Liverpool International Slavery Museum

So, now I'm going to tell you all about what I saw at the museum. Why did I find this so fascinating? There are probably several reasons. One is that over the years, a few Brits have taken pleasure in telling me "Britain never had slaves like the US did, wasn’t it terrible what you did to the Red Indians, etc., etc., etc." Perhaps I wanted to get some dirt I could dish back in defense. I do agree that the plight of the African slaves and of Native Americans was grim, but I dislike a pompous attitude anytime I meet it.
Whatever I thought the museum would be, it was somehow different. It was a little frustrating in that I couldn't figure out where to start; the layout didn't facilitate a systematic approach (I'm still a control freak, OK?). However, I think I managed to see nearly all of it.

There were bits that addressed the misery of the slaves as people, the conditions on the ships, the selling, etc. but -- not to be dismissive -- I’ve heard about that all my life. In my early 20's, when I took some of my first ever vacations, I loved visiting the grand plantation houses of the Deep South. It was a guilty pleasure knowing how they were originally built and maintained. When one considers the personal experiences of any one who lost their life into slavery, it is deeply disturbing; but I didn't want the emotional side of the issue at this point, I was looking for facts.

What really grabbed me at the Liverpool museum was information about how Europe and also South America, particularly Brazil (the last to formally end slavery in 1888), changed the history of Africa beginning in the 1500’s when they began taking people from that continent to use for their own purposes. Just looking at one kind of impact, I could vaguely make comparisons to when one reads about the American Civil War and about WWI where the number of casualties among young men altered the demographics of the population. This left far fewer marriageable men, hence there were more spinsters, and it created a subsequent dearth in population growth. I read somewhere that France’s population has never really recovered from her losses in the two world wars and hence the social policies and tax promoting and encouraging families; one sees those in many developed countries. Of course the birth rate in Africa is much higher and so this is probably a foolish comparison; it was the only similarity I could think of at the time where a group of people have just disappeared/been removed. (Also, it is no longer appropriate to talk about Africa as a single place, given the economic growth of a number of her countries, but I assume I may be safe in doing so historically).

In 300-400 years over 12 million people – mainly young men – were stolen from Africa. Basically, one can just empty out the current residents of Oklahoma, Kansas, Utah and Colorado; no wait, just take the really young healthy ones, so we could add a few states to the list if we weren't too lazy to look up the specific age group info. Remember, healthy young adults weren't that easy to come by back when infant and maternal mortality rates were ridiculously high even in rich white societies. Oh, but we'll empty out those states slowly, taking the prime candidates generation after generation. What changes might that have made to US history (putting aside any views about the significant contributions of those particular states, chosen only because they are contiguous and I used to live in two of them). A comparable number of missing persons would constitute 20% of the current UK population. It's just my way of trying to comprehend what 12 million means; I still don't think I do. I took a picture of the plaque because I wanted to remember and understand this better:

"The transatlantic slave trade operated for almost 400 years. At least 12 million Africans were forcibly transported, but many millions more were profoundly affected. ...The transatlantic slave trade distorted African societies, stealing from them their young people; two thirds of enslaved people were males aged between 15 and 25. Arms and ammunition brought to Africa by European traders helped perpetuate conflict and political instability. Robbing the workforce of young and healthy individuals caused industrial and economic stagnation. Successful trade routes that existed before European intervention were disrupted. The development of African communities and cultures was severely stunted. Agriculture suffered as communities abandoned fertile land while fleeing the long reach of the European slavers. The labour and inventiveness of enslaved peoples shaped the Americas and enriched Western Europe, rather than their African homelands."

So, let’s be right about this slavery thing. It was Western Europeans who stole people from Africa and, later after that form of slavery was outlawed, I read somewhere previously, the crowned heads of Europe virtually sat down at the table and carved up Africa. France and Britain did rather well for themselves.

(Britain's portion is the dark red bits; a bit of typical vandalism here).

