The Lost Neighbourhood

 

St Mark Street

If there were an award for the most uninspiring street in Hull, then it would surely go to St Mark Street, just to the north east of the city centre.

The streetscene is today dominated by stark and dull palisade fencing around non-descript light industrial premises. There is no residential presence whatsoever.

It is one of those areas where after normal business hours there is nothing to bring or cause people to stay.

It is sad to think that the street was once vibrant and home to many in forecourt frontage and small pedestrian terraces set off the roadway.

As an indication of the vitality of St Mark Street some 41 in number of its young men were sent away to the First World War. A good proportion of these never returned. If you roll back another 60 years or so from this enforced depopulation then you would see the beginnings of that community.

In 1855 the street was dominated by St Mark's Church which could seat 1135 according to the Ordnance Survey mapping. A Vicarage, from the one dimensional footprint, evidently quite a grand place followed shortly after.

By 1891 various trades and factories had moved in at the western end closest to Cleveland Street which ran down towards the riverfront dock basins and wharfage. This included a Blue and Black Lead manufacturer and the distinctive roundels of the holders of The Sutton, Sculcoates and Drypool Gas Company.

A Directory of residents for 1892 recorded such tradespersons as tinners, engineers, a gardener, grocers, waggonette proprietor and landlady's of lodging houses on the main thoroughfare or in the terraces off which were named Susannah's, Janes, Symons and George's.

There were enough children in the early 1890's to justify construction of a school directly behind the church and employment to support the locals including a further Starch Works and Iron Foundry.

The eastern end of the street crossed a watercourse known as Foredyke Stream which bisected the city before discharging into the tidal River Humber and out to the North Sea.

In the years after the First World War the area will have experienced the same socio-economic highs and lows that affected the nation and much of the western world. Residents will have drifted off into better perceived parts of a growing Port City, to healthier and greener suburbs and other forms of employment. This migration will have, in its way, saved many from death and injury during the relentless bombing of Hull by the Luftwaffe which saw, on a citywide basis, 1200 civilians killed and 86715 homes damaged leaving only just under 6000 properties intact.

A map of the blitz on Hull shows a concentration of high explosive bomb impacts on and around St Mark Street indicating that the Gas Company was a primary target as well as the dispersed industrial buildings no doubt because of their contribution to the war effort in their own small but important ways.

The landmark Church was bombed and was eventually demolished in 1958, the school already being denoted as a ruin by this time. The cleared site became a yard to store the timber imports arriving in the Eastern Docks from Scandinavia and Russia.

The densely packed housing, by mid 20th Century standards, was now considered insanitary and was gradually knocked down and left as vacant sites until being covered by large steel portal frame sheds and warehouses. The ugly palisade fencing soon followed.

Uninspiring it may be now but this accolade should not commit the street to anonymity.

I was talking to a longstanding local just a few days ago and a story of his gave me some encouragement that St Mark Street will never be forgotten as a valuable neighbourhood in its time.

As a night shift worker in a fruit and vegetable wholesalers on St Mark Street in the 1990's he and a co-worker witnessed first hand some very strange goings-on.

Wooden boxes full of produce would with regularity and  without warning, fly violently off the racking in the warehouse.

Shadowy figures suddenly materialised  to stand and peer through upstairs windows. If you stared back or blinked they would move off but without casting a shadow or passing other windows on the same level.

On one particular shift at about 3am a terrible sound was heard out in the delivery yard.
It was a constant and pitiful wailing.

The co-workers at first thought it to be from  babes and infants but given the industrial surroundings this was just not a possibility.

Their curiosity overruled any feelings of fear and dread.

The source of the cacophony was a large collection of domestic cats, their appearance indicating well cared for pets rather than feral by nature. This was unusual as the nearest homes were about half a mile away.

Resembling what could easily have been a staged calendar shoot the creatures were all facing the same way towards a narrow foot passage as though awaiting or in fear of something or someone.

The arrival of the workers caused the cats to immediately silence.

