People of Anfield: The Flowers Still Grow by Culture Liverpool

THE FLOWERS STILL GROW

EDITOR PAULINE ROWE

Welcome, reader

Anfield is a unique city-edge place that is transformed when the world comes to visit because of football or musical celebrity. At other times, most of the time, the people here long for a thriving high street and a beautiful environment, facilities they can be proud of, green spaces to be enjoyed, creative expression and safe streets.

This is the story of city people who find that home is here, who keep moving ahead towards better times especially after the pandemic and years of austerity. Beneath the closed shutters there are daisies growing in the cracks in the pavement. Dandelions, clover and willowherb bring flashes of colour on open pockets of land.

There’s a spirit in Anfield that resists decline and keeps going, that helps people find ways to work together and celebrate life, the gifts of human nature and the beauty of the world where the flowers still grow.

It has been a privilege to work with people in Anfield since the summer of 2023, alongside my colleague Emma Case who is the Photographer-inResidence for this project.

I am grateful to Open Eye Gallery and Culture Liverpool for supporting my work with people at The Liverpool Lighthouse, Kitty’s Launderette and Pinehurst School especially. I have learned a lot about the rich community and history of this unique place from the people who live here.

This booklet contains a small selection of writing from the members of our writing group at Kitty’s Launderette. Thank you to all of them for their hard work and commitment, and to the wonderful staff at Kitty’s who have hosted and supported our monthly meetings.

Pauline Rowe Writer-in-Residence

The People of Anfield Project

August 2024

There’s something quite special about seeing wildflowers especially in places you would least expect. The pop of red from a poppy that always accompanies more poppies still waiting to explode with their vibrancy… poppy heads that are so distinctive! Poppies remind us how fragile our lives are and how brave and courageous people are, and that the past does not have to repeat itself. That there is another way forward…

Wildflowers always find a way to grow even in the most challenging and difficult environments. The dazzling hue of the cornflower stands out anywhere. The vivid blue petals are a delight to the human eye – so are ladybirds, vital for any garden including those areas that are yet not known as a garden …though that conversation is for another day.

What’s not to love about the simple Shasta daisy? How many of us remember lazy summers when we picked daisies – mindfully and tenderly creating daisy chains. Or remember the joy of picking a buttercup and putting it under your friend’s chin to see if they liked butter!

Wildflowers always find their way to your heart and remind you that so many of us have the same hopes, dreams and aspirations. Who doesn’t love to see a carpet of bluebells beckoning us to go into the woods and walk amongst them? The carpet of blue gathering momentum as the years roll by.

Wildflowers bring us hope and joy in places that are unused and unloved, beckoning us to remember the simplicity of life, a slower pace where one can stop to see the beauty amongst the cracks knowing that life will continue to open to new possibilities: that life regenerates.

We evolve too. Our role is to tend to our garden whether this is the space that lies in front of us or the garden that is in our minds and hearts.

Jan Mullen

Wildflowers

In My Anfield Home

I have lived off Breck Road for almost 8 years and the imposing buildings of worship stand out amongst the shops and flats. They have changed uses over time to stay relevant and meet the needs of their surrounding neighbours.

‘Holy Tripes and Trotters’ — This was the nickname for Holy Trinity C of E church on the corner of Breck Road and Richmond Park. The foundation stone was laid by the philanthropist Sir William, a friend and neighbour of Christopher Rawdon in 1845. It is a Grade II listed building. Originally there was a vicarage and Church of England school for infants and juniors behind the church. There are new buildings in this area now on Waterhouse Close off Richmond Park. The school was always winning the chess competition under Mr Boswell, so places were sought after! The Boys Brigade Band won the junior band competitions and there was a waiting list to join them too.

About 60 years ago the vicar was Canon Taylor. Now the vicar is David Gavin who is also vicar of nearby Christchurch. Today Holy Trinity holds weekly Sunday services and on the first Sunday of each month holds ‘Food & Fun’ — providing something to eat, games and a church service. It also hosts a food pantry every Monday morning and has done so since 2019. The number of clients has greatly increased recently due to the cost-of-living crisis. I used the food pantry last year when I was finding it hard to make ends meet. The volunteers were very friendly and helpful, and the food pantry is in the main church. The attitude to Holy Trinity seems different now.

Those who remember the church decades ago have feelings of fondness and pride in the church and its achievements. They talk of helping each other out and the feeling of a community. Now, for many local people, Holy Trinity is a resource and has little to do with spiritual or religious matters. I do wonder what direction it will go in.

