Nerve 22 - Granby Four Streets

Granby Four Streets

By Diane Jansen (Diane is a member of the Nerve/WEA Review Writers Course)

If you wander down Princes Avenue from town and cut off to your left you will come across Cairns St, an oasis of bright flowers, planted vegetables, pear and apple trees. The boarded up houses are painted bright colours, with works of art by residents and students from Liverpool John Moores University.

Residents in Cairns St and the surrounding streets have been fighting for fifteen years to stop the bulldozers coming in. In 2011 they staged a peaceful protest outside a lovely large Victorian house at the end of Cairns St, to stop the Liverpool City Council demolishing it. Everyone in the community helped, students, pensioners and schoolchildren. Food and drink was even provided by local shops. At dawn, when no one was around, they demolished the house, which could have provided living accommodation for families.

The latest decision on the houses is to sell off homes for £1 on the condition thatthe buyers do the renovation on the property. This came about after city leaders stopped the £25m tender, when the company with the contract to demolish, didn't meet the deadline.

A thriving street market is held here on the first Saturday of the month starting from April, run by the lovely residents who live in the street. On sale are home grown vegetables, home-made cakes, bric-a-brac, recycled goods, works of art and a free checks on your bicycle. Just call in, even if you only want a cup of tea and conversation. The money raised helps with the cost of planting flowers in Cairns St and surrounding areas. Come and say hello you would be made very welcome. They are also always looking for volunteers.

Cairns Street Market is on the first Saturday of every month.

Poem by Alison Down - March 2013

On Beaconsfield Street
Rosa leaves her house, stares at boarded out windows,
Moments later she’s searching out for old tins, brushes and a ladder,
And then she’s painting curtains onto council ply -
Painting curtains
in blue, purple, yellow.
Painting out black -
putting hope back.
Because this is not a war zone,
This is Granby,
This is her home
And she’s just not having it anymore.

She’s not alone -
Around her, doors open,
Brushes brandished.

Next door in Cairns Street,
Eleanor digs and plants,
tends and nurtures green
so that the grey and the bleak will realise that they have no place here.
Ivys and creepers climb,
hold on tight to would be ghost buildings.
Daffodils cheer from suitcases, tyres and bedroom drawers
as Eleanor weeds,
because this is not a lost cause,
This is Granby
This is her home
Not a war zone.

Back at Beaconsfield
paint dries in Liverpool sunshine.
Now at number fifty six, pink polka dot curtains dance in acrylic,
At number seventy
two black cats now sit well glossed
watch the world unflinching,
whilst at the top, at ninety one,
Joan looks out from her living room window
as her son brings Conwy Castle to life;
paints a ruin onto a ruin,
then steps back and says
“There’s your view mother.”

Seasons change.
The wild flowers sown by Helen
on wasted land
in Ducie Street, grow tall.
More street art appears-
the council’s ‘No Ball Games’ sign on the wall
mysteriously transforms into ‘Games Please!’

Children start to emerge
like the butterflies
painted in gold onto doors of blue.
And they play,
like they should do.

Over the years the council come,
and they say they’ll paint them over,
Or they’ll knock them down,
But they won’t, though they’ll try.
And then they say they’ll sell them privately,
but the companies don’t buy.

Eleanor, Carol, Maria and Anne
are with Rosa and Theresa’s husband Jo.
There’s a gang of them on Jermyn and Kingsley,
Theresa’s organising where things should go cos there’s a market starting
outside Eleanor’s, it’s crammed with stalls, home-made cakes
and Rosa’s jerk chicken and music to make your heart sing,
Music to make your heart sing!
And Granby beats like it used to, back in the day,
when its soul had a different ska.

Some might say it’s been payback for a riot
30 years of managed decay,
But there’s a group of women who won’t keep quiet,
a group of people who want their say.

Here’s to Eleanor, Rosa, Theresa and Anne,
All those who won’t let it lie,
there’s too many years of promises broken
And they’re not just letting these buildings die.

Bring them curtains and hang them in every window
Mend the roofs, fix the floor,
Watch them walk home with their heads held high
Because this is not a war zone
These are our streets
These are our homes.
These are homes.

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