New Eyes Each Year

Yet Another Larkin Event! It seems you can drive out Larkin with a pitchfork but he still comes straight back in. So this is the New Eyes Each Year thing at the Brynmor Jones library at Hull University. As Margot quipped "New Eyes Each Year" sounds like a good line for an optician and indeed there are plenty of Larkin's spectacles on show along with his shoes, razor, trousers, crayons and so on, there's even an x-ray of his head!. If, like me, you are a gawper at the debris of other people's lives then you will find yourself in a rich seam. If however you need to know just what each display means then pick up the informative pamphlet that is available or ask the helpful assistants. I found it an interesting half an hour or so; my one gripe was the ambient music. I know Larkin couldn't go a day without jazz but there can be too much of the damn stuff. But that's a petty grumble, I wear a hearing aid; normal ears might not notice it so much. So what does the passing visitor learn from all this? That he was an obsessive, a hoarder of books and correspondence, he had big feet (I'm saying nothing but he did have three lady friends on the go at the same time) and a large collection of ties; other than that his bric-a-brac is pretty unsurprising middle class stuff. Overall it's a satisfyingly dull exhibition, really, and somewhat depressing; a bit like his poetry.

Some of his books, all catalogued of course, he was a librarian after all.

Some Beatrix Potter potteries.

Mr Larkin's Olivetti word processor. (Margot took this)

His hedgehog killing machine along with an early draft of Toads.

Margot took this. She claims it's somewhat sinister but I think it's just a depressing collection of neck wear.  

Trademark spectacles.

His middle name was Arthur

He was given this little Hitler by his father so it's no surprise he kept it. It's more camp than Kampf.

I thought this was a nice chilling touch. Larkin died sometime between 2^nd and 3^rd December 1985. He never did get his pension.

Astonished brickwork

Ella Street (or at least its residents' association) has a thing about birds, there are bird tables along the length and little model birds attached to street furniture, I've posted about this a while back (here). What I didn't know then but have found since is that this avian fix has extended to putting up little quotes from literature with a birdy theme. Various authors from Wordsworth to Poe were chosen. Anyhow this being Hull and reason being what it is I suppose they could not escape the Larkin effect. At least this is one of his more cheery verses, yes I know it's difficult to believe. 

And while I'm on about old baldy, some of you may recall the fibre glass toads that decorated the town a while back on the celebration (there is no better word for it) of his death some 25 years earlier, well wait five years and suddenly it's thirty years since his death and a reunion of toads is planned this year along with a very large inflatable toad to hang over the town centre. You know a dead Larkin is the gift that keeps on giving ... It's a culcher thing, innit!

This is on the wall of the Jewish cemetery at the far end of Ella Street and close by that delight of modern architecture that I posted the other day .

You want the whole picture and the whole poem? Surely you do, it's really not that long, honest.

Coming 

On longer evenings,
Light, chill and yellow,
Bathes the serene
Foreheads of houses.
A thrush sings,
Laurel-surrounded
In the deep bare garden,
Its fresh-peeled voice
Astonishing the brickwork.
It will be spring soon,
It will be spring soon—
And I, whose childhood
Is a forgotten boredom,
Feel like a child
Who comes on a scene
Of adult reconciling,
And can understand nothing
But the unusual laughter,
And starts to be happy.

Philip Larkin

National Poetry Day

I've just found out that the first Thursday in October is National Poetry Day. And since I also just happen to have a piccy of  Laughing Boy Larkin's old place complete with slate plaque and glass fibre toad I thought the two would go nicely together. Now Larkin when he first came to this place thought Hull was "a frightful dump" "smelling of fish" but as the years rolled by and there was clearly no money left in running down the place Hull became "… a city that is in the world yet sufficiently on the edge of it to have a different resonance’. Personally it's still a dump but both Larkin and the smelly fish have gone so it's not all that bad.

The Wicked Witch of the Wych

Here's another set I should have posted last year before the grand ennui set in. You might recall an old dead tree being reshaped in Pearson Park and you might also recall me saying there was another dead tree close by that might be available. Well most of last summer someone was busy with a grinder transforming that tree into a mix of faces and animals.

We happened to be passing this tree and saw the guy at work; he stopped and made some kind of hand gesture indicating "would I like to come up and have a closer look?" So after much struggling ( I have the acrobat skills of a hippopotamus ) I eventually got onto the scaffolding and took a few pictures.

"What did I think this was?" asks the guy, "A clown?" says I  having in mind Punch and Judy. He was not impressed, "No, it's a witch! And why would I put a witch here?" he asked (it was beginning to feel a bit like the Spanish Inquisition) I shrug, "The tree was a Wych Elm!" he says with a gleam in eye ...