Kay Case

Having been pressured into assuming the role of chair of a local residents’ group was one thing, but now, with no political experience, here I was demanding, yes demanding, a better deal for our community. I only wanted the best for my neighbours and our streets. Another Liverpool City Council representative had come to talk to us, and I thought it would be another fob off exercise. “What would you like me to do for you?” she asked. I reminded her that this part of Anfield is one of the most deprived areas in Europe, and that someone from the council must take responsibility for it. We deserve better. I got support from all the residents in attendance. “OK I will see what I can do,’’ she said as she packed her notes into her briefcase. Another lame reply I thought. Off the record, she whispered to me as she left: I have someone who would love to pay a visit to a chosen area of Liverpool. But it must be kept hush hush.

Weeks later walking around and inspecting my little corner of Anfield I was explaining to the Lord Mayor and her colleagues (who had come to visit us), how nice and clean our neighbourhood is. I deliberately guided them away from the alleys filled with smelly rubbish bags…

That’s when it happened, I saw it before anyone else did. ‘’Look’’ I said, trying to divert their eyes, ‘’you can see the beautiful hills of Lancashire over there’’ as I stealthily hovered my left foot over the steaming mound the dog had left behind. Oh, how I wished I was wearing a pair of size 10 shoes that day! Thankfully they were all facing the other way and I thought brill I’ve got away with that; no-one has seen it.

I was told there was to be a visit as part of a national campaign by a Cleaner Britain group. Their President and Royal Patron would be visiting Liverpool. It was a toss-up between either Anfield or Aintree to see which area would be chosen. I had literally ‘sold’ Anfield to them to the best of my ability. Now I had to wait for their decision.

The first reaction didn’t come in a letter or a phone call. No, it was a visit to my home by the Police. Not your normal ‘Beat Bobby ‘ but a very matterof-fact officer and his colleague from the Special Branch. They weren’t the typical ‘good and bad cop’ that we see on TV. No, they were treating me like a terrorist, asking questions about my family background. Had I any links with political activist groups? Was I anti-Royal? Did I have a Police record? Well I ask you! All this for a visit from some guy who has a thing about litter!

A few weeks later a letter did eventually arrive from The Palace.

The Community of Old Barn Residents Association (COBRA) area of Anfield had been chosen for a Royal visit and I was invited to be the host on the day. Wow! I was taken aback, left speechless and absolutely gobsmacked! Lots of planning ensued – the walkabout route, community activities, choosing the special guests, maybe something special that would make the visit to Anfield memorable. It seemed a daunting task. But I needn’t have worried. The Anfield community spirit took over.

A massive clean-up of the streets and alleys was needed; hanging flower baskets, planters were constructed and fitted on most of the houses on the route and our resident’s group was assigned to their various tasks. On the day of the visit, and in the rain, I had an inspection walk around the area, It was looking good and not a piece of litter to be seen. As we made the final security arrangements, Radio Merseyside, and reporters from the Echo and Mersey Mart wanted an interview.

At 3 o’clock, as if by arrangement, the sun came out just as the Royal car drew up. A crowd of about 400 residents were there to welcome the Royal visitor who was introduced to the Residents Committee. First we had a short walk to Stonehill Avenue’s Living Wall to plant a bush donated from Highgrove House Garden. The residents were enthralled as our guest found time to talk to everyone. There was a visit to a local children’s group as they painted Royal faces on balloons then onwards to our community fruit and vegetable stall. On the next corner we had a demonstration of how to make a flower basket. This is where the party paused for a photo shoot for NOW Magazine.

The Royal guest was in fits of laughter at the march past and salute by Anfield’s young Trash Army, the youngsters aptly dressed in their Trash Uniforms. Our guest showed immense interest in our project depicting how the terraced houses and area looked many years ago. Passing the Old Barn Pub, the acceptance of an invite to come in and partake in a small glass of beer threw the security guards into a frenzy. The Pub, beautifully bedecked with flowers and bunting, was the Royal’s idea of a traditional pub.

There were discussions about horse racing and football with the regulars and a photograph was taken with Old Charlie, one of the pub’s oldest customers. Bidding goodbye to the pub, a Royal Tea Party was next in line. Time was taken to respond, over a cup of tea and cakes, to the resident’s questions. After accepting a bouquet of flowers from a young schoolgirl and a presentation box of our guest’s favourite chocolate cookies, the group was then escorted back to the Royal car by two of the community’s elderly members. There was a final wave and thank you to everyone for such a warm welcome.

As the car left the area to great cheers, Liverpool’s Lord Mayor put a hand on my shoulder saying well done. (All that was missing was an appearance by the dog!) She must have seen the puzzled look on my face, “Yes,” she said, “we saw what you did to hide the dog poo. It was because of your community spirit that we were convinced!’’ It had been unanimously agreed. The COBRA area of Anfield deserved to have a Right Royal visit from... (wait for it) I have kept this hush hush, but you need to know. Who was the Royal? (FX: Big drumroll, big bugle call) … Camilla. Yes, in 2013 Camilla, Her Royal Highness, the Duchess of Cornwall visited our strong community-spirited neighbourhood. The COBRA Residents are proud to have had none other than our present Queen Camilla visiting our community.

