Lying amidst piles of rubble and high metal fencing in the Fountainbridge area of Edinburgh stands the former Fountain Brewery. A site of pilgrimage surely for all lovers of cheap lager.

The brewery was once part of the McEwan drinking empire, founded by William McEwan (1827-1913) in 1856 with money borrowed from his family. Fountainbridge was a prime location with its excellent transport links provided by the railway and Union Canal (which still runs alongside the site and provides a nice urban amble). McEwan soon established a presence in the Scottish market, before setting his sights on colonial trade. By the turn of the 20th century, a gentleman could enjoy a pint of McEwans as far and wide as Australia, South Africa or India.

The company merged with William Younger & Co Ltd to form Scottish Brewers Ltd in 1931, before that company merged with Newcastle Breweries Ltd in 1960 to form Scottish & Newcastle Breweries Ltd. This led to a thorough updating of the plant and S&N opened a new Fountain Brewery at Fountainbridge on a 22 acre site beside the Union Canal in 1973, much of which forms the remaining site today.

At its peak, the brewery produced about two million barrels per year of well-known brands such as McEwans Export, Tartan Special, Kestrel Lager, Gillespies Stout and Youngers. Quality brands. But despite the always willing domestic market for such produce, the Fountain Brewery was closed by S&N at the end of 2004 due to the fierce competition of the beer market. About 170 workers lost their jobs.

Despite this, the future of the site looks set to flourish. The Fountain North development plan has been dreamed up to remake the area into offices, housing, retail outlets and a new public park. It aims to become Edinburgh's largest regeneration site, incorporating all sorts of contemporary environmental concerns such as tree-lined boulevards, green space, pedestrian and cycle routes, family housing and underground car parking.

More on "The Fountain Brewery, Edinburgh" »

Posted by Rosalyn on May 11, 2008 | Filed under Industrial Rosalyn Scotland
Permalink | Comments (0)

The Bakelite Museum in Williton, Somerset is a museum of few words. At the entrance, a small sign introduces Bakelite "The material of a thousand uses". Invented by Dr Leo Baekeland in 1907 Bakelite was the world’s first, and most successful synthetic plastic, in continuous production ever since. If you think it's confined to old brown radios, think again. The museum, set over two floors in a 17th Century watermill is jam packed with Bakelite products of all shapes, sizes and colours.

Stepping in the door is like walking into a 1950s home. There are cookers, toasters, washing machines, and irons interspersed with smaller items like banks, clocks and egg cups. It is bright and resilient, in the spirit of the times. If the museum had ended here I would have gone home happy, but there's more. Next, a room of televisions, gramophones, radios and telephones is like a mini Design Museum. Plus a colourful display of elegant bowls and vases made from Bandalasta (also known as LingaLonga), a coloured, marbled variation of Bakelite which first saw light in 1925.

Up the steep stairs and into a little side room where I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. This is the colourful world of Bakelite egg cups, napkin rings and salt and pepper shakers, all perfectly lined up on curvaceous shelves. I shudder to think what the dusting overhead is like, but it looks wonderful.

From there you go onto hairdryers, electric heaters, hoovers and the last room with a full set of Bakelite teeth, picnic sets and the piece de resistance, a Bakelite coffin. As it was famous for its heat-resistant properties this didn't go too well at cremations and the product never took off. It is one of the many highly collectible items on show.

More on "The Bakelite Museum, Williton" »

Posted by Anne on April 27, 2008 | Filed under Anne England Museums
Permalink | Comments (1)

Pity the poor Kincardine Bridge. Long since overshadowed by the more famous Forth Road and Rail Bridges, a fourth Forth crossing is about to cock its snook once and for all. For those who cross it regularly it’s not a happy place, full of traffic snarl-ups, but on a clearer day it’s a majestic part of the Scottish road network.

