He breathed new life into the resort’s declining tourist economy when he founded the Flamingo night club in 1979 before taking over the vast derelict Odeon Cinema and transforming it into Funny Girls in 2002.
Funny Girls was and is inclusive, offering high-quality dance-entertainment introduced by a sharp-tongued compère, alongside the option of a pre-performance dinner, to gay and straight patrons.
Staid Lancashire businessmen at one time found it hard to believe that the glamorous girls on stage and the waitresses who served dinner were in fact men.
Straight Sheffield footballers of my acquaintance, and their girlfriends, made repeat visits because they thought the show was “a reyt laff”.
It’s a measure both of Basil’s achievement and the transformation of British culture since the 1990s that he has collected tributes ranging from a private box at the Grand Theatre to an MBE for services to business and to the LGBTQIA+ community.
Long may the old Odeon continue to offer holidaymakers what Dr Samuel Johnson called “the publick stock of harmless pleasure [and] the gaiety of nations”: Our Story | Funny Girls.
Hepworth’s Arcade is a picturesque shopping opportunity in Hull’s Old Town, situated on the corner of Silver Street (the continuation of Whitefriargate) and Market Place.
It was built in 1894 for the Leeds tailor Joseph Hepworth (1834-1911), who had founded his clothing factory with his brother-in-law James Rhodes in Leeds in 1864. The company moved into retailing in the 1880s and the Hull arcade was part of Joseph Hepworth’s development of a chain of tailor’s shops across Great Britain.
In the years after Joseph Hepworth’s death the company became the largest clothing manufacturer in Britain. (Though greatly transformed, the company still exists; it’s now known as Next plc.)
The arcade was designed by Alfred Gelder & Llewellyn Kitchen, a practice that survived until 2021 with headquarters at Maister House, a few minutes’ walk away on Hull’s High Street.
Hepworth’s Arcade is L-shaped, lit by barrel-vaulted glazing linked by an octagonal glass dome and cupola. Most of the units were originally two-storey, except that those at the Silver Street (north) and Market Place (east) entrances have three storeys.
The street facades are described as “Renaissance” in style, with segmental-arched entrances and bay windows with swan’s-neck pediments.
Hepworth’s original “new and handsome” premises were at No 8 Silver Street, a spacious unit at the entrance to the arcade. It set the tone for affluent customers seeking fashionable apparel.
Marks & Spencer provided a further magnet for customers when they opened one of their “Penny Bazaars” at 15, 17 and 19 Hepworth’s Arcade in 1899, transforming their units into an open-plan market which could be closed by roller shutters at the end of the trading day.
The departure of Marks & Spencer to prestigious premises (now abandoned) in Whitefriargate in 1931 signalled the beginning of a decline in shopping in the Old Town.
Nevertheless, in the repeated German attacks on Hull in 1941, the Arcade was blasted but not directly bombed, and its premises were in heavy demand while the city centre was redeveloped after the war.
Eventually, as the brand-new buildings between Queen Victoria Square and Paragon Station refocused the shopping area, the Arcade was taken over by Hull City Council in 1961.
It was listed Grade II in 1990 and refurbished in 1995 and again in 2002.
And all the history of shops and tenants that’s fit to print is set out in enormous detail in Graham Hardy, Hepworth’s Arcade: one hundred years of trading (Hutton Press 1996).
Every time I arrive in New York City I visit The Frick, Henry Clay Frick’s exquisite Fifth Avenue mansion housing his superb art collection, so when I travelled to Pittsburgh I made a point of seeking Frick’s family home.
This wasn’t easy, because I couldn’t get the hang of the local bus system. My first attempt landed me at Frick Park, which appeared to be a playground and tennis courts, a bequest from Henry Clay Frick, opened in 1927. There’s more to it than met my eye: Frick’s initial bequest ultimately extended to 644 acres.
Persistence pays. The following day I found the exact bus and bus stop to The Frick Pittsburgh.
It’s a compact site, with the original house, Clayton, in one corner: there’s a greenhouse, a café, a shop and an admirable display of carriages and early motor cars, and an art gallery, much of which I was told was closed, except for an exhibition of high-heeled shoes which I felt I could live without.