Somewhere else (frustrating not to be able to remember where) I read that Britain did better out of this than France because they chose areas that were predominantly Muslim, where the people understood hierarchy better than the wild, independent tribes in the areas that France got. This made the British colonies easier to rule than other areas. Not being able to remember the source and knowing that my reading isn't always on the highest of intellectual planes, I'm not certain how reliable that information is. It is true however, that the European divisions did not relate to the tribal allegiances or differences, and so the resulting administrative boundaries that exist today are still problematic: yet another way in which Europe has altered African history.

Why does this interest me so much? I think of it as attempting to fill one of the many embarrassing gaps in my knowledge of the world. I grew up hearing about places like Rhodesia and French Guiana but it was so far away and so little to do with me I didn’t think about it much. I have since been to The Gambia, admittedly only to a very rich portion of it, staying at the President’s Hotel, a tourist resort owned literally by the President. We did wonder out of the compound a couple of nights; it was a different world, not at all like I expected. I'll have to find those pictures and write about it sometime.

I remember meeting a man from Nigeria once in Oklahoma City sometime in the 1970s. He may as well have been from a different planet, I was so astounded. Working in public health improved my chances of meeting foreigners and of course living abroad has further widened my encounters. Had I remained in OKC it might not have been so obvious to me, but living here I'm more aware of how much I don't know about the world and about history.

I was wide-eyed to learn that Liverpool’s (and Bristol's) vast wealth wasn’t just established on “shipping”, it was built on shipping slaves. The "slave triangle" was created when

(a) trade goods, ie weapons and printed cotton, from Europe and South America went to various coastal parts of Africa (there was a great little video that showed how the shipping patterns shifted over the centuries) and were swapped for people;
(b) those people were sent to places like Brazil, Jamaica and the American colonies/southern US; apparently not directly into Britain, which is why some people think they can take the moral high ground;
(c) goods like coffee, cotton and sugar – grown with slave labour – were brought back to Europe.

Not surprisingly a ship called Alabama was built by Liverpool to support the Confederacy during the Civil War.

"The profits from slavery helped changed the industrial and economic landscape of Britain and other parts of Western Europe. As the transatlantic slave trade was growing, Britain was undergoing a transformation into the First Industrial Nation....Successful slave owners were able to amass vast personal fortunes. This wealth was in turn used to build grand houses and as an investment in other enterprises, such as iron, coal and banking....Britain's economy was changed by the increased demand for plantation produce like sugar and cotton. The working classes began to consume sugar on a regular basis; it was no longer a luxury. The cotton industry powered technological innovation and industrial development, speeding up the process of turning this raw material into finished goods...As the demand for plantation produce increased, so did the demand for enslaved Africans to produce it. In order to purchase more Africans, traders needed more guns, textiles and luxury goods. To cope with the increased flow of goods across Britain, rivers were made more navigable and canals and roads constructed."

Awesome to be surrounded by history, to look straight at it, but not know too much about what created it. There was a useful interactive exhibit that showed the many buildings, parks, charities and businesses created by the wealth built from slave trade. One of the examples was Harewood House, one of many stately homes in Britain now open to the public. They probably weren't all built from slave trade, but now I can't help but wonder how many coal magnates around Newcastle got their foot in that door through another route.

One has the impression that the wealth of the Confederate States was lost in the Civil War and subsequent events. There may have been the odd plantation owner smart enough to invest in the industrial North, but it's not a major theme in the history books. One hears more about 'genteel poverty' amongst the Southern 'aristocracy'. [Come to think of it, wasn't that why Rhett Butler still had money?]

In any case, the British looked after their own; the wealthy were in politics after all. In 1833, when Britain sort of, selectively abolished slavery, they spent £20 million pounds compensating those whose business interests would suffer through loss of their slaves. In the early 19th Century, £20 million was an enormouse amount! For example, the then Bishop of Exeter was given £12,700 for his 665 slaves. According to one source (which also works in US$ if you want to play), that £12,700 would be -- using the much more conservative retail price index estimate -- worth £990,185 in current money. More than enough to save you from genteel poverty or any other kind.

