Ben Waddington 4/9/12 Ben Waddington 4/9/12

Hamish Fulton walk at Curzon Park

I signed up for Hamish Fulton’s walk weeks ago, during a burst of research into walking artists in preparation for the SW festival. The walk was a joint event between Ikon Gallery and Fierce Festival and fell on Easter Sunday; also the last day of the Fierce festival. The walk was never described any more precisely than a “city centre walk, with Hamish Fulton”. We met in a drizzly Curzon Street Park, an expansive but empty post-industrial vista, best known now for being the proposed site of HS2. Many assumed this was merely the meeting place and we would soon march off through the city, possibly with an umbrella clutching Hamish drawing our attention to things of interest he’d observed in the city. I’m interested in what the “rules” or parameters are for a guided walk – what people’s expectations are if you announce there is going to be a walk in the city. These could be how long the walk will last, what the content will be, how much walking and how much talking to expect, price, distance, whether it will return to the starting point… Hamish confounded many walker’s expectations by announcing that the walk would last two hours and would be entirely within the confines of the space and specifically on a 150m raised “plateau” in the centre of the space. What’s more, we would not be walking far: we would choose a line on the plateau (cracks or gaps in the concrete, or lines left from the space’s previous life as a parcel depot) and follow that for it’s length.

The announcement coincided with a noticeable drop in temperature. Hamish clarified more conditions for the walk: we would each have our own line and wouldn’t be able to talk to each other. We couldn’t use phones (although I did set up a Twitter hashtag for the event). A gong would signal the start and end of the walk and the walk would last for exactly 2 hours: we would need to carefully pace our journey to end on time. Some people went home immediately, recognising they weren’t up for a walk like that. But around 75 people did decide they were going to do it, and of those only 5 had to stop due to cold or exhaustion. I think there was a sense of adventure amongst some (including myself) but also a feeling of gamely “may as well do it now” amongst many. Someone asked Hamish “Why are we doing this?” and, tellingly, “Are you going to do it too?”

Once on the platform, we saw the many lines we could choose: some only a few inches, if we so chose, or the longest possible which would be the entire length of the platform. People seemed to select quickly and mark their spot. Then the first gong sounded. My line was about 50 meters and crossed eight large concrete sections, which meant I needed to cover each in about 15 mins. I could see five people near my starting point. Some had books to read, one a Nintendo. Hamish hadn’t said DON’T play Nintendo, so it must have been OK. Over the first 30 mins, I established Twitter contact with one person who had also photographed her line. I recognised a white splodge in her picture and worked out that I would intersect her terminal point in about 10 minutes. There was a nice parallel with the real world: if I’m in town I might have arranged via Twitter to meet someone after they finished work at a specific point: this was a micro-society at work! After that I left Twitter alone to focus on the experience at hand.

It was interesting to find that once I had passed three other people walking at right angles to me, I felt more in the “wilds” of the plateau. Time also felt different: The last hour didn’t drag in any way despite the exposure to the cold. Perhaps because we knew our destination and ETA, and had chosen to do it, rather than, say, missing a train and being forced to find a way home on foot. There was a real sense of moving into “new” territory. I was looking closely at plant life growing in the cracks, rusty bits of metal, graffiti, oils spills, and the promise of a new pebble to kick around a few feet ahead was keenly anticipated. I was also aware of moving slowly into someone else’s territory at the end of the line. Nearby, I could see Hamish Fulton making his own very short walk. His stepping technique was different to mine: he was inching forward inch by inch: I was taking a step whenever it occurred to me to do it. At one point, motivated by nothing, I took four bold, quick steps. I could see across the people on the plateau a constant twitching motion as someone in the gathered stillness took another step. It was never wholly static. The event also had an audience: train passengers on the nearby rail link must have wondered what was happening if they looked out of their window. No explanation would seem to satisfy what they were seeing: 70 people standing in their own space in a deserted concrete landscape. Only art allows that to happen.

When the second gong sounded, I was still a few inches short of the destination. I didn’t feel any different (other than colder) or find I’d realised anything important, or even feel I’d reflected on anything significant. But was glad I’d done it: a rare and special to be part of something that is unlikely to happen again. I often suggest to people they stop and look at the city rather than walk past it at a fast pace – there are worthwhile things to see that you will miss by walking at all. Slow walking at this pace allows observation but requires a determination that goes beyond merely being interested in a space. But I’ll try it again for shorter intervals – I think slowing down is generally a very good idea.

Ben Waddington 4/5/12 Ben Waddington 4/5/12

Lost Rivers of Birmingham

Some SW outings had to remain a secret: they were just too dangerous! Each time I’ve been on the Rea-side stroll, someone has slipped and either gone in the river or bruised themselves. I promised Birmingham Architecture Festival I’d show them some of the tunnels I felt sure formed the basis of David Rowan’s shadowy exhibition at Eastside Projects.

During its city centre phase, the river Rea is essentially a storm drain: most of it is culverted off underground, as the river is no use to industry. When it rains, the flow rate is monumental. Check it then at Mac or Floodgate Street – there are times when this sickly trickle is very healthy.

The factory water outlets feed into the Rea along its course and create a habitat for all sorts of bizarre looking water plants, mosses and assorted river flora. It also means its nearly impossible to walk along without slipping. The old trick is to bring a stick (plenty of detritus washes up here) and to build a “stepping stone” bridge with twigs and sticks across the algae at the slippy points. Don’t become comfortable. Be prepared to push through buddleia and for seeds to go down your neck. Footballs and frisbees wash up here: don’t play with them. All sorts of odd things wash up: I’m still puzzling over the meaning of a moses basket which contained a large magic set for a child. Everything I come up with is very sad. We dislodged it from a sand bar and sent it on its way.

There is an eerie forgotten quality here, stillness beyond that of a canal-side stroll. Many sections of the river are straight from Andrei Tarkovsky’s Stalker. Factories back on to the river and occasionally a worker on a fag break will spot you, but not feel able to communicate. You not only shouldn’t be there, you can’t be there. There is no wildlife. I know of no other city that does this to its river – Birmingham’s surrogate river is the canal network that worked hard for its city over the centuries and now is earning its retirement, as are the Gas St Basin occupants and holidaying water travellers. But the river is the reason settlers chose this area, a thousand years ago. We owe it something… it saddens me to advise you do not go near it.

From Hubert Montague Crackanthorpe’s Vignettes (1896):

I have sat there and seen the winter days finish their short-spanned lives; and all the globes of light — crimson, emerald, and pallid yellow — start, one by one, out of the russet fog that creeps up the river. But I like the place best on these hot summer nights, when the sky hangs thick with stifled colour, and the stars shine small and shyly. Then the pulse of the city is hushed, and the scales of the water flicker golden and oily under the watching regiment of lamps.