Henry and Adelaide Frick moved into Clayton shortly before the birth of their son, Childs Frick (1883-1965, named for his mother’s maiden name). He was utterly unlike his rapacious father – a scholarly palaeontologist, who grew up learning to love the animals that roamed in the grounds at Clayton, and he spent his life acting as a benefactor and trustee of the American Museum of Natural History in New York City.
Of the Fricks’ four children, the only other survivor to adulthood was their daughter, Helen Clay Frick (1888-1984). Her childhood was darkened by the deaths of her young brother and sister. Their father notoriously favoured Helen at Childs’ expense, and his will, leaving her $38 million, alienated her from her mother and brother.
Helen shared her father’s interest in art and art history. She travelled extensively in Europe with her parents, and advised her father on purchases for his collection. She also gathered a formidable archive of reproductions and catalogues, including records of many works of art lost in the two world wars. She curated what became the Frick Collection in New York City, and later established the Frick Art Museum in the grounds of Clayton where she habitually spent summers.
She liked the place as she remembered it in her childhood, so it was never modernised or extended. In the last few years of her life she resided at Clayton permanently, and died there aged ninety-six.
The house and grounds were opened to the public in 1996.
It’s a delightful place to spend a leisurely day. For lunch I was placed outside under a table-umbrella. I didn’t take notice of not being asked whether I wanted to be in the cool air-conditioned interior, where elegant ladies were eating at tables with tablecloths. I simply relished the experience of sitting in a beautiful place in beautiful weather and eating steak parmesan with a less than generous pot of house-blend tea.
I had time to sit in the lounge of the ultra-modern shop, well stocked with books about Frick, the architecture of the Golden Age (that is, late nineteenth-century eastern USA), fashion and high-heeled shoes until I was summoned by the docent, Pam, for the two-o’clock tour. Pam was wonderful. She was courteous, affirmative, formidably well informed, and managed the group with charm and precision.
The Frick Pittsburgh took some finding by bus, but it was well worth the effort.
The V&A East Storehouse is great fun, when you find it.
I wasted an hour traipsing from Stratford station round the Westfield shopping centre and the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park, advised by a succession of friendly and well-meaning security guards who haven’t been fully briefed about east London’s latest tourist attraction.
Most of my guides referred to their iPads which confused the Storehouse with V&A East, the new museum that is yet to open. The correct transport solution is the 388 bus from Stratford Station to the Here East bus stop which is within sight of the Storehouse.
Almost all museums have capacity only to display a fraction of their full collections.
The Victoria & Albert Museum, which was founded in 1852 and covers five acres of South Kensington, has taken the opportunity to expand to Stratford, by not only building a brand-new additional museum but by opening access to its reserve collections in an interesting, exciting, inclusive way.
Entry to the V&A East Storehouse is free and, with suitable safeguarding in place, visitors are free to see otherwise inaccessible exhibits at close quarters: [Visit V&A East Storehouse]. Indeed, it’s possible to request in advance a personal inspection of almost any item in the building: [Order an Object · V&A].
A three-floor atrium enables visitors to wander at will admiring beautiful and unexpected pieces of art and craft, and learning about the business of curating exhibits to ensure their physical survival.
I know people whose vertigo would react adversely to the metal-grid flooring which is unsuitable for stiletto or kitten heels. However, the visitor-friendly staff are endlessly helpful and solicitous in providing directions and looking after additional needs.
The large set-piece exhibits include the exquisite Torrijos Ceiling (c1490) [Torrijos Ceiling – Search Results | V&A Explore the Collections], made for a now-lost palace in Spain, with the opportunity to look closely at the construction of the rough carpentry framework at close quarters from the upper level of the atrium.
Another major exhibit is the Kaufmann Office (1935-37) [Kaufmann Office | Wright, Frank Lloyd | V&A Explore The Collections], the only complete Frank Lloyd Wright interior outside the USA, designed for the Pittsburgh department-store owner Edgar J Kaufmann with all its original furniture, marquetry and textiles.
My favourite interior is much more modest than these two – the Frankfurt Kitchen [Frankfurt Kitchen | Schütte-Lihotzky, Margarete (Grete) | V&A Explore The Collections], a revolutionary rational, efficient and hygienic design by Margarete (Grete) Schütte-Lihotzky for municipal flats in 1926-27. It is the ancestor of every fitted kitchen that followed.