Liverpool touts itself as The City of Britain second only to London, a claim which may even be justified for all I know. One of their notable natives, born in Rodney Street, was William Gladstone who rose to be (four-time) Prime Minister. Although he was a Liberal, he supported the Confederacy in the American Civil War (in a speech he made when visiting Newcastle in 1862). His father's wealth came from plantations in the West Indies. I'm certain Gladstone's biography would have been a complete yawn for me at any other time, but I found it -- the abbreviated version in Wikipedia anyhow -- fairly interesting just now.

Finally, when I first came across I remember being intrigued that some people here referred to virtually anyone of colour as being 'black'. When I mentioned this in conversation, Bill didn't believe me. Well,

"The early Black community in Liverpool mainly comprised of seamen working for shipping lines...Because of bomb damage during World War II, the Black community moved from the south docks to the Granby Toxteth area. During the 1970s and 1980s ... 'Black' became a political term that also embraced Asians, Chinese and Arabs."

I love it when I get to be right.

There was a lot more at the museum about the definition of slavery and racism and I didn't quite follow all the argument, so I won't try to discuss that here. There was also a display that explained some of the problems with current trade policies that I would like to better understand, but I think that may take me a while.

In the mean time, whilst the US certainly wasn’t above reproach in all this, I think the next fat, pretentious Brit that wants to have a go at me about our role in slavery is going to get a little more than he might have bargained for.

I can hardly wait…

Last Day in Liverpool - Part I

Our last morning in Liverpool, we had Laurel and Hardy with us at breakfast (as in, a fat guy and a skinny guy in costume doing the act). I'm sorry not to have taken their picture, as usual I didn't have my camera to hand. I’ve no idea what that was all about, but having lived in Britain for over a decade now, very little about people’s dress and behaviour really surprises me much anymore. That sounds rather blasé, but in fact it is one of the things I like best about living here -- the diversity (a word beloved by HR departments everywhere). Only the previous day I spotted a couple of young men exiting a department store dressed as super heroes, you know, with tights and capes and such, but I didn’t do them the honour of taking their picture. I suspected it had to do with collecting money for charity and didn’t want to attract their attention. It occurs to me to mention here that North Shields claims Stan Laurel as a native son. Reading up on this I can see I need to go take some photos for you...

Anyhow, on this our last day in Liverpool, it turned out that Bill wanted to see much of what I had already covered and so we walked Hope Street starting at the Metropolitan end, where Bill wanted to check out the modern Catholic church

then wandered down past Chinatown

to Albert Dock,

where we spent most of the day. After that we walked past the Pierhead,

past the Town Hall, which I had previously overlooked (and also needs cleaned)

up to the Walker Museum where we spent an hour or so until it was time to get back to the car and head for Manchester to have dinner and stay the night at Helen’s house.

The main thing at Albert Dock I wanted to see was the International Slavery Museum. I don’t know what I expected, really, maybe sad stories and horrible pictures. I was interested mainly because I understood Liverpool had strong links with slavery. I read so much there that grabbed me that I've decided to make it a separate post. So you'll just have to contain your curiosity until tomorrow...

Liverpool – Day Three

In preparation for the trip to Liverpool I had done some internet research about the tourist sights, but figured I would learn much more once we got there; this was true. What I mainly did online was identify the fabric shops and the charity shops in Liverpool from www.yell.com. Then I looked up all the postcodes for the latter from www.statistics.gov.uk and found that the wealthiest area was a village called Crosby, with 4 charity shops on one road.

Thursday morning I went around the corner to Lime Street train station, found a bookstore and bought a detailed street map of Liverpool and surrounding areas for £4.99. This included Crosby, though I already had a rough idea from looking it up on www.multimap.com. It was also useful for finding the other train station - Liverpool Central -- where the Northern line connected. (Note: I like Multimap because when one asks for directions, it also tells the distance between 2 places, helpful when deciding whether or not to walk rather than drive).

Along the way to the Central Station I saw the place Bill had noticed our first night out, the Crown Hotel.

Ken told us he’d only been in recently for the first time and was astonished to see the ceiling looked like meringue. He was right, but I'll show you that later. I also spotted The Vines, another amazing building.