The bridge clasps its gaunt arms tight from bank to bank, and the shuffle of a retreating figure sounds loud and alone in the quiet. There, if you wait long enough, you will hear the long wail of the siren, that seems to tell of the anguish of London till a train hurries to throttle its dying note, roaring and rushing, thundering and blazing through the night, tossing its white crests of smoke, charging across the bridge into the dark country beyond.

In the wan, lingering light of the winter afternoon, the parks stood all deserted, sluggishly drowsing, so it seemed, with their spacious distances muffled in greyness: colourless, fabulous, blurred. One by one, through the damp misty air, looked the tall, stark, lifeless elms. Overhead there lowered a turbid sky, heavy-charged with an unclean yellow, and amid their ugly patches of dank and rotting bracken, a little mare picked her way noiselessly. The rumour of life seemed hushed. There was only the vague listless rhythm of the creaking saddle.

The daylight faded. A shroud of ghostly mist enveloped the earth, and up from the vaporous distance crept slowly the evening darkness. A sullen glow throbs overhead: golden will-o’-the-wisps are threading their shadowy ribbons above golden trees, and the dull, distant rumour of feverish London waits on the still night air. The lights of Hyde Park Corner blaze like some monster, gilded constellation, shaming the dingy stars. And across the east, there flares a sky-sign, a gaudy crimson arabesque. And all the air hangs draped in the mysterious sumptuous splendour of a murky London night.

Ben Waddington 4/1/12 Ben Waddington 4/1/12

Birmingham’s Lost its Sparkle

Pelligrino sparkling mineral water has pretty much been the unofficial drink of the festival. I was on the radio earlier in the week and the presenter asked “What would you say was the one thing people could look at in the city and rethink their opinion of Birmingham. I wanted to name this brand of sparkling water but “bottled out” and instead suggested the rather flat: “looking up at our buildings”.

Pellegrino is available throughout the city, but bottled in Lombardy in Italy. No element of it is made in Birmingham. Yet I maintain that this is a true Brummie symbol. It’s certainly saved me on a few parched guided tours over the years.

It’s not because of where it’s from or how it was made, but rather the innovations it represents. Let me explain: Joseph Priestley was a C18th Birmingham scientist, teacher and minister who was perhaps best known as the discoverer of oxygen. Amongst his other discoveries was the means by which to create carbonated water. Later, in 1856, Alexander Parkes created the first thermoplastic on Newhall St. I draw your attention to the colours of the Pellegrino brand: green, blue and red. I’m not going to claim these were discovered in Birmingham but in 1799 Samuel Galton Jr, a member of Birmingham’s Lunar Society, first wrote about the separation of white light into the primary colours.

In his 1998 BBC programme Heart By Pass, Jonathan Meades observes that Birmingham has always been about Italian: he shows a selection of university campaniles and Italianate towers around the city, its canals and highlights the famous interchange named after a pasta to prove it.

Priestly never made use of many of his discoveries: for him science was pure adventure, not a business. Others made it their business and he lost out on more than a few patents by inviting “friends” to view his discoveries at soirees at his home in Sparkbrook. These were the early days of science, and while there is big money to be made by pinching patents, at the time the real opportunities weren’t always obvious to those simply interested in exploration and discovery. I feel this is still the case with Birmingham: allowing others to take the glory or being reluctant to showcase its achievements.

I feel that as your train chugs into New Street, the first thing you see should be something that says “Birmingham: home of Oxygen”. A true and impressive claim, indeed beat that for a discovery! Instead of building a £2 billion new railway station to impress visitors, let’s simply highlight what already happened here: first car in the country, first pneumatic tyre, first crank engine, cotton wool, the kettle, horsepower, patent leather, fingerprinting, the first commercially available computer…At time of writing, the only thing we do celebrate is our exhibition trade (Bingley Hall, first exhibition centre, deliberately burnt down to make way for the ICC) and Home of Metal.

There are plenty of things in the city to look for and celebrate. Important things. Let’s find them and talk about them. Let’s brag about them!

Ben Waddington

for Still Walking, UK’s first Walking Festival

2018 update: some of the above needed further research but I'm leaving it intact as an indication of how I felt at the time. It reminds me of that Tea Towel you can buy that says 'Home of custard' or whatever.

Ben Waddington 4/1/12 Ben Waddington 4/1/12

Brumicana

The 2012 Still Walking festival drew to a close on Sunday the 1st of April with Jon Bounds’ and Danny Smith’s Brumicana – Urban Myths and Memes. (My Flickr set is here.)

Starting from ‘the carpet salesmen’ statue, outside the House of Sport on Broad Street, Brumicana took us under the skin of the big, alive, people-eating monster; showing us the sorts of things you need to know in order to get to grips with a city. To survive it.

In fine fettle, Jon and Danny led us through statue confessions and favourite carparks to interesting rear-views of a couple of landmarks: the new library and a silent clocktower (we waited to hear the bongs, but none came).

We walked through narrow, bin-lined passages and heard tales of generosity before gathering atop the Queensway. Here I got distracted by a Rushmore-esque line-up of Danny, Jon, Ben and Ian-from-Flatpack. This seemed to be a fitting image with which to wrap up the programme:

We urge you all to tame the concrete and the glass. Don’t just survive the city, but make it yours and thrive on it!

Ben Waddington 3/28/12 Ben Waddington 3/28/12

SW Weekend 2: Walk the Queensway

Our guest blogger today is Colin Lorne

Walk the Queensway // Joe Holyoak

Proudly designed for the efficiency of the car, Birmingham’s ‘Concrete Collar’ ring road is arguably the city’s most distinctive and disruptive urban feature, having discouraged pedestrians for almost half a century. Forcing walkers to cross below the car through subways, the Queensway literally and strategically places the car above pedestrians, continuing to exert its effects on the city today. Walking the Queensway, then, was both subversive and novel.

Led by architect and urban designer, Joe Holyoak, the tour started at Great Charles Street, a road which existed prior to the Queensway’s construction and one of the first attempts at creating a pedestrian crossing at street level over the ring road. Just metres down the road, Joe highlighted how the impermeable eight-lane carriageway has halted much expansion of the city towards the Jewellery Quarter. Looking down the hill, I wondered just how much busier the Jewellery Quarter could be if such a barrier to pedestrians didn’t exist. Joe discussed how the subways had all been distinctively named, denoting the original intensions of the subways to have a sense of place, although, few would argue that this was ever achieved. Following the road down to St. Chad’s, Joe spoke of how the road system came to dominate the urban landscape, destroying the city’s previous streets (although St. Chad’s Cathedral remains, now awkwardly positioned on its own at a noisy road junction which has struggled to improve the pedestrian crossing).

