Sign in doorway of Neary’s, Clifton, 4 May 2020

It has been a while, hasn’t it.

Back in May, so many months ago, I took the photo above,  a sign in the doorway of Neary’s in Clifton. Though in its focus on social distancing guidelines it was like so many other signs in so many other shop doorways, I appreciated the added note: “Hopefully ‘normal’ life will resume soon”.

It still hasn’t — six months on and it’s all looking weirder than ever in many respects.

But after some (many) months silence I think that this online offering of mine should attempt to connect back to the “normal”, in some way. Or at least record some notes on some of the non-normal/new normal aspects of this strange year.

To start with, I want to record a few notes on something I’ve noticed in particular – familiar sounds, and how I’ve missed them.

In the past, every now and then (like in this review of the year in 2013, and 2012), I’d try to record the York I knew in audio, rather than words and photos. Familiar sounds (and smells) are of course an important part of our sense of place, but perhaps it’s only when they’re absent that we realise their importance.

In recent months I’ve missed the sound of the crowds from Bootham Crescent. Quite impressive when in good voice, when things are going well. Instead, in recent months, cut-out faces on the silent seats.

I’ve particularly missed hearing the sound of the Minster bells, the practices on Tuesday evenings. (And I’ve been reminded that it’s four years since the well-publicised problems, written about here on York Stories at the time, which also led to a long spell of silence.)

On the other hand, in the silence of the period we called lockdown — now “the first lockdown” — I started to notice more and more the Minster’s clock chime bells indicating each quarter-hour, and the chiming on the hour, Great Peter striking the hour. On still quiet days the sound reaches quite some distance.

During that strange quiet time I often made a point, at some hour of the day, of standing by the back door and really listening to the deep far-reaching sound of Great Peter, and took a few moments in that time to think about all the people in their homes across the city, and beyond, and what their experiences of this strange time might be. And reflected on how much I appreciated that regular and reassuring sound, from the Minster, and that it remains there in the centre of this place, and all the difficult times it has stood through.

In the fine weather we had during the first lockdown I was out in the garden a lot, and out there was particularly aware of the quiet. Trying to work out what it was that was absent, in particular, from the soundscape. Traffic, partly. The faint sound of children playing in the playground at the local school. People walking by, chatting normally. I like quiet, and calm, but at times early on in that first lockdown time it was too quiet even for me. Like there was a general stunned silence in the neighbourhood, and beyond.

Breaking the silence, one warm and sunny morning, the sound of a young girl’s voice, as she passed by with her parents: “I’ve been waiting for this weather for ages. Isn’t it lovely?”, and the sound of her small quick steps on the pavement as she passed. Then silence again. She was right, it was lovely weather for a time, and I’m sure many of us tried our best to appreciate this and other blessings, when we could.

Months on, there’s still no crowd sound from Bootham Crescent, and no peals of happy Minster bells, just the clock bells, marking all the quarter hours, half hours, hours, as we continue to have new rules to live by, and do our best to find our ways through it all.

A bit too cold now to be outside so much. But when the colder weather came, a robin in the garden began to sing the beautiful uplifting song robins always sing when the colder season comes and the daylight hours shorten. Perhaps the same robin I’ve often heard singing by a streetlight in previous years, in the winter cold, bringing hope and comfort.

Many other robins sing, from the branches of tall trees, throughout the city, and beyond. I hope a robin is singing where you are, dear readers. And my apologies that I couldn’t find my own voice for some time, through recent months.

The post Sounds, and silence appeared first on York Stories.

For the last couple of years I’ve done a compilation of audio snippets recorded on my phone. This year I don’t have much. But I’ve remembered that there were one or two moments of joy and excitement, and here’s one. Recorded by the open window of a house on Bootham as the Grand Depart passed, on 6 July. It’s very short.

(I’m the giddy one giggling excitedly and going ‘Wow’. I normally try to stay silent when recording, but it was just too exciting.)

It was of course Bishy Road that got the most attention. And there’s an interesting and cheering ‘look back’ on that here, in this admittedly rather unlikely source: a recording of a recent City of York Council meeting. It included in its agenda the Tour de Yorkshire, taking place this year. Have a listen to Johnny Hayes, at 1 min 57, talking about the effect of the Tour passing through his neighbourhood. It’s just a few minutes. (This link should start in the right place.)

It will be interesting to see the Tour de Yorkshire take shape. Good to see that it’s taking in Selby, Scarborough and Bridlington. I wonder if there will be as much enthusiastic decorating of streets and buildings as there was this year. I do hope so.

… Bootham welcomes, and waves them on their way

The post 28 seconds in 2014 appeared first on York Stories.

After focusing on a silent old stone in a wall up Holgate way, here’s another small object with a story to tell, a rather handsome bell, mounted on a wooden base.

The inscription reads:
‘PRESENTED TO
ALDERMAN T. MORRIS J.P
CHAIRMAN OF THE WATCH COMMITTEE
IN COMMEMORATION OF THE OPENING BY HIM
OF THE NEW FIRE STATION ON THE
27TH OF APRIL 1938.’

The ‘new fire station’ referred to is the building on the corner of Peckitt Street and Clifford Street, before that a chapel. There’s more information about the bell in Nick Morris’s comment.

