The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.
The memorable first line of L.P. Hartley's ‘The Go-Between’
My first visit to Beamish Open Air Museum, nestled amidst the rolling hills and verdant landscapes of Northeast England's County Durham, was in 1973, a year after its opening. The offering was very modest compared to what I saw on my visit there the week before last.
The man behind what was to be the first UK regional open-air museum was Frank Atkinson, the curator of the Bowes Museum. As early as 1958, he recognised that much of northeast England’s social history would disappear with the decline of its traditional industries and communities. Frank urged the then Durham County Council to begin collecting everyday items, hoping he might one day set up an open-air museum. It wasn't just objects; Frank also aimed to preserve the region's customs and dialect. He said the new museum should "attempt to make the history of the region live" while illustrating the way of life of ordinary people. Frank adopted an "unselective collecting" policy; if you offer it to me, I will take it. Donations poured in, ranging in size from small items to vehicles and buildings.
Eight years later, Frank led a working party to set up a museum "for the purpose of studying, collecting, preserving and exhibiting buildings, machinery, objects and information illustrating the development of industry and the way of life of the north of England". The museum's location was to be the parkland surrounding Beamish Hall, ironically made available as the decline of mining meant the vacation of the Hall and its land by the National Coal Board. Before ownership by the NCB, the land had belonged to the Shafto family—a northeast England folk song and nursery rhyme records for posterity one of their members,
"Bobbie Shafto's gane to sea,
Siller buckles on his knee,
He'll come back and marry me,
Bonnie Bobbie Shafto."
Widely held belief is that the song relates to the story of how Robert Shafto, an 18th-century British politician, broke the heart of Bridget Belasyse by marrying Anne Duncombe.
Anyway, let's return to my first Beamish Museum visit. It was with my maternal grandfather, who has appeared in a few of these meanders this year, and the static display in the grand Beamish Hall offered many things familiar to him. In some ways, he was bemused that these everyday items would be in a museum given up to that point, museums tended to collect the items of the ‘high and mighty’ rather than of 'ordinary' people. Fifty years ago, you were unlikely to see everyday items that were once part of daily living in museums.
As I recall, the only 'open-air' elements were a pit-head winding engine moved from a colliery near Gateshead, the Mahogany drift mine (you couldn't move that - it had been there since 1855) and a demonstration tram link. You could ride in it briefly, but it took you nowhere.
Being an ex-miner, my grandfather was in his element in the drift mine, and he and the mine's guide, also an ex-miner, shared a few tales. The same was true when he and I visited the winding engine. To begin with, I was my grandfather's only audience, however, as he stood amongst the tools and tubs that were so familiar to him in his mining days and shared such things as how the miners went about their work through the first half of the 20th century, the conditions, the calculating of their piece-work pay, what a 'tally' on a coal tub signified etc. I then noticed others listening in. By the end, the old miner had a sizeable audience to whom he was genuinely bringing history to life.
If my grandfather were around to visit the museum today, I think he would be astonished that from those humble beginnings, there now stands an offering that covers 300 acres and takes the visitor on a journey through the life of England's northeast from the early 1800s through to the 1940s with a 1950s' town' soon to open. Frank Atkinson's dream has come true: the museum offers a captivating tapestry of history, technology, and human ingenuity. It's not just the artefacts, buildings and vehicles. The many costumed volunteers allow you to meet characters from all social classes, from shopkeepers and factory workers to dentists and photographers. Their stories, anecdotes, and historical insights help transport you back in time and allow you to engage with history personally.
Whole towns have been created by moving buildings from their original site to the museum. There's an 1820s village, a 1900s town, a 1930s pit village, a 1940s farm, and the colliery. Visitors can explore the interiors of these buildings and gain insight into the lives of the people who lived and worked in them. You can also visit the stables and see some of the horses used to recreate transportation elements of the 1900s.
It is possible to walk from one setting to another, which I chose to do. Still, because of the scale of the site, there is now a vintage transport system, including trams, buses, and steam trains, which provide an authentic mode of transportation around the museum.
I started my tour of the museum in the early 19th century and the rustic charm of the 1820s Pockerley Old Hall. This grand Georgian mansion, lovingly restored to its former glory, provides a glimpse into the lives of the landed gentry and their servants. You can explore the 'upstairs and downstairs' culture of the historic manor house and its gardens while gaining insight into the social and economic aspects of the time. Nearby is St Helen's Church, moved from its original site in Eston in North Yorkshire, being a typical country church of the North. Of all the buildings moved to the museum, this is the oldest and most complex to move.
I then moved forward in time and walked to the mining town of the early 1900s and its faithful reconstruction of buildings from across the northeast. In strolling along the cobbled streets and visiting shops, I glimpsed the atmosphere and activity of daily life in late Victorian/early Edwardian England. In the department store, I saw a piece of the then 'modern' technology that I can remember seeing still in use seventy years later in some shops in the northeast: the 'pneumatic tube' system used to transport money one way from the shop floor to the cashier with a receipt and change then winging its way back via another tube to the customer.
I, of course, couldn't resist the pub within the town; the beer served there came from the small independent Firebrick Brewery that's a ten-minute walk from my home in Blaydon. I indulged in a pint of excellent stout while sitting by a roaring fire and chatting to the publican. In this case, not an enthusiastic volunteer, although dressed in Edwardian garb, but a valid pub owner with a modern licence to trade. While the pub was quiet on the frosty day I visited, he mentioned that he does an excellent trade of visitors looking to quench their thirst in the summer. Sadly, the prices are not those of the 1900s but no more than you would pay in a modern-day pub in Newcastle.