Picking up additional members whilst walking, the tour carried on through to the redevelopment at the new Masshouse Queensway section up to the Bullring which saw a break in the ring road and finally to Norfolk House on the Smallbrook Queensway (which has had its larger subway filled in) Notably, the buildings along this section follow the flow of the road with shops being located along the street front unlike other buildings on the ring road which hold no conversation with the surrounding urban environment.

In accepting the dubious honour of having a carriageway named after her, The Queen made the mistake of namely the entire ring road the Queensway. Through walking around the Queensway, we discussed the greater mistake of removing the pedestrian from the street, and how costly attempts are being made to rectify previous urban decisions. But Brum was motor city and we shouldn’t shy away from the innovations in our city’s history, however things turned out. The Lanchester brother’s built the country’s first car here. The first house with a garage was built in Birmingham, and it turns out the first one way street was in Birmingham too. A guided tour doesn’t have to be a celebration of a city, and it’s great to hear the real story of a city changing its mind on this scale.

Ben Waddington 3/27/12 Ben Waddington 3/27/12

SW Weekend 2: Written in Concrete

Written in Concrete was my personal reflection on concrete in Birmingham. Something I realised a while back formed the basis of the tour: it was the myth that “they” knocked down all the beautiful old buildings in Birmingham and replaced them with concrete. The reality is that the Victorians tore down Georgian Birmingham (almost entirely) and that Victorian Birmingham is still there. The city was a major target during WWII and we rebuilt the damaged parts of the city to reflect images of wartime defence: robust, uncompromising concrete edifices that could withstand attack, if it ever came to it. Or look like it could. But we left the brick and terracotta alone for the most part.

That attack came quite soon and was unforgiving and relentless. Concrete’s critics didn’t draw a distinction between the thoughtful, unforgettable designs of John Madin, Richard Seifert and Ian Fraser and meaningless pebble dashed expanses constructed on the cheap. “Moron-made cities,’ was the memorable review in the architecture press in the 50s of the Brutalist style. Brutalism was probably too much too soon; a reaction to the horrors and devastation of war, and with nearly nothing prefiguring it. I see it as part of a greater movement at that time to shake things up and express something monumental but human. The Angry Young Men of British literature and theatre, abstract expressionism in art and Elvis Presley in music. Only the Brutalists were there first!

It’s actually quite hard to find the kind of concrete vistas people see when they think of Birmingham – people who haven’t visited the city for a while, or ever. When looking for a backdrop for publicity photos, it was hard enough to find anything I could just stand in front of. It takes a while to get used to a new building or style of architecture – longer than deciding if you like your new boots. A generation isn’t enough, but some classic examples of C20th design are being taken down already only to be replaced with something forgettable, and worse – cheap looking. Planners today are embarrassed by concrete the way the planners of the 50s saw Victorian opulence as desperately old fashioned. The Victorians didn’t have time for the boring Georgians. What looks like a Georgian facade is often a plastered- or bricked-up timber framed building, hidden to appear more fashionable…the Georgian’s winced at houses made of wood. The timber framed buildings are now highly sought after properties and go for a fortune; restoration programmes spend millions saving the few remaining examples.

The city becomes its own museum – where else are you going to put a building? (Actually you could take it to Avoncroft) …if you wait long enough, everything qualifies. I think of the fascinating glimpses into the past seen in old buildings: names etched on the window with a diamond ring, or initials carved into the stone walls. Eventually even graffiti becomes a historical trace. I worked in Central Library for years and really became fond of it during that time. It was always boiling hot whatever the weather, people would faint on cold days as they came into the too-warm wearing coats. This was not a design issue but rather because its stacks’ expansion space had been leased out to offices and the air didn’t move around freely anymore. Central Library’s original architect John Madin was brought in to suggest a solution. “Remove the extra offices,” was his brutal (but truthful) response. One stated reason for the library being demolished is that it has run out of room for books. Central Librarians are currently being asked to discard ever more books so everything will fit into the new building. It doesn’t have enough shelf space before it has even opened – “moron-made libraries”*. I met Madin last year at the launch of his biography by Alan Clawley. He wouldn’t comment on his buildings being torn down, but was animated in his disgust at the Paradise Forum commercial insertion into his building. For a long time the Central Library didn’t carry a sign to identify it – McDonalds was the only visible brand on the building. The manager at Paradise Forum Wetherspoon once asked me where I worked. “In the reference library,” I replied. “Where’s that?” he replied. “It’s there, ” I said, pointing up. “The roof!”

I decided I wanted to pay my respects to John’s passing late last year. Inspired by that year’s peaceful anti-capitalist protest occupations, I decided to invite my group to a quiet, solemn moment at the bar of the nameless Wetherspoon at the end of the tour. I didn’t want to alarm the staff and felt a minute would be enough time to stand there and gently make our point. The gesture went unnoticed, and if you’ve ever tried to get served at that bar, you may appreciate why that was. We quietly left.

Elvis has left the building.

*2018 - not sure who I'm quoting here but it wasn't Madin. Did someone say 'moron made cities?'

Ben Waddington 3/25/12 Ben Waddington 3/25/12

Don’t Look Now

Look Around You 2

My earlier post recommended seeing your city afresh by not having a destination. All sorts of things pop out of the stonework when you start looking for them … just try it!

Imagine taking your urban ramble again, but this time just using your other senses. A friend (and you need to trust this person!) has blindfolded you and is allowing you to wander according to sounds you hear, smells, tactile sensations and (not recommended) by taste. There are other senses too – temperature, balance, direction… we rely on a lot to get us about. The city takes on a different shape and atmosphere and seems to be offering more information to deal with, not less.

Usha M’s walk for the Still Walking festival takes a look at – or rather experiences – these senses. Usha is a movement artist and themes of awareness, balance and sense have always been at the core of her work. Brindleyplace have kindly allowed their meticulously kempt arena to play host to Usha’s explorations.

So what to expect? Those signing up should be willing to be blindfolded and will be led through manoeuvres to tease out our often overlooked reliance on our extra senses. It is sensory deprivation, but instead of floating in a tank of water, you are actually roaming free (guides will be on hand for each participant so you don’t actually end up floating in the water). Usha says she is always struck by the quick shift from nervous anticipation to joyous curiosity she sees in people when she holds these events, and how it affects them long after the event has finished.

