Bridge Lane gates, 2017

Long ago, way back in the mists of time — 2004 — I took a photo of some rusty old gates on Bridge Lane, the last photo on a fairly long wander through town. I don’t think the photo appeared in one of my York Walks pages on York Stories at the time, but many years on I got around to posting a page on the gates and gateposts, still there then, still rusting: Walker foundry relic on ‘Asylum Lane’ (2012).

Since then, very recently, they’ve been restored, so a revisit seems appropriate. I also have some queries about the land behind them.

But first, these gates.

In August 2004 they looked like this:

Bridge Lane gates, August 2004

In November 2012, like this:

Bridge Lane gates, Nov 2012

And now, in 2017, like this:

Bridge Lane gates, 2017

As previously mentioned, in a walk along Bridge Lane back in October, I’d noticed their removal and some helpful signs put up by York Civic Trust explaining that they were being restored and would be put back in due course.

It’s more obvious now they’re restored and repainted that the gateposts don’t match — they’re different designs if you look at the details of the scrolls and the flowers in the photos above. There’s probably a story behind this, but I don’t know what it is. Normally, with a pair of gateposts, you’d expect them to match one another.

More obvious is the change of colour. Personally I find the colour very pleasing, and think it makes sense to draw attention to the restoration by choosing something other than the more usual black.

Also interesting are the maker’s plates, which I hadn’t noticed before. They’re now clearly visible on the gates between the columns of the gateposts, but they don’t say ‘Walker':

Nick Beilby, York Civic Trust’s Project Manager, confirmed that they were there before:

The gates were cast by Hawley’s who were brass founders on Walmgate, close neighbours of Walkers. It is likely that they carried out the work on a sub contract basis to Walkers. The ‘Hawley’ plates were found when we blast cleaned the ironwork.

The ironwork was restored by Barker and Patterson (Hull).

Leading to … playing fields, and ridge and furrow?

The gates don’t open now, but let’s imagine we’re pushing them open onto the land behind, before it was built on, when it was fields, and later, playing fields.

The land behind the gates is now occupied by the city’s hospital, and has been since the mid 1970s. But as previously mentioned on the earlier page these fine gates used to lead to playing fields, and two comments on previous pages, from Stephen and David, shared memories of this area at those times, which many other readers will remember:

At this time [late 1960s] there was a mature hedge on the opposite side of the lane to the wall, and beyond this a large expanse of grassland where the hospital now stands. I used to play football there with friends, and also remember York City would use it for training. I also remember watching a school rugby game adjacent to Wiggington Road between my school Lowfields, and Park Grove, who used the area as playing fields. There was a rudimentary changing hut next to the ornate gates mentioned in your article. I seem to remember it was oval in shape, and built of Asbestos sheets, rather like the garages of the forties and fifties.
– David Bower

A map available on old-maps.co.uk, dating from 1937, suggests that at that time the large area of land here was divided into several distinct areas of playing fields, with a smaller school sports ground to the right of these gates, a larger sports ground on what is now the southern part of the hospital grounds, and a separate cricket pitch to the northern area. This would be from around the time Stephen remembers it, I think.

A 1961 map (from nearer the time David describes) shows the school sports ground apparently absorbed into the main sports ground, with a small area marked as ‘playground’. There’s still the cricket ground to the north, and a bowling green and tennis courts also marked in this area. There’s also the rugby ground to the east (since relocated, site filled with housing), and the York City ground (still there) to the west.

Quite the ‘Sports Quarter’ back then, apparently.

But I’ve also read, in several reliable sources, that remnants of ridge and furrow were visible on this particular piece of land, into the 20th century. Bridge Lane was formerly known as Asylum Lane:

Formerly in Clifton, the largest surviving block of broad ridges within the city is on playing fields N. of Asylum Lane (around 60205300) measuring at least 300 by 200 yds. This clay area, at one time Laithe Close, has slightly sinuous ridges, 30 ft. wide and 1 ft. high. One parcel of ridges is aligned E.N.E. and another N.W.
– (source)

I’m wondering how that fitted with playing fields, which are traditionally flat. Presumably by the 20th century it was just a few bits around the edges, or perhaps football players had to battle with balls falling into furrows?

More information

Historic Environment Record, a fascinating resource, local historic features mapped and described. This link may work to take you to the relevant point (though you’ll need to zoom in). The brown lines denote the ridge and furrow. Clicking on the relevant area takes you to the Heritage Gateway pages: see this link and also this link which includes the brief explanation ‘Ridge and furrow seen as earthworks on 1936 air photographs’.