God save our King and Queen! But, most of all, please, God save our beautiful communities.

Ian Watt

Among the Wildflowers

The Victorians assigned a meaning to different flowers: red roses for love, daisies for innocence. They used this language of flowers, this floriography, to communicate in secret and to convey specific messages.

I have always loved flowers. My mum’s favourite were roses. When we moved into our council house, it was the first time that she had her own garden and she loved it. She would spend hours looking after the multitude of flowers, but especially the various types of roses. The colours are vivid in my memory; red, pink, yellow and white. The scent of a rose takes me back to the garden of my childhood. The sweet, floral notes of some and the deep, musky smell of others, particularly after rainfall, bring the memories flooding back.

When I was older and moved into a house of my own with a garden, I thought that I would plant a rose bush in her memory. I chose a spot in the small side garden so I could watch from my kitchen window as it grew. Eventually the bush bloomed, producing beautiful white flowers that brought me happiness each time I saw them.

The happiness in seeing the flowers was short lived. A few days after it was in full bloom, I walked into the kitchen, looked out of the window and the rose bush had been stripped bare of its flowers.

Our old Victorian house has a little side gate, and someone had come in and cut off all the flowers, killing the whole plant in the process. I’ve learnt my lesson and now I still have a rose plant – a miniature one that sits on the window ledge inside the kitchen.

A neighbour explained to me how her established roses were always being cut by people wandering into her garden and helping themselves. I still missed having flowers in my garden, so I bought a box of wildflower seeds from Home Bargains. I scattered these in my garden and loved the beautiful flowers that grew. Borage, cornflowers, daisies and yarrow amongst many others. Even several years later, they continue to bloom. The birds and the insects have helped to scatter them across the garden, so they are not just where they were planted. I love the fact that they thrive so close together.

I wonder how the Victorians would have interpreted the meaning of these flowers – the beauty of a wildflower that grows free. Brave, with the courage to grow in the harshest of environments. Independent, not bound by the conformity of the whole. I like the sound of that. In the words of the song, ‘you belong among the wildflowers.’

Janet Gardiner

Freesias

These are the flowers I like. They have a nice smell. It’s lovely when I get flowers from my children on Mother’s Day. I also like to buy flowers for my friends.

Pat Richardson

The Inscape of me

When you look at someone’s eyes, the lines on their face, the glasses that magnify, do you assume you know them?

The green of my eyes has witnessed many colours. Red Anger. Crimson love. Blue Sadness. And Joyful Yellow. Each paints a picture of my story.

Someone once said I’ve experienced such hardship for someone so young. But each line on my face has brought me to where I am. Calm always comes before a storm. Can you see the peace? The freedom? The joy?

Life brings quirks. It gave me straight hair when I wanted curly somewhere along the way, I went down from two dimples to one.

There are whole worlds behind that shade of green. Do you assume you know them? Do you stay long enough to uncover them? Close enough to care? Do you see the plague through the lenses? The plague of the mind.

But that straight haired, one-dimpled girl still stands, still fights, still finds. A kaleidoscope to paint with. Music notes to play with. And stories to live in. Miracles come in the small things. My vision may not be perfect.

My voice merely a whisper. I may be unassuming, but each knitted loop formed the garment of my life.

Because miracles come in the small things. Like a black speck in the green of a right eye. Behind lenses that magnify.

Rebecca M. Wilkinson

A Memory

Going to the Pier Head with my dad. We would sit on the roof of the old bus station with a portion of chips, enjoying the smell of the river and the smell of vinegar on the hot chips. A smell I will never forget. The ferry boat on the Mersey was a lovely sight too with the beautiful buildings all around. The Liver Buildings with the Liver birds is still one of my favourite buildings. Although the Pier Head has changed a lot I still love being down there and enjoy those great memories of my childhood.

Donna Scott

I Remember

As a child with a soft smile And all the innocence all the while I see the world in all its wonders And marvel at all its splendours.

Taking my formative little steps, Keeping going how hard it gets –Falling, times over, on my little bum but I know I’m safe next to my mum.

The first day at school, the worries and woes. I’m Wednesday’s child with far to go. Though I try my best with what I know I return home feeling low.

I grow up strong and court the world and chat up all the pretty girls. Yet I’m left all alone in this big world.

Cassius James

‘Fate’

Despite all life’s problems, that were set out before us, You were there always, pointing, all possible directions. You showed me my career path, clear and in focus.

As a Youth I had dreamt of my future life, the ambitions. As my life now moves forward will we still interact? Will you be there to guide me, make clear my vision? Will you show me the road, in this race made for rats? You will? Yes, Then my future with you I will gladly accept, but wait, one bit of caution.

