A folly or two

I don't know if I've shown this before but it doesn't matter if I repeat myself (a sure sign of creeping old age ...). Anyhow this is or was the top cupola from the old town hall built in 1866 and knocked down to make way for the Guildhall. Clearly there was no shortage of money for public buildings in those days. It now sits among the ducks and geese of Pearson Park.

For those of you who long to see a short film about Hull  the city of culture people have produced a four and half minute encomion. You can see it here and judge for yourself. I suspect Larkin, whose words (taken from an introduction to anthology that appeared over thirty years ago) are used at the beginning, would be laughing his head off  if he could see how much pretentious tosh has been made out of his scribblings.

Dead Poets' Corner

I took a few more shots of Larkin's somewhat grotesque statue in Paragon Station the other day with a view to using them at some point in the future. He's always good for a post on a dull day is my view. Well it seems the dull day has arrived rather quicker than I expected as it's been announced that the man who handed on misery to man is to be honoured, if that's the right word, in Westminster Abbey's poets' corner. Would it be going too far to say that the Abbey is jumping on the city of culture bandwagon? Perhaps. The ceremony, on December 2 2016, will take place only days before the start of the Culture fest in 2017. The custom used to be to bury the famous scribes in the Abbey but nowadays they just lay a named floor stone. I'm thinking a pair of entwined bicycle clips or a hedgehog would be a fitting extra decoration anything but toads ....

Bridge for the living

Last year was the thirtieth anniversary of the opening of the Humber Bridge. Since then, as I may have mentioned, the tolls have have been reduced by half with increased traffic of 7% so that's good news all round. I was prompted to post this picture by one those plaques to do with the Larkin Trail that pepper the city in various places. This one by the old ferry landing pier.

This mentions a cantata called 'Bridge for the Living' written to celebrate the completion of the bridge so a little trip to You Tube found the following. Some of the pictures are pretty and you can always turn the sound off.

From Victoria Pier

This is the view towards the river Hull from what is now called the Victoria Pier but which used to be called the Corporation Pier and from which ferries ran across the Humber to New Holland.  I thought the gull deserved a close-up for not flying away while this idiot was lining it up for the shot.

City Daily Photo's In Focus features an interview with me covering cynicism, romanticism, Philip Larkin and other bits and bobs about photography and Hull. Though I say it myself it's far from boring. Read it here.

Church going, going, gone

A serious house on serious earth it is,

In whose blent air all our compulsions meet,

Are recognized, and robed as destinies.

And that much never can be obsolete,

Since someone will forever be surprising

A hunger in himself to be more serious,

And gravitating with it to this ground,

Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in,

If only that so many dead lie round.
Philip Larkin  Church Going

Nothing is permanent and certainly not churches. For 700 years or so this place has been added to, altered, adapted, survived sieges and world wars, generally kept standing by running repairs and renovations. Each generation adding its own particular contribution to its rich tapestry so that now it is the largest parish church in the country with some of the finest medieval architecture. So what could today's generation add to this jewel of a building? Surely with all the wealth, skills and cultural knowledge that abound in this city a sympathatic way could be found to maintain the fabric and upkeep of this place and pay the bills at least. Well perhaps but, as you might have guessed by now, that is not going to happen.

It was announced last week, to much fanfare and general acclaim (you will gather this did not include me) that, after employing 'marketing specialists' the vicar intends to go into the cafeteria trade! Yup he intends to take out the carved wooden pews from the nave and instal a 'tasteful' , that is to say, massive, glass screen behind which customers can consume their pannetones and steaming weak lattes while taking in the gothic ambience. There are to be banquets and concerts and who knows what other joyous goings-on in the space so created. 

I know, I know, you're asking where will the kitchens and lavatories and so on be; no problem, a glass and metalwork lean-to (in a tasteful gothic style, of course) will be plugged onto the south side and the medieval brickwork be damned. Outside, the church boundary wall and that tree on the right are to be removed, the churchyard in effect erased and turned into an alfresco coffee shop complete with fountains where you can sip your espresso in the company of the dead that lie in such abundance just under the paving stones. This is all part of a cooperation with the Council to create what is now fashionably called a 'piazza-style' space .... and it should be particularly enjoyable during the months November through April as these are by far the best for sitting around in the fresh air.

Oh there's more, if you can stand it, (and stand you must for there will be no pews) away from the diners, at the holy end as it were, interactive displays are planned to tell the story of the place. And don't worry we are told there will still be place for worship that is if God hasn't left the building.

