A Town walk

Pink Lane

In the last days of this on off Summer, I walked a route through what I call the heart of this city.

Because it still has a heart, – just. Despite the decades long assaults mounted on its once formidable Georgian and Victorian credentials by successive of City Councils, parts have somehow struggled through into the 21st century. Tellingly, these have a genuine character, that mysterious alchemical process of time and use that conveys something that mock stone paving and gleaming stainless steel beloved of planning mediocrities never can.

Here's hoping sometime in the future not too far off, this quality and its gift to the present will be cherished more than fat contracts to developers.

The Town walk photographic gallery can be found here. (off site link)

The walk begins outside St Andrew's Church, one of the city's oldest. and close to what was once the 'city cross', that marked the town centre in  olden days. A gaudy and useless piece of 'street art', an overblown desk ornament that might well be an up scaled version of the sort of thing chief planners have on their vast polished desks, blocks the pavement outside a modern gin palace.

The route turns right down into Stowell Street and then sharp left through into the site of Blackfriars Monastery, a ruin of an even earlier period of iconoclasm in the city's history. Some of the new development here isn't as crass as elsewhere. It's almost as if the developers paid attention to their surroundings.

Charlotte Square next. Once huge elm trees graced this little piece of green space in the gap between the Roman West Road and the New Town of Richard Grainger. Disease put paid to them. For some reason the City Council have never thought to replace them with more than shrubs and, you guessed it, paving and shining steel. One or two of the shop fronts around about are left overs from the past. With minimal attention here is a genuine 'place' that gives off the sort of feeling of the past times that other people in other places have valued. What it is not is a fake 'Quarter', a vapid invention of estate agents.

The walk continues past Pink Lane's exit onto the West Road. More of which later.

This area just to the west of the route of Hadrians Wall. Sandwiched between the St James's Boulevard (honest!) and the great Central Station, John Dobson's masterpiece and one of the finest railway stations in the U.K. is an area without a name. It has plenty of turnings, alley's and two of the best recent buildings, the North British apartments on Waterloo Street and Dance City. The Boulevard merits some praise if only for its trees, all of which have grown well without attendant vandalism. For some with a memory of how wretched this part of the city looked once upon a time in the 60s and 70s – hundreds of near wrecks sold on as secondhand cars only a tiny few of which shared body panels of the same colour – just an expanse of mud and packed down rubble and cyclone fencing. And a sex shop ...

Today it seems to want to thrive, needs to be loved for itself. Brave souls are pushing the boat out in the shape of a café and comedy cum community hub. And no one has cursed it by attaching the 'something Quarter' to it.

Here the walk turns south and then east back along Waterloo Street to admire a wonderful pairing, first of a Arts and Crafts facade with more than hint of the Vienna Secession about it; another fine building also needs some loving. Second, diagonally across from it stands a monument to bricklaying, standing tall and proud. If it isn't listed, there is a scandal in the making.

A swivel through to Clayton Street West's appendage. When is someone, anyone, going to do something about Goldberg's huge building, empty and uncared for in a prime location?

Over the road going down besides Pugin's St Mary's Cathedral and its epic spire and walking past Forth House, undoubtedly engraved by Thomas Bewick who had a workshop somewhere hereabouts. Try telling that to either the Council or the authors of the Buildings of England series. Sharp left and here we come into Pink Lane, once the site where the infamous Keith Crombie hosted his long gone Jazz Café, about which a film has been made. Here is an indestructible part of this city, admired by our present King no less – until they get around to it.

To be continued?