‘Fate’, will it be subject to your terms and conditions?

Ian Watt

This is the banner outside the Bait ul Lateef Ahm mosque which is on the opposite side of Breck Road at the corner of Grasmere Road. This building was originally the Richmond Baptist church and was designed by Sir James Picton and built in 1864-65. It was a community-based local church with regular meetings of both a Mother’s and Father’s Union organised by Mr and Mrs Doddenge respectively. There were regular meetings of The Guides, Brownies, Cubs. Scouts and Sea Scouts. These groups for the younger members meant they had to attend church at least once a month and they went on weekends and weeks away, under canvas, at Tawd Vale near Ormskirk. Over the years the congregation dwindled, and the building was sold to the Ahmadiyya Muslim community and became the Bait ul Lateef Ahm mosque displaying their motto of ‘Love for All – Hatred for None.’

Kay Case

A Sense of Being (in Anfield)

S SOUNDS The hum of the traffic up and down the roads, the squeals of children playing, a dog barking, music coming from an open window of a house nearby, a lawn mower, shouts of greeting ‘hello luv, how’s yer leg, good to see you out and about’ – a car door slamming.

E ECHOES (of the past). Looking up towards Mere Lane, I can see the big concrete-like building that stands there, on that site where the Mere Lane Picture House used to be. You can hear the echoes – the excitement of locals queuing there, chattering about their favourite movie stars. Maybe Gary Cooper or Rita Hayworth. Sadly, during the war there were the sounds of air raid sirens, going up Mere Lane, mixing with the sound of bells from St George’s church and the everyday functional sounds from the once very beautiful building of Everton Library. The Librarian stamping books, pages being turned, and imaginations being fed and whisked away to places far away.

N NAMES After attending the first writers’ group I learnt so much about the streets names and how they came about, for example the streets named after places in the Lake District are due to the fact the builders came from the Lake District to construct the houses in the local area.

S SOCIAL ECONOMY There are so many wonderful organisations surrounding where I live. Local community bingos, craft classes, summer play schemes, the local cinema charging a minimum fee, advice clinics, the local library offering the use of computers, a lovely bakery Home Baked offering not only fab food but a really friendly space to enjoy their offerings. And the most special space called Kitty’s Laundrette, which not only has the most pleasing facilities but also has several community-led projects including the one which has me writing this piece.

E EVOKE I am now really excited to be part of the People of Anfield project. I feel it has stirred up many feelings and memories of living in this area and look forward to learning so much more about this place I call home.

Helen Steele

My name’s Pat. I am 78 years old. I live in sheltered accommodation. I go to the theatre. I love going to different places. I love meeting people. I go to my bingo in the community. When I was young I loved going swimming and going to the Pictures. I went to the park with my friends.

I’ve done a lot of voluntary work. Before I left school I worked in a flower shop after school from Monday until Saturday. I got £1.86.

I got married when I was 21 years old. I lived with my mum and dad and had my first little girl, Helen. Then we went to live in Anfield where I had my other little girl, Jeanette, four years later.

Pat Richardson

Self Portrait

Bubbles of laughter rise from the playground below me and I strain to see their source through the trees. I’m distracted by the persistent ache in my legs and my chest feels tight and heavy with the exertion of the climb up the steep incline. I don’t remember being this out of breath before – this tired. My dad would say, ‘it’s called getting old, girl.’ It’s funny how memories and maxims wash over me when I least expect it. Funny too how I’m drawn like the siren’s call to this spot, high on the Everton hill overlooking the river Mersey. The visceral pull of this view, this location, makes me catch my breath more than the hike. The river sparkles as its surface basks in the light of a summer’s day. The cruise liner in at the dock has barely enough energy to cast its shadow on the glass surface. Yet beneath the calm surface the real pressure, the real work, is felt closer to the bottom. I feel a connection to this place, the changes the river has seen in its eternal cycle, the changes I have seen in forty years.

At one point as a kid, I wondered why the streets of this area resembled the grainy images of the moon landings I’d seen on the telly. Mounds of earth and rubble – streets that had lost their way on purpose. For slum clearance, all was demolished, replaced by tower blocks that obscured this view, then were themselves demolished. Accepting no tangible reminders – that no house, no school, no church remain, is one thing. To have support networks, the branches of extended family scattered across the city, is another. As I gaze over the river, witness to all these changes, I think the river would understand. It may be in a constant state of flux, but even it would be affected if its tributaries were diverted.

More laughter bubbles up from the swing park and I am transported back in time to the early 1970s and a park that sat further and higher along the ridge, above the Everton Lock up. My five-year-old self is giggling, my hair streaming behind me, as my mum pushes me higher on the swing. Friends and family are chattering, laughing, and playing. Between giggles I revel in the sensation that I’m flying high above the city below, as conversations wash over me. ‘Overactive imagination that one – it’s all the books she reads.’