Don’t miss anything – buy your ticket today!

Ben Waddington 3/25/12 Ben Waddington 3/25/12

Eyes Rested; Other Senses Alive

Yesterday, inquisitive Still Walkers gathered in sunny Brindleyplace to give their eyes a rest and give their other senses a chance to experience their surroundings.

Under the careful watch of Usha M, we noticed the change in temperature as we walked in and out of the shadows; became aware of the smell of the chlorinated water; felt the hum of the ventilation systems; listened to the sculptures and gently inched up and down steps.

I’ll let the photos do the talking…

Ben Waddington 3/18/12 Ben Waddington 3/18/12

Birmingham Gothic - review by James Kennedy

The morning fog had cleared, but now, we were shrouded in the late afternoon fug from the car exhausts. Those who were attending huddled together, chins in jackets, attempting to warm themselves against the chill air. The Colmore Business District was thriving with those escaping for the day, to get buses. As we stood under 23 Whitehall Chambers at our muster point, next to Crockett and Jones, shoemakers of Northampton, people weaved past us, impatient to get their buses back to the suburbs, to seek sanctuary away from Town.

The tour ‘Birmingham Gothic’ was led by Ben Waddington, the curator of the Still Walking festival. The ‘Noir’ angle to the festival had now been dropped, and we would be concentrating solely on the architecture, the gargoyles, the grotesques, and the strange goings on throughout history. The tour would have a linearity; we would start architecture with roots in the pre-pagan and go into modern-day Christianity. As we went to our first destination, seagulls squawked over the noise of bass bins and buses. The air was thick with the cloying smell of exhaust fumes and hastily smoked roll-ups.

Under Birmingham Cathedral, we were told that the designs that we would see would be by design, or choice. What, Ben asked, inspired these choices that we saw? Over the cathedral, we saw a Pagan symbol, that of a green man – the animal, plant and man hybrid favoured by worshippers of that faith. Could the cathedral have taken the existing masonry and used it as a way to ease the new religion in? A young man, dishevelled and withdrawn, wandered over to our gathering, and seemed to want to join in with the conversation. Ben directed our attention to what stood behind us as he attempted to remonstrate with the young man, to an obelisk. There was a story, in 2006 a lady, a librarian in Harborne, was coming through Pigeon Park on her way home. The clouds appeared, and it was beginning to rain. She put her umbrella up, and noticed that the bus stop she wanted wasn’t there. The railings, cordoning off the park from the pavement weren’t there. How selfish of the council, she thought, and blinking, they came back into view. She looked up to fix her umbrella into place. And then she realised something was up.

We were on our way to see examples of the horned god next. Later on, Ben promised, we would see Lucifer. The young man looked to try and address us again, but he was held off. As we walked away, I looked back. He seemed pre-occupied. In amidst the commuters going back and forth to their respective bus stops, he stood still, eyes pointed to the floor.

We walked behind Cherry Street and onto New Street. A pause of relief. Surely if there are Pagan entities, or grotesques or demons about we wouldn’t see them on the high street? We were now outside Waterstones on New Street, formerly a bank. Faces amongst medallions and discs. A horned God greeting you as you came to make your deposit to your bank, now, peering down daily, at those wishing to buy books, a meeting place, a gathering. Looking down at us. We walked up Corporation Street, to the City Arcade. The three double espressos I had earlier began to wear off, leaving me with a tired sense of anxiety and paranoia. The dark was setting in, cars passed with streetlights on, youths gathered on the streets, coming back from schools and colleges. “Weird ones, f***ing weird ones. A nightmare” I could hear one saying to his friend. Maybe they’d have been looking up, looking closer.

We were invited to consider the devil opposite the Gregg’s on Union Street. If you were asked to draw the devil, Ben said, you’d draw horns, pointy ears, and a beard. It was in fact this that we were now faced with. Not the description in Revelations 13, a leopard with a lions mouth, or a talking lamb, but our very image of the devil that we were so familiar with, and had learnt since we were children. The image in fact was of Pan, Ben said, which had been constructed in an attempt to demonise the old Pagan God. We’d see Lucifer again at the end of the tour, and we walked on, back up to Pigeon Park. Grotesques greeted us, crawling down the walls of the insurance company next to the Caffe Nero. The architects would have designed this, possibly as a bit of fun, preferring the world of monsters and gargoyles rather than simple foliage. Dispelling the myth that gargoyles were there to scare away the devil, in fact, the devil would probably feel right at home here, in the building where the insurers were.

Two headless birds flanked the Royal Bank of Scotland cashpoint. They had been so finely carved originally, that water had got into the building. This had obviously been a nuisance, so the birds were ordered to be decapitated, their necks now buried within the stone, with plinths now jutting out crudely above those wishing to make their instant no-fuss transactions.

And again, I was circling around the Colmore Business District. This must have been for the third or fourth time that day. Dante’s inferno, walking within gluttony and greed. Tired and weary, outside Hotel du Vin, seeing wolves (or was it Cerberus?), snarling gryphons and knotted foliage spiralling all around. A girl came up to our throng and asked us; “What you lot looking at?” “Well, look at that. There’s an owl, a face, a wolf.” “Oh my God. Oh my God. That’s freaky.” With that, she disappeared, going past the gaping fish mouths chiselled over Clarke Wilmott solicitors.

On our way to Louise Ryland House, we passed a plaque dedicated to the surrealist inventor Conroy Maddox. The inscription read:

“The work of surrealism can never be conclusive. It is more of exploration, a journey, a struggle.”

Around the council building we gathered, looking at the Edwardian architecture. Heads of lions and foliage. The council workers walked out of their doors, briefly surprised at us waiting outside (we had considerably grown in numbers) and went on their way, to the bus stops on Colmore Row. Hopefully they’d be there.

We were nearly on our meeting to see Lucifer. But before we did, we passed the dirty chest clinic building on Great Charles Street Queensway. A man with arms outstretched, one hand holding a dish, with a snake feeding from the dish, and in the other hand, a hammer. The world of the medical profession, said Ben, a world that we are only trying to understand.

Our procession went through Paradise Place, a grimy, cavernous alleyway, through Congreve Passage, and then back onto Victoria Square, where there was a demonstration occurring with people bearing candles. But we were the ones who were going to greet Lucifer. A dim light in the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery window. This is where he lay. We slowly walked up the stone steps to the entrance. Shut. Ben knocked, once, twice. On the third time, a lady, her face obscured by curls, bent over with a dowager’s hump slowly opened the door. She let us in cautiously, but Ben assured us that we wouldn’t be long. Up the stairs, where Lucifer stood.