Grasping the eclecticism of this place is like reading an IKEA catalogue on speed. Visiting the original South Kensington V&A once a day for a year would merely begin to reveal its richness. It’s only practical to treat the Storehouse as a lucky dip.
When enough’s enough, it’s easy to find food and drink on the ground floor. And if the café is crowded, there’s the Clarnico Club [Clarnico Club] coffee shop across the road on Parkes Street.
My friend John’s sixtieth birthday celebration was stylish and memorable – dinner in the Midland Hotel, Morecambe, with the option of staying for the weekend in Art Deco splendour.
For me, the highlight was when we took his mother, Marjorie, for a morning cup of coffee at Brucciani’s on the seafront.
This celebrated and much-loved Italian milk bar is part of a family concern dating back to 1893 when Luigi Brucciani, aged thirteen, arrived with his family from Tuscany and settled in Barrow-in-Furness, across the bay from Morecambe.
Luigi’s son, Peter, opened the first of two Morecambe milk bars in 1932, followed by the current promenade location, almost next door to the Winter Gardens, the week before the start of World War II in 1939.
As war turned away the holidaymakers and killed the ice-cream trade, Brucciani’s prospered providing Italian coffee to military personnel. After the war, when the holiday crowds and the ice cream returned, so did artistes at the Winter Gardens, including locally-born Thora Hird and Eric Morecambe (né Bartholomew), and Brucciuani’s grew from a milk bar to a café.
In July 2022, the then Prince Charles, as well as unveiling a plaque to celebrate the 125th anniversary of the Winter Gardens, popped in to sample Brucciani’s ice cream. He was served vanilla.
Brucciani’s sells only their own ice-cream to an Italian recipe in more than a dozen flavours. The décor has hardly changed, and is lovingly illustrated at Brucciani’s – Morecambe – Modern Mooch.
When John and I took his mother for coffee at Brucciani’s in Morecambe on a Saturday morning in January 2015, she said that she could remember the place when it first opened in September 1939.
Sound Café, Isle of ManCalf Sound and the Calf of Man (January 2008)
My friend John marks decennial birthdays in considerable style.
For his fiftieth birthday, not long after he’d become a Manx resident, he hired the Sound Café, at the very tip of the island, and provided an entirely Manx buffet supper from lamb to queenies, so that guests from “across” (as Manx people refer to the other, larger island to the east) had the benefit of one of the finest of the many fine views around the island’s coast.
The café is a remarkable building, completed in 2002 to the designs of the Manx architects Kellett & Robinson. It’s entirely unobtrusive in its magnificent setting, dug into the hillside with a grass roof, so that it’s invisible until you’ve walked past it.
It’s one of my favourite Manx places to eat and drink.
The panoramic picture windows look across to the other “other” island to the south, the Calf of Man, accessible with difficulty, despite its four harbours, because of the unpredictable waters of the Calf Sound, a treacherous stretch of water in which the current runs at up to eight knots. (This didn’t dissuade a mid-nineteenth century owner, George Carey, a former London barrister, from attempting agriculture by swimming cattle across the Sound at low tide.)
Successive efforts to develop the Calf have had little success: farming, lead mining and tourism alike failed, and in 1937 F J Dickens of Carnforth bought the island and presented it to the UK National Trust for preservation as a bird sanctuary. It was leased to the newly-formed Manx National Trust in 1952, initially for twenty-one years, and is now vested in Manx National Heritage, and leased to the Manx Wildlife Trust.
The submerged Chicken Rock, 1½ miles south of the Calf, presented a hazard to shipping until the engineer Robert Stevenson built two lighthouses in 1818. These were superseded by the Chicken Rock Lighthouse in 1875. This was replaced with a new installation on the Calf in 1968, which was itself decommissioned in 2007: Calf of Man.
The population in 1851 was 51, including four lighthouse keepers, but in the twenty-first century it is virtually uninhabited: the wardens who maintain it as a wildlife sanctuary are resident between March and December, during which months the resident population is effectively two.
For the best of reasons, the Calf is not an easy place to visit: Wayback Machine. It’s much easier to chose a table at the Sound Café, and relax with a drink and a plate of Manx cuisine.