The library building that supplied those books still survives but it is clinging to life-support. It’s boarded up now, slates missing and a big sign that says: ‘Dangerous Building – Keep Out.’ The sign strikes me as funny: there are those that have always viewed libraries as dangerous places. Yet, to my younger self, Everton Library was a magical place, with its intricate carvings above doorways, and Jacobean style windows. The

ornate octagonal tower at one end of the building looked like it had been transported from one of the books I read there. I swear I can smell the polished wooden floors again. As I watched the light reflecting off the river I’m reminded of the light filtering down from a high glass ceiling, illuminating dragons carved into plaster.

How quickly time passes. Does it pass as quickly for the river? We think of time like a river, flowing in one direction, kept in line by the banks either side until it reaches the sea, the end. Yet the river can ebb and flow. What if time can do the same? What if it can break out and spill over these banks. Imagine then, from this spot where I stand, I can see a church, a groom with Brylcreemed hair, a bride in borrowed pearls, blissfully happy. My mum and dad surrounded by their friends and family. In my old street, behind a locked pub door, windows rattle at the noise as family ‘wet the baby’s head.’

Celebrating the arrival of a longed-for child. In my old street my grandma is making one of her apple pies, while her hungry children fight over the peel and the apple cores. From this vantage point I can even imagine the river carrying the ship that brought my great-grandparents from Ireland. I shake my head and chuckle to myself. There goes my overactive imagination again. But the river has seen it all. As I turn to head back, I can almost hear the shared laughter, feel the love. Like the river has shaped the landscape, this landscape, these people, have shaped me more than I have realised.

Janet Gardiner

Foraging Memories

She’s rifling further into the depths of the dilapidated bureau, pursuing a drawer to free up for her assortment of USB sticks – files to keep safe from the next cyber typhoon. Contactless tech, the only secure mode in cybercrime channels now swamping the all-encompassing virtual world.

Buoyant, her fingertips skim over the grace of a swan’s feather. Sturdy in poise, but with silky elegance. Another memory. She recounts the tale Dave had told her – separated from his partner, she took their son and set up house with another man. The young son was his for the day for once, so with the pram laden, he took him to the Park. The whippersnapper had whooped in delight when he spotted a white feather cast off by an aquatic trumpeter. Dave bounded over the railings to get the plume for his son. Dave is now gone. Shaun had been out of touch for several years but was now out in the States and back in contact through Facebook. In missing Dave, she found some pleasure in being in touch with his son.

Fingertips scratch over debris, vigilant in case of glass fragments. Over to an old nail kit, another of Dave’s old finds, brought back from his travels with work abroad. The case and set, cheap and mass-produced. Linked with imitation leather, lacking the smell or touch of genuine hide. However, the tools are very functional. She remembers the time he used to take to cut his nails. The Liverpool Echo laid out to take clippings from each toe, carefully cutting each nail. A methodical, timelessly worked process, completed from left to right with plenty of breaks for discourse.

Half a box of ear wax sticks, the bud variety, now banned, becoming chemist-contraband initially due to single use plastics. For more than a decade she had known they were detrimental to health, pushing wax further into your ears. She remembers the discussion she had when still working in London when she had Chinese candle treatment. She had reaped the benefits as it restored her hearing to full volume, yet she was also reprimanded, being told that cotton buds are ‘Very bad.’ Out of convenience she had kept using them, only really stopping when the ban came into place. She must keep them. Great for ‘Do you remember these?’ discussions on social media in twenty years. (If social media hasn’t been replaced by then).

The old pin button badge is a recent purchase made in the summer. Yet a ‘vintage’ buy, picked up from a student area in Manchester. She travelled there by train and bus ride to the nearest NHS dentist that would take new patients. After two or three weeks of scrolling the site for availability she had got one nearer than Birmingham. Initially, a monotonous burden, but

it had become a guilty solace. To potter around the vintage stores and charity boutiques, dropping into the warmth of the library on a winter visit. Now the badge with its rusty edges and the supersized can of hairspray. She assumes that no-one would imagine her using this on her hair. Although not a user of high-end styling products, this was particularly cheap and nasty. She shakes the can and sprays some. Yes, plenty left. She will keep it as it’s ideal as a fixative for soft pastels. She must revisit that medium, perhaps later today.

No, this drawer can remain untouched, everything belongs and has a purpose. There will be no making way for tech. She discharges the debris and sponges over the bottom of the drawer. Adding a shine with spray polish, she tentatively returns the items. Perhaps she will look at a way of displaying some of the items (but not the hairspray) with some soft pastel works.

Alison Little

Liverpool Football Club (I was born in Liverpool 8)

Visiting the Pier Head

Everywhere was in walking distance. Rounders in the street, with all the children. Places? Sefton Park with its Palm house. Opening a conversation. Oh, the other day I met my friend… Love – what we have to offer (as well as the gift of the gab).

