In my Liverpool home

Roy Kerridge

Christmas comes to Liverpool, a tree with lights is raised in the shopping centre and a town crier in full costume rings a bell and announces a 'Craft Fayre' in the Bluecoat School. No snow falls, but a fog descends and covers the entire city. What have I learned from my three-month stay by the River Mersey? Signs of fallen prosperity are everywhere, and grandiose if soot- blackened buildings await the bulldozer with Northern fortitude. Liverpool is in a bad way.

'We used to be all right, as we faced America, but now, with the Common Market, they only want ports that face the Continent,' I was told again and again. However, America is still there, and not long ago a cargo vessel from that land was marooned in Liverpool for 14 weeks by a dock strike.

Liverpudlians are fiercely patriotic, as if the town was a country in itself, but unfor- tunately for Liverpool this patriotism is linked with a strong belief in socialism. Tempers grow shorter in this strange, crowded, half-Irish city, which now has no commercial reason for existing. The docks dwindle and revert back to mud banks with little trickles of streams flowing through them and seagulls walking about where once they would have had to swim. Mr Heseltine's bounty may well be used to fill the South Docks in with concrete and build conference centres on top of them.

This would be a pity. If my own idea of a backdated Enterprise Zone where the laws of 150 years ago apply (subject to appeal in extreme cases) cannot be put into practice, the docks ought to be allowed peacefully to decay in all their melancholy splendour. Enormous cast-iron pillars along weird warehouse balconies, strange Gothic castles dated '1856', a rust-red Greek temple also made of iron, long brick walls with 'Wapp- ing' painted on them, and sagging broken cranes; all these have a certain nostalgic charm. I later learned that the 'castle' was the first hydraulic accumulator ever to be built. How typical of the Victorians to ac- cumulate their hydraulics in such a roman- tic Gothic folly!

At Pier Head not far away, the Transport and General Workers Union have created a clumsy iron climbing frame for children,

covered in heroic trade union slogans aq invectives against Dunlop and ffiniti. national capitalism'. Although Mr Heseltine seems a sincere man, I have been doubtful of his wiscin.! ever since I heard him praise the docks'' Maritime Museum as an example of entjer; prise. A dock that was in full working nrueed in the Sixties has now simply been declared a museum, the equipment labelled and his tourists invited in. Richard West, in ".1 English Journey, found that as Industrw.f vanished, industrial museums took theis place, gravestones for all to read. It seerliv, odd to me to see visitors gaping at a f°1:d lift truck that had been in use and unremarked only a few years before. Mnr ominous is the living exhibit, a live COdPii;'s cooping away while the visitors stare, trade extinct since metal kegs came into use l; `Did they nail you up in the barrel whew you finished your apprenticeship? an °he mmuanseuimnquir.ed, when I last visited `No, I had to buy drinks all round,' tile cooper replied ruefully. He still seemed."„ resent this indignity. 'The only cook done now is making drums for pop grcliPIT;y I started back, a horrible vision 0' es. own destiny swimming before myeY.t er After the Last Cooper, the Last WIlm y could not be far away. Would I sPertu...4 declining years in a glass museum scribbling away for all the world .asecr, newspapers and magazines still e.iast,he Crowds would press their noses against Blass, and big Northern women would cry ce, doesn't he look natural! Take a look, a IasusryillY. They still had these when I were a r Nearby, the Mission to Seamen had been .ecluced to a third of its previous size, but a !vial atmosphere prevailed, as drinks were tLured by a rough young clergyman in shhirt-sleeves, with a cigarette hanging out of isnlouth. `td renan Grigg, a 19-year-old deck hand nhe ish ferry, offered to write an article sr°r.,Me on how the union ordered him to tr" against his will. He had obeyed, but jeusentfully, and seemed to think an in- ristice had been done. However, I couldn't fell his address in Widnes, so the project ell through.

Purther up the hill, on Hardman Street, I r0 looked in at Atlantic House, the Home 11. Roman Catholic Seafarers. A large, im- °shig building, the Home had been built irokind the framework of a Regency cast- win Church. Building in cast iron seemed 00ee h to have been a Liverpudlian ittplisment. t0`evIr Larsen the manager kindly showed r1 here were seven passenger liners a year liLiverpool not long ago,' he told me, t0.°w there's only the Irish ferries. We used hnli,ave 108 beds all ready, but now we only 'tiler with 25.' r01.0le showed me into the chapel, a dimmed horn where sanctuary lamps shaped as th.IshiPs hung from the ceiling, the altar Cinbled the bow of a ship and the sta- , '1,7 of the cross were placed in portholes. tf door was the dance floor. knee we had dances every night, but W bh;c Only once a week,' he informed me. A I the Kure he handed me explained how all v07.Mgirls on the premises, pure-hearted esses for the sailors to dance with, were 11,`t Leers who had been carefully vetted. ivy danced with lonely sailors for the love kiruod, were not allowed to drink at the