One of the admirable characteristics of the Methodist Church is its practicality. As its name suggests, there is a methodical streak in its mission and its traditions, which impels its members to move with the times.
When Hugh Price Hughes’ Forward Movement prompted Methodists to attend to social care alongside individual faith, the Sheffield Wesleyan congregation looked at the four city-centre chapels and promptly knocked one down.
The Wesley Chapel, opened in 1780 by John Wesley himself, had become out-of-date and unsuitable for the church’s needs, so it was closed in 1906 and replaced by the magnificent Victoria Hall two years later.
Although £6,000 had been spent on refurbishing Wesley Chapel in 1875, its replacement cost £40,000 and the debt was cleared within three years.
The original design was by the short-lived Manchester practice of Waddington Son & Dunkerley, modified and completed by the Sheffield architect William John Hale (1862-1929). The finished building is imposing, with an assertive façade and a huge tower with a baroque turret, built of brick and embellished with carvings by the brothers Alfred and William Tory. When it was built it rivalled the other tall buildings in the city centre, the two town halls and the Anglican and Roman Catholic churches which are now both cathedrals.
Its main hall had three levels: visitors entered from the street at circle level; the floor of the hall was in the basement, and there was a balcony. It was the best concert venue in Sheffield until the City Hall opened in 1932; there are those that say it still is. Significantly, the Hall was designed with spaces to serve a range of functions.
The first minister, Rev George McNeal (1874-1934), was recruited from the hugely successful Manchester and Salford Mission, and at the inauguration he made a landmark proclamation of intent.
The Victoria Hall was to be –
a great evangelical preaching centre
the headquarters of a strong, vigorous and active Mission Church
a house of mercy in the centre of the city with an ever-open door
a people’s home, the social and religious centre of their thought and activity
a rallying ground for all kinds of philanthropic and religious enterprise in the city
His declared aim was to create “a brighter, purer and happier Sheffield”. Immediately – and for long after Rev McNeal moved in 1924 – the Sheffield Mission responded practically to the needs of local people.
He founded the Sheffield Mission Labour Yard near the Wicker which provided 5,903 days’ work to unemployed men by June 1909, chopping firewood, cleaning, whitewashing.
During the First World War the Hall offered a transient refuge for forces personnel travelling through the city.
Three days after the first night of the Sheffield Blitz in December 1940, the Victoria Hall staged a scheduled performance of Handel’s Messiah, though almost all the surrounding buildings were wrecked.
From May 1941 to the end of the Second World War the Hall ran a Forces’ Rest Hostel which provided food and shelter to 80,000 servicemen trapped overnight by erratic train services.
Eventually the carefully designed and expensively built Victoria Hall became outdated. Congregations dwindled so the place was taken apart. In 1965-66 a floor was inserted in the main hall at circle level to create a separate space in the basement, while maintaining capacity for large audiences and congregations on special occasions.
Five shops were inserted into the building on Chapel Walk, providing scope either for commercial rent or mission activity.
In 2003 Ablett Architects designed a refurbishment to the shops that harmonises better with the Edwardian original.
And yet again, in 2015, The Foundry Sheffield, which leases the building from the Methodist Church, is refurbishing and repurposing the Victoria Hall while joining the newly founded Sheffield Charitable Network.
When my friends Richard and Janet returned from their first trip to Turkey they had, as usual, lots of travellers’ tales and a couple of phones full of images.
One building they described attracted my attention particularly – the Bulgarian St Stephen’s Church, a magnificently Baroque confection looking out over the Golden Horn, the river estuary that makes the shape of a horn as it drains into the Bosphorus.
St Stephen’s is fallaciously described in tourist literature as “the world’s only iron church”, when it may be the only iron and steel prefabricated Orthodox church in the world, an epithet which in no way diminishes its charm or significance.
Under the Ottoman Empire Christian congregations were classified as Greek or Armenian, and the Bulgarian congregation of Constantinople was administered by the Greek Orthodox Patriarchy. The Bulgarians persistently asserted their separate identity, objecting to the imposition of the Greek language in their schools and churches.
