When I first went to the industrial north in the 1960s I found it exotic, perhaps in the way that some parts of Africa might seem exotic to new visitors (although the north of England was rather colder!) I found the people most welcoming. They did not feel I had come to exploit them, but were touched I’d taken the trouble to come all that way to see them.
John Bulmer
When people think of photographers who captured the industrial decline of northeast England through the 1970s and 80s, names such as Chris Killip, Tish Murtha, Mik Critchlow and Sirkka-Liisa Konttinen come to mind. A decade or so before them came John Bulmer and his series of photographs in Hartlepool during January 1963. This week's meander, therefore, took me to Hartlepool and the 'John Bulmer: Northern Light' exhibition of some of his photographs from that visit in the bitter winter of 1963. A winter I remember well with my three-quarters of a mile, morning and evening trudges through the thick snow to and from primary school (they didn't seem to shut schools in poor weather back then)
John, a Yorkshire lad, was born a year before the outbreak of the Second World War. It was the year when Europe hoped for "peace in our time". A peace that, despite the efforts of British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, was not to be. Five years after that war, John began his career as a freelance photojournalist, travelling the world for various publications, including The Sunday Times and The Observer newspapers. Through these early assignments, Bulmer developed a keen eye for storytelling through imagery. While the photographs in this exhibition were black and white, John became notable for his early use of colour in photojournalism.
When John arrived in Hartlepool in January 1963, the whole of the UK was amidst the coldest winter in over two hundred years, with temperatures plummeting well below freezing for prolonged periods. Exacerbating the severe cold were persistent easterly winds, which, along with the freezing conditions, brought heavy snowfall that blanketed much of the UK, with drifts reaching unprecedented depths in some areas.
The extreme weather wreaked havoc on transportation networks and infrastructure throughout the UK. Roads became impassable due to deep snowdrifts, while railways and public transport services stopped. Airports closed, and ports and harbours were made inaccessible by ice and even the freezing of the sea around them. The disruption to transportation had far-reaching consequences, affecting supply chains, commerce, and daily life for millions of people across the country. Factories and manufacturing plants faced production delays and shutdowns due to fuel shortages and logistical challenges. There were significant challenges for agriculture, too, with farmers struggling to cope with frozen fields and threats to livestock. The cold and snow decimated the land leading to future food shortages and rising prices. The economic impact of the winter was profound, worsening existing hardships and contributing to a period of austerity and recession.
The latter was true of Hartlepool, which, just before John’s visit, had seen the recent closure of the local shipyard. The loss of over a thousand jobs led to the area having the highest unemployment level in Britain. This dubious honour saw the town at the centre of debates in Parliament and the focus of newspaper articles and television documentaries.
It was in this Hartlepool that John, whose images graced the first-ever issue of The Sunday Times Magazine, arrived to capture the grim reality of life in those uncertain times. Armed with his camera and an insatiable curiosity, Bulmer immersed himself in the lives and landscape of a community in the industrial heartland of England grappling with the early decline of traditional industries.
I confess my visit to see the exhibition was the first time I'd returned to Hartlepool in over thirty years. The last visit was when my children were small, and I recall we flew kites on the beach in the brisk breeze coming off the North Sea. Something else on that beach was the then rusting hulk of HMS Warrior. Built in Hartlepool, Warrior was once Queen Victoria's fleet's largest, fastest, and most powerful warship. What we saw looked like a rusting beached whale. That is no longer the case, however, as that hulk went through massive restoration in Hartlepool, and HMS Warrior is now back to its magnificent best and on display in the Naval Museum in Portsmouth.
Most people outside of northeast England may not have even heard of Hartlepool. They may, however, have heard of John Darwin, who, in 2002, faked his death after paddling out in his canoe from Seaton Deleval, a suburb of Hartlepool. It sparked a large-scale search and rescue operation involving coastguard helicopters, lifeboats, and volunteer crews scouring the waters for any sign of the missing Darwin. The unfolding drama captured the nation's attention, with media outlets providing round-the-clock coverage of the rescue efforts. However, as the search intensified, inconsistencies began to appear, casting doubt on the authenticity of his disappearance. Suspicion grew further when a newspaper printed photographic evidence showing the missing canoeist alive and well in Panama, contradicting his reported predicament at sea. It soon became clear that the entire incident had been an elaborate insurance hoax orchestrated by Darwin and his wife, who both ended up serving time in prison.
As you will have guessed by now, Hartlepool is a coastal town. The first recorded settlement dates from 640CE as part of Anglo-Saxon Northumbria around an abbey founded by Saint Aidan, an Irish Christian priest who became known as the 'Apostle of Northumbria'. Aidan's main claim to fame is his founding of a monastic cathedral on the island of Lindisfarne in which he served as its first bishop. But more than that, Aidan oversaw the construction of churches, monasteries and schools throughout Northumbria, reflecting the spread of Christianity.
