Eureka Hessle Road

To tell the truth, I never really took notice of the Eureka Picture Palace at the western end of the main shopping area of Hessle Road, Hull, Yorkshire, England.

I am a relative outsider and largely unaware of the significance of many buildings to a particular location and resident population. I do appreciate architectural styles but the Eureka was not a building that was in any direct line of sight particularly following alterations to the road system in that part of the city and even to a regular passing motorist like myself it could as easily be missed.

What did capture my attention in the summer of 2005 was a concentration of activity and a cloud of dust and debris as the once proud Cinema came to be demolished and the site cleared in readiness for a Lidl Supermarket.

In most of the urban environments of UK towns as well as the suburbs there has been a very dramatic decline in old cinema venues and so you may ask what was particularly special about The Eureka.

The authoritative work by Pevsner on "The Buildings of England" gives part of a sentence to it which is quite an endorsement for what was a functional building, specifically "Eureka Cinema, 1912, striking front in green and white faience".

I had to look up faience in the dictionary which refers to "the conventional name in English for fine tin-glazed pottery on a delicate pale buff earthenware body, originally associated by French speakers with wares exported from Faenza in northern Italy". Available archive photographs do not do justice to the splendour of such a material on a large front elevation but it would be clear, when built just two years before the outbreak of the first world war that the Eureka was a major commission.

It was evidently very well received by the Hessle Roaders  as a leisure facility for the  local population of which a high proportion earned their living from the hazardous industry of deep sea fishing.

The cinema was a show of the glamour of the movies and somewhat ahead of its time as the halcyon years of the silver screen were yet to come. As a sign of good attendance the seating capacity was increased in 1921 with construction of a balcony.

A local resident recalls the magic of a trip to the Eureka. "I was only a kid when we used to go there and see all the matinee idols on the big screen but I remember always longing to sit in the double seats at the front where the couples went. It was very sophisticated and seemed really posh."

It was certainly the place to be seen, a good night out or somewhere to go on a date.  The saturday cinema club and matinee performances entertained thousands of children at a time when there were few amenities for the younger generation.

The trawling industry, bringing great danger in the Arctic fishing grounds and with a heavy loss of life also brought money to Hessle Road. Cinema going figured high on the activities of local families in their valuable time off and for crew members who on their short periods of shore leave earned the title "Three Day Millionaires".

There tends to be a natural cycle in the life of the older generation of cinemas and the Eureka was no different. Having survived the Blitz in the second world war the Eureka stayed in business showing films until 1959 suffering from competition from larger city centre establishments and the arrival in many living rooms of television. The natural progression was as a Bingo Hall, another popular pursuit but this was itself under threat from a declining population as the old terraced streets were cleared and the occupants relocated to large sprawling new build Council Estates some four to five miles out on the far reaches of the city.

In 1984 a revival was attempted as a live music venue but this proved to be unviable and the premises were sold in 1989 for redevelopment. The location, by now a bit isolated and surrounded by car sales garages and secondary shops was not conducive to a conversion of The Eureka to flats and through a combination of inaction and neglect the building began to deteriorate rapidly.

Within ten years it was necessary to carry out partial demolition including removal of the roof. Now open to the elements the former grand interior of the elaborate and ornate facade took on the appearance of a wooded and overgrown copse.

The very visual demise of the Eureka caused concern to the Hull Civic Society who started a campaign try to save it as an emblem of the past and part of the heritage of the by now decimated trawling industry which had supported the Hessle Road Community for so long. The website, "Cinema Treasures" expressed the need for a rescue operation of such a fine example of a pre war building but to no avail.

I felt, in a strange way, privileged to be a witness to just a small part of the demolition of The Eureka cinema in 2005. It was the passing of a landmark and institution serving as a pleasure palace to a proud, hard working and long suffering  Hessle Road community.

Gwenap. Sex and Clutch Control

I started work in Kingston Upon Hull, Yorkshire, UK,  in 1985.