`date' their partners or wear 'ex- 1,!Pnt makeup'.

the his, according to the writer, preserved 1yia sailors from mercenary 'Dance Hall kenas'. Probably the few remaining sailors tha„ellarrned to meet respectable girls for a litqe, as the streets around have no shor- 100. e °f Dianas. That night in Seel Street I kitlikl a Diana-haunt, a mysterious-looking totr t Club where a curl headed Greek atiZht to gain admittance. A nervous, esh ;!tve-looking man, he spoke very little bI• 'Sorry, bos, you have to be signed botrY a member,' t she tough half-Chinese P.e.11„cer informed him. 'Do you speak ktr sh at all? What's that, you're Greek? . YOU off a ship?'

,Yes, seaman.'

ed i,cl!"fle in, pal,' and the Greek was whisk- hecogside and the door slammed in my face c,sre You could say 'Joe sent me'. 1,411‘(41tinuing my explorations next day, I eache,c1 Past rows of derelict council flats, told lock with two or three tenants still in aloeEventually I came to Mill Street

and saw a red brick castle-like building, finely ornamented on the outside and labelled 'Florence Institute for Boys'.

Not knowing what to expect, I went in- side and met a very lively, vivacious bunch of young girls, who seemed delighted to meet me.

`Come in, we'll show you something to write about!' they cried, and led me into a black cupboard-like room, over a pile of rubble, through another door and finally into a workshop with sewing-machines. A notice on the wall read 'Textiles'.

'We're a Youth • Opportunity Scheme!' Pattie, Jackie, Lesley, Estelle, Debbie and Ann explained loudly in chorus. They seem- ed a friendly crowd, fond of their work, and soon their machines were purring away. Remembering my brief career as an underpresser, I told them of life in a tailor- ing factory 20 years ago, when all the girls sang bawdy songs as they worked, hung pictures of pop stars on their machines and intimidated the foreman whenever he tried to stop them from going home early. 'You should enjoy Yourselves when you get a real job,' I told them, and they looked pleased.

Introducing myself to Mr Mercer the Project Manager, I arranged for an inter- view. Returning, ! waited while he dealt with various crises, for he seemed an over- worked and harassed man, and he then gave me a guided tour of the building. A vast edifice, 'the Florry' was built as a

youth club and early work-training scheme in 1889. For some years it had been used as a youth club alone, and now was in a very dilapidated, almost ruinous, condition.

It seemed a free-and-easy place, with no clocking-in, regular hours or factory discipline. This being so, the 20-odd pounds a week the trainees received was un- doubtedly a fair wage. Downstairs, worthy young lads planed and sawed at pieces of wood, and according to Mr Mercer, textile work, joinery, plumbing, electronics, cater- ing, office work, photography and printing were taught there.

Or rather, they were not taught. There was a problem with the unions.

'We mustn't be seen to be trespassing on outside trades and apprenticeships,' I was told. 'The unions don't allow commercial

work, so we familiarise the young people with the jobs. Sometimes we make things

for other government schemes or for chari- ty. See this coat the girls have made? That's for Sir William Penniman's Army. They re- enact Civil War battles, rather like Sealed Knot, only based in Yorkshire.'

Were it not for the unions, Florence House would surely be more flourishing, the young people stimulated by working on real contracts for real firms. As it was, a few of the young men slouching in corners here and there made a bad impression on me, and I noticed that doors were locked very carefully 'because of stealing'. However, during the last six months, about

The Spectator 18 December 1982 three quarters of those leaving had beell found jobs, which was quite a success stone' `If the Youth Opportunities Scheme ha been founded by a Labour rather than a Conservative government, it would now of hailed as a mighty triumph instead '"0 criticised,' I suggested to Mr Mercer, wb laughed but said nothing. Meanwhile the Merseyside council 10 built several factories to let out to im aginary entrepreneurs, expensive font° I add to the ratepayers' woes.

