer, who gave us our freedom, religion and laws) but William the Fourth who he, when all the dust is settled? As Margot succinctly put it  "He's the Gordon Brown of Kings"; poor sod, forgotten by all save the sots of Cottingham. 

... and the fading flowers are, of course, Sweet Williams, not, as some north of the imaginary border, call them Stinking Billies (ragwort actually) and besides the Stinking Billy in that case was William, Duke of Cumberland (Butcher Cumberland to some who knew him well enough to suffer) and, as I say, he lives round the corner.

William is such a sweet name, dontcha think?

Fill Your Boots

The news earlier this year that the town centre was to lose a pair of Boots¹ (here on Prospect Street and later on Whitefriargate, yes poor old Whitefriargate is to lose yet another store!) was tempered somewhat by the announcement that a brand new, size 16, mega Boots was to arrive in St Stephens. The new store duly opened a few days ago with "huge queues" (who queues for the opening of a new chemists shop? Do they pay them like opera claqueuers to wait from dawn with bated breath for the doors to open? Do they put off buying their Germaloids until the big day? Just what is it that makes these people tick?). So ... anyway, in this town,  the score is two lost and one found ...


¹ Boots, or Boots Alliance, formerly a large and well liked UK pharmacy and retail company bought by Swiss private equity and later sold to Walgreens of the USA. Now just another retailer with too many stores and not enough customers. And, after some atrociously poor customer service, at another Boots, I never go in this place ... I'm sure they miss me.

Blue

I suppose that at my age I should have grown out of imagining a blue liquorice allsort whenever I see this blue flowered bush. But there you go I lack will power. For long enough I called it the liquorice allsort plant but now I know it as Ceanothus, some call it the Californian Lilac (but never in my hearing). Wikipedia, that ever reliable fount of information, tells that, in far away foreign parts, the plant is sometimes known as New Jersey Tea as the leaves were used to substitute for tea during the time of bloody fratricidal civil warfare now known as the American Revolution (actually I know it as the American War of  Independence (starring Mel Gibson), when did it become the American Revolution? And why wasn't I told?). No doubt a consequence of imbibing all that ersatz brew is that 'blue' now has the opposite political connotation in the US of A to here in the land of dopey Tories. And finally, speaking of Tories and the blues;  to lose two Prime Ministers looks a lot like carelessness. 

Hurray , hurray the end of May,

All our troubles have gone away!

The Duke of Cumberland

Margot was saying, just the other day, that the sign on the Duke of Cumberland in Cottingham was looking a bit faded and unreadable. Well that is no longer the case with this fine sign letting the world know what's what. A few other things like a new doorway and a fresh coat of paint, have seen the old place transformed after a brief closure. The place is due to re-open today with new management, (actually old management returning) so good luck to them.

Thursday's Crow

When that I was and a little tiny boy, back in the day, crows, by which I mean carrion crows, did not much venture into towns, least not the towns I lived in. You'd see rooks aplenty, with their bare faces and triangular beaks and noisy rookeries, but a big old black crow was a rare sight and they were shy scaredy beasts. Now it's the other way round; the rooks have become almost entirely rural (OK Cottingham village has one or two but you get my drift) while the town centre and suburbs (there's a pair nesting in next door's tree) are pretty good places to see these fine snappers-up of unconsidered trifles, hobbing and bobbing as if they owned the world which they may well do.  

Ok it's another crow, could have been worse I haven't posted the maritime museum for a while.

Later today I shall be going to vote in the EU Parliamentary elections but as the results won't be known until Sunday, lest the UK result influence the rest of the EU (fat chance!) I'll post about that later if at all ...

The weekend in black and white is fast approaching.

Look what they done to my seat, Ma ...

In the hot sunny months of summer (it's been known to be hot and sunny here, on occasions) I used to rest up and park my posterior on the wall in the cool, verdant shade of this old willow tree and spend a few minutes watching the world go by ... now there's not one but two service boxes (suitably daubed by the numpty of the week) right where I want to be and the poor old tree has had a shocking haircut. Was it something I said?

A Useless Passion

Deep in the depths of Whitefriargate surrounded on all sides by empty shops and the all pervading absurdity that is the city of culture what else but a coffee shop should spring up to lighten the way for the passing caffeine addicts that have taken over and destroyed our fair town with their zomby like behaviour and aggressive antisocial attitudes. They choose to wreck their lives on this substance and expect us to pick up the pieces as they huddle in doorways with eyes sunk into their befuddled heads waiting for the next fix ..... oops wrong drug, wrong rant... erm; where was I? Oh yes, if you're allergic to ontological puns avert your eyes. 

... the vengeance of eternal fire.

If I were you tell that this was the site of a former synagogue that was bombed in the war then rebuilt then made into a night club and then that became the Club Heaven and Hell you might not be totally surprised.You might also be at ease with the place closing down a few years ago and standing empty since then. This is after all the city of inertia... But if I was to add that there were 'plans' to convert this space into a 135 bed boutique hotel you'd be amazed at the startlingly original idea; "why has no-body thought of doing this before?" you might exclaim, if exclaiming was your thing... The local paper ran a piece just last year announcing the placing of no less than a poster detailing the immanent arrival of a new hotel.... such was the excitement! You should know, though, that as far as I can find the 'plans' were submitted in 2013 and approved, then withdrawn, the last thing I can find is a discharge of conditions in May 2016 and I'm pretty sure permissions expire after three years... does any of this sound familiar?

I've shown this place before getting on for nine years ago and in that time it seems that the only thing that has happened is flesh suffering the vengeance of eternal fire (which can also be the fate of buildings left empty for so many years, just sayin' is all ...)