I had lived up the road from 'ull in the family home in the genteel market town of Beverley for the six previous years although four of these coincided with my student life away in another part of the country.

So you could say that I was not really that familiar with the city on my doorstep , the nuances of its different streets, local areas, the significance of the River Hull and its divisive influence on the population, and many, many other aspects of life and culture.

In my first week of proper employment I had a short induction after which I was provided with a company car and sent out with a full diary of appointments- monday to friday.

I had to quickly learn my way around the city and my knowledge of how to get from one location to another did soon, I felt , rival that of the most seasoned taxi driver.

In 1985 Hull was in yet another of its transitional stages. I tend to think that there was only one really starting from the decimation of the city in the wartime blitz and just progressing in fits and starts giving that impression in the following seven decades.

Large tracts of small, densely packed late Victorian terraced houses were being demolished and cleared and their residents, many with multi generational roots in those areas, shipped out to new and soul-less estates at the far reaches of the urban sprawl. Other, once proud streets of large and character town houses had been allowed to decline in condition and desirability and a few only just survived to be regenerated into trendy middle class dwellings. New roads were carving their way through the old docklands and trawler quays, many citizens being appalled at the decline in the core industries of Hull but firmly of the opinion that this type of infrastructure was well overdue anyway compared to regional centres such as Leeds, York and Sheffield.

Improvements followed in shopping and leisure amenities although these typically sounded the death knell for the corner shops, those niche outlets run by sole proprietors and many which had been an integral part of daily life in Hull.

One such premises, much loved but nevertheless of dubious reputation was a landmark on the Springbank and Princes Avenue junction and traded as "Gwenap".

It had a traditional shop front with twin display windows and a central entrance door. The often lurid and downright outrageous goods in the windows clearly advertised the business as an adult shop or sex shop although the signage was for "specialist underwear and pleasurewear".

Motorists at the head of the traffic queues on the eastern and northern approach to the junction could not really avoid sneaking a glimpse of the colourful and provocative window dressings. This would make for an awkward silence if a male driver was accompanied by wife, partner or observant, inquisitive and expressive children.

On some occasions there would be a demonstration on the pavement by a Methodist contingent or other Watch Committee endeavouring to impose morality and restraint on prospective customers. It was not a wise thing  to do to linger outside or show a casual interest as you were likely to have your photograph taken on the assumption that you were either a degenerate or a pervert.

I did see many cars stalling for voyeuristic reasons and the distracted driver would be beeped by impatient followers long after the green traffic light showed. On some days there would be a small sheen of headlamp or tail light lenses on the carriageway evidently arising from a similar lack of concentration when confronted by mannequins dressed in nurses, policewomen's or French maid costumes.

The establishment had originally opened to trade in 1902, then as a ladies outfitters and hat makers.

The change in retail identity may have taken place in the more liberal 1960's or 1970's , certainly the stylised demeanour of the window dummies was of that period.

I was a naive onlooker in 1985 thinking that the large fly poster in the window advertising "TV Times" referred to small screen entertainment rather than, in actuality, a magazine by and for those of the Transvestite persuasion.

"Gwenap", in name, featured in many aspects of Hull life either in  pub conversations or in comedy and popular culture. It represented a constant in a fast changing urban environment although I cannot recall ever having seen anyone go in or come out of the shop on my frequent, very diligent pass-bys in the car. I did nearly lose control of the steering wheel in dumbfounded amazement at seeing an inflatable sheep on display but then again anything and everything seemed fair game for the loyal , but invisible, clientele.

There was also wit and pathos in the regular change of banners and yet more full window posters which could produce a heartfelt laugh, smile or nervous giggle. These under new ownership from 1988 included, very much on topic with news events, "Bent Politicians welcome here", "Knickers to the lot of you" and "Blow up dolls for the reformed terrorist" .