And as soon as we were on the first floor, we were greeted with his presence. The depiction of the fallen angel, the one who was too big for his status in Heaven, cast down to Hell, or perhaps even amongst us on Earth. And the artist who had created this had been told that his statue wasn’t wanted in the V&A, but sure enough, we’d have it in the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery. But Ben reassured us that if we believed in these demons that have been carved for us around the city, that they would manifest themselves in our daily being. As we walked down the stairs, he said that there was nothing, absolutely nothing to worry about. And for the while, we believed him. The lady with the dowager’s hump stood next to the door on our way out. She no longer had the strength to hold the door open. She had been in the museum too long with him upstairs. A spent force. And as we all said our goodbyes and thanked Ben for the trip, I made my way down to Café Blend, and on onto the Electric. Into the Abyss…

Writer James Kennedy was an embedded reporter on the Birmingham Noir tour. Look out for more of his essays throughout the festival.

Ben Waddington 3/18/12 Ben Waddington 3/18/12

Shaping Cinema // Martin Parretti - a review by James Kennedy

Because of the celebration of the city last night, I was running a bit late. After last night, the openings of the new exhibitions at Eastside Projects and Grand Union, the superb Bring Your Own Beamer at Vivid event, and the first in the series of the always great Outer Sight events at The Edge had left some of us a bit worse for wear. Because of this, psychogeography, the derive, and the flaneuring that makes the urban explorer had to go for a burton, and I got a lift in the car to the vicinity of Digbeth High Street. However, the Universe was on my side, and as we pulled up to the traffic lights opposite the Old Crown, the oldest inn in Birmingham, I saw Ben Waddington crossing the road. I said my goodbyes, and got out to meet him, and looking at our watches, we decreed that we’d have enough time for Eggs Benedict and freshly squeezed orange juice at a hostelry that will remain nameless. Of course I didn’t have that 500ml can of Irn Bru and a Tracker Bar, what on earth are you thinking?

The tour was due to start in Pickford Street in Digbeth, in the shadow of the old site of the Typhoo factory, next to industrial complexes, colleges and behind us, the Custard Factory. Today the Still Walking festival was hosting a walk entitled ‘Shaping Cinema’. After last night, the city of Birmingham was now singing its own praises and celebrating its history, and this was being reflected within the ethos of the Still Walking programme as Ben noted, “the sheer excitement you can get by having a passion about the world around you.” He introduced us to the leader of todays walk, Martin Parretti , who was going to introduce us to the founding fathers of cinema design and architecture within the city. He was going to tell us the story of how Oscar Deutsch, Harry Weedon, Victor Saville and Michael Balcon shaped the way in which Brummies were able to engage in the burgeoning world of cinema in the early 20th century, and experience the world around them as never before.

Parretti started by recounting the life of Harry Weedon who had schooled at the old King Edwards school on New Street. After being de-mobbed from the First World War, he moved to Leamington Spa, and after a scandalous double divorce moved back to Birmingham, where he picked up on his love of architecture and design. He met Oscar Deutsch, who came from a family of scrap metal dealers. Weedon’s passion for architecture and his innovative designs motivated Deutsch to think about the cinema business; not to make films, but to show them to the public. The first cinema that Weedon designed was in partnership with the Mendelson Brothers, a firm of grocers. On seeing the success of the venture, Wedon realised that this new fad was here to stay, and a further cinema was built in Perry Barr, the first to carry the Odeon logo. On seeing Weedon’s designs, Deutsch commented that “This is the template of what the cinema is going to be.” Deutsch wanted the world to fall in love with cinema; Weedon wanted the world to fall in love with the design and architecture of buildings. In doing this, the two not only were going to shape the way in which we saw the city, but also in the way we saw ourselves.

We went up Bordesely Street, past the M.Latif and Sons wholesalers and units operating from the cluster of lock-ups. Carpet warehouses which tinny bhangra sounds, and signs boasting of pub sandwich delivery services, and Italian car specialists. We got on to Shaw’s Passage, slipping and twisting eager ankles on its cobbled streets, averting our eyes from the Taboo Cinema Club which was emphatically not part of Martin’s tour. Making our way onto Park Street, just left of the tattoo parlour, we saw the familiar sight of the Selfridges building, and the Bull Ring Tavern. Looking up, I saw another in the series of the ‘there’s a rumour…’ tags that have adorned the city over the last few months, this time, up a staircase on a side door that led into a back room of the old Royal George pub which had been closed for a good few years now. But after navigating the urban motorway and getting safely to the other side of the road, on the new Spiceal Street, we discovered that the Royal George venue in fact had a previous life as the Coutts Music Hall, which had a reputation as one of the rougher music halls; indeed, the senior manager had been murdered on stage during a performance. However, in 1910, this had been converted into a silent cinema called the Bull Ring, later, it would turn into the much missed Royal George pub, which had been the host to many delightfully sweaty gigs later on in the century, before being closed due to a discrepancy in the licensing laws, for want of a better phrase.

Our group made its way up through the Bull Ring, into the path of a multitude of Saturday shoppers. To our left, New Street and to our right, the site of the first News Theatre in Birmingham. As we looked on at the site, now a Card Factory, we were told News Theatres were of a time that didn’t have 24 hour rolling news or 3G access. A News Theatre was dedicated to showing just that, news, and other cinemas were designed for particular niche programming, including cartoon theatres, which in modern society could now easily be found on Nickelodeon, not with the bother of having to go out to the Odeon, which is where we were headed next. As we walked onto busy New Street, a giant hoarding above us showed adverts flickering slogans for smartphones. “It’s a wonderful world. Explore it.”

The Odeon was an old favourite of mine. In the 80s I remember seeing the likes of Ghostbusters and Back to the Future again and again. These days, I was often tempted to go in there and catch the latest blockbuster, my brain racing with the smell of popcorn and nachos, loud arcade machines and a choice of eight or more screens. Not so when it was the Paramount Theatre, a high art deco theatre, that could house 3000 people. Unsympathetic development had now reduced this once proud theatre into a sticky floored multiplex, and we moved swiftly on through New Street, and into the opulent arcade of the Burlington Hotel (with Bacchus Bar underneath.) This was where Saville and Balcon, boyhood friends, had embarked on their first major venture, with a young Alfred Hitchcock as assistant director. Later, Balcon would shape the world of English cinema with Ealing films, and was a close ally of J. Arthur Rank.