The abbey and settlement sat on a headland overlooking a natural harbour. The Angles called the headland Heruteu (Stag Island), while the 8th-century Northumbrian chronicler Bede (he's cropped up a few times in my pieces) referred to the site as "the place where deer come to drink". This sweet phrase translated into the word Hartlepool, and unsurprisingly, the predominant activity of the settlement was fishing. The settlement grew steadily over the next few hundred years into a bustling port, trading goods such as wool, salt, and fish with continental Europe. Further enhancing what was now a town's maritime heritage was the building of shipbuilding yards in the 19th century, which propelled Hartlepool into Britain's industrial revolution. While shipbuilding never notched the scale of Newcastle and Sunderland shipbuilding, it began an industrial boom attracting workers, merchants, and entrepreneurs from across Britain and beyond. But it was the coming of the railway in 1830 that saw the town truly grow rapidly (its population doubled between 1841 and 1851) as it could now transport coal by sea from the coal mines of County Durham.
Although the story may not have travelled much outside of the northeast of England, a legend dates to the early 19th century of 'Hartlepool and the monkey'. The tale goes that during the Napoleonic Wars, a French ship floundered off the coast of Hartlepool, and the only survivor was a monkey dressed in a French military uniform. Believing the monkey was a French spy, the townspeople of Hartlepool purportedly held a mock trial and subsequently hanged the unfortunate creature. Of course, scant evidence supports such an event, and the story has likely been embellished and exaggerated over time. However, the legend does shed light on the harsh realities of life during the Napoleonic Wars, when coastal communities like Hartlepool were vulnerable to attack and espionage.
What is not a legend is the bombardment of Hartlepool by three German warships some hundred years later in late 1914. It was part of Germany's strategy to disrupt British naval operations and intimidate coastal communities. Just after 8 am on December 16, 1914, the German battlecruisers SMS Seydlitz, Moltke, and Blücher unleashed a barrage of artillery fire on Hartlepool, catching the unsuspecting townspeople off guard. Over an hour, more than 1,150 shells rained down on Hartlepool, wreaking havoc and destruction on homes, businesses, and infrastructure and loss of life. Scores of buildings were damaged or destroyed, including churches, schools, and hospitals. Civilians, including women and children, bore the brunt of the attack, with over a hundred people killed and hundreds more injured. The psychological impact on Hartlepool's residents was profound, leaving an indelible mark on the town's collective memory. Each year, on the anniversary of the bombardment, the people come together to honour the memory of those who lost their lives and to pay tribute to the resilience and courage of Hartlepool's residents.
But it was not the Germans who brought long-term devastation to Hartlepool. Like many other northeast towns, the decline of traditional industries in the 20th century saw Hartlepool face massive economic challenges. In recent times, Hartlepool has fought back to some degree with growing employment in new sectors such as petrochemicals and manufacturing.
I suppose Hartlepool's art gallery, which held John’s exhibition, is also an example of diversification. The building in my photograph is not a typical gallery; it opened as such in 1996 after the decommissioning of the Victorian-built Christ Church as a place of worship. Although some conversion went on to create the gallery, the building still boasts its stained-glass windows, a 100-foot tower, and six, still operational, bells.
John’s photographs moved me despite what appears at first glance to be their bleakness. His images capture working-class life's grit, resilience, and humanity, painting an authentic portrait of a region that, in the 1960s, hoped to transition into a new era. A transition that, sixty years later, many in England's northeast still feel has never quite happened. But beyond John’s photographs of the back-breaking task of lugging sacks of sea coal are scenes of camaraderie and a community pulling together. Behind his shots of the dole queue, there is stoicism and hope.
At the heart of the exhibition are themes of identity and place, as John’s photographs pose questions of belonging, memory, and heritage in the context of the North. Through his evocative imagery, he explores the character of Hartlepool in 1963, the changing dynamics of urban life and the enduring sense of community that binds the people of northeast England together. His intimate portraits of everyday life and sweeping landscapes offer a multifaceted portrayal of those people, capturing their friendliness and fortitude. Together, the photographs in the exhibition provide a vivid and compelling portrait of a region undergoing profound social and economic change. Through his lens, we see joy, sorrow, struggle, and resilience. Beyond their aesthetic beauty, his photographs serve as potent social commentary, offering profound insights into the human condition and the complexities of British society, illuminating the myriad facets of life in 1960s Britain. Whether documenting the camaraderie of working-class communities, the desolation of industrial landscapes, or the vibrancy of street life, John’s photographs speak further than the people of northeast England to universal experience and aspiration.
Beyond its role as a showcase for John’s photographic talent, the exhibition catalyses connection and reflection among its audience of Hartlepool today. The curators offered the residents of Hartlepool an early viewing of the exhibition and invited them to provide their recollections of the times. These comments were then collected and collated, with some used as commentary alongside John’s work. The exhibition curators also encouraged local photographers to use John’s work as inspiration, and their excellent efforts are also on show in an offshoot of the exhibition. Some of these photographs are of a landscape taken by John in 1963 as it looks today. Others are portraits of the people of Hartlepool today in the poses captured by John. Overall, it was clear how the renowned photographer had sparked people's imagination. Capturing life in Hartlepool today as John did some sixty years ago.
Fascinating story which ignites my imagination. That church repurposed into his gallery is intriguing. Thank you for a wonderful story.
Incredible history! Thank you for this thorough story. My nana grew up just outside of war torn London in both world wars. Hartlepool sounds so familiar to me with the story of the Germans devastating the town in WW1. Dad brought mum and I to the U.S. in 1963, as John Bulmer was photographing life there. I have always had a longing for family too. We often photograph what we crave without realizing it.