Love, Liverpool: an A to Z of Hope // Letter 3
Here we are at letter 3, which invites you on a big Liverpool night out to the city centre, Matthew Street, Moorfields and beyond.
Letter 3: A good night out
Jump to: Audio stories // Picnic by Cathy Tyson // Video stories // Written stories // Thank you
This episode takes us into the night to explore the city that loves to dance, sing and party the night away. Maybe we’ll bump into a few familiar faces, but first let’s head over with writer Luke Barnes to Moorfields where he’s feeling slightly worse for wear.
Our picnic delights come from Liverpool actress Cathy Tyson who shares her favourite song and picture, some spicy recipes, a plethora of inspiring poetry and some theatre memories.
Our audio tales this time come from John Winter, Jennifer Chamberlain, Jess Parker, Rachael Norris and David Irvine who share stories of famous night spots, finding love and those wonderful nights that you know were unforgettable but can’t quite remember the whole of.
Listen to our audio stories here or download them later with the podcast platform of your choice. Read on for more from Cathy and a host of nights out from this week’s writers.
A full transcript of our audio stories is available here.
Each episode, friends of the theatres are offering some digital goodies as a picnic treat for the soul.
This week Cathy Tyson shares some spicy delights, a favourite picture and some inspiring poetry.
Recipe for Cathy's Lamb Curry
1lb Lamb steak
1 tsp all spice
1 large onion
Two tbs curry powder
3 or 4 sprigs of thyme
A generous knob of butter
1 pint of stock
Half a Scotch bonnet pepper, chopped
Chop the onion and mix with the chopped up lamb steak and sprigs of thyme and curry powder and allspice. Season with salt and pepper. Place in a bowl and cover with cling film or tin foil or place in an air tight container. Keep in the fridge overnight.
Next day melt butter in the pan then put the lamb mixture in the pan. Place in the scotch bonnet pepper. After cooking for about five minutes, place the pint of boiling stock in the pan. Bring to the boil then simmer for 1 hour. The mixture will have absorbed the water and be quite sticky with a bit of sauce.
Cook up some rice and fry some plantain as an added extra for your meal.
Plantain can be bought from shops in Liverpool 8. And hopefully those close to town.
Cathy’s favourite Jerk Chicken recipe can be found here
A favourite picture
This is by Artist Tajh Rust and is called Rückenfigur II
He now lives and works in New Haven, Connecticut and you can find out more about him and his work on his website here
Some favourite poems...
Still I Rise by Maya Angelou
Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou
Ode to the West Wind by Percy Bysshe Shelley
If We Must Die by Claude McKay
This week we have a video story from Ruby Baines.
24 Kitchen Street by Ruby Baines
Another eclectic mix of public submissions in this week’s written stories…
Streets of Song by Niki Furlong Smith
My story is a musical journey which starts in Button Street and ends in Matthew Street…or does it?
I was lucky enough to be a teenager in the 1980s when Liverpool was the heart and soul of new music. Like the 1960s before, the hub of the scene was around the same area, with Probe Records at the epicentre and the cafes and watering holes in the area providing shelter for budding musicians and fashionistas.
My friends and I, though still at school, hung out at the same cafes, bars and clubs. It never crossed my mind, until years later, that not everybody grew up surrounded by talent. I thought most people you knew ended up on Top of the Pops!
Fending off snarky comments from the peacock that was Pete Burns serving behind the counter of Probe to nursing a cup of tea in the ‘Button Hole Café’ for hours on end, my friends and I had days to fill.
We could not believe our luck when one afternoon our paths crossed with the two main lads from OMD which is where my story really starts; an unlikely friendship between us blossomed. Shared tea, cake and visits to their studio which was in an old warehouse in Button Street. Andy McCluskey and Paul Humphreys were humble, welcoming and most of all incredibly normal- ‘one (or two) of us’, happy to share their talent and success with fellow Scousers, who became lifelong fans.
Time passed… fame beckoned for them and studies for us.
Most of our friends formed bands, wrote music and some still do today. The list of those who passed up and down Button and Matthew Street is endless…not just OMD, but from A Flock of Seagulls to Wah! (be it Mighty or Heat, just don’t forget the ever-important exclamation mark!) sorry no Z bands in the 80’s…even the ‘Probe Peacock’ himself with Dead or Alive made music his life.
What was it about that small area of our city that forged such talent? Our own friends at the time, who shared many pots of tea with us, went on to great success as the brilliant band Space. Whilst we were hanging out in Button Street musical memories were drifting up from neighbouring Matthew Street.
What IS it about our city which means the very brickwork on which it is built is bursting with talent? Music that has seen us through the good AND bad times.