There was a strange piercing silence before footsteps could be heard deep in the darkness of the foot way. Amplified by the confines of that space the footfalls were clear and distinct. It was a heavy booted sound, the sort produced by a thick leather sole. The deeper tones were interspersed by a lighter metallic resonance as though from a loose buckled strap. There was no-one to be seen from where the steps originated.

The co-workers were rooted to the spot in the yard, too scared to move let alone make a run for the building. The steady pace continued, progressively nearer from across the empty street. The metronome rhythm had a spellbinding effect.

A collision between entity and humans seemed imminent.

The parties were almost, audibly, toe to toe, face to face and then ......nothing.

The story was told to me in great detail as it had obviously been recounted many, many times before.

The arrival of the dawn must have been most welcome after the events of the early hours on that day. The two workers refused thereafter to take the night shift after what they had witnessed even though they had to endure considerable scepticism and mockery from colleagues and acquaintances.

I like to think that the St Mark Street spirits was just offering up a small reminder of its past and in a very effective way, not too menacing and with a lot of mischief. The leather soles will have been similar to those worn by manual workers in the foundry, starch or blue lead industries. You will have seen the type in grainy old black and white films.

Although such movies will have been either silent, dubbed or heavily over-scored in an Imperious soundtrack there will have been an implied metallic resonance from the small fastening buckles so characteristic of artisan footwear of that era.

Eelvolution

It was never a case that I intentionally fished for freshwater Eels. 

Their presence in the depths of the local river was never in doubt but it was not until they broke the surface having greedily taken the bait that you actually found out they were there. 

There was always a few seconds of excitement after striking with a strong pull and tension on the nylon line and that anticipation of a good specimen fish but then ultimate disappointment with the actual catch. 

There was still a lot to do to get the silvery streak to the river bank so as not to lose all of the fishing tackle. The creature would wrap itself in a tight and slimy mass by way of self protection and it was very difficult to extricate it and return it to the murky depths. 

So was perpetuated through me the fascination with and mythical status of the Eel. 

There has always been a close association between humans and the Eel as a primary and plentiful food source either from wild stock or intentionally farmed and yet it is only in very recent years that the lifecycle and breeding habits have become the subject of study. 

That has not been without considerable interest in the species from prominent historic figures. 

Aristotle put forward his theory that Eels were generated by the very action of water on worm casts and emerged out of the earth. The Romans attributed the proliferation of Eels to their rubbing on the rocks and offspring coming from the scrapings of skin. In the Middle Ages some claimed to have seen Eels emerging from the thatch on the roof of their homes or hatching from dew drops. 

All of this mystery arose from the fact that no-one had ever actually witnessed the life cycle process. 

A study in France just before the Second World War involved the placing of 1000 Elven (baby eels) in a tank. The small 5cm infants were fed on worms and yet after 12 months only 71 remained after what the Laboratory Assistants described as scenes of relentless cannibalism. In a true survivalist way after a further 3 months only an oversized and very content female eel resided in the tank. 

The freshwater Eel, just one of many within the species thrives in river deltas and upstream where they act as predators and serve a valuable role in the ecological hierarchy. 

There continued in history studies and personal quests to shed light on the life cycle. 

One Naturalist in the 18th Century disected an Eel and observed within what he thought were offspring. However, he was mustaken and had just come across parasitic worms. The Italians continued in their studies and thought that they had found the reproductive process in an Eel fished from the Po Delta. The ovary and eggs which were triumphantly displayed to an interested scientific community were in fact from a closely related species but of the fish and not Eel genus. 

The breeding of Eels had still never actually been witnessed by humans. 

A reward was offered for presentation of a suitable specimen for further study but a fisherman filled a dead eel with roe eggs to swindle the organisers out of their money. 

The great Sigmund Freud, when a student in Vienna was entrusted with a summer job to track the life cycle but he failed to progress the knowledge of the Eel. 

In the 1850's a scientist found miniscule larvae washed up on the Italian coastline. In a bit of a brainwave he counted the vertebrae as a guide to try to identify the adult of the same species which was the freshwater Eel. This was a major step. 

It was not until well into the first quarter of the 2oth Century that an Oceanographer adopted the revolutionary approach of tracking the life cycle in reverse. In this way the trail led to the discovery of the Sargasso Sea which lies in the Bermuda Triangle as the principal origin of the Eel. 