Up Bennetts Hill, we stood opposite the offices of Oscar Deutsch. 21 Bennetts Hill, next to a building draped in scaffolding, and a taxi running its engine. Deutsch died in 1941 at a young age, but in his time he had overseen the opening of 250 cinemas in 10 years, with Odeon (Oscar Deutsch Entertains Our Nation) opening on average 3 new cinemas per week. Going back down Bennetts Hill we got to the next arcade, and our final part of our journey on New Street, Piccadilly Arcade, now home to jewellers and bespoke clothes designers. We were in fact, standing where seats used to be in the Piccadilly cinema. To get to our next destination, the site of the Scala on John Bright Street, we would have to now clamber over seats with hushed excuse mes and thankyous, and right through the screen on to Victoria Square, a Technicolor yawn of beeping cars and fast food outlets.

The Scala cinema, an impressive building, was now closed. After closing as a cinema the building had been used for more disreputable purposes, more recently, a gentlemen’s club, and even worse, club DNA in the early millennium. Scala cinemas however, had always been ahead of the game, and were the first to feature a curtain stage, and the first cinema to show ‘talkies.’ One of the group commented that it had also been fitted with the ‘Sensurround’ gimmick in the 70s, which had been used in disaster movies such as ‘Earthquake’ and ‘Rollercoaster’ where seats would shake in time to the special effects on screen, using early 4D technology, which may or may not re-surface in the years to come in the cinema experience.

The penultimate part of our tour was up the steep Gough Street, and we were faced with the synagogue where the four shapers of cinema in Birmingham worshipped as children. This synagogue, this place of worship, obviously had played a critical role in the way in which Birmingham shaped its involvement with cinema. And later in life, Harry Weedon had re-paid his debt to this temple, and built an extension to the back of it. Leaving this site, we walked back down Hinckley Street, and took in an impressive scope of the city, cars zooming back and forth, pedestrians going about their business, all watched under our eye. We finished our tour at the back of the Electric Cinema, the oldest working cinema in the country. The cinema had opened in 1909, and, like others that we had visited and been told about that day, had been through many changes throughout the years, but, despite changes to the programme and what films it showed, was still the same as it had been, a cinema. In fact, it was showing the next part of the Still Walking programme, a film called Patience (After Sebold) which I wasn’t going to be able to see, as I had to go into Selfridges, and then back up to Cheapside to The Edge. After that i’d go back to the Bull Ring, then to the Anchor, then back up Cheapside to PST, then back up Bath Row. The pavements are being well trodden. It is the time of the Still Walking festival after all.

Ben Waddington 3/15/12 Ben Waddington 3/15/12

Birmingham Gothic (neé Noir)

On our way to Louise Ryland House, we passed a plaque dedicated to the surrealist inventor Conroy Maddox. The inscription read:
“The work of surrealism can never be conclusive. It is more of exploration, a journey, a struggle.”

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Mmm, maps: filming locations and locations of films

Here at Still Walking, we love maps…

Have you seen these ones by Mark Wilson?

Still Walking celebrates (amongst other things) meticulous research and seeing your surroundings in a new way and Mark’s maps are a prime example of this. If you click on the location markers in the map above (there are quite a few of them – they may take a while to load) you will find yourself in Birmingham-as-London.

Mark’s spent a lot of time on the trail of the BBC drama Hustle and the many locations around Birmingham that were used as stunt doubles for the capital city: here is an article from the Sunday Mercury, another from the Radio Times and his collections of maps and photos.

Hustle was just the beginning though: Mark has gone on to research other films and TV programmes that have used locations around the city.

Mark gets behind the scenes of the TV industry and shares trade secrets and some of the improvised approaches of the TV crews he has encountered. This walking tour has many tales of con artists, soap queens, musical legends, game show kings and even throws in a phantom flan flinger for good measure.

If you’re quick, you can get one of the few remaining tickets for Mark’s tours (there are two different ones to choose from) this Sunday. Ben’s already been on the dress rehearsal and it seems to have gone down very well with Time Out reporter Euan Ferguson judging by his review.

On Location is one of three tours that Still Walking is running this year in conjunction with the amazing Flatpack film festival. The Birmingham Noir and Shaping Cinema tours have both already sold out, but walking fans may also enjoy Patience (After Sebald) and Made in Wolverhampton from the Flatpack programme:

MADE IN WOLVERHAMPTON
(Dir: Adam Kossoff, UK 2011, 74 mins)
Friday 16 March, 5.45pm at the Custard Factory theatre
Framed as a letter from the narrator to his girlfriend in Cuba, Made in Wolverhampton is a quizzical ramble around the city’s margins with a combination of locked-off photography and super-dry voiceover recalling the work of Patrick Keiller. Hunting for ‘after-images of the industrial revolution’, the film builds up layers of observation, history and quotation to engaging effect, throwing Norton bikes, Che Guevara, Poundland, Galileo and roundabout-dweller Josef Stawinoga into the mix. In his day-job Kossoff teaches Film and Video at the School of Art and Design in Wolverhampton, and coincidentally we’ll also be showing a short made by one of his former students. LUV’IN THE BLACK COUNTRY (dir: Matthew E. Carter) is built around five tales of love on the canals.

PATIENCE (AFTER SEBALD)
(Dir: Grant Gee, UK 2011, 84 mins)
Saturday 17 March, 1pm at the Electric
Despite the autobiographical undercurrent of Rings of Saturn, Vertigo and Austerlitz, the writer behind them has always been something of a mysterious figure, so it’s fascinating to see a picture of WG Sebald start to emerge as this documentary progresses. Interviewing acolytes and friends (including Marina Warner, Andrew Motion and Tacita Dean) as well as retracing the walk around coastal Suffolk which inspired Rings of Saturn, the film’s layered approach does a great job of reflecting Sebald’s own discursive and often dark turn of mind.

Both screenings are £7/£5, booking via www.flatpackfestival.org.uk or Ticketsellers on 0844 870 0000.

Ben Waddington 3/9/12 Ben Waddington 3/9/12

Have you got Big Brum Love?

I was thrilled when I heard that Marty Taylor had been approached to lead an event for the festival: not a professional guide, but someone with a great sense of humour who could offer an interesting and entertaining personal perspective on Birmingham.

When his proposal came back, it totally blew all our expectations out of the water…

We thought he could share some affection for the city he grew up in.
He gave us love!

We thought we’d go easy on him and keep the numbers down for his first tour-guide gig.
He gave us a procession!

We thought we were getting Marty Taylor.
We got Sas & Marty Taylor and Big Brum Love!

The Big Brum Love tour will do what it says on the tin: a massive celebration of love (for all things) taking place in the city centre from 1pm on Saturday March 31st.