Hull folk did not regard Gwenap as being at all seedy or a corrupting influence because of a certain lightness and tongue in cheek attitude of the proprietor. Perhaps well ahead of its time was the courting of a customer base through clever marketing and advertising, foremost being the "Gwenap Flyer", a contact magazine for singles, couples, groups and specialist fetishists from every gender.

This publication enjoyed decades of patronage even though no one would ever admit to having bought it, read it or let alone advertise in it. It was once cited as the catalyst  in a high profile legal case of group sex swingers and a blackmail based extortion case that excited local interest in an otherwise sleepy and parochial village out in the wilds to the east of Hull. 

In 2009 the business became unsustainable and closure was imminent but such was the public outcry that the owner kept going and actually found a buyer in the following year.

The key factor in securing a deal was the "Gwenap" name with an inherent value and goodwill in being the longest established business of its type in Britain or even the world. Investment under new ownership kept the iconic shop front intact although, someone told me that the innocence and fun of the old made way for a more commercial edginess in the adult market also covering retro and burlesque goods.

It may have just been a last swansong for the institution that was "Gwenap" as the shop eventually closed in 2013.

It was a sad day for Hull on that front but as for the busy road junction, it became an infinitely safer place to drive through without temptation towards distraction or good old titillation.

The Two Donny's

The two figures beckoning to me across the inner city street were in no way menacing.

In fact, I thought at first that they were lost and approaching me for directions to some venue where their very smart, suited and booted attire would fit in just nicely.

They were both in their early twenties, clean shaven and when the first of them spoke it was in a languid, American accent. The noise of the traffic from the nearby main road abated enough for me to hear the question "Have you see any Mormons in these here parts before?".

I was a bit taken aback by the lucid directness of this sentence. I am often accosted in the same street for all manner of reasons from giving the time, offering up a non-existent cigarette, pennies for a cup of tea or often as not when a local resident asks if I am a Policeman.

We were now all on the same pavement side of the street. In the early evening light of a saturday I could make out their name badges which were just visible under the lapels of their sensible coats. Each held tightly onto a leather satchel no doubt containing their bible, teaching tracts and promotional literature.

The mention of Mormons immediately brings into my mind two images. The first is of, for some reason, a large bearded man out shopping in the company of multiple wives and the second, well technically second and third are Donny and Marie Osmond.

This religious following did have quite a charm offensive in the 1970's when I was nearly in my teens and Mormons were, to my young perception, associated with clean cut youths, good singing harmonies, polygamy and very, very good teeth.

My two street acquaintances obviously, at face value, met two of that criteria- it could have been more.

In reply to their opening question I showed off my insensitivity and prejudice by saying "No, but I am sure I would have noticed as your lot do stand out like a sore thumb".

The blank expression to this I put down to:

1) They are not familiar with English phrases
2) They are after all from the United States and do not recognise irony in humour
3) Between them their thumbs were healthy.

They then told me that they were newly arrived to the area. Perhaps in their pioneering or witnessing or preaching or doorstepping or whatever it was called in their branch of religion they were just instructed by their Elders to go out, immediately upon arrival in a district and do it.

They seemed rather demoralised by what must have been a long day in the surrounding area with little or no interaction with the local population.

I gave them a quickfire run down of the social demographic for the nearest ten streets based on my knowledge of nearly four years residence in the inner city. I was tempted to put on a Middle Earth voice and start with "here be dragons" but recalled points 1) and 2) above and felt this would not be helpful.

Pointing to buildings within 50 metres which were the closest to us I recounted that they were run by a Housing Association for young homeless persons. I compared this, from having watched the boxed set of "The Wire" to a 'Project' Stateside. That registered with them, but not I thought from watching the gritty drug enforcement cop series given its unwholesome themes.