Here's the nice guy with grinder and  the skill to make things appear out of the wood, his name is Julian Barnard and his work was for the Trustees of Pearson Park. He was given a brief of “poetic” (Philip Larkin's old lodgings are directly opposite and the toad figure is again another Larkin thing) The piece, which is now finished, has the title Whispering Sweet Nothings.

More Larkin about

Another sign on the via dolorosa that is the Larkin Trail, this on the doorway of the Royal Station Hotel. 

You are dying to read the poem he composed to the Royal Station Hotel aren't you? Oh yes you are ...

Friday Night At The Royal Station Hotel

Light spreads darkly downwards from the high

Clusters of lights over empty chairs

That face each other, coloured differently.

Through open doors, the dining-room declares

A larger loneliness of knives and glass

And silence laid like carpet. A porter reads

An unsold evening paper. Hours pass,

And all the salesmen have gone back to Leeds,

Leaving full ashtrays in the Conference Room.

In shoeless corridors, the lights burn. How

Isolated, like a fort, it is -

The headed paper, made for writing home

(If home existed) letters of exile: Now

Night comes on. Waves fold behind villages.

Old woss'is name lived 'ere.

‘It was the top flat of a house that was reputedly the American Consulate during the war, and though it might not have suited everybody, it suited me’. 

                                                                   Philip Larkin

Pip Larkin gets a small plaque for his endurance if nothing else; eighteen years in an attic flat overlooking Pearson Park. I'd liked to have shown more of the place, a large Victorian town house, but high hedges and a high gate with a 'Beware of the Dog' sign, along with sounds of said dog sniffling and growling around somewhat put me off. Visitors to next year's city of culture are duly warned.

Singing too-ral-li, oo-ral-li, addity

Singing too-ral-li, oo-ral-li, addity,
Singing too-ral-li, oo-ral-li, ay,
Singing too-ral-li, oo-ral-li, addity,
And we're bound for Botany Bay.

Sorry, couldn't resist a quick chorus of this well known ditty which has absolutely nothing to do with today's post, so let's get back on track shall we ...

You might have thought a florist opposite a large hospital would have a good trade in what Larkin called "wasteful, weak, propitiatory flowers". But the shop despite (or perhaps because of) its fine name has, like old Larkin, failed to thrive. I remember when this was a post office many years ago. The online history of Anlaby Road informs me that the building, 197 Anlaby Road, was originally known as Albert Cottage and was built between 1842 and 1848 it also notes that it is "a rare survivor" of the original buildings in this area though how much longer it will last is anyone's guess.

It's a bit of an earworm that song....

Now all my young Dookies and Duchesses,

Take warning from what I've to say:

Mind all is your own as you toucheses

Or you'll find us in Botany Bay.

Reflective Colours

Oh no, not another toad! I thought I'd seen the back of these critters until I came across this little dazzling beauty outside the Arc building on Queen Street. It's part of last year's 'Larkin with Toads' ballyhoo. The artist is Sue Kershaw who has a website here.

Before these toads drive me completely mad I must tell you the Larkin with Toads scheme was voted the "Most Remarkable Experience in Hull and East Yorkshire" and was also the winner of the Yorkshire Tourism Event of the Year award. Enough, that's it; no more toads ....

Opulent Autumn Cemetery

You don't have to be a lover of graveyards to appreciate the glories of Spring Bank Cemetery. At this time of year it's looks spectacular.

The cemetery is on the Larkin Trail. Philip Larkin described it as the most beautiful place in Hull and for once I could almost agree. In defending the cemetery against "improvement" in the late 70s he said it was a "natural cathedral, an inimitable blended growth of nature and humanity of over a century; something that no other town could create whatever its resources". I  think he might just be guilty of exaggeration. 

Larkin Statue

Recently installed in Hull's Paragon Station this larger than life statue of Philip Larkin completes a far too long jamboree of arty celebrations of the death 25 years ago of this somewhat overrated wordsmith.

The Larkin Spectacle

... and speaking of old Pip Larkin, as we were, his statue in Paragon Station has caught the attention of those who would reshape the world they see before them. Maybe he should have gone to Specsavers ...

A Little Light Larkin

Coming back in the gloaming from a clandestine shopping trip for strictly non-essential things (so arrest me!) I came upon a fat hedgehog crossing in front of me; first one  I'd seen in a couple of years. It can rest assured I will never be mowing the lawn, I killed the lawn instead. Anyhow here's a happy fillip for all you quarantined gardeners today ...

The Mower
    

The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found   

A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,   

Killed. It had been in the long grass.

I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.   

Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world   

Unmendably. Burial was no help:

Next morning I got up and it did not.

