Itâs the end of an era in Newcastle, however short it was, as the temporary
shipping container food courtâcumâpublic squareâcumâshopping centre Stack comes down after three
years. The former site of an Odeon cinema was set to be turned into a mixed-use development, but the
pandemic caused a change of direction from the developers. The plans have since been slimmed down to
just comprise what lockdown proved was truly, 100% necessary:
Offices.
Youâd never guess it, but this luscious green path (carefully cropped so that you donât see the
yawning gravel service road behind the camera) is on the former site of a colliery in
Bedlington. Thereâs not much left to see â the neighbouring pit town
was bulldozed in the â70s, and the farmers have done a bang-up job of hiding any traces of the mines that lie underneath.
After
2.3 million pounds
and a skyscraperâs worth of scaffolding, Morpethâs central station has finally been
restored to its former Georgian glory, red fences and all. The locals will be pleased to know that
Lumo, a sparkly new Ryanair-ified third-class train service from Edinburgh to London, have no choice
but to stop here thanks to a sharp bend in the track.
St Peterâs Marina confuses me. Itâs like someone dropped a quaint postwar Dutch town centre
in the middle of a grimy industrial waste, The river still stinks, and the architecture is â generally â an unconvincing pastiche. Just
who is living here?
I was on my usual city constitutional the other week when i noticed that
my favourite bubble tea place1 had
shuttered. Hm, thatâs odd, i thought.
Last time that happened was lockdown. Donât know why theyâd do it again. I assumed theyâd
be back again swiftly, and went on with my day.
Then the week after i noticed that the entrance to the
Ăźber-hip shipping-container food court of which it was a
part was blocked off. Hm, thatâs odd, i thought.
Ah, well. Itâs probably just construction. These things happen all the time.
It was only yesterday that i saw the crane lifting one of the shipping containers away and realised
something (other than the container) was up. Sure enough, one quick google reveals the flashy new
development thatâll be taking its place â originally it was going to be
mixed-use, but covid crunch caused them to scale back to the thing that covid really, conclusively proved
was absolutely 100% necessary and in demand, definitely:
offices.
âPilgrimâs Quarterâ is part of a broader redevelopment of the neglected Pilgrim Street, which may or
may not include a pedestrianisation â i donât know; itâs all in jargonese and i canât make heads or
tails of what Enhancing The Public Realm is meant to mean. (Or, for that matter, why theyâve
misspelt it as âPilgrimâs Quaterâ on the official brochure.)
The permission slips are all in place â so hereâs to you, Stack. You might have had some exorbitant
prices (sorry, Korean place, but iâm not paying ÂŁ12 for a few chicken wings and fries), but
otherwyze you were a shining beacon of small businesses in the city centre â you were too good for
this world. *Pops open a bottle of champagne*
Down a narrow alleyway to the back end of St Nicholasâ Cathedral, in Newcastle, one can find a
rather curious decoration garnishing a door on the opposing façade. The âvampire rabbitâ has stood
watch over the cathedral for at least half a century; while records are scarce (a quick search of
Google Books doesnât bring up anything until the twenty-first century), it could well date back to
the buildingâs construction in 1901.
Spooky.
Hereâs a noticeably brighter bun, as it looked in 1987.
Hereâs the thing, though. Nobody knows how it got there. Indeed, even the name âvampire rabbitâ is a
misnomer; its jet-black fur and red claws were added on some time in the 1990s,i
as were its distinctly batty ears. Some say it was put there to scare away wannabe graverobbers, but
i have my doubts that twentieth-century crooks would be so dumb.
Yet others posit that it represents a
mad March hare, arising at the time
of Easter, or that it refers to Thomas Bewick, a nearby engraver who had a fondness of all things
lagomorphic. Most fascinatingly,
a theory advanced by one Mr Adam Curtis
suggests a Masonic pun in reference to one George Hare Phillipson, a local doctor (hence
vampires) and active Freemason, as was the lead architect, one William H. Wood. It being a secret
society in-joke would also explain why itâs located around the back, rather than the front, which
faces onto one of the busiest streets in town.
Perhaps we might never know for sure. In any case, itâs a fascinating little secret â what do you
think is most likely?