Walking down to Matthew Street passing the site of the legendary Cavern where, even before our generation, the Fab Four and all their contemporaries were making music when many of us were mere twinkles in our fathers’ eyes.
The following decade of the seventies saw any punk or alternative band worth its salt performing at the legendary Eric’s Club and many more were formed there. Even after its sad closure by the powers that be many of the talented members went on to make great music and continue to today. My older brother and sister were members there and seem to have seen every fabulous singer and band at this tiny legendary venue.
Fast forward thirty-five years or more and I find myself in The Cavern at an event to celebrate the musical links between Liverpool and Memphis. The Cavern is seen as the heartbeat of music in Liverpool so where else to hold the reception which involved the unveiling of a plaque. There are many plaques on the bricks of Matthew Street which make interesting reading on my journey. At this event I am introduced, by a mutual friend, to the man known as the Mouth of Liverpool, Pete Wylie. An entertaining afternoon exchanging tales of days gone by, including many of mutual ‘muso’ acquaintances, ended standing outside the now closed Eric’s by the famous blue plaque.
If streets could talk (or sing) what tales these two would have! More than Mr Wylie perhaps, if that is even possible…
Ma Egerton’s by Jessica Martin
Truly unique
Difficult to Critique
A booming Victorian parlour room
A wall of fame featuring many a famous name
Pizza
Sean Connery to Pamela Anderson
Ma’s classic scouse
Sound for the alehouse
Tina’s pub quiz
Concludes with fizz
A laugh a minute
You have to admit it
No better place
To love and embrace
Ukulele
Memories of A Long Gone Night Club by Irene Stuart
Liverpool had been recognised as a city of culture long before 2008 when she was named European Capital of Culture. She has produced many famous writers, actors, comedians, directors, producers, dancers and musicians.
As a teenager in the mid 60's I was proud to be a Liverpudlian and to witness the Mersey Sound first hand. Little did I and others know that what we were part of would still resonate worldwide today in 2020.
My story relates to the nightclub Dinos which was situated on the corner of Fraser Street as it meets with London Road. Formerly known as Samson and Barlow, it then became The Peppermint Lounge. By the time I was of an age to be admitted, the club had already played host to many famous names appearing at the Empire including the wonderful Judy Garland. When I began to frequent Dinos, I found it exciting to be at the forefront of a thriving club scene. Having graduated from the local youth club it was fun to be dancing in a 'grown up' environment.
Dinos was owned by brothers George and Jim Blott who were always on hand to ensure that everything ran smoothly. The club had an intimate but lively atmosphere. I never witnessed any fighting, drunkenness or drug taking. I remember visiting another club at the time with a friend, we immediately felt uncomfortable and intimidated, the DJ having noticed this suggested we leave. We did, grateful for his intervention. We never returned.
There were never any 'posers' at Dinos, ie club goers who either stood around preening thinking themselves better than others, or dancing on the dance floor demanding to be the centre of attention. Other clubs were full of these 'posers'. At the time disco was becoming popular and many venues stopped having live music, not having to pay the live musicians I guess thereby cutting costs, but Dinos still provided both. Many local groups (not called bands in those days) continued to play there. The Top and Colonel Bagshots Incredible Bucket Band were among my favourites. The Platters were famous American group and it was a coup for Dinos to have them play there. One of their hits 'Smoke Gets In Your Eyes' is still a firm favourite today. George and Jim also did well to secure the visit of another American group The Showstoppers. Their song 'Ain't Nothin' But A House Party' was riding high in the charts on both side of the Atlantic at the time. It was exciting to see and have a chat with our American visitors, foreign travel was virtually unheard of at the time and I'd never spoken to an American before. Heady days.
I married a few years later and my visits to the club scene became less and less. Dinos changed its name to Gullivers, it was still owned by the Blott brothers and I heard through the grapevine that it maintained its intimate atmosphere. I believe the building was demolished sometime in the 90's. Nostalgia is a wonderful thing and whenever I drive along London Road I return to those 'swinging sixties' days with a certain sadness. I ponder as to where that young impressionable girl has gone, I know she is still inside but unfortunately the mirror no longer reflects this.
Ascension by Louise Evans
Ascending that
stairway to heaven,
one foot racing in slow motion,
itching,
one in front of the other
that leads the other
that pulls the first,
the pressure of the ground
pulsating
beneath each limb as it springs from
the dark, adhesive wood.
Faint music slides on its belly
across the scarped, black wall-
ripples in the ears with a delicious
little tickle until the heartbeat
apes the coddled bass
and breath’s pace quickens with a
frisson of anticipation.
Until we are reborn.
