A delve into the archives...

A photo and a few words...

“…to maintain, as far as possible, valued traditions and characteristics of the neighbourhood itself…The main concern will be for those who are already resident in Byker, and the need to rehouse them without breaking family ties and other valued associations or patterns of life.”

The architect Ralph Erskin, of his vision for the redevelopment of the Byker area of Newcastle-upon-Tyne

I must admit that a 'behind the scenes' tour of a document archive might not be everyone's cup of tea. However, as a self-professed history enthusiast, when I received such an invitation from the Tyne and Wear Archive, I couldn't resist. So, a week or so ago, I found myself surrounded by a treasure trove of books, maps, drawings, photographs, and other assorted paperwork, each with a story to tell, dating back hundreds of years.

The oldest artefact held in the archive was, in fact, vellum rather than paper and dated from 1183. The archivist described it as a 'blank cheque' as it was a charter of Hugh Puiset, the then Bishop of Durham, to the brethren of the Hospital of Newcastle, confirming to them "all land, tenures and alms which were reasonably granted to them or which they might with the help of God in future acquire." The Hospital in question was that of St.Mary the Virgin, and the word ‘Hospital’ is used in its ancient meaning: a charitable institution giving refuge, hospitality, maintenance and education to the needy, aged, infirm or young people. And Hugh Puiset was forward thinking as while the ‘hospital’ no longer occupies its original central Newcastle site it remains a thriving charity still dedicated to the original intent.

Another notable item was the charter from 1664, granted by Charles II, confirming the earlier royal charters on Newcastle of Elizabeth I and James I. This magnificent document consisted of several sheets of wonderfully decorated and flawless vellum, each measuring almost a square metre. It wasn't just the exquisite colours of the decoration but the copious use of gold leaf. As the archivist said, it must have almost bankrupted Newcastle town council to have such a spectacular document made for Charles' royal seal of approval. Maybe the council felt a little guilty at the fact that Newcastle held Charles II's dad prisoner before handing him over to the Parliamentarians for trial and later execution. Then again, it was the occupying Scots, not the native Novocastrians, who controlled the city at the time.

Other highlights for me included some pioneering drawings, designs, and, indeed, doodles by Joseph Swann of his early incandescent lightbulbs. There was also correspondence and other material relating to George Stephenson's (Father of Railways) designs of a safety lamp for coal miners. The lamp soon acquired the nickname the 'Geordie' lamp and may be behind one of the theories about why those from Newcastle have that nickname. I write one of the theories as in my piece Larn Yersel' Geordie I include the others behind the moniker. 

Another set of fascinating drawings and articles were of a bold innovation for its time: Newcastle's 'Byker Wall'.

Until the 1960s, Byker was a working-class area in east Newcastle with a particular 'reputation'—the sort of edgy reputation that East London had around the same time and that South London still had when I worked there in the mid-1970s after I left the northeast of England.

The people of Byker were on the 'hard' side of life—hardworking, hard-drinking and no-nonsense, hard-talking families living in densely built terraced streets. By the mid-1960s, much of that housing needed major repair, with many considered unfit for human habitation. For example, many had no indoor bathrooms or toilets. I recall visiting my uncle in the early 1960s and descending a steep flight of steps to use the outside toilet (or 'netty' as we call them in northeast England) in the backyard. Most people still used a 'goes-under' pot if nature called at night. My family was fortunate that our terraced house at least had indoor facilities (even though they were downstairs and off the kitchen). Despite the hardships, the people of Byker were not hard-hearted, and their strong community spirit meant most wanted to stay in Byker.

Newcastle City Corporation began planning the redevelopment of the Byker area to clear the slums but keep the community together, and in the early 1970s, building a new Byker estate began, spearheaded by architect Ralph Erskine, who sought to reimagine the concept of social housing by integrating innovative design principles with a commitment to community engagement and empowerment. Erskine planned to create the then-largest housing complex in Britain and one of the largest in Europe, with more than two thousand dwellings of a mix of housing types, including flats, maisonettes, and townhouses. There would also be communal spaces, gardens, recreational facilities and a church to promote social interaction and well-being.

The building of the now famous (at least in and around Newcastle) 'Byker Wall' was to afford some protection to the estate from the scything east wind off the North Sea. When first announced, the plan for the 'wall' of a ten-storey unbroken block of six hundred and twenty maisonettes provoked awe, hilarity and even outrage.

At the heart of the Byker Wall is its distinctive 'megastructure', composed of interconnected concrete blocks stretching over a quarter of a mile. The wall's bold geometric forms, vibrant colours, and playful detailing reflect Erskine's vision of creating a dynamic, people-oriented environment to foster Byker residents' sense of belonging and pride. 

In truth, only partial achievement was made of that fine dream. Ultimately, only 20% of the original Byker occupants stayed in the new estate. Since its redevelopment, Byker has faced challenges in housing maintenance, social cohesion, and a continuing belief of those outside the area of crime and deprivation. Yet the 'Byker Wall' continues as an enduring symbol of urban regeneration and community resilience in Newcastle. The redevelopment of Byker provided affordable, reasonable-quality housing for thousands of residents. It also catalysed broader efforts to revitalise the surrounding neighbourhood. At the same time, the 'wall' has won architectural awards and is now a Grade 2 Listed building.