It was only in 2020 that a single female Eel was able to be tagged and tracked out of some 400 in the experiment. From the St Lawrence in Canada the journey crossed the Atlantic to the East of Scotland, back to Maine and then along the south magnetic longitude to the Sargasso. 

To date the mating of the Eel has still not been witnessed and the mystery, fable and myth persists. 

Festival of Britain in Hull 1951

This week in 1951 saw the opening of the Festival of Britain, an event open to millions with the intention of it to be a catalyst for optimism and recovery after the dour years after the end of the Second World War when Rationing and bomb sites were still a fact of everyday life for a good proportion of the UK population. 

The Festival had been the idea of Herbert Morrison, initially as a commemoration of the Centenary of the Great Exhibition in the reign of Queen Victoria but it gradually became a beacon for national identity and enterprise rather than a showcase of Britain to the wider world. 

The emphasis was to be on industry, arts and science with exhibits and displays of the best that the nation had to date. The focal point of the Festival in London included the Dome of Discovery and the Skylon, a cigar shaped structure of steel giving the impression of a spaceship. 

There were also Regional Events with main Provincial Cities doing associated Festivals and in my home City, Kingston Upon Hull a number of satellite events were held or planned. 

Suggestions before a specially formed Committee included open days at Factories, a display by British Rail, shop window and public area floral displays, the illumination of buildings with floodlights, Festival Events for children in the City Parks and educational literature for Hull Schools.

Ambitious proposals for a £200000 budget on a 26 acre site on Bricknell Avenue on which to hold events never progressed beyond the tentative plan stage although there had been good interest from exhibitors and trades. The reasons for cancellation were rearmament, strain on the local economy and also the impact of climate on the actual site. It had been intended for the site to champion agriculture with the support of the National Farmers Union under the theme of "Country comes to town". 

There was a Festival of Britain Regatta in East Park, Hull and proposals were made to lay foundation stones for new Government Offices and a Technology College in Queens Gardens. 

Further industrial and agricultural shows and displays were planned as well as cultural events such as a Marine Art Exhibition. 

Perhaps the most interesting and unique event was for 6 sheep to be taken every day to City Hall where they would be sheared, the wool treated and made into garments on the spot. 

Kipper Ties and Herring Aids

For decades in the Yorkshire Port City of Hull the resident population saw a brief increase during the months of January to March. 

The demographic of the arrivals to the City was easy to see- most of them, Women and Men hailed from Stornaway in the far North of Scotland comprising fisher folk following the work that revolved around the Norwegian Herring Season. 

In 1949 The Hull Daily Mail reported on that years influx of Scots which numbered some 300 who were called in to assist in the processes of Kipper Production in the many traditional fish curing houses that contributed to the persistence of an oak infused smokey atmosphere between Hessle Road and the Fish Dock. 

Winter and early Spring saw the first Norwegian Herring Ships arrive in the Port with their ice encrusted silver scale bounty which had been caught off the Scandinavian Coast before being collected in the Fjords for shipping to Hull. 

The demand for experienced labour was high to cope with the scheduled 4 ship loads every week in the season. 

The army of Scots were multi-generational in profile with mothers and fathers, sons, daughter, cousins and seniors and made their living from the hard and demanding kipper industry. 

Hull was just the first in a transient existence which through the year saw the workforce move on to Peterhead, Wick and Yarmouth. In between was a brief return to their home territory in the Western Isles. 

There was of course fish curing operations in Hull on an all year round basis but the opening rush of the season always required the Scottish contingent. 

The workers dressed in clogs, blue overalls and oilskin aprons carried out the splitting, cleaning, pickling, smoking and packing as well as separating the milts (livers) and the roe. They will have been exposed to the cold, wet and icy atmosphere with a risk of muscular and respiratory illness, rheumatics and what we now know as repetitive strain injury notwithstanding potential for cuts and abrasions from the knives and tools of the trade. There was little by way of staff amenities and comforts apart from a glowing brazier in the Fish House yards. 