Last time on The Garden: the axe falls on the Blyth and Tyne line, and i foolhardily decide to walk its lengthâŚ
Our journey begins at NorthÂumÂberÂland Park, in North Tyneside. Though itâs the
first station weâll be visiting, it was the last to be constructed, having only opened in 2005 â and
itâs quite easy to tell, even after sixteen years of wear and tear; the place is outfitted with
modern amenities, lifts, ticket machines flush with the wall, and, more lately, pandemic-themed
graffiti opposite the platform. This unassuming metro station will, according to the county
councilâs plans, serve as the interchange between the old and new lines, heavy rail and metro
meeting one last time before splitting apart and going their separate ways.
Setting off from there, the first thing that caught my eye were twin giants: a frosted glass-covered
car park and a red-brick Sainsburyâs, unexpected icons of the modern British condition. It didnât
get much better from there; down the road lies an American-style strip mall lined with bookmakers
trying to get people to piss away all their money.
This sorry-looking trolley was, i presume, abandoned from the local Sainsburyâs.
This southernmost tip of NorthÂumÂberÂland is criss-crossed by innumerable public footpaths, cycle
paths, bridleways, and other routes for non-metal-box-related transport; ducking onto one of the
reclaimed
âwaggonwaysâ once used
to transport coal, i found myself on the site of the second station on the list.
The leafy suburb of Backworth has a habit of burying its history.
A hoard of offerings from Roman times
was found underground in the 1810s, the last vestiges of the colliery that once was are long gone,
and the tale of this sorry ex-station is rather similar. Opened in 1864 to replace a nearby station
closing the same day, BackÂworth station served its community for over 100 years, surviving the
Beeching cuts. But when the Tyne and Wear Metro was announced to come to town, the old station
finally closed⌠for good. It wasnât until the opening of NorthÂumÂberÂland Park that there would be
a replacement.
As i wandered through the village's verdant streets, i couldnât help but think of its resemblance to
the straight, cycle-friendly streets of my old hometown. A little greenery can go a long way.
The graffiti reads âMonty Brown is a grassâ. I would never say such unkind things about Mr
Brown.
Network Rail were hard at work at the site of the aforementioned original BackÂworth station, whose
plot of land now sits vacant, marking the cityâs last hurrah; the further i walked along the dirt
back roads, the further the sounds of bustling cars receded, until, ducking under a shady underpass,
i found myself utterly alone amongst pastoral fields (and the overwhelming scent of manure).
That peace and quiet was swiftly interrupted by a troupe of boy racers on motorcycles and
quad-bikes, but you canât win them all, you know?
After the county borders were hacked up in 1974, this line became the divider between rural
Northumberland and ostensibly-urban Tyne and Wear.
The (post-1974) border town of Seghill occupies only the tiniest fragment of the
collective English consciousness, popping up briefly in an anti-scab minersâ folk song called
âBlackleg Minerâ:
Itâs in the evening after dark, when the blackleg miner creeps to work With his
moleskin pants and dirty shirt there gans the blackleg miner!
[...]
So, divvint gan near the Seghill mine Across the way they stretch a line, to catch the
throat and break the spine of the dirty blackleg miner
[...]
So join the union while you may Divvint wait till your dying day, for that may not be
far away, you dirty blackleg miner!
For our purposes, itâs chiefly notable for the fact that itâs the first disused station on the list
whose buildings are still intact and in use, this time as a corner shop, from which i of course
bought a copy of the local rag â prominently including a
Q&A about the restoration of service on the line, which i
thought a fitting reminder of why i set out on this silly old journey in the first place.
After getting some well deserved rest, i headed on off towards the next town over, awaiting what
fresh stories i would find...
Next time on âWalking the Blyth and Tyneâ: your author is reminded of her own mortality, finds
himself in the company of a noble family, and shudders at the thought of having to go to Blyth,
of all places on Godsâ green Earth
The Victoria Tunnel runs beneath the streets of Newcastle, from the Tyne up to the Town Moor. It
traverses not only space, but time, through nearly every corner of Englandâs history: built to
transport coal in the Industrial Revolution, on the site of an old Roman spring, it was used during
the second world war to house those fleeing German bombs. It was even considered for use in the cold
war, before the government realised that some musty old coal tunnels would probably not provide the
greatest protection against a nuclear blast.