But of course photos aren’t quite enough. This is a bell, a fire engine bell no less, and we need to hear it doing its ringing thing. Here you go, professional quality too, not like my clunky hissy recordings.

Wouldn’t be enough to clear a way through the traffic noise in the 21st century, would it. But presumably alarming enough back then.

This nice old bit of film of 1930s firefighters (in Birmingham) gives an idea of those times.

. . . . .

Thanks to Nick Morris for the photos and audio.

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ABB entrance, 1995. Photo: Phil Singleton

Almost 20 years after it happened, a reminder of what the closure of York’s carriageworks meant. Below is a selection of snippets, news reports, reaction and background, recorded from the radio in May 1995 when the closure was announced. Many voices. Please do have a listen, particularly if you don’t know about this important aspect of York’s history. If you haven’t time to listen to them all (though all are quite short), maybe listen to the first and the last.

The carriageworks is what most of us called it, but by the time of its closure it was known as ABB. And by the time of its closure it was a modern and efficient factory. Or as the first clip states:

‘ABB’s Holgate Road factory is the biggest train builder in Britain and one of the most modern in the world’.

The post Carriageworks (ABB) closure: 1995 audio appeared first on York Stories.

I hope to see some later today. I’ve left it a bit late to mention, as I’ve only just found out about it myself, but Ebor Morris are as I write walking round the walls and dancing at various points en route. And drinking beer at various points too, judging by this fabulous sketch (PDF) on their website.

There’s more info on that map, and on their events page, and also on the Press website, which contains a comment that made me smile, from member Tony Fenech:

“The traditional thing to do is get up at the crack of dawn and go out into the hills. We tried that once and didn’t like it”

If you miss it today, their events page also says they’ll be performing in King’s Square on Monday evenings beginning later this month.

If you can’t get to any of that, here’s a couple of snippets of how it sounded last springtime. Have a listen, it’s very cheering.

Apologies for the poor quality, but these were recorded on my phone.

Springtime is also of course about everything greening up and burgeoning and blossoming. As previously mentioned, I found to my distress that the beautiful trees near the walls by the Minster have been removed. A couple of weeks ago I cycled through Clifton Park in search of proper unmolested trees, remembered trees. Still there.

Copper beech, Clifton Park, 18 April 2014

And on the road back, horse chestnut trees. Hurrah for their green loveliness.

Horse chestnut tree, Clifton Park, 18 April 2014

Inside the walls we’re chopping down trees at a depressing rate, but beyond the walls are many beautiful green places, looking their best just now. See links below, and get out there and enjoy them, if you’re not already.

This time of year I always think of Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles, its descriptions of the natural world and its lushness at this time of the year, as spring moves towards the summer solstice. Many years ago I knew it so well I could have quoted large chunks of it, memorised for my A’level exams. Now, thankfully, I have Google, and the Project Gutenberg e-text:

“A particularly fine spring came round, and the stir of germination was almost audible in the buds; it moved her, as it moved the wild animals, and made her passionate to go.”

“On a thyme-scented, bird-hatching morning in May”

“Either the change in the quality of the air from heavy to light, or the sense of being amid new scenes where there were no invidious eyes upon her, sent up her spirits wonderfully. Her hopes mingled with the sunshine in an ideal photosphere which surrounded her as she bounded along against the soft south wind. She heard a pleasant voice in every breeze, and in every bird’s note seemed to lurk a joy.”

“The irresistible, universal, automatic tendency to find sweet pleasure somewhere, which pervades all life, from the meanest to the highest”

So, as the leaves green up and there’s dancing in the streets, I hope you all find joy and pleasure somewhere.

It’s best found in green places, and here’s a handy list, compiled by Mick Phythian:

Index to websites on York’s green places

See also: the Friends of Rawcliffe Meadows website

And a few photos from this time last year, on this site: Unfurling leaves and blossoming branches

The post Morris dancing and green places beckoning: York in May appeared first on York Stories.

Taking photos and gathering snippets of sound, near the Minster, 16 May 2013

I write about this place, I take photos of it, and every now and then I feel inspired to record its sounds. Recording on a (rather old) mobile phone, that being the thing I have to hand.

Some sound snippets from this year, at various locations, including the Minster. Lo-tech, documentary type things. (‘Never mind the quality, feel the authenticity’ should perhaps be the slogan.)

(If the above embed doesn’t show try this link)

These sounds are:

Bootham Crescent, evening, 6 August 2013, York City fans singing …

Morning, 16 May, near the Minster, with birdsong and voices …

Evening in King’s Square, 19 June 2013, morris dancing …

21 June, summer solstice, standing at the top of Bachelor Hill, in Acomb, my Acomb. Birdsong and motorbikes …

17 Dec & 21 Dec, city centre sounds, late afternoon, Low Petergate, city centre, Christmas shoppers, music from the Christmas Angels shop doorway, and buskers …

21 Dec, winter solstice, at dusk, on Paddy’s Pitch (across the river from the railway museum and York Station), robin singing, birds and a steam locomotive’s whistle and railway sounds …

21 Dec, by the Minster …

York City fans again, to sing us out. And another whistle from the loco by the NRM

More sounds

2012 snippets of sound, and other bits of York/Yorkshire audio

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