Pat Richardson

Looking back at my own childhood I vividly remember living in a thriving community, one in which (despite much poverty and deprivation) most of us lived quite happily. Just before my 5th birthday I moved with my parents to Liverpool 3, to what was then described as a slum area as it comprised of condemned housing. Looking back poverty was there for all to see but at such a young age I was totally oblivious of it. Large families lived in inadequate housing, unemployment was high and the area itself had been devastated by the bombing of Liverpool during the second world war. What I was aware of was the caring nature and camaraderie of the residents. Children played together in the streets and on the bomb sites, the women jangled as they cleaned the steps and windows of their otherwise dilapidated dwellings, and the men supped together in the local public houses. Within a few years of us living there Liverpool Corporation embarked on slum clearance.

People were shipped out to outlying areas away from family and friends with few amenities and minimal transport links. Those who found themselves in tower blocks of flats became isolated and missed their old homes. Many of my generation herald this as the death knell of the community.

We moved to Lark Hill, a nice quiet area – a house with a garden and inside toilet. Heaven. But even at that age I understood that there was no longer a sense of belonging.

I moved house many times, moving to Anfield in 1998. I was working full time and had a busy social life so did not attempt to seek community support within the area.

I live close to the local church and apart from attending their summer and Christmas fairs I did not engage with those around me until around ten years ago when my grandchildren came to live close by. I became aware that some of the members of the church were organising family days out. It was nice to feel part of a community after almost forty years.

One of the organisers passed away and another became a councillor. Events seemed to cease other than several bingo evenings which I did attend. The community ‘as was’ appeared to have died.

The arrival of Covid ensured that any planned events were cancelled although the road next to me held weekly outdoor singsongs. I’m not sure if they were legal, but everyone seemed to be having fun. A jolly coming together of neighbours during a terrible time.

I believe there are many reasons for the demise of the old-style community other than housing regeneration: the eradication of the

poverty of my childhood, the rise of supermarkets resulting in the closure of many small local shops, women entering the workforce, the rise of a transient population, residents having more spending power to do their own thing away from their living area and families no longer living close together. One member of our writing group has lived in Anfield for many years and mentioned at our last meeting that the area always had a great spirit which was severely damaged in the 80s and 90s when many houses were knocked down due to the expansion of the Liverpool Football Club stadium.

There are still examples of people coming together in Anfield in this time of austerity and crisis. Although not a comprehensive list, the following give some examples. My local church St Columba has a weekly food bank, a community cafe, movie days, bingo and a learning disability group. Before being voted in as a councillor the person I mentioned earlier used to put forward the names of residents (me included) to attend free Christmas events at LFC and other local venues. He has continued to do this.

Liverpool Football Club led the way in the collection of food at matches to distribute at food banks. Through the Red Neighbours programme and the club’s official charity (the LFC Foundation) 83,000 young people and families were supported last season. They aim to improve the lives of the most disadvantaged via activities relating to sport, physical activity, health and wellbeing. They also act as partners to several charities within the Liverpool area. Many of the players also individually support local charities.

Another example is Home Baked Community Land Trust which includes a growing group of residents who work together in the belief that we all deserve to live well. They are striving to transform the terraces next to Home Baked Bakery into environmentally sustainable quality homes and commercial spaces at genuinely affordable prices. They also organise litter picking and other activities in the area. The Liverpool Lighthouse is an arts and community centre on Oakfield Road which offers arts activities designed to improve wellbeing and mental health, alongside practical support with a fresh food pantry, and advice and support. They also offer English language classes to non-English speakers.

I noticed recently as the new school term was about to start that a local public house, the Sandon, were offering free uniforms.

There are several community groups within my local area offering various degrees of support. It would be interesting to find out if there are people within the area who are unaware of what is on offer and would like support or maybe friendship.

Irene Stuart

My Anfield Home

I came to live in Anfield in 1967 and our house was a two-up, two-down. Breck Road was the place for shops. We had Ethel Austin’s for clothes, a Cake shop, Shoe shop, Butcher’s, Grocer’s, Johnsons the Cleaners, the Post Office… the list goes on. When my daughter started school she was at Holy Trinity, which was off Breck Road.

Now to tell you about Oakfield Road. Years ago there was a church on one of the corners where I took my two daughters to see a pantomime. The shops on Oakfield Road: butchers, cake shop, sweet shop & tobacconists, hairdressers, Co-op, shop where you got your keys cut, John’s shop where you could get lots of things. We also had a washhouse off Oakfield Road.