Rounding the corner and
climbing to claim
one’s seat amongst the Gods
where, like first man
we are free to wander
roaming,
to explore the promised garden
we are pulled in and implored,
foraging for sweet spirits
and empty cubicle compliments.
Below the disco ball
others forge together in
Musical Thanksgiving,
bowing and swaying
and to-ing and fro-ing
and Twerking…
Here our ears, so filled with
sing-song tinctures, never came across
the notion of foe,
no, here we are as one-
huddled-
our goal intertwined,
souls bathed in wine.
We flit from floor to booth,
wings satiated, and land
to drink in the easy, unsolicited
smiles that make you believe
again that love is free.
A familiar call across the way
invites us to another land. We glide,
passing pictures of past loves
plastered on the walls until
we are very suddenly,
softly
baptised in swirling coils of
silver smoke.
The people out here seem to breath it
as easily as the air within.
The music’s rhythm is swiftly replaced,
as if by magic, with the
merging murmurings of these
little bees. Not one word of this foreign
tongue can be caught, but we can sense
the elation
the delight found in words exchanged like
embraces, out here.
Small lights glint in this endless night,
only thinly veiled by this vapour,
winking in solidarity,
in understanding of
how this new place is not only theirs
but our pearly paradise
now.
Snapping awake from the perfect
dream,
a chanced slap across our bewildered faces-
the safety of the haze now replaced by the
day and sharp lights and windows boarded,
still
disco ball aloft, looking on in silent contempt.
It seems we flew too
close to the sun.
We can’t recall when and if we even took a
bite from the apple, now
this Eden is promised to no one,
least of all to us. And we could,
should cry.
A sad, sorry little swansong as we say
goodbye to that Attic.
Bombed Out Church by Paddy Wailey
Unique and edgy, displaying unspoiled skin of light brown.
Its steps often frequented in the early hours of weekends, following a boss night on the town.
The home of students, tourists and drinkers, without the normality of a roof on.
The last bombed out sight in Liverpool, surviving the blitz in 1941.
The gardens of green, stretching around the outside.
The two soldiers and the ball, representing a Christmas day peace pact, both were happy to abide.
Soldiers play with the ball, history injected into the city's core.
Having been leant a hand, the church must maintain its symbolic character, no more war
Face to Face with Lennon by Barry Woods
Liverpool's famous son, exhibited in museum space of cool white.
A trip back to the past, my bed-in birth year of hippy hair, a double fantasy for John and Yoko with no place for Beatles.
This was about peace and love - before my time.
I hear faint piano echo from far side of room, I hear 'Imagine' without the words.
His portrait is huge with messages of love framed all around on sticky white notes.
Looking into those penny specs I see how young he was back then; I think of the gunshot and the re-issues, and a family divorce that burned his number one hit into my mind as an eleven-year-old. And it feels as deep as the Mersey, this wound.
I wonder if he is here today staring through me and out at the river?
Blackrabbit: A Taste of Things to Come by Morgan Hughes
It’s a Thursday Night, I'm going out. It’s a big night. One of my mates, well, mate who’s not really a mates birthday. He’s 18, so everyone is welcome when it’s a 18th. It’s in a place called The Old Bank. Which when we get there, looks like a fucking palace. Definitely a place where I shouldn't be. Me and my mate Tom have been out since 5. We get to the Old Bank and we’re bloody rotten. I'm surprised we were allowed in.
Anyhow. Tom and me get seated. I a Jack and Coke, double. People start waltzing in.
“Ohhhh don’t you look gorg” One Girl says to her mate.
Not my scene.
I'm only here because supposedly Jessica is coming. She’s stunning. The girl of my dreams. Fucked it up one time but this time I have to make it right, I love her.
Suddenly, It’s like the Heavens have opened. The gigantic marble doors of the Old Bank have opened, Jessica. Wow. She never fails to impress, she’s got that Cheshire charm and Glam. (posh bird) Only thing is now to get sober enough to go and talk to her.
Although that doesn't happen does it. I bottle it to go and throw up my guts and the chicken strip meal from spoons down the toilet. Fan-Bloody-Tastic
I come out of the toilets a new man. Ready to talk to the girl I have had feelings for her for what seems like forever. I notice from the corner of my eye that another girl is here from my past. Someone I really don’t wanna talk to. Someone I really wish wasn't here. It’s like one of those David Attenborough Documentaries. But I'm not The Tiger. I'm the prey and Molly, she’s coming straight for me. What do I do. Well obviously buy the girl a bloody drink. Plonker.
I end up leaving the Bank for something a little less more formal. Black Rabbit. It’s 2 o'clock. I wanna be home. I'm by myself, and Seems like I've been standing In this line forever.
Finally, I'm getting in.
“Who you with? I can’t let you in by ye self” The Bouncer says.