To make sure we nail the big bit though, we’re going to need your help…

We want to gather as many people as possible to take part in this (free) happening, so come along and join us for a dollop of love, affection and general bonhomie.

There’ll be a range of activities going on for those who are feeling expressive, but it’s totally fine to get involved with these as much or as little as you like. The main thing is we want you to come and walk with us. The streets of Birmingham have seen a few protests in recent months, can we now fill them with a celebration?

Show us your positive vibes!

As I mentioned earlier, the event is free. You won’t need a ticket for this one, however we are asking for you to add your name to this eventbrite registration to help the planning side of things. All ages welcome.

Bringing yourself is the important thing, but if you can also bring along an instrument to play that would be rather marvellous and help add to the Big Brum Love atmosphere!

Sas & Marty have set up a Big Brum love blog and Twitter account, so link up to those for updates etc. In the meantime, please mark the 31st in your diary and help spread the word. Birmingham Needs Yow.

Ben Waddington 3/8/12 Ben Waddington 3/8/12

Teach me about Erdington

A month or so ago I was given a guided tour of Corby by James from the contemporary art organisation Fermyn Woods.

That the local government’s website has the tag line “Building a bigger, better, brighter Corby” might confirm your suspicions about this ex steel-working town. However, as we drove around the area, James was able to relate a non-stop series of facts, anecdotes, tales and legends about the landscape and the people who have lived and worked there.

I’m fascinated by how these stories get passed on. Some are experienced directly, others may be retold to make conversation between parent and child whilst out walking the dog. It sounds like the gamekeeper would be a good person to sit around a campfire with, too!

I grew up in the New Forest, and I’ve absorbed something of the stories of the kings, the ghostly nurses and the World War bombs. However, looking at the programme for the Still Walking festival has brought home to me how little I know about the city and culture of Birmingham – even though I have lived and worked here for […counts on fingers…] 15 years now.

I came here to study at university, and my experience of the city has been pretty much limited to the South West sector between Bristol and Alcester Roads. I’ve never been to Marston or Bordesley Greens; Perry Common remains a mystery to me; Handsworth and Nechells – places I’ve heard mention of on the news; Smethwick I would have to look up on a map…

I think this is why I’m intrigued by Kerrie Reading’s event Swanning Around Erdington.

Erdington High Street by megara_rp on Flickr

Kerrie has been meeting with Erdingtonites (Erdingtonians?) to pool their collective knowledge. Taking Erdington High Street as the starting point, Swanning Around Erdington will be a trail through people’s memories and thoughts about the town. Kerrie’s interested in how people and their collective stories help shape a place and Swanning Around Erdington forms part of a much larger body of research investigating how communities engage with their town/city. Buy your tickets for the family-friendly performance and a taster of the stories she’s gathered.

I originally started this post pondering “where is the local history?”, but I think maybe the question I really want to get at is how local history is transmitted and what micro-histories people want to share. I’m not so much getting at the sort of things that make it to the history books, but the more personal histories, the stuff that’s significant either on a local scale or maybe even to one or two people. Individual perspectives. Mass observation day diary type stuff.

So, here’s the challenge:
I know nothing about Erdington. I don’t think I have ever been there.
What can you tell me about Erdington – the Erdington you have experienced?

I’m now handing the comments section over to you… Teach me about Erdington, please!

Ben Waddington 3/5/12 Ben Waddington 3/5/12

The Art of Walking

When programming the festival, I knew I wanted to push the usual definition of the term “guided tour”. I wanted the programme to reflect the diversity of people I had encountered during the past year, only a few of whom would think of themselves as tour guides. My personal moment of epiphany was during Kira O’Reilly’s Silent Tour from last year’s Fierce festival. Guided walks didn’t have to be about learning new facts, or even involve talking to people. They didn’t even always need a guide.

I wanted the walks in the festival to be genuinely diverse; to include local histories, but to look beyond – the festival is all about exploring. I began to look at the world of the walking artist and discovered many artists who incorporated some aspect of walking and the landscape into their work, but who would shy away from the term “landscape artist”. The timing of the festival has enjoyed some happy coincidences which have helped convince me that I was heading in the right direction. One of these was the IKON gallery’s exhibition of the art of Hamish Fulton (on now until 29th April).

Hamish Fulton sees his lengthy marches across the world as being his art form. He doesn’t alter the landscape in anyway way, or leave anything behind. The art is the walk itself. What he exhibits in the gallery isn’t the actual event, nor even a thorough documentation of his voyage. We are presented with information about the date and location of his walks, and short factual statements (such as “no paths”) in a huge, bold typographic layout that reminds me of the road signs he must regularly encounter on his journeys. Those signs have to convey their meaning quickly and efficiently.

Looking around the exhibition I had the feeling you get when rain lashes against the window from the safety of your warm living room. Hamish’s walks are often epic lengths and sometimes crossover into mountain climbing – gentle strolls these are not. One work from August 2000 shouts what Fulton’s world was reduced to that day: “BRAIN HEART LUNGS”, with the tiny annotation: “climb to the summit of Cho Oyu… without supplementary oxygen”. Spending more time with the huge wall pieces reveals subtleties – words are often to a specific letter-count and have a measured rhythm. Poetry from a man conserving his energy.

Hamish leads a city centre walk on Sun 8 April in connection with Fierce Festival

Hamish talks about his work on Sat 7 April at IKON- places for both events are free but booking from IKON is essential.

Hamish Fulton – IKON Gallery until 29th April

The IKON are also teaming up with Northfield EcoCentre for a River Rea exploration on Sat 17 March

Hannah Hull also will be giving a talk on walking artists during the festival.

Ben Waddington 3/2/12 Ben Waddington 3/2/12

Look Around You

While researching my tours for the festival this week, I realised that as much as I think I know the streets of Brum, I always find something new when I start looking again. One thing we rarely do when we’re in the city is stand still and look at it (unless maybe you are smoking in a doorway or waiting for a bus). Why would we? We’re trying to get somewhere. And if we are on the move, we are traffic and have to keep an eye on the road, not the horizon.

Yesterday I spent two hours looking at modernist design in the city and last week it was stone and terracotta architectural oddities. Some of the best examples I found were between the places I was heading to. I generally keep an eye open for stuff around the city, but deliberately setting out to look for it, with no other intention or destination, really yields rewards.

I think all the guides in the festival have done the same with their own particular interest. Usha might miss the Central Library but be acutely aware of the slopes and curves of Chamberlain Square. Mark may only have noticed Queen’s College’s weird bats and gargoyles if they appeared as a backdrop in BBC’s Hustle.

The idea that we all occupy our own worlds of experience is fascinating. The thing to do, of course, is invite people in and shown them round.