The vicar says he already has donations of £1.5 million tucked away for this project and requires only another £3 million. It seems that leaving a lasting contribution to the culture of this city does not come cheap. And to cap it all the Archbishop, not wishing to be left out of the party, has decided to promote the church up to a Minster: Hull Minster. The Minster Café. How does that sound? Not remotely like a gimmick... (I'd prefer Ye Olde Boneyard Bistro myself but that's just me being me.)
And me being me would question whether the Church of England, is a fit and properly responsible organisation to leave in charge of this country's cultural heritage or at the least churchy bits. Maybe it should be moved out of these places all together and professionals put in charge. Now there's a thought; evict the C of E from its churches.

I have little doubt that should planning permission for this proposal be sought then the Council, believing, as so many do, that culture is just another opportunity to drink coffee, will grant it. That does make this any the less a tacky, crass and short sighted act of vandalism. And after all this I forgot to mention it's a Grade 1 listed building but that seems to count for so little these days. 

Tide has transfigured them into Untruth.

.... What will survive of us is mud.
 

(With apologies to Mr Larkin)

It's that man again

Old Pip Larkin still running for his train .... He once wrote in an introduction to a book "When your train comes to rest in Paragon Station against a row of docile buffers, you alight with an end-of- the-line sense of freedom ..."  well, maybe so, I can't help feeling the old librarian was taking the proverbial mickey...docile buffers, indeed!.

A local councillor recently criticised Hull's newish fangled rail/bus station as being difficult to navigate if you are a first time visitor. A facetious response would be that the first time visitor is well advised to turn round and go back but I rise above that. Most people seem to want to know how to get to the Deep and, of course, there no signs or if there are I haven't seen them. This aspiring city of culture is incapable of joined up thinking. Seems the ticket office is difficult to find and it's an overall confusing experience.  Oh and the toilets are a pit of hell as well ... go back, I tells yer, go back, go back..

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?

A whisper of moths

These decorative blobs that have alighted all over town and elsewhere are supposed to be moths. Yeah, I know, you'd never have guessed. Anyhow it's from the same deep pool of idiocy that brought us fibre glass toads to celebrate the death of Philip Larkin; this time the death being celebrated is Amy Johnson's untimely demise in WW2 seventy-five years ago. Nearly sixty of these damn things have been dotted around the place. I've spotted about half a dozen so far and I can assure you I'm not going hunting for the rest. Why moths do I hear you ask? (are you still there?) Well she flew a Gypsy Moth plane, geddit? I know; stooopid. If you're remotely interested in fibre glass lepidoptery there's a gallery of mothy stuff here.

A Good Wall Spoiled

There's a craze to paint murals in this donkey's ass of a town. You've got a few square feet of blank  Victorian or Edwardian brickwork doing no harm to anyone and it just can't be left in peace; it has to be coated in some "artwork". We've seen it on Hessle Road and other places and it's creeping all over the place. There's even a plan to paint houses on Spring Bank in gaudy colours just because some layabouts want a grant from the Art Council or the stupid Council and they have nothing to offer the world but vandalism dressed as "community art". The themes in this case we are told were suggested by primary school children because, as is clear to any fool that has ever breathed, uneducated, uninformed 5 to 11 year old youngsters are a positive fountain of inspiration and objectivity. So the four corners of this unfortunate bridge on Chanterlands Avenue have the above garbage (Aim high, never give up, pshaw! How often young children come out with such phrases ...), a sporty theme featuring two unknown sporty people celebrating  sporty events from before many of the children born, a badly drawn collage of Hull images (including Larkin's Toad an image familiar to all Year One intake children at all primary schools) and a long "Eco" thing involving a whale, an octopus, a shark, a large green turtle, some penguins and a polar bear oh and some floating plastic bags to remind us all what sinners we are. (It seems youngsters have a very depressed view of the world and quite possibly think it is all doomed) Quite what all this has to do with Chants Avenue I haven't a clue. It's just plain old fashioned prattery. Worse though; it is condoned vandalism, a good wall spoiled.

This squat little building was once a gents' urinal now closed because of Council cuts ... which leads me to ask  who will pay to maintain this tosh because in a couple of years they'll all fade and date and you can never go back to the nice, cool red Victorian bricks that just did their job and harmed no-one.