Speaking of listed buildings, the building that now contains the archive and began life as the headquarters and warehouse for the Northeast branch of the British Cooperative Society is Grade 2 listed.

Many people in the UK will have heard of the 'Co-op'. However, its presence on the high street and generally in people's lives is much less than when I grew up in the 1960s and, indeed, when my parents were children in the 1920s and 30s.

The roots of the British Cooperative Society go back to the early 19th century - a time of rapid industrialisation, urbanisation, and social change. Faced with exploitative working conditions, inadequate housing, and limited access to affordable goods and services, workers began to organise themselves into cooperative societies, pooling their resources to set up collectively owned and democratically governed enterprises. This was a significant shift in societal structure inspired by mutual aid, self-help, and solidarity principles. These early cooperatives looked to empower workers, improve their living standards, and challenge societal inequalities.

Throughout the 19th and early 20th centuries, the cooperative movement in Britain experienced unprecedented growth and diversification, spurred by economic necessity, political activism, and social reform. Cooperative societies proliferated nationwide, setting up various businesses and services, including retail stores, agricultural cooperatives and housing associations. These enterprises provided members access to affordable goods, fair wages, and essential services while fostering a sense of community ownership and participation in decision-making.

However, over recent decades, the cooperative movement in Britain has faced many challenges, including competition from private enterprises, changing consumer preferences, and internal disputes over governance and strategy. Despite these obstacles, cooperatives continued to adapt and innovate.

While the retail side of the 'Co-op' is not the power it once was, alliances were formed with like-minded organisations to continue the ethos of cooperation, mutual benefit, and social responsibility. Cooperative businesses and organisations still operate today in various sectors providing goods and services to millions across the UK. The continuing ethics of the movement are to promote principles of economic democracy, social solidarity, and environmental sustainability, advocating for policies and practices that prioritise people and the planet over profit.

With economic and social changes, the early cooperatives sold many of their grand buildings, including that which now houses the archive. I've already mentioned the 'listing' of that building, which limits alterations to it either inside or out. On the way to the archive, we passed along the corridor of what was once the directors' offices of the 'Co-op'. Those wood-lined walls have been unchanged for over a hundred years. It took me back to the early days of my career when, on rare occasions, I found myself in an almost identical corridor of the director's offices of the company for which I then worked. 'Mahogany Row' was its nickname amongst us 'ordinary' employees. It was always as quiet as a library, with anyone walking along the corridor speaking in hushed tones, fearing attracting the attention of a director or, God forbid, disturbing the lofty thoughts of those behind the impressive solid wood doors.

There was an informal management style with little regard for hierarchy in the Forensic Chemistry laboratories where I worked before switching careers in the later 1970s to Aerospace and Defence. In the lab, everyone was on first-name terms, regardless of their experience or seniority. However, when I moved into business, those two levels above you and beyond were addressed as either Mrs, Miss, or Mr, and they would tend to use your surname when addressing you. And a senior manager would never leave their office to see you. They always summoned you to them.

I am pleased to say that some years later when I reached lofty directorial heights, I was in a more enlightened business environment with directors who were far more visible and approachable. I certainly liked practising MBWA - 'Management by Wandering Around' and getting to know more about people (it wasn't just in my social life that I was a flâneur). Every office I occupied was open to view. It was always first-name terms, too. A challenge for me sometimes, as one of my superpowers is the inability to remember first names. I'm okay with numbers, but I might have known someone for decades, and yet, at times, their first name will escape me. At least with the introduction of the mandatory wearing of visible ID cards, I had some help if a memory lapse occurred.

I was also aware of the various nicknames I acquired throughout my career. Some were more flattering than others, reflecting my 'direct' management style. Most of the time, however, I was simply 'H'. 

Nicknames are curious things that can reflect both affection and disdain. Most of the teachers at my grammar school had nicknames. The headmaster was 'The Jeg' (I have no idea why – the letters weren't his initials, and no one I asked ever knew how he came about that moniker). The deputy head was 'The Bear' - as physically and temperamentally he looked and acted like one - you always remembered a caning from him. My maths master was 'Joe 90' because he shared a remarkable facial similarity to the puppet from the late 1960s sci-fi TV series (but without strings). Twin sisters taught English literature and English language and were the 'Dinges'. Not because they were unwashed but because their teaching method was incredibly dull. I always thought one of the better nicknames was that of the Sports master - 'Embassy Tom'. This was because he had a predilection for the Embassy brand of cigarettes; they were a popular choice in the 1970s. I've seen him refereeing an inter-school football match while smoking such a cigarette; we thought it was cool as young teenagers. That would not be the case today.

As I often do, I’ve somewhat meandered off-topic so to return to the archive. What I saw was a fraction of what exists. The bulk held for safekeeping deep below ground in a salt mine in Cheshire. As Michael Caine didn't say, 'not a lot of people know that'...