Invitation

Ben Waddington 3/2/12 Ben Waddington 3/2/12

Birmingham’s Surprising Vistas

Several weeks ago, Ben was out looking for snails (ask him about it one day) and he stumbled across this view:

It was exactly the place he’d intended to go to, but he was completely taken aback by the presence of the stones and the distant city centre towers behind them.

Since then we’ve been curious about these surprising vistas of the city: those unexpected views that show a different face of Birmingham. Sometimes even making it look like somewhere else.

Here’s an example from my own collection. Again a view towards the city centre; this time from the top of a roof in Digbeth.

I think it’s the gulls and something in the graininess of the sky that makes this a surprising vista for me. This Birmingham feels like a coastal American city.

Does Birmingham-as-elsewhere only happen at sunset? Does it require a little red-sky magic to make it happen?

We’d love to see any photos you have of Birmingham’s familiar skylines and landmarks glimpsed in such a way that make you feel you are no longer in Brum: slivers of landmarks from odd angles; views of the city that jar with expectations…

Use the comments to link us up to your images, or Tweet them at us if that’s more your style. There’s also a Flickr group here: http://www.flickr.com/groups/brumvistas/. Surprise us!

Update: red-sky magic not required!

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Birmingham Graphic DNA: Digbeth Found Fonts

Still Walking isn’t afraid to visit the grittier side of town if there’s something interesting to be found there. Gez Marshall has been combing the back streets of Digbeth for the last few months in search of indigenous lettering – that is, signs created by the company itself, almost always by someone untrained in the graphic arts. Her interest ranges from the metal letters cut and shaped by the factory itself to signs painted on walls which are closer to graffiti than corporate branding. In between lie some visually arresting example of graphic naivety which are spectacular by NOT knowing the rules they are breaking. The letters tell the story of how we think about alphabets, accidentally create our own fonts and are a glimpse into how people think.

They also tell the story of Birmingham. Gez has unearthed examples stretching back a century or more and they chart the changes in local industry and the character of the area. It’s the local angle that she’s going for: she wants to find out if Birmingham lettering when taken as a whole, can show Birmingham has a local typographical “accent” (the DNA of the tour’s title). Her work reminds me of a naturalist returning with specimens in jars and carefully noting the differences in size, colour, origin and material. It’s also a living habitat: a fan of lost type and “ghost signs” myself, I feel the loss when something I’ve come to enjoy seeing on a regular walk disappears. The research is all part of Gez’s PhD project. and she also has a blog.

You can do some font field work yourself on her tour for Still Walking

Thanks for agreeing to be part of the festival Gez! I feel there's plenty more more do be done in this area...

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Still Walking in Time Out

The Still Walking festival gets a couple of paragraphs in today’s London Time Out:

Critics are quick to dismiss Birmingham as an architecturally unrewarding place to visit. It’s true that it has been built up, replanned and torn down more than almost any other place of comparable size in the country, but its compact centre, 2,000 listed buildings and the sheer ceaselessness of its regeneration make it an exciting place to walk. It’s like an urban planning experiment that got out of hand. Turn a corner and another dramatic vista opens up; scale and perspectives flip with every step. Brutalist concrete clamours for attention beside Blairite ‘regeneration’ developments: anything with an industrial legacy is fair game for redesignation. Skyscrapers spring up where they shouldn’t – and amid it all, Victorian remainders stand stoic.
The Still Walking festival, which runs March 15-April 1, is an example of the sort of independent happening that Birmingham does well. It’s organised by local artist and historian Ben Waddington, and features an esoteric set of guided walks around the city led by ‘historians, architects, artists, psychogeographers, dancers, storytellers and ramblers’, all keen to share their experiences of moving around Birmingham. ‘It came about after my Invisible Cinema tour for the Flatpack Festival [see Around Town below],’ says Waddington. ‘I began to think of the many ways and reasons people walk.’ Some of the highlights include Birmingham Noir, exploring ‘architectural grotesques and oddities in the business district’; Radial Truths, a cycling tour through the history of Birmingham cycle manufacture; and Brumicana, investigating the city’s urban myths.

You can read the whole article at http://www.timeout.com/travel/features/1175/a-fresh-look-at-birmingham

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Getting in the Saddle for Radial Truths

Yesterday morning I met Chris Tomlinson of Birmingham Bike Foundry to check on progress with his cycling tour for the festival. Chris was finishing off a game of Bike Polo at Highgate Park’s Urban Cricket ground. Urban Cricket isn’t seen there so often but polo seems to be on the rise. So is cycling generally.

Radial Truths will be a three hour cycling tour exploring what’s left of Birmingham’s cycling industry, and in many cases, that’s an archeological exploration. This is Chris’s first guided tour, but cycling has long been an interest and in 2010 he co-founded Birmingham Bike Foundry to recycle, repair bikes and offer maintenance training. I’d never really looked at this side of Birmingham’s industrial history and was looking forward to finding out what he had in store on the trip.

One question I had for him: how had Birmingham turned from a bike industry leader to motor city in such a short period…and a relatively bike – unfriendly city at that? Chris explained how the Midlands bicycle industry responded to the public’s transportion needs…when motorbikes and cars became more affordable, cycle manufacture slowed down. It wasn’t that the factories “liked” cycling, rather that they could profit from supplying that demand. BSA, for example, moved from artillery through to bicycles (or “dicycles”) for the same reason. After the War, Birmingham reinvented itself as a car-centric city and the association with bicycles was largely lost. Giants like Aston’s Hercules disappeared almost overnight. Yet only a few years previously, the industry was still looking to shiny future…

I asked if there were any pre-war cycle routes so we could follow some historical routes, but as Chris gently explained, there were no cycle routes back then. Cars were the exception on most roads. The road was the cycle route. A young bike polo spectator overheard us and told his his grandfather had been employed by Hercules and he was enthusiastically researching the company’s history too. Could he come on the tour? I enjoy these moments!

Our first stop was the site of the once-enormous Ariel factory complex in Selly Oak. Even since I was last there in 2011 huge swathes of land have been cleared and rebuilt, including the aquaduct. So should this important cycling location be on the tour? I felt if we could identify one remaining trace, he should use it (I hate hearing the phrase “here once stood” on guided tours). Chris had heard a rumour that there was a plaque somewhere on the aquaduct, named Ariel Bridge after the factory. But there was no trace of anything – something Birmingham is very good at! We had to press on with the tour, with the ultimate destination of the mighty Hercules plant.

Find out how Chris got on with his exploration by booking a place on his tour. I promise, we did find something!

Radial Truths