. . . . .

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York Minster across flooded Ouse, from Water End, 27 Dec 2015

I went for a short wander yesterday, Sunday, going back to the Ouse to see how the ings lands were looking after the floods. The photo above was taken on Sunday 27 Dec, and featured on an earlier page. The photo below was taken from the same place on Sunday 10 January, two weeks later.

York Minster across flooded Ouse, from Water End, 10 Jan 2016

As we can see, the waters have retreated here on the Leeman Road side, enough for people to be out walking their dogs in what looked like a lake two weeks ago. The Ouse though is still beyond its usual banks. In normal conditions the strip of dry land pictured below has the Ouse to the left of it, rather than to the left and the right.

Ouse on left, floods on right, from Clifton Bridge, 10 Jan 2016

If we cross the road at Water End and look out across the ings and the Ouse the other way (looking out of town, upstream) there’s still a lot of floodwater. It doesn’t seem to have dropped much, over the course of a fortnight.

In the photo below, the green strip across the middle of the photo is the floodbank created to hold in water from the overflowing Ouse, to reduce the levels downstream, as discussed on a page some years ago. On 27 December, standing here on Water End, I could barely see the floodbank, which appeared to have so much water behind it that some of it looked to be spilling back over. So the level has dropped a bit, but not much. Not as much as I expected it might have, after a fortnight.

The white dots on the water are gulls. They often congregate on these watery ings lands, in times of flood.

Clifton riverside and ings, from Water End, 10 Jan 2016

I wanted to have a bit of walk, having been ill and indoors too much recently. I was hoping it might be possible to access the riverside pathways, down by Clifton Bridge. It hadn’t been possible on 27 December, as the bottom of the slope leading to those paths looked like this (taken from up on the bridge, looking down):

Floodwater on riverside paths near Clifton Bridge, 27 Dec 2015

On 10 Jan, two weeks on, I was able to walk down and stand where those floodwaters had been. Looking at the riverside path towards town, it was clear that levels hadn’t dropped dramatically enough for me to take a stroll that way.

It’s retreating, but not much. Floodwater on riverside paths by Clifton Bridge, 10 Jan 2016

Water under the bridge … as is usually the case when the river’s high, but thankfully the gate on the higher part was open. Hurrah, let’s see how far we can get along the riverside path.

Under Clifton Bridge: nice to see that gate open in the dry part

All bright in the late afternoon sun, muted winter colours, dry path leading onwards, all looking good …

Looking good …

… but not for long. Seconds later, the dry path becomes another watery place. River to the left, and river on the path. How disappointing. I guess I’ll have to turn back.

… Looking wet …

I didn’t turn back though, as an alternative route suggested itself.

I’ve walked and cycled along here many times over the years. To the right of the tarmac path there are trees and a tangle of ivy and other vegetation, and land rising up away from the river. It’s just a thin strip of land, left to go wild.

Through the carpet of ivy on this bank there are a few narrow muddy tracks leading upwards away from the river. I’ve been vaguely curious about them, but never curious enough to climb up there. This afternoon, with floodwater preventing further progress on the normal path, I thought I would.

Time to venture up the track up the bank, through the ivy

Clambering up the slope into the ivy and trees I walked along this higher level path, littered with the usual rubbish, all unkempt, but clearly fairly well-used, the litter suggested.

Then I noticed this rusty old thing.

Rusty relic by the track

Bent and collapsing, it was still recognisable as a railing, a simple guard rail, on the outside of the path where the land dropped down to the lower path and the river beyond. Apparently used a long time ago, in an age before littering pleasant places with empty lager cans became common practice.

The path went on for only a short stretch, behind the playground of the Homestead Park, visible through a wire fence, then dropped down again, back to the floods. No further progress possible. I just stood there a while and looked out across the watery expanse, towards Holgate and Acomb, the water tower just visible in the distance through the winter trees.

View across floodwaters of the Ouse, 3.20pm, 10 Jan 2016

Then headed back. Passing another rusty remnant of guard rail, forgotten and redundant in the ivy and shrubbery, under trees mature enough perhaps to have been there when this path was well-used enough to need a guard rail, before the lower level tarmac path took over as the preferred route.

