Saturday just gone was such a beautiful day that it was easy to take good photographs, especially on such an interesting bus route as the 27. In fact I took nearly 200 photos during a long sunny day. Too many to use in the one blog post. So here are some more. Liverpool street scenes from in and around the 27 bus.
Following up recent cowhouse finds with this livery stable. Links to a past when large animals shared the city with us. And reflecting on the use of the word ‘livery’ to mean a horse stable but also as elements of heraldry. When owning a horse marked you out as the local warlord or nobility.
Then we witness a curious little ceremony. After a while a little white van draws up on the opposite side of the road. A man gets out and crosses over to us. Has a few friendly words with our driver, who then himself gets out and crosses to the little white van. As our new driver takes his seat in our bus.
And before we drive off, another little white van has duly turned up to wait for the next 27 and repeat the ceremony all over again.
How quaint, we thought. But how bleak. I’ve done a fair bit of work with bus crews over the years. Know what a lonely life it can be. And know how they value the occasional camaraderie of the bus depot canteen. Denied them here, whilst back in town there’s a bus station at Liverpool One where you never see any driver exchanges taking place. Efficiency, progress? Hardly.
We can’t stay as we know we’ve still got half the city to get around.
Crossing Leeds Street we’re close to the city centre now.
And in this quiet place on the edge of the city centre, gradually being changed into student-land, a curious sculpture.
The name of the quarry in Italy the volcanic stone came from. This sculpture was done by Stephen Cox for the 1984 International Garden Festival down by the South Docks. And through some accidents of history has ended up here in a quiet corner of north Liverpool. I wonder why?
I’ll be back here someday soon for a close look at all these little alleys that were so much a part of Liverpool’s business district when messenger boys like my Dad would run from office to office, long before faxes or email. Coming soon.
‘All the empty houses, where do they all come from?’ as The Beatles almost sang.