When it was built in 1936 it was the world's longest single span bridge as well as the first road bridge across the Firth of Forth. Built by renowned engineering firm Sir Alexander Gibb and Partners and manufactured by the Cleveland Bridge and Engineering Co., it’s a solid piece of work. Unlike its grander neighbours you don't see it from miles away, but the closer you get the better it looks. It comes into its own as soon as you start to cross. The silver art deco-style lampposts have a real elegance and shine like beacons on a sunny day. Before you know it you’re passing through the central concrete arch where the mottoes of the neighbouring counties of Clackmannan, Stirling and Fife are carved in Portland Stone. It's all rather grand.

Until 1988 a huge portcullis operated inside this gate so that the bridge could be closed to traffic. When it closed the motto of Clackmannan, "Look aboot ye" was spelt out. Good advice for anyone waiting there as the view either way along the river is rather nice. Once the barrier was in place the centre span was able to swing round to let shipping pass. Along with the nearby Silver Link Roadhouse (now a bathroom showroom) it’s a relic of a more stately era of road transportation - the motoring boom of the 1930s. Constant traffic has taken its toll so when the new crossing opens, the bridge, given Category A-listed status by Historic Scotland will be closed for 18 months for a well-deserved upgrade. Enjoy it while you can.

More on "The Kincardine Bridge, Kincardine" »

Posted by Anne on April 06, 2008 | Filed under Anne Architecture Scotland Transportation
Permalink | Comments (2)

Right in the pivotal centre of Soho, there is a time machine. Walk along Bateman Street until you see a café painted as the Italian Tricolore. You really can't miss it. It looks like it's closed, doesn't it? It probably isn't. Try the door. Is it open? Yes? Well, step right into 1955. Welcome to the Lorelei – one of the last survivors of 'real' Soho. The first thing you'll notice is that the decor is a curious mix of village hall and alpine hut. The second thing is the mural of the naked mermaid that takes up an entire wall. I've never seen the odd-looking light fittings switched on to illuminate it.

From the Formica tables, the lino floor, to the faux-leather banquettes round the walls, almost everything is as it was the day it opened. In the little kitchen area, the elderly proprietor quietly produces the best pizza in London – the genuine Italian flour for these is stacked up by the front door. Watching the vintage grey-green Cimbali coffee machine operated is akin to seeing Handel himself playing the organ. That's the sound of real coffee being made. Chips come cooked to order, always on an ancient glass plate. A little mound of hot golden matchsticks, sweet and crunchy.

How a place so comically un-modern still exists in the centre of this ever-changing city is a mystery. Need the loo? It's in an outhouse down the yard – primly segregated into 'gents' (hand written in gloss paint on a brick) and 'ladies'. Even the plumbing is original. There's never any piped music on – although the dusty old speaker still on the wall no doubt once pumped out Tommy Steele. You bring your own atmosphere. It's the eye in Soho's storm.

There's no need to book a table. The staff always seem a bit surprised when anybody walks in. At night, when the window is streaked with condensation you can watch people stop to scrutinise the menu, their faces yellow from its sodium light. They rarely come in, perhaps preferring the bright lights and familiarity of better-known restaurants. They don't know what they're missing. The world needs character as much as it needs wipe-clean convenience.

More on "The Lorelei, London" »

Posted by Gareth on March 25, 2008 | Filed under Eats England Gareth
Permalink | Comments (7)

After the Second World War, 150,000 prefabricated houses (prefabs) were built across Britain. Created to host homeless families with young children, these “palaces for the people” as they were called were synonymous not only with comfort and luxury but also with freedom. The Excalibur Estate in Catford south-east London is still one of the largest surviving estates.

The 187 prefabs here were erected in 1946-47, by German and Italian prisoners of war. They were interim housing, a solution to the housing stock shortage after the end of the 2nd World War. They were expected to last between 10 and 15 years but are still standing after 60.

Over the years, Lewisham Council has tried to develop the site many times. In a recent review it found that the housing stock did not meet Decent Homes Standard and the cost for refurbishment would be £8.4 million. In April 2008 there will be a ballot to decide on whether or not stock transfer will go ahead. Residents have been told by the council that if they vote yes, the stock will be transferred to London & Quadrant, and the estate will be demolished. If they vote no, the estate will be put forward for a regeneration scheme, Lewisham Council will select a housing association of its choice, and the estate will be demolished. Either way the future looks bleak.