I continued; One street up was of strong Middle Eastern and Arabic identity. Around the corner was a long terraced block with Polish and other Eastern European families. The large, Victorian villas around a local park were the popular lodgings for the student population attending the City University. Other similar properties, not let to students were used as temporary accommodation for refugees and those seeking asylum. A modern cul de sac, with a large ceramic mural at its entrance depicting a willow pattern type scene was occupied by the Chinese community. A further area of smaller, tightly packed terraced houses had a strong association with the Afro-Caribbean population. In between were converted properties providing Social Care for the elderly or infirm. Newer build infill properties provided hostel beds as a sort of halfway house for ex offenders. A good proportion of all of the housing stock in the area, I told them, was rented either by families or in multi-let occupation as bedsits and flats.

My potted and very generalised social study was accepted as a reasonable explanation by the two Americans for their lack of preaching opportunities that day. Their thumbs may have actually been sore from ringing door bells over the previous 12 hours or so.

They asked me where I thought would be a good area for them.

I had now assumed the role of campaign adviser to the Mormon faithful. In sweeping hand gestures I drew, in my minds eye, a very good scale map of the wide, tree lined streets about a half mile to the west characterised by some very nice owner occupied houses. It was a Conservation Area popular amongst professional types, teachers, artists and hipsters.

They were grateful for this advice and we parted company.

I was a bit disappointed not to have received a blessing of sorts but my reward was more subtle.

Those big posh houses would keep them busy for some time making it less likely that they would turn up on my own porch step any time soon.

On the way home I could not get two particular songs by the Osmonds out of my head. Perhaps I felt guilty about my advice as the tunes from one of their greatest hits albums were "In my own little corner of the world" and "One bad apple don't spoil the whole bunch". Strange that.

Vinegar on your chips?

As an island nation we should be well attuned to the Seagull.

They are familiar co-dwellers in our coastal resorts and increasingly found as permanent residents some distance inland in our towns and cities.

The reeling, noisy chorus of the gull is the perfect ambient soundtrack for a walk along the Promenade, the harbour wall or beach, It is, undoubtedly, a contributing factor to the taste of that bag of chips, ice cream, pastie, waffle, crepe and sand infused picnic that go with a traditional British seaside experience.

Yet, in recent years seagulls have been perceived as a problem demanding an extreme solution.

As part of a central government initiative to revitalise the often run down, dreary and uninviting seaside towns of the UK the seagull has become demonised as a threat, a deterrent to the leisure and enjoyment of day trippers or vacationers because of some isolated cases of aggressive behaviour. In one instance a girl is reported to have fallen off a quayside trying to evade swooping gulls and a pet dog is reported to have been killed in Cornwall which evokes Hitchcock type images of a supernatural, avian menace.

Gull Power

Conspiracy theorists may have some justification in their reasoning that as 10% of the UK population reside on or near the coast and a demographic would be mostly of retirees then local Members of Parliament would pledge their support for a cull of seagulls as a potential vote winner.

A few prominent politicians in coastal constituencies  have cited the seagull issue as the principal reason why the electorate feel blighted and besieged. There is some precedent elsewhere.

In Venice in 2015 the increase in the seagull population was seen as a problem in the main tourist areas leading to the introduction of measures to control nesting and breeding. Scarborough in North Yorkshire gained dispensation in 2015 for Licenced individuals to get rid of nests and eggs in situations where health and safety issues were present. This latter measure represented a major concession to the popular resort where frequent dive bombing of visitors by gulls was a perceived problem and especially as the most numerous of the species, Herring Gulls and Black Backed Gulls are protected species .

In reality the numbers of gulls is in decline from 750,000 breeding pairs in 1993 to current figures of around 378,000 pairs. The increase in reported aggressive behaviour may be, fundamentally, a survival instinct.

Chips away!

In tandem with this is our increasingly rubbish strewn environment and in our regular seaside trips this includes overflowing waste bins, uncleared outside dining tables and of course the love of us Brits to eat food whilst on the move with all of the associated littering that goes with it .

This is just too much of a temptation to a natural scavenger species.

Gulls do give plenty of warning of their intention to make a grab for whatever hot food is wrapped in newspaper, the colourful sprinkle topped ice cream or hand grasped pastie.