The first day after a death, the new absence   

Is always the same; we should be careful

Of each other, we should be kind   

While there is still time.
                          
                           Philip Larkin

The large cool store is closed ...

Last Saturday (May 4^th) Marks and Spencer on Whitefriargate closed after nearly ninety years of selling "cheap clothes/ Set out in simple sizes plainly/ (Knitwear, Summer Casuals, Hose,/ In Browns and greys, maroons and navy)". Truth is that M&S has been on its way out since well before old Larkin went to the inevitable. There were rumours that the store was somehow bribed not to leave Whitefriargate when St Stephens was built a decade ago. Whatever the truth the customers no longer "leave at dawn low terraced houses/ Timed for factory, yard and site" and haven't done so for generations. I haven't bought anything from M&S this century, certainly no clothing ever. Their food store became pretentious and much parodied (This is not just tosh; this is M&S  tosh ...)

 

Perhaps, though, it's not too late for a blue plaque commemorating Larkin buying his kecks at Markies ...oh,  and writing "a silly poem about nighties" .

The building with its classical columns and bronzed shop front was designed by Jones & Rigby in 1931~ish when M&S were in competition with Woolworths not only for sales but in shop design. Woolies (always a much cheaper store in price and attitude than M&S) went to that great administrator in the sky eleven years ago during the 2008 evenements. There's a wee Viking boat on the top which I've shown before but a second look won't kill you.

Those who seek more about the architectural history of Marks and Spencer's  stores could do worse than take a peek at this link.

The Best Remedy

Quite right! Nothing like putting your feet up with a large G&T (a pint might be pushing it but who's gonna know?) and letting some cool jazz fill the room ... This sign, part of the Larkin Trail, is on the White Hart one of his jaunts for listening to jazz and getting absolutely rat arsed. 

Brynmor Jones Library, University of Hull

 

 You won't hear from me that this is the library that Philip Larkin used to run, no sir, no way.

 I will say that when I was employed by the University, eons ago, this was a great place to pretend to be working and the views from the upper stories are not bad either.

Barmston Drain

The Beverley and Barmston drain to give it its full name drains the land between Beverley and Driffield and runs to the west of the river Hull joining it just before the mouth of the river. The pictures here are from the stretch near Sculcotes Lane in Hull. It's pleasant enough now with a tarmac footpath, almost civilised, but when the gas works and electricty power station were operating up to the 1960s the drain was used for cooling the plant and waste hot water was pumped back into the drain making it steaming and polluted. Houses backed on to the drain it was all very Dickensian. Here's Philip Larkin in 1964 having a stroll by the drain while reading one of his more depressing verses.

Now the drain is crystal clear and well stocked with fish and there's abundant wildlife. Of course where there's drains there's rats.

The Masters Bar

At the junction of Jameson Street and South Street stands this little gem of Edwardian baroque revival. It was built in 1903 and is, of course, protected by a Grade 2 listing.

I'll mention  here (without comment) an odd little poster that you may have noticed in the top photo. It's for that Larkin exhibition at the University which I posted about a few weeks ago.

It's a Hull thing

Patty: a concoction of mashed potato and sage covered in batter and deep fried; sometimes served with chips which are potatoes also deep fried and scraps which are bits of deep fried batter. Often served in a Patty Butty which means the patty comes in a breadcake with butter (the health conscious leave out the butter).

Breadcake: a small round piece of bread  sometimes known as a bap or barm cake or stottie or bun or  fadge or whatever other dialect term meets your fancy.

Obesity Table: one of the few leagues that Hull tops [ 1 ].

This toad, known for some reason as the "Hull Poem Toad" was part of the Larkin Toads thing from a couple of years back. It's not on food shop, oh no, it's on a shop selling doors on Anlaby Road.

That big old "Thank You, Hull" party

They seemed to be packing a whole year's worth of 'culture' into one afternoon in Hull yesterday. The day started with the Lord mayor's parade complete with a fly past of some WW2 planes which I saw from two miles away while getting my newspapers, those three planes made one hell of a racket, no stealth bombers back then.

I wouldn't normally attend things like this but I had to go into town for stuff anyway so I had a little look-see. I only stayed for an hour and missed most of the goodies on offer including a "Larkin Toads performance" (I bet that was fun). Here in no particular order are some of the goings-on that I witnessed. 

Synchronised Lindy Hopping!

Where's the next act gone?

A robot that prints on the pavement

If you're wondering what the "thank you" is for it's a  City of Culture thing and if you're still wondering what a City of Culture thing is I suggest lying down in a cool dark room with soothing music. If these images aren't sufficient the local rag has more pictures here.