Another rusty old relic

Descending to the tarmac path I met a man and his son out for a bike ride, heading out of town, as I’d tried to. He asked if they could get through ahead. I looked doubtful and said I didn’t think so, that I hadn’t been able to, they might be able to on bikes. The son urged his dad to have a go. I sounded like a nannying fussbucket perhaps, cautioning against endangering themselves, though said with a laugh. The man said, as they cycled off, ‘it’s only a bit of water’. They soon reappeared, presumably realising that it was more than a bit of water, and really quite a lot of water. I was still standing on the path, looking up at what would have been the course of that higher-level walkway, trying to imagine how it worked, where it started, before the massive concrete structure we know as Clifton Bridge appeared here, cutting through the old landscape, bridging the river, in the 1960s.

When I got home, I looked for images I remember seeing before, of Water End on the Clifton side, before the bridge was built. Here’s one, from around 100 years ago.

Before the bridge: looking down towards the Ouse from Water End in Clifton (Photo: Explore York Libraries and Archives

If we were standing in the same place now we’d have Clifton Bridge stretching out before us. The slope down to the river is still there, to the left of Clifton Bridge. To the left of that, the tall brick wall is still there, as pictured on photos above. The slope here used to lead to the ferry, taking people across the river to the Leeman Road side.

On the right of the photo, a pathway bends round to the right, with a plain iron guardrail, two horizontal bars between uprights. Leading to what must have been a very pleasant riverside promenade high up and still accessible in times of flood. Rusty remnants of its railings still there in the trees.

Many years ago I did some family history research and found that ancestors on my dad’s side lived here in Clifton at the turn of the 19th century, in housing that was cleared to make Clifton Dale, then in Abbey Street. One of my great-grandmothers lived there for decades, into her 90s. I didn’t know that when I moved to the Clifton area 25 years ago, but I’ve always felt at home here, and have since wondered if that has something to do with it.

When I saw the rusted redundant railing on a forgotten walkway above the Ouse I thought about how you can live in a place for so long and still have new things to find, when forced from the usual ways and the beaten track. And thought about all the people back then walking this way, how our tracks through the ivy still lead to the old way, where they walked. Only though when sitting down to write this did I think about my own family history and the Welbys in Clifton, and how they might have walked along here when the railings weren’t rusting and the ferry took people over the river.

So many layers. And that’s why I keep writing these York Stories, even though it makes no money and sometimes feels like a waste of time and effort. Sometimes it flows, just like the river, and it seems best to go with it, when it does.

Lisa

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On the previous page we pondered mysterious bits of iron chain made by persons unknown for a purpose unknown, found coming out of the ground in Bootham Park. While on the subject of interesting bits of iron found underfoot here’s another example stumbled upon in recent wanderings. This one’s not mysterious, but proclaims its maker quite clearly. It was made by W & T Avery.

I discovered it a couple of months back through an opening off Piccadilly alongside the Banana Warehouse. I like Piccadilly, that part of it, with its relics of early 20th century life. Down at the bottom end it’s all tall looming late 20th/early 21st century, light-blocking and charmless. Here in the middle ‘unimproved’ bit are reminders of the life of this street, of how it started and what it was used for in the early 20th century when it was created, connecting through to Parliament Street and Pavement.

This relic of former times wasn’t made by our local iron foundries. It not only proudly proclaims its maker but the place it was made.

Birmingham. And a quick bit of research on Google suggests it’s the remnant of a weighbridge, because that’s what W & T Avery made.

The opening leads to the backs of a couple of Piccadilly properties, so what the weighbridge weighed in its time I’m not sure. Bananas, perhaps, for the Banana Warehouse? Or something else?

This was a street with garages along it, and a lovely old 1906 catalogue I’ve discovered while researching Avery weighbridges includes ‘Avery’s Patent Combination Motor-Wagon Weighbridge‘, for the ‘Motor-Car’, ‘in conformity with the Motor-Car Acts’. The catalogue is worth a look as it includes many other delightfully-named creations, but I think my favourite is ‘Avery’s Special Secret Weighing Machine‘.

If anyone can identify what type the York one is, or confirm what it weighed, please add a comment. Whatever it’s called and whatever it weighed, I hope that when the Piccadilly site is redeveloped it will be rescued or retained, this reminder of a bit of Birmingham’s industry.

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In Bootham Field (Bootham Park), 1866. © City of York Council, York Images

The city archives have a number of photographs of this impressive building, a temporary exhibition hall built in the grounds of Bootham Park — Bootham Field, as it was called back then — for the Yorkshire Fine Arts and Industrial Exhibition of 1866. It opened in the summer and ran until the autumn.

© City of York Council

The shadow of the photographer, William Monkhouse, is visible on this one. He was clearly impressed, as he took many photographs of the building, exterior and interior. (See ‘more information’, below.)

It would of course have been quite a long and more complicated process, in 1866, taking these photographs with the type of camera available then.