And you can imagine the whimpers of condemnation when someone came along and put up their own shitty little "artwork"; without permission (shocking!) not at all in keeping with the theme (The horror, The horror!). I do not recall this bridge ever being 'tagged' like this before they decorated it with their murals ... Well, as ye sow, so ye shall reap

Awkward Reverence

"From where I stand, the roof looks almost new - 
Cleaned, or restored? Someone would know: I don't..."
                                                                          Philip Larkin

For those who like church architecture and figuring out all the many phases of a building, St Margaret's offers plenty to get their teeth into. Even I, with my own modest knowledge, can spot the rounded romanesque arches of the nave leading to what I suspect are later gothic arches up in the chancel. Or so I thought but a little learning is a dangerous thing. It turns out the nave was rebuilt in the 1740s (after a spire fell onto it from the north tower!) at the same time as the chancel was also rebuilt; the arches, it turns out, are smoothed off gothic arches! (Who knew such things existed? My ignorance seems to expand with everything I learn...) This place has been altered and extended many times over the years from its origins in 1095 and you can still see bits of the original Norman building at the base of the southern tower (see yesterday's post). All this is all very well but our good friend Sir Gilbert Scott has been here at some point, restored the nave and lowered the floor level which had been raised in the 1740s rebuild. As I say the place has history in spades and I can't do it justice here. If you want more I recommend visiting the church or reading this most informative and richly illustrated guide to the church here.

The Flemish style reredos is by Bodley and dates from 1899.

Some brass and stuff up at the holy end ...

The font dates from the time of Gilbert Scott.

Here's part of the Lynn motif again this time it's the pelican in her piety atop the font cover.

I'm told this is a Henseatic trunk and has not been renovated by Gilbert Scott.

The arms of Charles II hang high above the nave. During the civil war Lynn had been held by Parliamentary forces and thwarted a siege by royalists to take it; had they done so the king may well have kept his head. Funnily enough the forces went off to try to capture Hull and failed. Maybe these arms are a reminder not to be disloyal again.

The organ in the transept dates from 1754

A fairly modern statue, colourful but a bit anodyne.

Hull History Centre, Worship Street

 

This air conditioned little delight holds all Hull's historical archives in one place for the first time.

From their website "The History Centre brings together the material held by the City Archives and Local studies Library with those held by the University of Hull. These include the City’s borough archives, dating back to 1299 and amongst the best in the country; records relating to the port and docks of Hull; papers of companies and organisations reflecting Hull’s maritime history; papers of noteable individuals including Andrew Marvell, Philip Larkin, Amy Johnson and William Wilberforce; records relating to local and national politics and pressure groups; and over 100,000 photographs, illustrations; maps and plans, newspapers, special collections and reference sources relating to Hull and the East Riding." 

Sudden Elegancies

Hull has its own sudden elegancies.

Philip Larkin 

The fiddling around by the Council with Queen's Gardens does mean that there is this view of the Maritime Museum, the fountain and City Hall in the distance.

The Virtual Saint Wilberforce

In Paragon Station, tucked away behind the Larkin Statue there's a machine which displays a video of this green coated 3D monstrosity claiming to be one living breathing up-to-date William Wilberforce ("I'm Hull through and through!"; "So, with others, I set about creating a movement, the first human rights movement in the world." gives you a flavour). It's supposed to be a tour-de-force of modern graphic wizardry, actually it's quite poor quality and the damn thing doesn't even come close to looking like Wilberforce and has more the look of Mr Potato Head. But that is only the beginning. All day long this ghastly display gives a repetitive narrative of self-encomiums. It's good job he's facing forward as the sunlight shining from his backside would be blinding. It is a truly awful thing to behold. It's also an absolute bugger to photograph as well which is why if you care to peer at this guy's armpit you will see my own balding potato head, basking in reflective glory.

The trouble with kilts ...

... is that you can't read the little bits of Larkin poems scattered around Hull station without looking faintly funny as you lift first one foot then the other to see the literary gem beneath your pleated tartan.

A road by any other name ...

You know how towns like to honour folk by naming streets after them: so this town has a Larkin Close; an appropriately dull cul-de-sac, Alfred Gelder Street, Jameson Street, and Ferensway , of course; that local turncoat John Hotham from the civil war times gets a road along with Sir Thomas, Lord Fairfax who gets an avenue; there must be dozens more: Raich Carter Way, Blundell's Corner spring to mind as I write... just outside Hull, across the road from me, there's a short avenue named after a guy who wanted to be Lord Glencoe but somehow the connotations of bloody massacre made him change to Lord Strathcona ... so, anyway,  the other year they decided to rename Garrison Road as Roger Millward Way. I'm not sure that this is any kind of honour since Garrison Road as was is really just an extension of the dreaded A63/Castle Street, the bane of motorists' lives and a right pain in the nethers to cross at times... and I wonder how many even know about this or whether the name will catch on ... when they finally get home, will the motorists of this fair town put their feet up, wrap their hands round a well deserved hot brew and say "oh that *beeeep* traffic on Roger Millward Way was such a *beeeep* disgrace" ... nah not going to happen, ever.
I won't pretend to know anything about who or what Roger Millward was, some sporty bloke, so I've heard,  rugby league, really, really not my scene ...

