[An Apology: in my last post, I wanted to humorously discuss absurdity and pettiness in the office. (For you young people, it happens more often than you might think.) Sort of a Dilbert-styled satire with a casual nod to the classic short story “Bartleby, the Scrivener: A Story of Wall Street.” But my wife, who reads my stuff occasionally when she has the stomach for it, characteristically sidestepped the gist of my essay and, instead, took exception to my reference to urinals. Also, my friend Tad politely noted some double entendres that were—believe me—entirely unintentional. Anyway, I’m sorry if I offended anyone, and I promise today’s post will go nowhere near porcelain fixtures. No guarantees about double entendres, though.]
When I decided to fly to Glasgow to visit my daughter’s family, one of my first actions was to open my world atlas and check the distance from Glasgow to Liverpool, England. In 1964, my friend John Hire and I became fans of an exciting musical group from Liverpool. I think this was concurrent to John instructing me about his older sister’s body parts.
I’ve been marveling at and studying The Beatles’ music…and the physical attributes of the opposite sex…ever since.
But in addition to visiting the home of The Beatles, I was also curious about Liverpool as a famed seaport city. During the 19th century, Liverpool was a thriving port for American merchant ships delivering cotton to textile factories in northern England, and also a busy departure city for immigrants. In the 20th century, U.S. naval sailors took shore leave in the city and sold their blues and early rock ‘n’ roll records to working-class English youth hungry for anything with a backbeat.
American writer Herman Melville (“Bartleby,” Moby-Dick) was a young merchant sailor who visited Liverpool in 1839 and wrote stirringly, in his book Redburn, about the profound poverty of this mecca of the Industrial Revolution:
Every variety of want and suffering here met the eye, and every vice showed here its victims…Old women, rather mummies, drying up with slow starving and age; young girls, incurably sick, who ought to have been in the hospital; sturdy men, with the gallows in their eyes, and a whining lie in their mouths; young boys, hollow-eyed and decrepit; and puny mothers, holding up puny babes in the glare of the sun, formed the main features of the scene…But these were diversified by instances of peculiar suffering, vice, or art in attracting charity, which, to me at least, who had never seen such things before, seemed to the last degree uncommon and monstrous.
“Uncommon and monstrous.” Hard to believe it’s the same city. Liverpool in 2019 barely resembles the city of Melville’s time, or even when the Fab Four were growing up. The dock that existed in 1839 is now below ground about 200 yards inland from the River Mersey, the water having been “reclaimed” by land. In 2008 Liverpool was recognized a European Capital of Culture by the European Union (EU), which helped encourage urban renewal, exemplified by Liverpool ONE shopping complex. Liverpool is now a top tourist destination in the UK.
Since I had a limited amount of time in Liverpool, I listed my top priorities. John Lennon’s boyhood home at Mendips, Menlove Avenue, Woolton was the bullseye. If you don’t know who John Lennon is, he’s famous for being the only person to have his name on a major British airport.
Second to this was the Cavern Club, where The Beatles first made a name in 1961-63 while playing an astonishing 292 dates (little wonder that ensemble was so tight). Third was the location of Old Dock. Fourth was St. Peter’s Church in Woolton Village, where John and Paul McCartney first met at a garden fete on July 6, 1957. And if I had time, Strawberry Field, Penny Lane, and Paul’s boyhood home in Allerton.
I exited Lime Street Railway station and was confronted by the neoclassical splendor of St. George’s Hall and a sea of people and buses. I poked around Liverpool City Centre toward what I hoped would be the Mersey. It took me a while, but I eventually found Albert Dock and Merseyside Maritime Museum. The museum receptionist told me about the reclaiming that turned Mersey water into land, and that the only way to see the original 1716 Thomas Steers’ dock, the world’s first commercial wet dock (later called Old Dock), was to take an underground tour. I didn’t have the time or inclination, but I did manage to get a peep at history through a viewing window on a plaza near the Hilton Hotel.
Staring through a glass capsule in the middle of a hotel plaza while a musician absentmindedly played Beatles songs on a cheesy organ, it was a minor struggle envisioning 20-year-old Melville squeezing his way through emaciated beggars and cripples in 1839 after disembarking his vessel St. Lawrence. But for a fleeting second, I was there.
Close to Old Dock is Mathew Street, where the Cavern Club is located, although I didn’t immediately know it. I just wandered through streets and alleyways until stumbling upon a small crowd in a curving pedestrian alley. Then…boom. There was John Lennon, lounging against a wall.
Or, at least, a life-sized statue of him. It was positioned next to a sign indicating this was the CAVERN PUB. Not to be confused with Cavern Club…but so many businesses in this area try to link themselves with The Beatles, the proprietors may want you to be confused, just to get your business. There was also a wall of bricks with numerous band names inscribed on them, some famous, some unknown. Each band had performed at one time at the Cavern Club, which existed from 1957 till 1973.
I saw a man gazing at the wall for a long time. He appeared somewhat misty-eyed. I asked if he wanted me to take his photo. He thanked me but declined. After chatting with him a little, I learned his name was Ken, and he was looking for his band’s brick. He said he was once in a group called the Heartbeats, and it had performed at the Cavern Club on three occasions in 1966.
Ken let me snap his photo with my own camera. After he left, I spent a good ten minutes looking for his brick myself, but with no luck. Ken was very nice, and I really wanted to find his brick. But it must have tumbled through the cracks of time. (NOTE: a Manchester band called the Heartbeats did exist in the Sixties, and they later became Herman’s Hermits. But Ken never said anything about being a pre-Hermit.)
