Love, Liverpool: an A to Z of Hope // Letter 5
Letter 5 is a love for all things absolutely SCOUSE, about the best city in the world (not that we're biased), and the exceptional people you might be lucky enough to meet.
Letter 5: Scouse Exceptionalism
Jump to: Audio stories // Video stories // Written stories // Thank you
We start with a tour of Toxteth through time with Aron Julius, and how his home is much more than bricks, windows and trees.
Followed by our audio story public submissions, The White of the Canvas by Richie Billing, The Magic of St George's Hall by Samantha Roberts, Lennon Looks by Beth Easton, The Cure by Katharine Wright, The Cons by Joseph Turner and A City to be Proud Of by Angela Simms.
You can listen to our audio stories here or download them later with the podcast platform of your choice.
A full transcript of our audio stories is available here.
Also featured in our audio stories, but it's good to put a face to the voice, this is A City to be Proud Of by Angela Simms.
Another collection of Love for Liverpool with this episode’s written submissions…
Call of the Labyrinth by Martin Summerfield
Under Liverpool lies a network of labyrinthine tunnels spreading out like stone arteries in the body of the city. You are trapped in these tunnels. Your phone buzzes. It’s your boyfriend, Darren. You answer the call.
‘Amy! Thank god! I woke up in this tunnel, I don’t know where I am.’
‘I know. We’ve been kidnapped.’
‘How can you tell?’
‘Check your texts.’
‘ “You are cordially invited to participate in a game of death, of which there can only be one winner. Participation is mandatory. - J.W.” What the hell? Where are you?’
‘I don’t know. This place is a maze.’
‘Stay there. I’ll come get you as soon as I can.’
After some time passes you hear footsteps drawing closer.
‘Darren?’
You hear moaning and unsteady footsteps scuffing the floor. You see a ghoul with coins for eyes shambling towards you. You back away, trying best to evade his grasp.
From out of nowhere Darren strikes the ghoul in the head with a brick, and it collapses into dust.
You sigh in relief, and pocket the coins.
After some walking you come to a cellar, where an old man hammers coffins onto the wall while a young woman hands him nails.
The man turns his head to look behind him, but merely grunts before getting back to his hammering.
‘Can you help us? We’re lost and we need to get out of here.’
The man didn’t respond.
‘We can pay you.’ You say, holding up the dead man’s coins.
‘Father! They have ferry gold! We could finally leave this place.’
The man turns to you, snatching the coins from your hands. In return he gives you a key made of bone.
‘This will guide you out of the tunnels and will open any door. But you’ll need to contend with Williamson. If you’re unsuccessful, I have room on my wall.’
After leaving the cellar, and taking many turns you arrive at a banquet hall. The table is the length of the entire hall and in each seat is a skeleton. You shudder as you notice there are two seats left empty at the head of the table before you move on.
You enter the room at the end of the hall. In the centre of the room is a tree of veins, and stood under the tree stands a man.
‘At last! I was worried you’d gotten lost in my labyrinth of leylines.’
‘You’re Williamson?’
‘One and the same.’
‘Why did you do this to us?’
‘You passed your fellow guests in the banquet hall, all 998 of them. When I passed away I made a deal with the devil - if I sacrificed 1000 souls in his name, then I could walk the earth again.’
‘We’re not dead yet. We have a key that can open any door, and we’ll open every up every last one.’
‘That’s mine! You can’t have it!’
‘Come and get it.’
Williamson runs at you inhumanly fast. Darren swings at his head, but he ducks and knocks him sprawling to the ground. As he raises a knife, you notice the hole in his chest emanating light. You thrust the key inside the hole in his chest and turn it, hearing a click of bones as something locks into place.
‘No, I can’t go now, I was so close...’
The light radiates brighter and brighter until it flares out like magnesium before everything fades to white.
You awake to see you’re both lying on the steps of St George’s Hall. You heeded the call and solved the labyrinth.
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Romantics at Heart by Jeanette Griffiths
If you ask me what my favourite street in Liverpool is, I will always say Ashton Street. You may not have heard of it, but it's where my scouse love story began.