The Norwegian Herring were amongst the largest in size of the species and when packed in ice made for very heavy working. Many of the women strapped up their wrists with string to give extra support.

The Hull Daily Mail visited just one of the many Fish Curing Houses on Subway Street where 21 Scottish girls and 14 men had come down from the North. The youngest were just 14 and 15 years old but were already well experienced in the work as though it was deep rooted in their ancestral genes. 

Just this one establishment would, in the Hull Season, process around two million kippers for the UK Market. 

Wages in 1949 were £4 a week plus allowances of around 25 shillings for lodgings and travelling. Many took rooms in the terraced streets around the Hessle Road corridor for the duration and in true Scottish style immersed themselves in the recreational and cultural pursuits that Hull offered with regular outings to the Picture Palaces and Dance Halls. The Subway Street workers in particular expressed their interest in going to see the Wrestling Matches that were put on in various venues around the City. 

They were a tight knit group, rarely homesick because of their strong sense of community even hundreds of miles away from the Isles. A few of their number stayed and settled down in Hull but the majority would move on to follow the Herring Season as it continued its momentum through the year. 

Smooth Operator

Builders are always disrespectful of the endeavours of other builders.

I have seen many a contractor tut-tutting and oh-no-ing when happening upon a piece of work by a fellow craftsman when they should really be holding up the honour and endorsing the respect of their vocation.

The language of criticism usually involves such phrases as "that should be 50 mill and not 35 mill", "I do not know how that wall is still standing", "what mix did they use, was it 3-4-3 or 4-2-4?" and "have they used self flanging spigots or self flagellating bigots".

Take the skill, or in reality the art form that is plastering.

It is a dying craft and I blame the high volume house builders who in the relentless pursuit of profit insist on an internal finish that is cheap and rapid hence the widespread use of dot and dab. This is where large sheets of plasterboard are pressed and adhered directly onto the inner leaf of a wall and then taped at the joints and skim finished before the wishy-washy pastel shade emulsion is applied.

A few years hence it was the time served plasterer who would prepare the wall for a slurry and render coat prior to applying, with the care and diligence of a champion cake icer, the ultra smooth and glossy sheen plaster.

The same attention is necessary to provide a beautifully smooth finish to a ceiling.

I had a local builder carry out some renovations a few years ago at my home. His best plasterer did a fantastic job in one of the rooms but then disappeared from the workforce to be replaced by the builder himself.

Some builders build and some are best at managing others who build. My builder was firmly in the latter category.

Unfortunately I did not realise this until our family dog tipped us off.

It was not a case of the dog keeping a close eye on proceedings when we were all out at work and then informing on poor practice.

The ultimate criticism was in the frantic scrambling sound of paws on a bare floor in the middle of the night in an attempt to escape the fracturing and falling away of a full, and only hours before ,plaster skimmed ceiling.

It turns out that the builder had forgotten to bond the old ceiling prior to his work.

Recently, my daughter did some volunteer work on a building project and was seconded to a plastering gang in the renovation of a Victorian terraced house for low cost accommodation.

One of the plasterers gave a master class in his art and passed on the wisdom and plain common sense on which he based his working life.

1. “It’s all about the edges.”

2. When the plaster’s on, you’re on the plaster’s time, not yours. So you can’t go for lunch at lunchtime if the plaster’s on.

3. Just slap the PVA glue on and the plaster will stick to the wall if you’re not plastering directly onto plasterboard.

4. It’s bloody messy.

5. Always clean the electric plaster mixer straight after you use it so that the plaster doesn’t dry on it and it becomes a pain in the arse to smash off the blades, which, if you do smash them up, they will then tear up your buckets.

6. Cut out the sparky’s cables afterwards - always leave it tidy for the next man. Even though some sparky’s can be proper c*nts and will leave massive cables dangling out of the wall.

7. Start working from top left to top right, then along the bottom upwards in long smooth strokes. That way you don’t get lines.

8. It wants to be the consistency of Angel Delight.

9. Don’t have your mouth open if you’re plastering ceilings.

10. The trowel is your most important tool. It’s an extension of your hand that makes all the money. So don’t leave it on the floor.