My day out at Crosby was enjoyable, though cold and windy. I did make a good haul at the shops, however, not having consulted my list of addresses I brought, I walked a long way out of the way. I took a detour into the village to have some lunch, thinking that I had stepped off of Moor Lane, but the pedestrian road was Moor Lane, the main road was the by-pass! I even saw the very shops while looking for a café, but didn’t think they were the shops on my list. I walked 1.39 miles (per Multimap) beyond, nearly to the next village, before realizing my mistake.

For lunch I chose the 2nd cafe, the one without the singing waitress, wanting a quiet meal, not a karaoke. The bread was rubbish in the place I picked, but good bread isn’t really a British thing, maybe because poor Brits live on chips, not bread. If one wants really good bread, it may be found in France where they would be ashamed to serve such a rock and call it French bread. They gave me an alternative, 2 slices of white bread, which is excellent for making dough ornaments, but not to eat. I settled for a liquid (soup and tea) lunch.

On my long unnecessary walk, I did see some very big houses with grounds and private roads, and came to understand why it was the wealthiest area around Liverpool, only a short commute on the train. Nothing struck me as worth of a picture, however.

Further north on the train is is Aintree where they race horses, something any Dick Francis fan would know, and then on to Southport. We may have to go visit those places some time. Liverpool is only about 35 miles from Manchester and Bill needs to go see Simon and Helen more often, doesn’t he? In the meantime, I need to do some research about fabric and charity shops in Manchester!

I got back to the hotel about 4pm, dumped my new (to me) clothes on the bed and headed back out the door. My new map showed the fabric shops were only a few blocks away, also clustered on a single street. It was late, but at least I could get an idea of whether I needed to drag Bill there first thing the next morning.

The first couple were nothing special, but the third was a huge, two-storey warehouse that sold fabric by weight, not length. Prices ranged from £7.99–23.99 per kilogram of fabric, most around £10.99/kilo. I would have thought lightweight georgette and chiffon would be more expensive than cottons or velvets, but they were similarly priced. I didn’t buy anything because I was completely out of my depth, having no clue about what was a bargain or not. I was so daunted I just went upstairs and looked at their few ragged pattern books for a few minutes until closing time.

In looking around I did discover that in fact the cotton Christmas prints didn’t appeal to me after all, which was useful to learn. I decided I’d rather go for the luxury look than use kitschy prints. I’ll have to do some research before I go back. I suspect there will be numerous fabric shops in Manchester, and selling by weight may be a custom in that area.

That evening Bill and I called in at both the Crown and the Vines on our way to Paradise Street where the internet listed many restaurants on offer. At the Crown, Bill was taken with the etched glass windows

and both our mouths fell open when we walked in a saw the ceiling.

The Vines was similar but somehow just a little less loved somehow. It also had etched windows and the semi-private spaces with a button to press for service (a historical rather than current amenity, I assumed).

Rather than the white ceiling it had a lot of copper around.

The young man behind the bar saw me snapping pictures and asked if I would like to see back room...just kidding. It was their 'function room', rented out to groups for special occasions. It was called the Heritage Suite (Smart Dress Essential).

The dim lighting challenged my photography skills, but I think I got the gist of the place.

Bill formed the theory that during their heyday these public houses / hotels were frequented by the officers of the many ships that called into Liverpool and that they were in fact brothels. The decor certainly makes me think it was meant for other than the crew, but as to the other activities, I didn't see any evidence one way or the other. I'll take his word for it.

We carried on to Paradise Street but there was nary a restaurant in sight. We nearly gave up -- particularly as I was wearing heels, silly me -- until we realized that they were all part of the big shopping mall. We had steak at a place called Las Iquanas. Although they seem to think themselves pretty special, we rated them as only very average.

Bill says our trips to Oklahoma have opened his eyes to how a good steak should actually taste. The only other place I think comes close to cooking a good steak is Spain, also cattle country. Britain as a whole doesn’t have a clue, unless you can find an Argentinian restaurant; they seem to know what to do with beef. Just as well, red meat isn't that good for you anyhow....