It was 1974, I was 17 and studying A levels at Blackburne House high school for girls on Hope street. To earn a bit of money during my studies I had a little job answering telephones for a local taxi firm where my dad also worked. So every day after school I would leave the school gate and walk towards the Art school and the Liverpool Institute for Boys (now LIPA) then turn right onto Hope Street. I walked past the old Hahnemann Hospital, past the Philharmonic Hall and the Philharmonic pub, the Casa, and the Everyman theatre, past the Metropolitan Cathedral and the Mountford Hall, towards the lovely red brick Victoria Building, the original University of Liverpool. Down the side of that building is Ashton Street which took me towards the old Liverpool Royal Infirmary (which at that time incorporated the nurse's home) and then onto Daulby Street where the taxi office was (it's now the site of the Roy Castle Foundation).
One fateful day I was walking along Ashton Street on my journey when I noticed some building work going on in the nurse's home. As I passed I heard a wolf whistle (that wouldn't be allowed today). I didn't look to see who had whistled, I just crossed the road quickly and continued on my journey. The next day as I passed the same place there was no whistle but from above me someone said "hello" and I looked up to see a young man with long hair leaning out of a window smiling. My heart skipped a beat as the sun shone on his face and I could see how gorgeous he was. I managed to say "hello" back, smiled and continued my journey. The next day at the same place that lovely young man was standing in a doorway as I passed. He said "hello" again and asked where I was going. When I told him, he said he was going the same way to buy some tools, and asked if he could walk with me. My heart was beating so fast I could hardly breathe, but I managed to say yes. As we walked we exchanged names and I discovered he was 19 and doing an apprenticeship in carpentry.
Every day after that he walked with me to the taxi office and I found I really enjoyed his company. He had a great personality and made me laugh, so when he suggested going for a day out that weekend, I readily agreed.
That was the beginning of an intense romance and we were engaged on my 18th birthday, and married two years after that. Two children, two houses and four cats later, that romance continues and we are absolute soulmates. We still remember Ashton Street with great affection. It's part of the University complex now but you can still walk down there, which we often do, hand in hand, recalling how our scouse love story started there.
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***Please note, the following story contains strong & offensive language that some readers may find distressing***
Petrol Bombing at Falkner Place by Charlie Jones
Adapted from ‘Liverpool 8’, This Week, 1972
They’re gonna smash the whinders,
so we’ve got to fight them off.
They’re savages. They come down here
with sticks an throwing rocks.
They think we’ll smash the whinders,
but it’s them that’s causing trouble.
The white folks called on us for help,
we’re not just looking for a scuffle.
They’re gonna smash the whinders,
so we haven’t got a choice.
There’s no one speaking on behalf of whites,
we’re giving us a voice.
How could we have smashed the whinders?
We weren’t even there.
An still the skinheads beat us up
an the police don’t even care.
The police put up a barricade
to help protect the blacks.
They’d rather help the coons than us.
It’s time to send them back.
The police tore down our barricade.
It’s almost like they want a riot.
When we told them we’re being attacked,
they told us to be quiet.
They’re scrapping every single night.
I wish they’d go away,
coz now my kids don’t have a place
where they can go to play.
There wasn’t even black folks here
when the skinheads first came.
The black lads aren’t responsible,
the white lads are to blame.
I watched them from the whinder
as they kicked an smacked each other.
The police were fighting for the coloureds,
the filthy nigger-lovers.
I watched it from the whinder
an personally I blame the police.
These skinheads terrorising the estate
an they just sat there in their new jeeps.
These gangs of coloureds coming here,
scrapping every hour.
You hear them running up the street
shouting things like black power.
We moved here for a better home,
but now we’re going back
to a house which has no running water
an we can’t get a bath.
The police did absolutely nothink.
They said there’s nothink we can do here love.
Get onto the Home Secretary
if you’ve got a problem with us.
Last night they threw a petrol bomb
an every whinder broke.
The lads from over in Granby Street
said they could see the smoke.
It’s been going on for years really,
fighting, on an off.
An as long as they keep living here
I doubt it’s gonna stop.
A thank you from Liverpool actor Leanne Best. 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
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