Their 4 stage protocol includes an initial screeched warning to go away but leave the food, a low pass if the warning is ignored, a slow bombing run with a shot across the bows of droppings or vomit and then if human resistance or nonchalance is suspected a full 40mph swooping attack from behind.

The average Herring Gull is a big bird in size rather than weight and very intimidating in a full wing span outstretched lunge for its lunch or high tea.

Talk of a cull is however too drastic.

There are plenty of measures of control available to Environmental Health including the use of birds of prey, the broadcast of disturbing noise, strung bunting, anti-perching and nesting spikes and keeping rubbish in sealed bins or hessian sacks which are more difficult to burst. The more intrepid amongst seaside council staff have been known to remove gull eggs from nests and substitute them with sand filled plastic replicas or coat them in paraffin.

We should take some responsibility for the current predicament of seagulls arising from our own lifestyles.

Above all we should try to keep seagulls happy.

A seagull in the early stages of being annoyed

This is because in a recent scientific study the natural constituents of gull droppings, a potent mix of ammonia, natural chemicals, viruses, fungal infections and bacteria were found to increase greatly in acidity when the birds became upset and stressed.

The prospect of involuntary vinegar on your chips well might spoil your day out at Blackpool, Skegness or Bognor.

Paper Boats and Poison Pills

My Viking blood means that every so often I have to go to the coast and stare out to the ocean.

As with a former pet dog, a German Pointer, whom we did just the once find, majestic but confused in classic rigid, directional gun dog pose, I have no idea what my senses and instincts are telling me.

It may be a bit of a Thor Heyerdahl moment, you know, the intrepid Norwegian explorer turned conservationist who was one of my childhood heroes alongside Neil Armstrong, Peter Bonetti and the collective Thunderbirds.

I remember reading in a school project about his Kon-Tiki expedition of 1947 when in a balsa wood raft he crossed the vast Pacific Ocean. His description of the environment was one of remoteness, beauty and purity.

Imagine his dismay some 24 years later when, in leaning over the side of his latest papyrus boat in the Atlantic Ocean to clean his teeth he came up against lumps of solidified fat as hard as asphalt, plastic bottles and squeezey tubes. It was no better some 10 months after that when on making a day to day record of the type and quantity of waste he recorded visible pollution on 43 of the 57 days.

Pretty ominous stuff.

Disturbingly, even the empassioned evidence of the great Heyerdahl has had no influence on our continued use of the global oceans as a dumping ground for the detritus of modern life.

Take the latest documentation of the phenomena of "Nurdles".

It is a cute sounding name which could as easily describe a mischievous children's book character, a cuddly bear or a comforting foodstuff.

In reality I would not put it past some slick advertising executive to have thought up "Nurdles" on the instructions of a multi-national petro-chemical corporation as a distraction from its true identity.

A "Nurdle" describes a lentil sized pellet of plastic in its rawest form.

It is light enough to blow around like a dust and as such spills out of the factory sites, trucks, trains and metal containers, the thousands of such shipping containers that criss-cross the world's oceans between supplier and manufacturers of all manner of plastic goods.

The seemingly innocuous pellets have an unfortunate characteristic in that their molecular form has a tendency to attract oils. Consequently the persistent organic pollutants ( POPS- another cosy acronym) which drift about in the oceans attach themselves to the Nurdles and form supersaturated poison pills. Such materials as DDT and PCB's were banned in the United States in 1970 but the foresight of that country was not adopted by many others.

A futher freakish factor is that a Nurdle resembles a fish egg and as such is devoured by the large oceanic population of, for example, tuna and salmon.

The next stop after commercial fishing fleets have harvested the fish is the entry of potential carcinogenics into the human food chain.

Nurdles are very difficult to clean up because of their size which also helps them to mix in with beach sand. They are now thought to make up around 10% of the plastic debris in the worlds oceans. The combined plastic coverage across the seven seas is around 40% by area.