The Bulgarian-born Ottoman statesman Stefan Bogoridi (1775- or 1780-1859) gave a wooden house in the district of Balat for use as a church in 1849. Replacing it with a purpose-built stone structure proved impossible because of the unstable ground, so when it eventually burnt down it was replaced by a lightweight steel-framed iron church.
Iron churches had been manufactured from the early nineteenth century. The Liverpool ironmaster John Cragg (1767-1854) used designs by the architect Thomas Rickman (1776-1841) to market architectural components for prefabricated churches from 1812 onwards: in Liverpool St George’s, Everton and St Michael-in-the-Hamlet, Aigburth remain, and a third, St Philip’s, Hardman Street, came to light when the building that had enveloped it was demolished.
Architectural iron and steel technology was revolutionised during the nineteenth century. Even after Bessemer steel became available in the 1850s, wrought iron remained the dominant material in building construction. Sir Joseph Paxton’s Crystal Palace (1851) and the Eiffel Tower (1889) were both built of iron. The first major steel structure in the world was the Forth Bridge (1890).
There was a short period when iron was employed to clad lightweight steel structures, before the steel-frame construction developed by the Chicago School of architects meant that buildings of any height were not dependent on the weight-bearing capacity of the walls, so the exterior could be clad in any weather-proof material.
The Bulgarian Church in Istanbul is arguably the most beautiful of the nineteenth-century iron churches. It was designed by the Ottoman-Armenian architect Hovsep Aznavur (1854-1935) and the highly detailed exterior was manufactured by the Viennese Rudolph Philip Waagner Company, which was responsible a century later for the Reichstag Dome (1999) and the Great Court of the British Museum (2000).
Only the iconostasis, the screen that partitions the east end of the interior, is wooden: it was the work of the painter Klavdy Lebedev (1852-1916). The 131-feet-high tower contains six bells cast in the Russian city of Yaroslavi.
St Stephen’s was inaugurated on September 8th 1898.
All these buildings are beautiful and fascinating, and Istanbul’s Bulgarian Church deserves a visit alongside the city’s first-order experiences of seeing Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque.
The British Museum is an all-encompassing treasure house that has collected art and artefacts since its inception in 1753. It has eight million individual items from all over the world but the one experience that always takes my breath away is the light, spacious, uncompromisingly modern space that is the Queen Elizabeth IIGreat Court, opened by Her Majesty in December 2000.
The Museum’s acquisitiveness has repeatedly overstuffed its premises and sections of the collections have been hived off to create other celebrated London museums and galleries – the National Gallery (1824), the Natural History Museum (1881) and the British Library at St Pancras (1997).
When the late seventeenth-century Old Montagu House, its original home, could take no more contents the architect Sir Robert Smirke (1780-1867) designed a neoclassical structure around a quadrangle, which was constructed between 1823 and 1852.
For its day, it was an ideal base for a national museum with a worldwide collection, but as the inexorable pressure of acquisitions mounted, the central courtyard would sooner or later have to be sacrificed.
In particular, King George IV’s 1823 donation of most of his father George III’s library, added to his grandfather George II’s original 1757 bequest of his Old Royal Library, came with Parliamentary confirmation that the British Museum should act as a legal deposit library, entitled to a copy of every book published in the country. That’s a lot of books.
After thirty years, Sir Robert Smirke’s younger brother, Sydney Smirke (1797-1877), was commissioned to create the Round Reading Room (1854-57) in the courtyard, and the spaces between his circular bookshelves and the inner walls of his brother’s buildings were filled with three storeys of iron bookstacks which eventually extended to twenty-five miles of shelving. There were table spaces for 302 readers at a time.
This celebrated, much-loved space was the birthplace of the works of a pantheon of writers, from Karl Marx to Mahatma Ghandi, Rudyard Kipling to Virginia Woolf. Vladimir Lenin signed in under the name Jacob Richter, as if he’d got something to hide.
Indeed the Reading Room dome recalls the Pantheon in Rome, though it’s actually a couple of feet smaller (140 feet). Its ceiling is made of papier-mâché suspended from the structural cast-iron shell.
The British Museum’s library collections were transferred in 1997 to the new British Library at St Pancras, designed by Colin St John Wilson (1922-2007) and his wife M J Long (1939-2008), leaving the Reading Room without a purpose.