Pat Richardson

Neither hedgehog nor squirrel

Neither flower nor badger

Neither real nor effervescent

Neither brief nor squiggly

Neither true nor false

Neither Benjamin nor button

Neither buttonhole nor pin

Neither new life nor long lost

Neither fruitful nor forgetful

Neither unsung nor freefalling

Neither brand new nor brandished

Neither bandaged nor free

Neither unique nor the same

For I am me

Neither simple nor entwined in complexity.

Rebecca M. Wilkinson

Lady Playing the Keys

Miss, how you opened my eyes to a world I had yet to experience. You brought fun and laughter out of me when I was crying inside. You made me forget about troubles and gave me joy. You will never know. I think about where you are and if you still play on the piano and if your children are the same age as me. I remember all the smells of the classroom. Those green letters that gave me a headache and the toilet paper that used to slide and cut me. You helped develop my curiosity and live life with fun and a happy nature even when things were tough. Thank you for the memories. Thank you so much.

Cassius James

Life

Fifty-seven years old…where did the years go? Mother, daughter, sister, wife. Oh, and in recent years amateur roadie/ crew member! I grew up in the 1970s. I have one older brother. I would play football constantly with my brother, either in the street or in Stanley Park. I was always Liverpool; he was emulating his heroes of Lyons and Latchford of Everton. Our allegiances have not changed.

Dad came from a very large family, one of eleven children and so I grew up with lots (and I mean lots) of cousins, aunts, and uncles around. The slum clearance in Everton meant some of my family moved out to Kirkby and Netherley. My cousin Barbara was my best friend and when she moved to Netherley I would stop over all the time. The council estate where she lived backed onto fields and farms and we would go horse riding at the stables there. Of an evening my auntie would put our hair in rags, so my very straight hair would have some curls for a few hours.

I was always a bookworm and used to enjoy writing when I was younger. It’s only in recent years I’ve gone back to writing and been involved in writing groups. My school was Blackburne House in the city centre and ours was the last year to go all the way through school to the sixth form. The friendships formed there have endured to this day.

I’ve been married for over 30 years to a lovely man and have two grown up sons, both wonderful men and musicians. They take after their dad who has played in bands since the 1970s. Through them I have met some truly wonderful people from all over the world. Music really is a universal language.

My oldest son has two children of his own and I absolutely adore being a nanna.

And through my job I get to meet so many interesting people and to work with my dear friend, Helen.

Janet Gardiner

I was born 66 years ago in the Women’s Hospital, Mill Road with a medical problem that affected my breathing, so I had to have throat surgery. I would never be Brian Blessed! My vocal range is low. But I never let that stop me. So don’t expect long speeches. I prefer to listen anyway.

My early years were spent living in the Willows off Breck Road which was really a bad place to live – a cockroach infested property. I resided there for four years. When I was about five I moved to Rothwell Place. I know that because my mum made me remember it in case I got lost, which my younger brother had managed to do when he was four after deciding to visit the garage that was opposite the old Hippodrome cinema. We moved out of Anfield when I was eight, to rural Norris Green, in stark contrast to the Anfield bomb site area.

I left Ellergreen Comprehensive school, not much of a school as most of the time the teachers never turned up for the lessons they were supposed to do. I taught myself by reading the set books and finding stuff out for myself. I left school with five O levels which came as a surprise to my English teacher who had me down for another term of O level study. She never bothered to find out our results beforehand. Maybe that’s why I’m good at finding things out.

At 18 I started a job with the civil service and worked for 30 years in the Social Security/ Benefits Agency. My occupation taught me to be a good listener, and I had to retain a lot of information from work and find and locate data from various sources. I was always able to find things out and when they eventually converted to a computerised system I was able to slot into the job of computer expert. I sorted out the problems caused by other users entering data, or logging system failures. I have met a few interesting people when working at the Benefits Agency including Jennifer Moss, the actress from Coronation Street, Jane Casey from Big in Japan, Pete Byrne from Dead or Alive. Listening to people’s stories always fascinated me. I am good at that. You learn a lot from other people if you take time to do it.

I was made redundant and retired early in 2005. Adapt and Survive is my motto.

I was always interested in music and for many years I used to go to Eric’s in Mathew St. I have seen most of the famous groups: The Clash, Sex Pistols, OMD, Echo and the Bunnymen and most of the late 70s music artists. So you could say I was a punk but that would not be true as my musical taste is quite varied. I like vintage music from different periods

— 20s, 30s, 40s, even mediaeval music. I think the term ‘music generalist’ would cover it.

I love historic things, the older the better. I used to travel a lot when I was younger. I have been to Florence, Rome, and Pompeii. I also did a tour of the cathedrals in England only missing Peterborough, Bury St Edmunds and Rochester which were too far out to visit but I might see them one day. I like investigating local history to find out what was there before. A local example being the quarry on Belmont Rd or the mansion house on Lower Breck Road that is now on the site of the Liverpool supporter’s pub and shops: and the boundary marker that remains behind the bus stop giving directions on the distance to West Derby, now a long-neglected relic is worth noting.