Modern plastics are durable and not easily degraded and so the existing waste floating about will stay there for decades. Scientists predict that around 70% of the plastic will eventually sink and create a man-made ocean floor with wider implications for the ecology and environment of the planet.

It is conceivable in this way that archaeological excavations of the sea bed in say 10,000 years will reveal a thin layer of plastic. Our generation, long since gone may be deemed to have perished after eating their own plastics, a strange thing to do for a seemingly cultured and advanced society.

Perhaps, on this gloomy note I should sign off in tribute to my hero Thor Heyerdahl.

Upon realising the extent of ocean pollution back in 1970  he said that he "set out to get a glimpse of man's past but got just as much of a glimpse into man's future".

Cooke House

I grew up in the 1960's and 1970's within earshot of the radio catching bits of what sounded like rambling monologues in a transatlantic drawl. I did not understand or appreciate them. They were the distinctive reports of the celebrated journalist Alistair Cooke. The following is my homage to his content and style.

I speak to you tonight from the home of one of our citizens.

It is a modest place, tucked away in a leafy suburb of a north-eastern City, called Hull.

A City which secured great wealth for the nation from its status as a stalwart of the deep sea trawling industry and major coastal port but yet was forgotten for its great sacrifices in the second world war when 1185 of its residents were killed in the blitz and all but a few of the houses and other buildings escaped any damage from the relentless aerial attacks.

This heritage is never far below the surface in the sensitivity of the city population. Furthermore it is one of the few places left in the UK with vacant plots left where the bombs fell and were never redeveloped. Breaks in the long early twentieth century terraces of neat two storey houses have the outline of the old chimney breasts where a hospitable hearth and tin bath will have formed the centrepiece of a families life but at sometime in the melee of the Hull Blitz were left rudely exposed as a string of high explosive or incendiary bombs sliced their way through the civilian areas.

The home from where I speak  is a modern one but the old maps show it to have been built on the site of a Convent and Presbytery. Remarkably these large buildings seemed to have survived the war years but fell to the pressures of developers as recently as the mid 1970's.

The family who reside here comprise parents and three grown up offspring. Mother works as a Personal Assistant and the Father is a Chartered Surveyor. Occupations that keep the economy of the nation ticking over, The demographic for this part of the city marks out their employment as typical in what is colloquially known as "brown bread" or "muesli" territory. This refers to a reasonably comfortable although not affluent lifestyle. Two family cars on the driveway, one main holiday a year, contributions to Further Education and a bit left over for Charitable giving.

The family regard themselves as being in a fortunate position compared to other areas of the city which have struggled over the last few recessionary years followed by inevitable austerity. It is more than fortunate for that is my interpretation. The family quickly correct me in stating that they have been blessed and that God has provided all that they have needed and more. I find this faith interesting as it is not the chest thumping and bible bashing type prevalent to their American counterparts but a quiet and faithful belief that is quite rare, I would warrant, within the increasingly secular and materialistic UK population.

The family sit down for their friday night meal.

It is an informal and happy event and being the end of the week it is always a home made chilli. They take it in turns to cook but are all somehow hovering around the kitchen offering to prepare the ingredients or in the case of the young adults they regularly ask for an update on when the food will be ready. They have busy lives after all.

A bottle of crisp white Pinot Grigio but under a £5.99 threshold is opened and offered to all of legal age but invariably it is the Father who consumes most although claims that the exceptional texture of the chilli is as a consequence of a couple of glasses of wine which have found their way into the mix.

The consensus is for a painfully hot chilli. It is not held to be a success unless bringing out a sweat and actually proving to be uncomfortable to eat. The culinary habits are indicative of the shift in the nation to a truly global menu.

I watch as the meal is carefully prepared. The scene resembles many that I have witnessed in my travels around the world from Albuquerque to Albania, Rekyavik to Adelaide and all points around.

