Learning often comes unexpectedly. Recently I was wandering
through the ‘Welsh Streets’ in Liverpool’s Toxteth district. Because of my interest
in social documentary and heritage I have spent many hours with my camera walking
around the silent streets of ‘tinned up’ houses in Liverpool 8. This is one of
several areas in the city where a whole community has been cleared of
residents, their properties having been compulsory purchased in preparation for
demolition – all part of the council’s grand regeneration plan.
Madryn Street as a poetry and songbook! |
One of the ‘Welsh Streets’ is Madryn Street where Ringo
Starr was born. (There is still some debate about whether no.9 should be
preserved as a national treasure!) I noticed that most of the small terraced houses
along Ringo’s side of Madryn Street have had sheets of song lyrics / poetry
pasted onto their sealed up doors and windows. Most of the lyrics are entirely
appropriate (Ghost Town, Anthem for
Doomed Houses, We Shall Not Be Moved etc.) resulting in the whole street becoming
a cultural installation. I photographed several of them before the sun, wind
and rain hides their messages.
One of the poems was called ‘The Day They Came for Our House’. The prose included “Armed with bulldozers / they came to do a
job / nothing more / than hired killers”. The poem was credited to Dan Mattera –
that’s all I knew from the photocopied sheet of lyrics - so I educated myself later
in the day. It was written about the
clearance and obliteration of Sophiatown in the 50s and early 60s in South
Africa. Sophiatown was a vibrant, urban, multi-cultural community – one of the
oldest black suburbs of Johannesburg. Under apartheid, it was
cleared, demolished and rebuilt as a white suburb (renamed as Triomf). The
township had been famed for its culture of writing, art and music – notably
jazz and blues. Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu were both Sophiatown
residents.
Don Mattera ('Dan' is a misprint) was an activist in the struggle against
apartheid but he subsequently became a poet, writer and journalist. ‘The Day They Came for Our House’ was
published in Mattera’s book ‘Azanian Love
Song’ in 1983. To my shame I didn’t know the history of Sophiatown and
hadn’t read any of Mattera’s books or poetry until I researched these things
when I returned home. I’m glad I did – the shameful story of racial clearances
in South Africa is something that we should all know about. Sometimes learning
comes from unexpected sources – in this case my walk down Ringo’s old street resulted
in my learning about 50yr old events from 6000 miles away!
Wilfred Owen's 1917 poem - 'Anthem For Doomed Youth' reworked for condemned housing |
Update on Welsh Streets - see Liverpool Daily Post link that outlines plans to save a few houses in Madryn Street and Kelvin Grove. so, it looks like most of the Welsh Streets will be demolished! http://www.liverpoolecho.co.uk/2012/08/25/public-get-first-glimpes-of-plans-for-150-new-homes-in-liverpool-s-welsh-streets-100252-31694577/
ReplyDeleteI have discovered that the poems were placed on the Madryn Street houses by a group called 'The Unknown Poets'- bringing attention to the likely demolition of most of the Welsh Street properties. They did the same thing in 2010. They were reported as saying "While we don’t think it will save the houses, it will have brightened up people’s lives in some small way. We turned a derelict street into an open-air gallery."
ReplyDeleteDear Alan - this is wonderful! I'm writing a book on Sophiatown & its legacy around the world(s) and I only came as far as Bedford in GB for now! Would be a pleasure to get into conversation. Many greetings from Germany & keep up the writing - Katharina
ReplyDeletethanks Katharina - would be happy to talk to you. I guess that the Sophiatown poem in Madryn Street counts as part of the worldwide legacy! Let me know if you want a photo for your book.
DeleteAlan
'Anthem for Doomed Houses' is a reworking of Wilfred Owen's famous WW1 poem 'Anthem for Doomed Youth'
ReplyDeleteWhat passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them from prayers or bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,—
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of silent maids,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.