Talking to various men around the ,

picked up a variety of opinions, sonic su,:: prisingly sensible considering LiverpOtile communist bias. A bazaar held at the Engineering Union headquarters flew Morning Star banner and sold left-o`'` souvenirs from the Russian Olympics ; „LA

A big Somali, a cheerful man with

who could have been a muscular don at 'Jai bridge, told me of working in a coal lint]] St Helens, crouching on a conveyor ro amid icy water and shovelling hae,_lt„ac" lumps of coal that fell off. Disliking this cupation, he took a job at British LeY'a"ee but 'the men there work only two or tt!rrne hours a day, and spend the rest of the tiro. standing around talking. They can talk ti'at five hours at a time, can't think wike about! If you want to work, they einn'tmjan you — you're on your own. The fore pis just potters about with a bit of paper hand, for if he told the men to work the" all go on strike.' A big tousle-haired Liverpudlian told for that he contracted to do 'black labour' He agencies in Germany and Switzerland' was a painter.ev is! `Switzerland, that's where the r11011-",'ing. There's no work in England. Onlyht my boss might go to prison if he's tang 4 and then I'd be deported back here aPs. instead of just coming over for Christina ..„001 Despite its dreadfulness, Livelveni fascinates me. The Scouse tempera r1 is deteriorating and the line between '–ess Northern honesty and outright rudenuse grows daily fainter. In a café where 'se° tea and bread' was advertised at 80 Peltic,,e;v saw five young men threaten an eIrrag blind person in extremely bloodcur:to tones for jostling against them and sPinbl a tiny drop of tea. Among many, the liveiy, d humorous patterns of speech persist in sit' of all. 'Don't worry about my dog,' a.; c), as man, a plant operator, told me. `rle,,,''oe friendly as a politician and a Int,„%er, harmless.' An elderly gardener in vvait,c. tree Park gave me a long and scholarbl,' era ture on neolithic stone circles in north n• England. On the whole, however, the tae: dard Liverpool opinion is an indignant The `We've been betrayed by London e,re world owes us a living just because Liverpool, the greatest city in the I met a young man from Hastings to had married a Liverpool girl and rtinvees', a council flat near the infamous 'pigs

the row of derelict tower blocks. `Liverpool's a wonderful city — I'll neer

leave!' he told me rapturously. 'It's so in- teresting, I could never get tired of it. Of course the neighbours are a problem. We've hee ri here for three years and they still aven't spoke to us, and we still get the odd brick through the window. You see, it's a Catholic estate and I was brought up Church of England. They know I don't go to Mass, and to them that only means one

thing Orange Lodge!'

To see the Orangeman's point of view, I took a taxi up to the Lodge in Everton, ac- companied by my black half-sister who was visiting me. Perhaps I shouldn't have stop- ped a cab outside the Catholic cathedral, or Paddy's Wigwam. 'The Orange Lodge?' roared the wild- eYed driver, a man with a furious shock of red hair. Driving like a madman, for with Passengers such as these, life had no mean- ing, he soon decanted us safely outside a modern windowless brick building. Inside, the bar lounge and bingo game suggested a working men's club, a trifle brash and glit- tering. Pictures of King Billy hung on the ,,, ils. We were received courteously, given free drinks and introduced to the Grand blaster, a quiet-spoken man who resembled a club secretary. I asked him why some council estates in Liverpool were Catholic and some were Protestant. He explained that tenants rebelled against being placed miles out in the country when their old streets came down, and were now rehoused where they had lived before. So the old Irish traditions and boundaries had been kept up.

Then I inquired why so few coloured peo- ple Joined the Loyal Orange Lodge.

We have a multi-racial Lodge in Liver- rot Eight,' he explained proudly, 'and we Aave no prejudice about us at all. In West frica, Orange Lodges are flourishing, par- ncolarly in Ghana. Our Grand Master over there is called Emmanuel Oboke Essien.' This information delighted me, and we all became very friendly. He quoted Sir Ed- ‘ard Carson as saying 'We'll fight the ritisll to stay British,' and feeling quite tikplifted my sister and adjourned to the tunes There I found a juke box with Orange on, and soon everyone was singing. MY sister, who has many Irish friends 'on kc3th sides', surprised the Loyalists by n0wing their own songs better than they d.

You will always be welcome here,' they said as we left.

Centres for both the Orange and the b'reen in Liverpool have flagpoles outside, ,ut, except on special occasions, no flags, as these might rouse sectarian passions to fever pitch. Whenever I leave Liverpool I a ways think of myself as 'returning to w. land', so perhaps a Liverpudlian flag ]th Liver Bird rampant ought to be devis- v. For its motto it might borrow that of he Socialist Party of Great Britain, plastered in a hundred posters all over Liverpool: 'World Without Money L '. John ennon, Liverpool's new patron saint, would certainly approve.