Oh Sweet Jesus. Well I'm not getting in now am I. Then it’s like the world stops. I can see sat in a booth. With a glass of Red keeping it classy its Jessica
I'm getting in. By whatever means necessary.
“OK Mr Bouncer. Let me go and get one of my mates”
By the entrance to the car park, boys and girls stand smoking. And so does Molly. It’s No Man's Land, I ask her will she come in with me? She agrees. We go back to the line, line up and get in. It’s mental in here. Looked dead outside. We walk round for abit and then the story comes to a end.
“Is that all I'm gonna get?”
I know what she means. She has me. The Tiger has won, It’s got its prey. She pounces on my lips like I'm Joe Exotic. Her breath is RANK. She stinks, and she got some of her greasy cake off on me. It lasted 5 seconds then off she went to go and finish off the ciggy she left with her mate.
I walk round the club for a bit. Doing that kinda of dance of one arm in the air cos ye don’t wanna look a tit. I see Jess. Sat down. This is my moment, I regret not talking to her sooner. She's looking at me. Like she wants me to say something. The music is Loud. I mean loud, but saying that, I feel like I know what she’s saying by just looking at her
“Jess. I really, really love you”
Takes her time to say something. concerning like, She leans in to me. Says something in my ear.
“Sorry I did hear you! It’s really loud!”
Well. Guess I’ll have to make this easy for her to understand aren't I. Think I'm gonna have to kiss her. I kiss her. She responds by saying something so quick-witted
“Why didn't you just do that first ay
Hackins Hey by Jean Shaw
Hackins Hey.
The very sound of the name brings so many memories filtering through the mist of time back to me. I imagine most people in Liverpool have never heard of it ?
Hey? I thought hay was dried grass raked up under hot summer sun in open fields, enveloped with an evocative aroma of carefree days in meadows.
Not this Hey.
Hackins Hey, a narrow, inconspicuous street, nestled between Dale Street and Tithebarn Street in the business quarter of Liverpool city centre. I have vivid memories of this atmospheric old road with many small shops, businesses and offices.
To be taken there as a child for an annual, summer visit to my father’s workplace was such a treat. The scent of the summer was evocative there too, not dried grass, exuding a sweet , heavy meadow aroma, but hot pavements, tarmac, city dust and traffic.
To enter my father’s workplace, a typewriter repair shop (Mumfords) was like stepping into another world. Shelves and worktops groaned with the weight of numerous typewriters, adding machines, calculators, and all the forerunners to today’s ‘high tech’ devices. Typing ribbons were stacked on many shelves- in purple and black circular cases. I can smell the shop now, a combination of machine oil and white spirits. In the hot, dusty atmosphere everything seemed to exude black ink. Maybe that is my imagination.
This workplace was a haven for my father. He had possessed the magical gift of being able to ‘fix’ things, no matter what the ‘thing’ was! This talent, combined with his quick wit and cheeky charm meant that he was the perfect manager of this little gem of a shop, in a gem of a street. All the local business people knew about George. He would often be asked to ‘have a look at’ some treasured watch, or clock or anything else which had ceased to function. George would invariably bring these objects back to life.
Much of his ‘informal contact’ with customers was made on Friday nights. When, along with other colleagues and workmates from surrounding businesses, my father would enjoy ‘a swift half’ in another remarkable gem in Hackins Hey, Ye Hole in The Wall. This historic public house, dating from the eighteenth century is believed to be the oldest pub in Liverpool. To my amazement women were not allowed to cross the threshold, until a change in the law some years later.
These yearly, summer holiday visits completed my mental jigsaw of my father’s daily routine. A visit to Hackins Hey was magical, like no other place on earth.
My father travelled from the Wirral every day, on the Mersey ferry. Although the voyage was short, he and many fellow passengers would walk around the ferry decks, reading their papers, to have their daily exercise. On disembarking, they would all scurry up the covered gangways from the floating, creaking landing stage to the busy, bustling Pier Head. Each commuter heading intently on to their place of work in the many offices in the beautiful buildings in the city.
This was the daily journey he made until one Friday in July 1975.It was to be his last trip on the ferry across the Mersey from Hackins Hey. His life was ended prematurely at the age of fifty three, when his ticker gave out.
There was no one to fix it!
Visiting Hackins Hey evokes many memories for me now- happy and sad.
I love that place.
A thank you from Liverpool actor Pauline Daniels. If you are in a position to help us continue to create brilliant, inspiring & entertaining work, help us continue to work with our communities & develop talent and young people then please do consider a donation, we'd be so grateful. You can find out more about how to support us here.
We hope you enjoyed this weeks letter, see you soon.
Love,
Liverpool
x