Liverpool - Day Two - Part II

Last on my list, in the NE corner of my map, was to see the two cathedrals. Apparently it is unusual to have two of them and Liverpool has the (Anglican) Liverpool Cathedral and the (Catholic) Metropolitan Cathedral; poetically, they are at either end of Hope Street. First, I had to walk UP Parliament Street which was mostly ugly. What Bill later told me I might not have liked was that it bordered on Toxteth, an area of town that had riots back in the 1980's; I just knew it was unpleasant. They do have a nice library, however.


The Anglican Cathedral reminded me more of a castle surrounded by


a moat. It was good, but it didn’t strike me as being very accessible.


Later I learned that the 'moat' used to be a quarry and is now St James Garden, a public space. It looked like a very pleasant place for a run.

Hope Street had terraces of lovely big houses.


Many of these appear to be being acquired by either of the two local universities which also had other buildings in the vicinity; UK universities like every other entity here seem to have to fight for space. They don't get a huge lot and monopolise a whole town, like Norman or Stillwater, or Provo for that matter. Also on this street was the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic (a rather plain building) and a its much fancier dining rooms.




Down the road was Everyman Theatre and a restaurant of the same name. I wonder what happens if you 'cheat' and go to the restaurant that doesn't match your evening's entertainment?

I loved the name Hope Place; Bill later commented what a lovely little street it was. At the opposite end, we came to the more modern Catholic cathedral, which I didn’t care much for, initially. I warmed to it a bit later.


I thought the back was quite weird until I learned that the site had been bombed and the back was the remains of the older part, a crypt. I still thought the pyramid thing looked weird.


Across from the Cathedral was the Victoria Museum, the outside of which I absolutely loved.


(Bill, it is the Victoria Building, not the Walker Building).


The maze of fencing around the construction work there made me wonder if the construction workers were having a laugh, another sort of class war making the students walk well out of their way to get across the road. Later Bill said it was just ‘Health & Safety’.

I decided to 'do' the Victoria Museum, thinking Bill and I would spend Friday at The Pierhead and Albert Dock. I was not very impressed with the exhibits. There was a small room allocated to Audubon paintings and stuffed critters. The next room was given to Stuart Sutcliffe. Sadly, he died of a brain haemorrhage in Hamburg in 1962, aged only 21. However, I thought his paintings were unremarkable and that they are only exhibited because he was in John Lennon’s earlier band, the Silver Beetles.

The best exhibit was of E. Chambre Hardman’s photography; you can Google "Chambre Hardman" in images if you want to see some of his fabulous work. His pictures include the crowded back streets of 1930’s Liverpool up to the Metropolitan Cathedral, re-built sometime after 1960. He also did some portrait work of famous people, including Margo Fonteyn and Ivor Novello. One of my favourite films is Gosford Park in which Ivor Novello is a character; it was only later that I discovered he was a real person.

Upstairs was a large hall. I used to think a ‘hall’ described a long narrow corridor – and I suppose it still does – but here a ‘hall’ is a very large room, usually with a grand high ceiling. The Tate Hall once had large wooden beams across, but they were removed at some point to modernize the room and replaced with metal rods.

There is still a beautiful arched ceiling with the beams in tact and the shape and size of the room is grand. The exhibits I can remember included an alcove showing an old dentist’s office, glass cases with horrific critters in (scorpions, eels, crabs, strange fish, etc), something to do with Egyptian archeology and an alcove (with warning for children) depicting plastic replicas of all the complicating positions of childbirth, ie feet first, shoulder presentation, twins, etc., and the instruments used to assist delivery over the last few decades.

The best part of the Victoria museum was the building itself, the tiled walls, high ceilings, grand staircase. I probably could have taken pictures, but I checked my bag as required and didn’t think it ask about pictures at reception until I saw a young student using her phone camera.

It was dark and raining when I came out. I got back to the room about 5:30 and Bill was doing his email. I took a hot bath to sooth my tired legs. This was an unfortunate choice. In order to drain the tub I ended up pulling up the plug with my fingernails and extracting a large mouse-sized mat of hair. I later wrapped this in toilet paper and took it to show the manager, but I only saw the ‘duty manager’ who referred me to the ‘day manager’ who was head of housekeeping and would be in the next day. I never did see that manager having other things to do than wait at reception, but I did take a picture (which I will spare you) and sent it with a letter to the hotel manager.