And now you can go down it. In 2007, Newcastle City Council decided to refurbish the tunnel and open
a small stretchâof it â the rest is either unsafe for sending humans down or currently in use as a
sewerâââup for public tours. Entry is via a side street along the Ouseburn, where the guides will
cheerfully show you a map and some old photographs of the entrance. Once you get inside the tunnel
itself, hard hats and torches are compulsory, and covid restrictions are still in full force. This
was both a benefit and a malefit: yes, the tour was shorter than it would otherwise be, and masks
get quite uncomfortable when youâre wearing them for an hour in a dank, dark tunnel, but on the
other hand, our small group of family and friends got the place practically all to ourselves,
without having to be shepherded alongside other members of the public.
The water from the ancient Roman spring is directed through a side channel, to avoid it getting
all over the tunnel floor. Sometimes it even works!
The tunnel is just barely wide enough to fit three people side-by-side, and if, like me, youâre of a
certain height, bumping your head on the roof is practically guaranteed. By every blast door,
thereâs a plaque about whatâs above you, and how it factors into the tunnel and the cityâs history,
stories with which the guides will gladly regale visitors (including some rather grim tragedies).
Coming back out the entrance, i felt more informed about this wonderful countyâs industrial history
â just in time to pop over to a gentrified vegan âsuperfood pubâ. The wonders of modern life.
Price: ÂŁ9â11 per adult depending on the length of the tour; ÂŁ4 per child
Address:
Victoria Tunnel Entrance, Ouse St., Valley, Newcastle upon Tyne
NE1 2PF
â just next to the CrossFit gym.
Accessibility: The tunnel was built in the 19th century and without
accessibility in mind, so is not wheelchair-accessible. The Ouseburn Trust do, due to the
pandemic, offer a virtual tour.
Getting there: The Q3 bus from the centre of town
stops nearby; otherwise, getting there poses a bit of a hike, due to its location.
The gorgeous gorge that is the Tyne valley has no shortage of winsome views, but the most beautiful,
in my opinion, is that which appears to one who goes down the Side.Îą In the
Monumentâs shadow, after passing the classical columns of the Theatre Royal and descending Grey
Street as it becomes Dean Street, finally taking a turn onto the Side at the bottom, the lucky
traveller will find themself towered over by the behemoth that is the Tyne Bridge:
The rotting wooden stairs, as seen on Google street view.
Iâm not sure any photograph can ever match what itâs like to be there under that bridge. One of the
most remarkable things about this view, though, has nothing to do with the view itself, but rather
what happens if one walks down the Quayside for a little while, reaches an empty brownfield plot,
and clambers up a set of rotting wooden stairs to its right. Because, inexplicably, just a few
metres from the most beautiful view in town, one can find the second most beautiful view in
town, a glorious lookout on every bridge linking the two banks of the river.
We donât deserve this city.
I had initially neglected to bring a water bottle along with me; i had only intended a quick jaunt
to the centre of town and back, and the foolhardy idea of walking all the way to Wallsend came to me
spontaneously. This quickly proved a bad idea, and so i made a trek up to the corner shop, who
thankfully had all the bottled water anyone could ever want or need.
After leaving fully rehydrated and ready to walk back, i noticed the most wonderful little thing. A
parklet, this small opening of green space with some benches and inscriptions, tucked between a
housing area and a construction site. I took some picturesâââi would have loved to show them to you,
but alas, my phone got stolen in the intervening time between this trip and me writing this post,
taking the photographs with it.
Nevertheless, if youâd like to visit (or live vicariously through Google street view), itâs that
little park adjacent to 5 Belmont Street. (Google stubbornly refuses to give a proper address, but
you canât miss it!)
An account of my thought process upon seeing the above building complex:
That building looks exceedingly evil, but i canât quite place my finger on whyâŚ
Just a few yards ahead, crossing a foot-and-cycle bridge, i happened upon some strikingly relevant
graffiti, alongside some other pieces which really sum up the modern English psyche: an Extinction
Rebellion poster, a crossed out âEDLâ,β and a cock and
bollocks.
I carried a record from HMV (the Killersâ Hot Fuss, if you must
know) the whole way, and let me tell you, my arms were positively aching by the end of it! At least
i had a bagâŚÎł
To sign off, here are some photos whose stories werenât interesting enough to make the cut, as well
as a map of the journey. Thank you for reading this disjoint mess.
Top left to bottom: A picture looking downwards from shortly after the second best view; a nice
view of the AkzoNobel factory on the opposite bank of the river; some tower; and the literal
wallâs end of Wallsend.