I mentioned today and several times before that this road is  a pain to cross and that young men have been seen to turn into grey beard loons waiting, funeral directors have been spotted lurking for falling stock ... well some concerned person has put up a plaque to let the world know that those who wait may be gone but are not forgotten, not lost just gone before ...

The Building

Higher than the handsomest hotel

The lucent comb shows up for miles, but see,

All round it close-ribbed streets rise and fall

Like a great sigh out of the last century.

After 46 years Hull Royal Infirmary is beginning to show its age. Chunks of cladding have been coming adrift for a few years and so finally money has been found to repair and rebuild, there's even enough for a new Accident & Emergency Department, so as you can imagine the site is bit chaotic with more builders than doctors. I fear it is going to take more than a few million and a crowd of builders to save our NHS from the predations of this Government but this is not the place for that discussion.

The quote is from that beacon of joy Philip Larkin, (who else?), it ends:

That is what it means,

This clean-sliced cliff; a struggle to transcend

The thought of dying, for unless its powers

Outbuild cathedrals nothing contravenes

The coming dark, though crowds each evening try

With wasteful, weak, propitiatory flowers.

Until tomorrow then, if I'm still here ...

O where do we go now but nowhere

The final show, as it were, of the Year of Culture was a series of installations scattered about the town each consisting of several robotic arms that were supposed to move around with lights and sound (I believe the term 'music' may have been used, but it was basically just eerie noise). This junk was titled "Where Do We Go From Here?" and is described as a "thrilling mix of art and technology" ... the blurb continues "...At a time of political uncertainty at home and abroad, it also asks important questions: What kind of place do we want to live in? What role should culture play? Where do we go from here?" There's more (isn't there always?) "Where Do We Go From Here? , is a deliberate provocation designed to get individuals reflecting upon their city’s future. It invites everyone to take part in a timely conversation about art, culture and society." Yada, yada, yada ...

I came upon this very unmoving piece  as they were obviously fixing some kind of fault, so it wasn't working. However later I did cross paths with a different installation that was in full flow; the arms had lights attached and waved about a bit and there was sound to go with. (Gosh, how very sixites I thought, when robots were just coming into the work place and were seen as menacing ... ) An enthusiastic Hull person (there are some, well, at least one) grabbed me by the arm and exclaimed how brilliant and fantastic it all was... I'm afraid I used language that the clergy do not know.

So the Y of C ended not with fireworks, nor yet with a whimper; it just fizzled out possibly from exhaustion or, more likely, boredom... (Officially there was no celebration because (& I paraphrase) "It's not over yet, there's still more to come and, and ,and ..." yeah, yeah, we paid already) The gang of imps, pimps, banjo players and blow-ins from the world of Culture Incorporated responsible for this fest of dreck were all dutifully gonged by Queenie over the New Year and have not been heard of since... And while Hull is still City of Culture for another three years attention will now pass to poor old Coventry. Oh yes! the birth place of Phillip Larkin (damn Hull did him first, still...)... and Lady Godiva and, and, and ... aint culcha fun?

Big Phil Woz 'Ere

Grove Street

I suspect there aren't many streets which can boast it has a quote from a Philip Larkin poem just daubed as graffiti on a wall at the end of a ten foot, but this is the city of culture and we would expect nothing less. However the other offerings with  the usual clichéd priapic sketch (no doubt compensating for the "artists" own inadequacies), a fading silver sprayed FUCK (likewise) and a direction to consume the rich confirm that old saying: omnia mutantur, nhil interit.

Now for something toadally different

They have arrived! Forty glass fibre, gaudy painted toads. At points throughout the city and even beyond these things have been deposited to amusement and bemusement. Opinion is divided between welcoming them as a bit of lively fun and seeing them a total waste of time, money and effort.
They are part of the Larkin25 todo that I mentioned some time back. Inspired by the poems Toad and Toad Revisited, they manage to make physical what is only a metaphor and in so doing illustrate the stupidity of public relations stunts. Philip Larkin used toads as an image of the drudgery of work; fitting then that one of these noxious things should be placed outside the local Jobcentre.