This is remarkable given that the average British households have been squeezed and squeezed by the incumbent Conservative Government. Bedroom Tax, cuts in benefit, soaring energy prices, the highest petrol costs in Europe and all of this against a common fear amongst all for job security, the burden of debt, tuition fees, the temptations of wicked gambling in all forms however innocently advertised on a 24/7 basis and all of this before concerns of global warming, world poverty, social and political upheaval.

So, I briefly enjoy the chatter and laughter in this house seeing it as a brave face on a less than rosy economy in spite of the first faltering green shoots of growth and renewal that some commentators have remarked upon. I am however heartened by the spirit of those here assembled and know that with a strong ethical base and determination for justice and fairness the prognostic appears promising.

Goodnight and God Bless.

Powerf'Ull

We take for granted that with the flick of a switch, turn of a thermostat, dial up on a shower and in fact anything relying on a power supply will, well, just bring forth light, heat, hot water and facilitate all manner of creature comforts.

These things relate to our own domestic environments and lifestyles.

So, upscale everything to a commercial and industrial scale and reliability, dependability and economy are paramount to keep machines and processes operational.

In the Victorian era the inspired inventors of that time sought to establish a system of power very much like that of the National Grid today. It was an ambitious idea.

In the late 19th century, what was termed a hydraulic network might have been used in a factory, with a central steam engine or water turbine driving a pump and with a system of high-pressure pipes transmitting power to various machines. This was very much on a small scale.

In fact the  idea of a large public hydraulic power network was suggested as early as 1812. William Armstrong began installing systems in England from the 1840s, using low-pressure water, but a breakthrough occurred in 1850 with the introduction of the hydraulic accumulator, which allowed much higher pressures to be used.

The first public hydraulic network under an 1872 Act of Parliament was in the port and city of Hull, in Yorkshire, England.

A provision of the Act was that  a million gallons of water a day from the River Hull could be used at a cost of £12 10s per 250,000 gallons per year to the Hull Corporation. In this way it was also the first public utility in Hull.

With legislation in place the Hull Hydraulic Power Company began operation in 1876 from a purpose built power station on Machell Street just a few yards away from the tidal River Hull as it runs along a north to south axis before spilling out into the Humber Estuary.

In technical terms it was a major civil engineering feat. The pumping station, a low brick building with a large cast iron roof tank, ancillary buildings including a hydraulic accumulator and a large chimney stack was the steam powered engine room for a network of interconnected pipes under the city.

Machell Street- today

The six inch diameter pipes ran for some two and a half miles to serve plant and machinery in the thriving Freight and Timber Docks. In this way the infrastructure of the Port could be operated on demand and this included the distinctive dock cranes, heavy lock gates to and from the estuary and the heavy machinery which was associated with ships and shipbuilding.

Anyone who has lived around the river will be familiar with its languid, brown passage even in full flow when draining the East Yorkshire hinterland. The roof tank, manufactured by Stacey Davis and Co from their Phoenix Foundry in Derby, allowed the mud and silt to settle out of the huge volume of water so that it would not enter into the power plant.

By 1895, pumps rated at 250 hp , a major output for the Victorian era, took in some 500,000 imperial gallons of water into the system each week. The accumulator boosted working pressure to 700 psi. At a suitable distance along the main pipework were isolation valves and also air cocks to be able to drain the system of air.

Customers were able to access the system from 'T' pieces of 2", 3" and 4" from the main pipework. In this way some 58 machines of diverse type and location came to be powered by the system.

There were other private hydraulic systems installed at Hull's Albert Dock in 1869 and Alexandra Dock in 1885.The success of such systems led to them being installed in places as far away as Antwerp in Belgium, Melbourne and Sydney in Australia, and Buenos Aires in Argentina.

The Machell Street plant operated continuously from 1876 and it was only after damage inflicted on the pipework and infrastructure in the severe bombing of Hull in the second world war that prohibitive repair costs led to the company being wound up in 1947.

Hull City Council erected a Blue Plaque in 1990 to mark the historic significance of the Machell Street premises as the first public hydraulic power station in the UK.

                            The building is in some use today for storage, workshops and tyre fitting.