I’m also an amateur photographer. I like taking pictures of unusual things and sometimes I edit them to make art. Usually it’s about finding the picture within the picture or taking out an element. I never try to be an expert. But you should not take too much notice of those who discourage you. Try what you want to do anyway – it will work, believe me. It just takes a leap of faith.

I collect antiquities which include Victorian, Edwardian, post de cartes, a form of visiting card, and I also have a collection of Anglo-Saxon Roman pottery and a few kohl pots which were cosmetic holders of Egyptian eyeliner. I also have a few Shabiti figures which means ‘answerer’ in Egyptian – they are those little man-like figures shown in mummy horror pictures along with various other relics. I have a little museum you might say. Maybe I should have been a museum curator.

I spent my later years working nights part-time with the passport office for two years and looking after my disabled mother who had two hips replaced. And later, I looked after my father who had vascular dementia until last year.

I’ve been told that I suit hats, so I have a collection of hats to which I attach enamel pin badges. I’ve collected a lot of badges over the years ranging from music to quirky and they add weight to the hat which helps in windy weather.

So, a bit eccentric, that’s me.

John Murray

I recently came across the key to the first place I lived in on my own.

Looking at the two metal keys on a keyring made by my brother brought back many happy memories of moving into my first place to call my own. I remembered the excitement of finding quirky buys at flea markets. People were generous, giving me bits and bobs with the question: I don’t need this anymore, do you want it? Nearly always my answer was ‘Yes, please.’

My flat was the attic room in a large house. I almost viewed the same flat a couple of years before when I walked around the area and saw a notice in the window that said Flat To Let. I knocked and it was answered by someone who said Pete, the landlord was out and could I come back later. At that time I was just curious and not in a position to move. However, I told my friend who was with me at the time that one day I would live in that property,

Sometime later my sister and I had a falling out. Jen moved away from home to live with her partner, and we didn’t see each other for a while. I knew she was living somewhere in Tuebrook but had no details. Happily we made up and I was invited to visit her. It was bonfire night when I went to visit. The sky was full of smoke and the sound of fireworks everywhere lighting up the sky. It was a cold, invigorating night and as I walked further up the drive checking the house numbers I found myself outside the very same house I said I would live in one day.

I couldn’t believe it. And they were living in the attic flat! After some time my sister and her partner moved around the corner into a bigger flat, so I moved into their now vacant flat. It was perfect timing as it coincided with me being taken on full-time, so I was able to move.

Although I was excited to be moving, it did take a little time to settle. It always felt like there was something going on at my mum’s house with people popping in and out. As it wasn’t a big house you could usually hear another voice or sound.

One evening after being dropped off at my new home torrential rain battered against the windows. It was dark out, but the streetlights were illuminating the drive. I remember turning on a couple of lamps and it’s hard to describe but it just felt right to be there. Really cosy and safe. I spent most of that night unpacking and from then on it felt like home. The Key

Helen Steele

I’ve always loved yellow roses from a very early age. My dad was a gardener by trade and our garden was always full of flowers. I love the smell of roses, and I love how happy they make me feel.

When I got married my bouquet was yellow roses and freesias. My late husband Tony would buy me yellow roses especially on my birthday, our anniversary, Valentine’s Day and even Christmas.

I now visit his grave, and I always take yellow roses. I feel this is a special tradition between us.

Donna Scott

Yellow Roses

Buttercup! Buttercup!

Oh, my love, the proud buttercup!

You’re as bright and light as a powerful star. How you light up my chin lightly

As I giggle straight from my giddy little heart.

To wonder and touch and love so much

The endless land and blooms

That catch me running, spinning and laughing. Why does summer come to an end so soon?

The fall of the leaves, that must be seen When blossoms flutter in the breeze. I believe. I believe in the knowledge of trees

As I fall and graze both of my knees.

Buttercup, buttercup – hold you tight. Abundant and everywhere to my delight.

I run and run amongst the flowers That kept me busy for hours and hours.

Then, homeward bound, it’s time for bed. To dream away. Oh! My sleepy head!

Cassius James

Open Eye Gallery is an independent, not-for-profit photography gallery based in Liverpool. One of the UK’s leading photography spaces, it is the only gallery dedicated to photography and related media in the North West of England. A registered charity, Open Eye Gallery believes photography is for everyone and can be meaningful, informing our present and inspiring positive futures. Open Eye Gallery works with people to explore photography’s unique ability to connect, to tell stories, to inquire, to reflect on humanity’s past and present, and to celebrate its diversity and creativity. As well as presenting a programme of international, high-quality exhibitions Open Eye Gallery houses a permanent Archive that includes photographs from the 1930s to the 21st century.

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