Getting back to the Cavern Club…the Club, not Pub, is actually across the alley and downwind about a hundred feet. Or, at least, a facsimile of the original club. Believe it or not, the Liverpool home of The Beatles was demolished in 1973 to make room for a proposed underground (subway) air shaft, which never materialized. The basement club was later resurrected, but with a different entrance location, interior, and stage.
I don’t consider many things sacred, but on the stupidity scale, a demolition project like this ranks with a construction project on the U.S.-Mexican border.
The original entrance is marked by a black-and-white mural with photos and a club history. Another statue is here: Cilla Black (1943-2015), who was a Cavern Club hat-check girl, then began jumping onstage to sing, then became friends with The Beatles, then forged a very successful recording and television career.
While near Mathew Street, I tried to locate the site of the record store which genius Beatles manager Brian Epstein (1934-1967) owned when he first heard about the group. It was on busy Whitechapel Street. I asked a few people, but all appeared under the age of 75 and didn’t know anything. (Some, sadly, didn’t even know the name Brian Epstein.) As for the store, it may have been swallowed by a London or U.S. land shark wearing designer clothing.
Well, if I’m gonna visit Johnny L. at Mendips, I’d better get scooting. I made one more trip to Albert Dock, to the office of the “Magical Mystery Tour” (which conducts a guided bus tour) to get a map of Beatle sites. The price of the map was typically outrageous, and the tour folks typically tried to sell me a tour ticket, since “It’s really the only way to properly see all the sites.” I smiled and told them You say ‘Yes’ but I say ‘No,’ then headed to the city bus station for my own ticket to ride.
But not before dropping into the spanking new Museum of Liverpool. As if on cue, the museum was at that moment hosting a limited-run exhibit devoted to John and Yoko. I spent about a half hour here. Yoko had a big hand in the presentation, much of which was devoted to her and John’s social activism, which I was already fairly knowledgeable about (bagism, hairism, bedism, and other peace-isms).
What really hit me was coming off the elevator, turning the corner, and hearing “Imagine” at the moment I stepped up to the photo below.
Though a deserved classic, “Imagine” isn’t one of my favorite Lennon songs. But I must say, I got a little choked up. (I kept my tears in check, though, as I didn’t want the security guard embracing me.)
There was also a large wall with upwards of a hundred handwritten notes. A pencil and a pile of blank pieces of white paper were on a small table with a sign encouraging people to scribble anything about Lennon, The Beatles, the world, universe, jelly babies, or anything one had a mind to. All the notes would eventually be delivered to Yoko.
I kept it simple and just told Yoko that her late husband’s group has been a bright piece of an Ohio boy’s life since 1964, when he lived on 142 Sherbrook Road.
Then I walked toward the elevator. I descended, left the museum, and made my way…a sentimental old man in a foreign city, haunted by memories…to 251 Menlove Avenue.
15 thoughts on “An Ohio Yankee Visits Liverpool, England”
What a great tour! The Beatles had an enormous effect on my life is so many ways, too.
Hi CW…yes, I think there are a lot of us still in that yellow submarine!
Clearly I’m going to have to nudge my husband – also a big Beatles fan – to stop in Liverpool one of these days. Sounds like fun!
The band is probably the biggest draw, but the city itself has really come alive in recent years. If you’re into shopping, the stores around Liverpool ONE are amazing. It’s like a huge outdoor mall. And the people are SO nice…they even still love Yanks!
That clinched it – we have to go!
Hi. Have you seen the episode that James Corden did with McCartney in Liverpool? It’s good. I’m pretty sure it’s on YouTube.
I may have seen it, though I don’t know who Corden is. Is that where they film Macca driving around, and he does a surprise gig in a club? I did see that, and it was pretty fun. I was hoping he’d pop into the one pub that I visited, but all I got were a couple down and out drunks.
Right, you’ve seen it. Corden has a late night (early morning, actually) talk show.
Your last post regrets reminds me of an old joke my father told me.
There was this small farm town with a tight-fisted school board that wanted to carefully go over the costs for their new school line item by line item to see that no money was wasted. One old farmer on the board was sort of the swing vote on many of the budget items. They came to the budget section for the boys restrooms, and the costs for urinals.
“Strike that, not needed.” Said the old farmer.
They continued work until taking a break. A younger teacher on the board took the old farmer aside to ask him why he was so against the fixtures?
“Well, to tell you the truth, I didn’t know what they were.” he confided.
The young teacher explained things.
“Oh, why didn’t you say so! I would have voted for the arsenals too!” said the old farmer.
Pretty good, Frank. My wife comes from farm country, and this joke isn’t as farfetched as one might think.
After reading the Melville connection I couldn’t get the images of old Liverpool out of my mind. Time for a little Herman adventure. I’m in the mindset.
Maybe Ken was being a little humble or waiting for you to make the connection. Figured you were up on your Hermans.
Redburn is not well-known, and Melville himself dismissed it as a mere “job.” But that’s like Lennon criticizing one of his Beatles songs. I loved the book, it has some great humor, and it’s a good primer for his other novels. His description of visiting Liverpool is really evocative, especially the harrowing scene on Lancelot’s Hey. (I won’t give it away.)
I’m all over it. Just reread Moonfleet. I read it as a kid. Enjoyed it again. I’m a sucker for those adventure stories.
I don’t know Moonfleet, but it sounds intriguing. I like good adventure stories, too. Redburn is fiction, based on the “adventure” of Melville’s first sea voyage, but not quite an “adventure story.” There’s a heavy dose of pathos and an intuitive look at injustice and Old World squalor. Along with the Launcelot’s Hey passage, there’s a description of Irish immigration that’s jarring and eye-opening. There’s also some homosexuality…conveyed, of course, with 19th century restraint!
‘Moonfleet’ is probably geared to a younger reader (Treasure Island) but it is a story that has stayed with me.
The Mellville still sounds good to me.