Many other food venues exist around the museum, all in keeping with the relevant times of the 'town' where they are situated. There are three fish and chip shops, and from the queues, I saw extremely popular, even on a chilly day. The town also boasts a sweetshop, a motor garage and a dentist. Whether it was for 'colour' or not, the dentist mentioned that those who couldn't afford his services in the 1900s would visit the motor mechanic for an extraction. The latter was far cheaper than the dentist, only charging a penny a tooth.
In the chemists, I fell into conversation with the 'pharmacist's assistant', and she being around the same age as me meant we couldn't help talking about how many things in the shop were still in use and for sale in our childhood days of the late 1950s and early 1960s. Many of us have a preferred self-medication when feeling a bit under the weather with a cold or other mild affliction. In my case, it's 'Beechams Powders'. Not the modern capsules or the stuff with orange or lemon you take as a hot drink, but that original fine white powder that's poured into a small amount of cold water and drunk down. I suspect its attraction is from my childhood memory of seeing my mother carefully unfolding the neat paper 'packet' from which the magic powder came and then pouring the contents into a glass of water. The care she took not to spill the precious contents of that paper package gave an air of intensity to the action. It showed to my childish mind that this magic powder was, therefore, going to right any wrongs with my health. In fact, the magic powder is simply aspirin and caffeine, so while it did deliver some medicinal benefits, its placebo effect had more impact on how I felt after taking it. But don't underrate that placebo effect. If I have a touch of cold, the powder still does the trick today (in many ways, I never grew up). However, the magic potion now comes in little sachets, so the joy of unfolding the paper has gone. I should add my father did have a 'natural' alternative of warm milk, a touch of sugar and a splash of whiskey. I find that still works, too. But without the milk and sugar!
Let's return to the museum and a visit made when my children were much younger. They, my then-wife, Veronica, and I took advantage of the photographers. We dressed in Edwardian clothing to have our photograph taken and, of course, struck a sombre-like pose in keeping with the Edwardian era. I noted that the service is still available some 30 years later, although I did not avail myself of it this time. But who knows, I may do so when I revisit the museum, and such a photograph might grace one of my future meanders.
My photograph above is of that part of the museum where stands the 1930s pit village. As I strolled along its cobbled streets, passing the various buildings, I was reminded of the mining industry's dangers, challenges and triumphs. I also saw the skilled craftsmanship of blacksmiths, wheelwrights, and weavers. I've already mentioned the drift coal mine and pit head winding engine, and among other buildings in the pit village are the chapel, school, and miners' cottages. On the far left of my photograph are those cottages I recall still seeing in their original situ before I left the northeast in 1974. They stood in the small mining town of Hetton-le-Hole, where I would call on my first girlfriend Diane. Regular readers might recall that Diane appears in an earlier piece when I wrote of young teenage romance and our first-date walk alongside the River Wear in Durham.
In contrast to the urban scenes of the other 'towns', the 1940s 'Home Farm' and cottages allow you to embark on a Second World wartime journey that provides a window into the agricultural practices and lifestyle that revolved around the essential tasks of food production and self-sufficiency at that time in England. It highlights the ingenuity and resilience of people during times of conflict, highlighting the importance of rural communities in supporting the war effort and providing insight into the hardships of rationing.
While much of the 1950s town is still to open, it was possible to catch a glimpse of life then (or, in my case, to jog my memory). It was a time when the post-war boom brought about a new era of prosperity and modernity: at the moment, one can enter some houses of the time. Eventually, there will be a welfare hall, a row of 1950s terrace houses, a recreation park, a bus depot, a farm, aged miners' homes, a cinema, and social housing with a block of four prefabricated concrete dwellings. Plans are for the cinema to show films of the era. All these buildings have been donated to the museum (as have every artefact, building and vehicle I've mentioned), with many relocated buildings saved from demolition.
Not surprisingly, given the accuracy of the setting, the museum is sometimes used as a film location. The 'Downtown Abbey' series is one most people may know. In addition to its use in the TV series, use was made of the museum for some scenes of the first Downton Abbey feature film.
The museum became busier and busier during my visit, and many of the visitors were schoolchildren with their teachers. It is an excellent way for the children to get a 'first-hand' view of everyday Northeastern life through the past two hundred years. Indeed, my eldest children, although we were living in the south of England then, had a day at the museum some 30 years ago with their school as part of a few days staying 'up north' to understand more of Northumbria. Their 12-year-old school classmates and their teachers were somewhat surprised at how much of the ‘vernacular’ my children knew, not realising from where in England their father hailed.
Over the decades, I have visited the museum with my grandparents, parents and as a parent. The quote at the top of this piece has almost become a proverb. Yet, L P Hartley perfectly captures those feelings of retrospection, nostalgia, and loss of innocence when we think back to our early days—a calling to mind of both painful and joyful memories. My day at the Beamish Museum certainly did that for me.
Love the perspective of the same place from lots of different points in time; yourself and the place being the only constant. All really interesting to think about, and lovely quote at the top. Fascinating and always very thought-provoking as usual, Harry!
Lovely recounting of your journeys. Sounds like a place I would love to explore!