The architects Foster & Partners developed a 1970s scheme by Colin St John Wilson to clear the surrounding clutter of stacks and other structures to create a circulation space serving the entire site.
This required ingenuity, because the Reading Room didn’t have walls: the bookshelves that readers knew actually backed on to the stacks.
A plain white wall now embraces Sydney Smirke’s great study space, which has been restored and was used first for exhibitions and later as the home of the Museum’s archive.
Brief public tours of the Reading Room have been restarted. Pre-booking is required and photography is not allowed: Visit | British Museum.
The pièce de resistance, a triumph of late twentieth-century architecture and engineering, is the tessellated glass roof of the Great Court, designed and fabricated by the Austrian manufacturer Waagner-Biro, which had completed the Reichstag Dome in Berlin in 1999.
The Great Court is light, airy and relaxing, with space to sit down and enjoy refreshments from the café.
(I wish the CHR had not hijacked the brand ‘Heritage Open Day’ which has been the brand of England’s annual celebration of the nation’s history and culture since 1994.)
Leek is a market town with a current population of twenty thousand, which until 1965 was an important rail crossroads created by the North Staffordshire Railway, the much-loved “Knotty”, linking the Staffordshire Moorlands with Stoke-on-Trent, Macclesfield and Uttoxeter, where main lines extended to London, Birmingham, Manchester and Derby.
The north-to-south route stretched from near Macclesfield to Uttoxeter on the line from Crewe to Derby, while the westerly route reached Leek from Stoke-on-Trent. A branch line eastwards from Leek Brook to Waterhouses formed an end-on junction with the 2ft 6in-gauge Leek & Manifold Valley Light Railway, built to serve a dairy at Ecton though the terminus was further on at Hulme End. It opened in 1904 and closed thirty years later, shortly after the creamery at Ecton closed.
Services declined in stages between 1956 and 1970, except for a freight connection between the Oakamoor Sand Sidings and Stoke. Track was lifted but the trackbed remains on the ten-mile line westwards between Leek and Stoke and south from Oakamoor to Alton Towers and Denstone. The routes north from Leek to Macclesfield and south of Denstone to Uttoxeter have been blocked by redevelopment, including road improvements and the vast JCB factory at Rocester.
The site of the original Leek station is now a Morrisons supermarket.
The Churnet Valley Railway punches well above its weight. It grew out of earlier efforts to safeguard the railways around Leek from 1971 onwards, and from small beginnings focused on taking over the seven-mile route through the valley between Oakamoor and Leek Brook, which was accomplished when heritage train services began in 1996. The further mile to the site of the new Leek station was added in 2024.
The stations are interesting in their own right and a testament to the energy behind their restoration.
Leek Brook is only accessible by rail at present. It was the junction for the St Edward’s Hospital tramway, which ran three-quarters of a mile through the grounds of the Staffordshire County Mental Hospital, using 220-volt DC electric overhead. Passengers were conveyed in a second-hand London horse tram, but the main purpose of the tramway was supplying the hospital with coal. Passenger service didn’t last beyond the 1920s, but the coal traffic continued to the end of 1954.
Cheddleton station is the only original building remaining, and was famously saved in 1974 by a local businessman, Norman Hancock, parking his Jaguar on the level crossing to prevent its demolition. The station was subsequently listed Grade II and became the original base of the grandly-titled Cheshire and Staffordshire Railway Society which ultimately became the Churnet Valley Railway.
Consall station was opened in 1902 to serve the nearby village and the workers of the adjacent forge and lime kilns. The main building on the down platform is a reproduction, completed in 2002, after which the original 1902 shelter was reinstated on the restored up platform which abuts the Caldon Canal.
Kingsley & Froghall station is a convincing reproduction of the demolished original station. After passenger services were restored in 2001, the main building on the down platform was completed two years later, followed by the shelter on the opposite side which, like Consall, overhangs the canal.
Timetabled services run on Wednesdays and at weekends from March to October, with additional operations for special events on bank holidays and other occasions: Events Calendar – Churnet Valley Railway.
The on-train catering offers an impressive range of alternatives, from breakfast to curry night, and there is a tea-room at Kingsley & Froghall. Prices range from £15 for pie-and-mash to £80 for a murder-mystery experience: Steam Train Dining Experiences – Churnet Valley Railway.
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