Brigitte
Jurack – ich sehe Schwarz weiss
Arrival:
Lime Street.
End of the line. Carved into honey coloured sandstone, blackened by soot, edges
softened by the slow erosion of the wind and weather, welcomed by red painted columns
holding up the newly refurbished arched, and slightly
curved glass roof.
Passing
extremely slowly, guided by the experience of pilot and captain into the lock,
a narrow hole in the otherwise impenetrable wall of hand carved limestone
topped with granite and bolted in parts with heavy iron bolts. Cast iron knobs/
hooks/ with shiny black heavy duty paint, receiving the thick ropes of the
boat. Not far, the smell of molasses,
that thick gooey stuff, oozing through the air, often carried across the river
to the residents along the
70, 50 then
30, the end of the motorway, funnelled into recently re-marked slim, single
file roads, aligned on either side by 30’s, 50’s and end of 19th
Century houses intercepted with hastily
erected steel /glass /wood and brick buildings. Star-like entrances into the
city, half of which are dual carriage ways with trees planted on the
intersecting grass islands. No fast exit or entrance is possible; the last 5 miles
coming from south, north, east and west are slow, revealing the generational
rings of housing in varying degree of modernisation or disrepair.
Coming from
West into town, the car driver has to proceed through one of the two toll
paying tunnels, both of which have such elaborate entrance structures and toll
houses, that they have the air of a border control.
Staying:
The tree lined
boulevards pass some of the hidden green treasures of the town: the green open
spaces of
Under the
canapés of large, wind swept pine trees the Palm House, saved from rotting away
nearly 10 years ago, is glowing in the summer light like a white bride. In the
lower lying land of the park, two lakes. If this was
London, the
delicate concert platform out of timber and laced ironwork, set back on a small
peninsular in the smaller of the two
lakes, would be shining in new paint, proudly presenting its beautiful location
near the weeping willows, drooping their delicate green leaves into the brown ,
often black looking water. Surveying its decline, the platform has thus far
hung on, just, something which the boathouse near the larger lake could not. Its faded green timber structure, windows long covered with
timber boards, with the same bleached out Schweinfurter
green paint, nearly a perfect square, stood at the edge of the lake, it had a
kind of toy town look about it, with its minute bell tower. During one winter
the roof, sloping to all four sides was covered in a thick blanket of snow
under which, no doubt the nearby pigeons found some shelter.
Passing
through the partially dismantled crumbling gate, leaving the park at the former
boathouse end of the lake, one can either use the pelican crossing or the urine
and glass stained grey tiled underpath, to reach a
kind of natural extension to the Park: the low lying cast iron gates, slowly turning into
iron dust, of
The wooden
Doric columns holding the canapé roof have mostly gone, revealing their
supporting iron u-beam. The windows are held closed tightly for probably
already halve a century by steel shutters and steel window covers employed
widely by the council. To the rear, the octagon is extended to what I presume
to be the kitchen. Faint letters on the
façade suggest the former function of this place. If it was possible, to sip a
coffee under the protruding roof the views into the surrounding slightly
landscaped wilderness are truly breathtaking. Shaded by big Plane trees, a
meadow opens up, dotted by a few crooked wild fruit trees and gently climbing
up rather steep slopes, which are covered in outgrown hedge green, the freshly
tarmac footpath meanders up a sloping grassed hill, in order to reveal, the
still hidden views of the river. Situated in this ditch, the former café
provides shelter on windy days, in the heat of the summer, hot air glimmers
across the low lying meadow and crickets can be heard. Although car parking
bays and a new beefeater pub are very close by, one is entirely unaware of
their existence. Following the path leading up the slopes, a tiny totally
vandal proof gloomy kiosk now sells some soft drinks and ice cream. Its
interior grey Formica, its faded red brick outside covered in welded wire mesh
and Nato wire.
Outgrown
boxwood hedges surround the high lying lawns, which provide perfect conditions
for flying kites and stretching out on the picnic blankets. The turquoise green
plaque, rectangular, mounted into the knee high stone wall, which curves hold
the remains of curved wooden benches, shows the carving of a beautiful slim
otter, and the date, the metropolitan corporation opened this magnificently
located promenade. This is the first place along the river, miles away from the
pier head, where, unperturbed from commerce, traffic, high security fences and
new riverside developments, the citizen can finally enjoy a walk/cycle/play
along the river. At long last, old and
new developments and nasty high impenetrable metal fences have been left
behind, here you can fly a kite, play with your children, ride a bike,
roller-skate. 10 years ago, there were still some yellow brick wind shelters
with round windows, which crumbled away under the strain of urine, wind and
fire – their remains removed, only the outline of their foundation still
visible after the lawns are cut.
Leaving:
Across the
water, the most striking wind shelters have not (yet) met such fate. Build in a
more durable material: concrete. Painted in white, exposed to layers of teenage
angst and love scribbles, with a black line marking their flat roofs, they are
truly magnificent in their desperately bleak windswept surrounding: the dip.
Four in total, spread unevenly on the outer edges of the vast grassy ditch, are
complemented with the bold curves of the life savers lookout, also white, right
on the edge of the heavy sea defence wall.
The first of
the pavilions is open during the summer, selling ice lollies
and tickets for the municipal low lying tennis courts- mostly empty, the
bowling and putting green and crazy golf. Heavy corn blue metal shutters keep
wind and unwelcome intruders out. On the
other end of the dip, more than a mile away, stand completely parallel two
pavilions facing each other: one with black painted wooden planks resting on
invisible support, following the oblong shape of the only supporting inner
wall, facing the dunes and sea, the other with toilets, which are just about
okay to use. The forth pavilion is
slightly set back, near the sandstone cliffs and on closer inspection houses a
water pumping station. These four pavilions are masterpieces in an otherwise
unassuming and often bleak surrounding. Every time I see them, my heart makes a
little jump: I honour the bravery of the planners, the joyful mood of the
architect, the solidity of the material, and the fact that each of them has a
different ground plan (what luxury). I am delighted to see, that despite
superficial surface scratches, scribbles and spray paint, seen from distance,
they have the authority to hold the place. They provide scale, human scale to
this open, flat and exposed stretch of land.
Not built at
the same time, but clearly influenced by this cunning set of 4 pavilions is a
circular building, with curved wooden benches inserted into its 24 pebble dash
concrete niches. Whilst the niches are of a light fading grey, the facing
trapeze shaped verticals are of a pinkish red, thus allowing for a visual link
to the not so distant red sandstone walls of the Fort- standing at the mouth of
the river. This circular building strikes me as a very elaborate structure to
provide wind sheltered seating , only on closer inspection does the building
reveal itself through the a small sign on the single steel door as a water
pumping station.
A little
further along from the dip, a tall slim white structure marks the otherwise
bleak Leasowe Common. Lighthouses often have the appearance
of salt dispensers, and this is no exception- void of a curved , domed roof or
glass windows, its conic shape with its
tiny balcony facing west is less lighthouse than lookout tower listed
in the small hastily printed A4 leaflet
as one of the seven wonders of Wallasey.
With
thanks to Margo Hogg
www.brigittejurack.com brigitte.jurack@ncl.ac.uk
Supported by
the AHRC