I move on from Edge Lane heading towards the city centre passing a couple more small Brownfield sites along the way.
I pass Archbishop Blanch High School. And then I spy a couple of uniform clad girls drinking tea from a flask as they sit underneath an apple tree on a patch of overgrown wasteland. An opportunity too good to miss – I pedal over to them to enquire why they are sat there, in the cold, drinking tea…
‘It’s a good place to sit – it’s quiet and it’s green”
‘We come here a lot, we like it”
As they are leaving, I park my bike up. Just as I am about to take a photo, the door of what I assumed was a derelict property, opens, and a small aged man appears – angry faced – “what are you doing in my garden?”
There is no way you would stand where I was stood and think you were in someone’s garden. I was shocked – and totally caught of my guard. And then I felt ashamed. I had mistaken this mans home for a Brownfield site – an easy mistake – but, a shameful one none the less.
I apologised profusely. I told him why I was there and what I was doing. His first response was to tell me that the kids from the high school hang out there all the time – “smoking”
Then he told me about the apple trees that were never planted – “they just grew from apple cores – do you know how difficult it is to grow apple trees from apple cores? Well these ones grew from thrown down cores - not planted - just thrown down. I’ve got pear trees too.” Eagerly he took me on a tour of his garden. He wanted to show me all the things that he hadn’t planted, and the wonders of his wilderness.
Before long I realised that I was stood having a conversation with a remarkable individual. This man had stayed put whilst the rest of his street was demolished – back in 1964!
His house had stood here as a solitarily landmark of a past community, for 43 years. About 40ft of the old cobbled street remains intact outside of his front door. This man is a mine of information about the very local history. He told me about the old convent, demolished to make way for the Royal Liverpool University Hospital. He told me about the Blood Bank Unit that was built in 1974. He can remember all the fuss about the Unit’s solar panels – bringing in an expert in to install them – but no one ever knowing how to make them work.
He talked about street parades and daily life. He then asked me to wait. He went inside his cracking abode and re-emerged with a brown folder stuffed full of photographs. He had lived and worked on this street all his life; and had the documentation to prove it! He also had all the past electoral roles – the names of everyone who had lived on this disappeared street
I asked him what his job was
He used to be a car mechanic before he retired, and worked from the house. The ground floor was the Garage. He pointed at a rusting scrap behind the chain-link fencing – “that’s a Wahisit” I made it, and when I drove it people would point and say "wha is it?”
I tell him my name, and asked him his
“They call me ‘Jim the Stud’ – but you can call me Jim”
We shake hands.
As I left Jim the day had turned to dusk.
I manically cycled up Edge Lane – and it is up hill!
I was desperate to fit in one more site.
I knew there were at least 3 I had left for my return journey up Edge Lane – but I hadn't counted on meeting a gem like Jim.
I squeezed in one more evaluation – a Yellow site – but then had to call it a day.
It was indeed dark.
Back at Blockbusters I pop in to tell Tony about the day’s encounters – I hand him a tagged tag, which, he tells me, he will pin on the staff notice board.