Just today I received an apologetic letter inviting us back to prove it was an isolated incident, offering one night's accommodation and breakfast for 2 people. I liked Liverpool well enough to consider this and even that doesn't work out I think it was a fair and appropriate response to my letter. This is the second time I've travelled with Bill for his work and my complaints about the hotel have netted us something for free! It's great being retired, ie having the time and energy to make formal complaints when they are warranted!

All the company managers and 2 of us partners attended the meal that evening. The menu sounded grand (ie, duck terrine), but then that's part of chef school, of course, learning to write slightly disingenuous menus. I sat across from a manager of one of the local homes who is originally from Trinidad. His dream is to retire at 50 to the island of Granada. It sounded good to me! I hope he makes it.

Liverpool – Day Two - Part I

There was a group meal planned for the evening and I was certain Ken would be asking me what I’d seen that day. I wanted to be able to give a good account of myself; this meant not lolling the day away in bed.

I knew of some of the sights on offer, but didn’t really have much preference. Mostly to please Ken and to burn off some calories, I set myself the target of covering the four corners of the city centre map provided by the hotel and tourist information centres. We were staying at The Liner hotel, located next to Liverpool Lime Street train station. The location is probably the best one can say about it, all other things, bar one very negative exception, being entirely average.

Armed with camera and backpack, I headed for the Walker Art Gallery because it was close and Pies and Prejudice somehow led me to believe there was tourist information there. This wasn’t true, but a man there very kindly directed me to the Queens Square where I loaded up on brochures and booklets I never looked at again. On the other hand, the weight added to my calorie burning efforts, I suppose.

Next to the Walker, an amazing building,


was the International Library and Liverpool World Museum, which are also, I’m guessing, Victorian; and of which I only imagined I took pictures.

These are situated on one side of St George’s Hall, which wouldn't all fit into my camera frame, it's so large


and which is across from the Empire Theatre


which is next to the Station Hotel, which isn’t half bad either.


I was already beginning to see why Liverpool was named Capital of Culture and I hadn’t even got down to the thing they are probably most famous for: The Mersey (enter Gerry and the Pacemakers singing Ferry Cross the Mersey, and let it whine on and on and on). I sang along with this often as a child and had no clue what or where the Merzy was.

Liverpool, like many big industrial cities in the North, has the well-deserved reputation for being a dirty slum. The fact that people flocked to these cities to work long hours in noisy, dangerous factories and live in unimaginably dirty, crowded houses suggests to me that life in the countryside wasn’t that great back then either. Then when industries fell into hard times and the workers were laid off there was even less to make the misery worthwhile. Whilst this experience is common across most of the big cities of the North and they have all done quite a bit of slum clearance and regeneration, they still poke fun at each other, maybe in part because of the football rivalries. No one in Newcastle said anything that prepared me for what I saw in Liverpool; I suspect most of them have never been themselves. One doesn’t do the touristy things in one’s backyard, does one? Most people I know make a bee line to a warmer place like Greece or France whenever they get the chance.

I made my way down to the Mersey, looking for the famous Royal Liver Building. I say ‘down’ only because it was on the bottom of my map. Although Bill commented he’d never realized how hilly Liverpool is - serves him right for going for a run each morning - it is relatively flat around the river. This is a contrast to Newcastle where there is a steep hill down to the quayside; one has to be willing to climb back up that hill to visit what is probably Newcastle’s most attractive tourist area.

The Royal Liver Building and its Liver Birds are visible from quite a distance all around the city; Newcastle’s most prominent structure is the Newcastle United Football Club stadium, not nearly as classy. The Liver (which rhymes with diver not river, for what reason I don’t know other than a name that sounds like a body organ isn’t very appealing) was built in 1911 for Royal Liver Assurance, a life insurance company.