It was much easier for me, with my compact digital camera, to record the same view in April 2015. From where the Scarborough line passes under Bootham, looking at the front of Bootham Park and its railings:

The railings (and accompanying supporting wall and stone piers) are listed. They date from 1857-8 and, like so many railings in York, they were manufactured by the Walker foundry.

They’re very rusty, and some of the stone piers between have lost their ball finials. Clearly the trees and ivy have grown in the intervening years and the street has acquired a phone box.

Less immediately obvious, but apparent when comparing the photographs from 1866 and 2015, it would appear that the railings originally extended further, that the wall over the railway line was shorter. It now seems closer to the old iron gates.

It’s clearly a while since those gates were opened. How long, I wonder. Does anyone remember them open?

Continue along towards town and you reach another set of rusty iron gates, the main entrance to Bootham Park, allowing access through the grounds.

Between these two sets of rusty gates there was, until recently, a very handsome horse chestnut tree. After I wrote about that, a friend mentioned that they’d noticed on the ground nearby a length of rusty chain, and wondered what it had been used for.

Further investigation revealed that the chain was attached to something underground. And that there were actually several of them.

They’re roughly in a line along the front of Bootham Park, under the trees, a few metres back from the railings.

Walking into the open area of Bootham Park and looking back towards Bootham it seems that this area is slightly raised. What’s under there? Why are there lengths of rusty chain coming out of the ground under the trees?

If you’re interested in these rusty relics and fancy going to have a look for yourself, please be careful about what you’re treading on. That area is one of the few things left alone around here, it hasn’t been reinvigorated, it has the natural vigour of a place where plants and trees do their thing without being unnecessarily interfered with. It may just look like scruffy weeds and litter, but in the next few weeks it will fill up magically with springtime growth and even wild flowers, and they’re just emerging now.

So please tread softly, and don’t squash the cow parsley.

More on that story later.

More information

William Monkhouse’s photos of the 1866 exhibition building (interior and exterior) and accompanying notes on the impressive exhibits

Information on the grade II listed gateway, gates and railings

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Years ago I drafted a page called ‘Any old iron’, mainly inspired by a pair of rusty old gates. It didn’t get finished as I thought no one would be interested. A recent letter to The Press has reassured me that at least one other person is interested. There may be others.

Like many insignificant overlooked things, this small local detail has a connection to more significant aspects of our local history.

Behind Bootham Park, a stone’s throw from the nurses’ accommodation, are a pair of rusting double gates set between ornate gateposts. They haven’t been opened for years. To one side of the gates is the original railing, to the other side more modern railing, and they lead nowhere much. Behind them, a bit of grass and the car parks around the city’s main hospital, built in the 1970s. They’re forgotten, under trees, rusting away, bits of detail dropping off.

Years ago I read an article in the York Historian on the history of the Walker foundry. It ended with a list of the foundry’s work, and included a brief mention of gates/railings on ‘Asylum Lane’ – as the pathway now called Bridge Lane used to be known. These must be those Walker foundry gates, dating from the mid-19th century.

Examples of the foundry’s work can be found all over York, including by the old railway station (West Offices), on St Leonard’s Place, and at the front of the Unitarian Chapel on St Saviourgate (pictured).

The railings and gates at the front and sides of the Bootham Park hospital grounds were also made by the Walker foundry. They’re Listed, but they’re rusting away just the same.

Does it matter? Perhaps not. The NHS Trust has more important things to spend its money on than painting old railings and gates.

These gates are just another small thing I’ve been passing for years and wanted to place on the big worldwide web.

I hope they stay here, their ironwork crumbling gracefully. A reminder of local industry, when local businesses made big useful things.

On Walmgate once the Walker foundry made ironwork: railings, gates, lamp posts. Not just for York, but for the British Museum and Kew Gardens.

19th century description and engraving of the Walker foundry, Walmgate

A query

Old maps show nothing was built on the land behind these gates before the district hospital was built in the 1970s. Part of it was a sports ground, though the part directly behind the gates isn’t marked as such on the maps I’ve seen.

The Walker gates apparently date from the mid-1850s. I’m not expecting anyone to remember the 1850s, but I know some of my website visitors were walking along Asylum Lane in the 1950s. Any memories/thoughts/local history info welcome, via the comments below.

More/sources

‘The Walker Ironfoundry, York, c.1825-1923′, J Malden, York Historian (1976). York libraries have a copy of this book.

19th century description and engraving of the Walker foundry (Google books)

Also on this site:
Asylum Lane and the ‘Cathedral Boys’

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