Speaking of the 18 foot Liver Birds, according to this website,

"Local legend has it that if they fly away, Liverpool will cease to exist. The Liver Birds are a cross between an eagle and a cormorant (the bird of good luck to sailors). A German sculptor called Carl Bernard Bartels, who was living in England, designed them. When the Great War broke out, Carl Bernard Bartels was arrested as a German citizen and imprisoned on the Isle of Man. The City of Liverpool removed all reference to his achievements and at the end of the war, despite having a wife in London, he was sent back to Germany."

On a less serious note, Maconie’s book quotes Rough Guide:

"They can never mate as they have their backs to each other; she looks out to sea for the returning sailor, he looks towards the city to see if the pubs are open."

I was well impressed by the Liver Building, but a bit disappointed at how dingy it looked. Across the road was the much whiter Tower Building


and I thought it showed the Liver up a bit. Next to the Liver is the Cunard building, a low-slung ornate block, and of course Cunard was another cruise ship line. (The link shows the fate of cruise ships: sold, sunk or scrapped). I think that building could use a good scrub as well.


My favourite of the "Three Graces" was the grand -- and relatively clean-looking Port of Liverpool Building, originally called The Dock Office.


These three buildings constitute The Pierhead, something I only understood after reading a caption of a picture in a museum; prior to that I kept looking for something that might be The Pierhead and even photographed a couple of mysterious structures! I gather they are quite a sight when viewed from an approaching ferry. Bill and I never did get to do that, which is one reason I wouldn't mind returning to Liverpool.

Incidently, this stripey structure is what used to be the offices of the White Star Line, but it's not right on the quayside. Maybe that's where they went wrong?


I wandered as far as I could go along Princes Dock, but there was a lot of construction going on. Ever since I saw my first big ocean going ship on the Mississippi River at New Orleans, I’ve measured other rivers against it according to the ships they can accommodate. The Mersey qualifies as a big river: there were several big ships around as well as the ferries to various locations, but none of them were very photogenic it seems. Couldn't be my skills, could it?

Turning around, I was a bit confused about the location of the (typically British) sun in the West-ish? when I was thinking it should be East, until I saw a map showing how the Mersey enters Britain from the North and curves around to the East.


There are a number of memorials to the merchant navy heroes of WWII. This is Capt F.J. Walker who was apparently good at nailing U-boats.


Each brass plaque on this memorial names a ship lost and lists the crew that died at sea.


Then I walked over to Albert Dock. This is basically a row of squares constituted by warehouses surrounding water. In the mid 1980’s these warehouses were renovated and now house museums, restaurants and shops.


I stopped here for a pot of tea and a scone (a large, heavy biscuit with raisins) for a very late lunch. I didn’t want to do much else here as Bill was taking Friday off and I wanted to save seeing Albert Dock to do with him.

Liverpool – Day One

The drive from Newcastle to Liverpool took about 3 1/2 hours; though we didn't leave home until about 2:30 we managed to miss rush hour traffic at Leeds. (Day to day names here in Britain; from the US I remember when they sounded so exotic, like Tulsa and Muskogee to Bill!)

We freshened up and ate (chicken tikka masala) in the bar, rather than in the restaurant where we saw some of the other managers from London. Ken, the local manager, had organised a pub crawl (British version of bar-hopping), to show us his hometown. This is pretty much de rigueur for socialising with one's work colleagues. One doesn't necessarily have to drink alcohol, but standing around holding a beverage ('bevvie') and talking is required.

Ken led us on a slightly winding route as the boss and another manager had arrived late; we dropped them at a Weatherspoons to eat and join us later. Ken took us first to the White Star where in the little back room there was a big fireplace, lots of broad wood beams and the walls were covered with pictures of ships from the White Star Line, two of which were of course the Titanic and the Lusitania. The latter was actually built by Cunard which later took over White Star. Titanic never docked at Liverpool; she was only registered there, but they claim her as their own. I later learned that about 90 of the crew were Liverpudlians. Chatting with Ken was very pleasant, as it reminded me of the times I’d seen the Beatles on the TV, his accent being very much the same.

After that we went to The Grapes in Mathew Street. The Grapes is a pub that was across the street from the Cavern, where of course the Beatles played. There is a picture over the fireplace in the back room showing the group (with Pete Best, not Ringo Starr) seated next to that fireplace. The wallpaper over the bench is darkened with nicotine and dust, but is now covered with protective plastic and one can see that it is the same pattern as was probably new in the picture. They all look about 16. Even then, John Lennon has a cynical sneer on his face. I think he was born that way.

Aside from that photo and that history, there is nothing to recommend The Grapes other than a couple of the girls who were fashionably dressed in patterned tights and mod dresses; we could almost have been back in the 60s, only the dresses were black, not psychedelic prints (though there were plenty of those in the store fronts). There was a karaoke going on and it was bad (is there any other kind?). Several of us noticed the carpet had a peculiar spongy texture that wasn’t fully explained by soaking with beer. Perhaps it was also original to when the Beatles hung out there. The smell of the place, probably the carpet, wasn’t so much stale cigarettes and beer (smoking in public buildings went out a couple of years ago) as dirty, sweaty feet or old vomit. I declined anything to drink from their bar or sit anywhere and was very pleased to leave. I did wish I’d brought my camera to get a photo of their photo. That said, I don’t think I ever would go back to get it.

Our last stop – the others continued crawling until about 3 am, I understand – was thankfully much cleaner, looked more recently decorated and had bare wood floors. It called itself the Cavern Pub and sure enough one had to go downstairs at the entrance, but this is just one of several establishments on Mathews Street using the name Cavern (being of course in the Cavern Quarter). At the entrance, a teenaged-looking boy chatted up one of the women in our group, a tired-looking 30-something sort-of blonde; he told her she was ‘sex on legs and you know it’. No disrespect to her, but he was clearly drunk, and she knew it. He followed us in, but sat at the front near the stage. The main act was a large older guy with a classical guitar who was competent enough. He sang his way through a number of 60s hits from other groups – I only remember Lola - interspersed with Beatle’s songs and then it was time for karaoke. Wouldn’t you know it, our drunk teenage friend got up and sang. He actually wasn’t too bad, actually, which is almost breaking the rules.

Nevertheless, a small group of us left and walked back up to the hotel. I enjoyed the cold fresh air and I slept well in spite of the tiny, flat pillows provided.

Back from Beatle-land

We've been away the past few days, in Liverpool; Bill for business, me to see the sights and to eat out! I met several of the other managers in Bill's company. They all expected I would spend my days in the shopping malls. Bill's boss, having experienced how careful Bill is with the company's money, teased me about Bill being so stingy. If he only knew.

In preparation for the trip I got a list of all the charity shops in the Liverpool area. Then I looked up the postcodes from a statistics website that gives information about virtually everything about an area, including the relative income. This allowed me to identify the wealthiest neighbourhood, which turned out to be a village called Crosby, about a 20 minute train ride north of Liverpool city centre. I did my shopping in the 4-5 charity shops there and did quite well: a purple velvet jeans jacket, a grey wool sweater jacket, a cashmere sweater, a pair of jeans and 3 tops all for £27 plus £3.20 for my return ticket.

The first day, however, I walked around the four corners of the city centre map and as you might guess I took more than a few pictures. For me, the fact that the Beatles came from Liverpool is probably the least interesting aspect of the place. I wasn't a big fan during their heyday, though I have come to appreciate what genius there was in the synergy of Lennon and McCartney's songwriting. There are far more interesting parts of that city's history and culture and I knew this before I went, having read Pies and Prejudice by Stuart Maconie. If I've not mentioned it before, I would recommend this book to anyone interested in understanding more about Northern England.

The main reason I wanted to see Liverpool is that it beat out Newcastle for the European Capital of Culture 2008. When we lost out, people said they had thought it was about a city that had culture, not one that needed some money to get some culture, a typical sour grapes response. I did begin to assume that it was about helping a city regenerate itself and perhaps it was in part. Having been there, however, much as I hate to admit it, I do see why they won.


I'll be showing you some pictures, of course!