One of the tenants, Jim Blackender has been vocal in the campaign to save the estate. He writes:

As tenants we are trying to highlight the difficulties we are having trying to save our historic estate from the bulldozers

The Decent Homes Standard has given councils the golden opportunity to write off vast amounts of housing stock as non decent and transfer their stocks to housing associations who build in its place high density housing estates.

The Excalibur Prefab Estate is the largest of its kind now left in Europe. Europe values its war time history, we on the estate think it’s time we did too.

More on "The Excalibur Estate, London" »

Posted by Doctor Boogie on March 09, 2008 | Filed under Architecture Doctor Boogie England
Permalink | Comments (1)

Footdee (pronounced "Fittie") is a small fishing village near Aberdeen harbour. From the beach it’s easy to miss but turn a corner and you're in a delightful square full of dinky little houses gathered round a communal green. Round the outside of the square the buildings are regular - neat rows of granite cottages and townhouses but round the inside they're anything but with shacks, sheds and outhouses jumbled with washing lines, plants, flowers and even a church.

The wonderful thing about Footdee is the randomness of these buildings. They're pretty puzzling. It's hard to tell if they're outhouses, or holiday homes or perhaps mansions for a race of tiny seafaring people. No two are the same and the styles range from miniatures houses with well-kept gardens to ramshackle structures made of found materials that look like only luck is holding them up. The only place I've seen anything similar is at Dungeness. In the details there are lots of seafaring accoutrements - model boats, ships-in-bottles and glass fishing weights. Hanging on one shack, a lifebelt from the Thermopylae, the world’s fastest sailing boat built in 1868 by the Aberdeen White Star Line, is a nod to local nautical heritage.

There are three squares altogether. North and South Squares were designed in the early 19th century by Aberdeen City architect John Smith who also designed Balmoral Castle. Pilot Square, built to a better standard for pilots of the harbour boats was added later. Looking closely, there are some clever design features - the houses are low and face inward to shelter from the sea, the pitched roofs keep the rain off and even the chimney pots are specially designed to keep seagulls away. As the cottages were so small, they were sold with space for an outhouse opposite, which explains the more idiosyncratic architectural elements. For fisherfolk this would be somewhere to keep your nets and other necessary equipment.

More on "Footdee, Aberdeen" »

Posted by Anne on February 23, 2008 | Filed under Anne Coastal Scotland
Permalink | Comments (2)

The Museum Of Shops is sign-posted all over Eastbourne. It really whets your appetite. What an intriguing name. What could this place be? And it doesn't disappoint when you get there. It's spread over four floors in a townhouse not far from the seafront, in a quiet bit of town.

It's a massive 100,000 bit collection of, well, stuff, from the last hundred and fifty years of shops and consumption. Packaging, advertising, products, signage, clothes, ephemera, everything. The collection is crammed into themed displays with emotive mannequins acting out the part of shopkeepers. See Mr Barton in his well-stocked Grocer’s Shop. Check out the now long-gone treats available in the Sweet Shop. The Edwardian Kitchen is like a scene from Upstairs, Downstairs and the Wartime display will remind everyone large and small that we’ve never had it so good.

The focus seems to be mostly on the first half of the 20th century; if you're a thirty or forty year-old, you won't find much actual nostalgia to bathe in, but that's better in a way. You don't spend your whole time shouting 'Look! Spangles!' you actually look and think.

The museum was created by Jan and Graham Upton over a period of 50 years. They've done it really nicely. There's none of the compulsory interactivity that seems mandatory in museums nowadays. And no real attempt to create some historical context. You just gawp at the stuff and soak up the atmosphere. But it works really well, the overwhelming effect of the densely-packed sheer mass of stuff soon fades and you get to peer at the revealing little details. The tiny shop format is the perfect way to organise it – like full-size doll houses. This is a great place to pass some time.

More on "The Museum of Shops, Eastbourne" »

Posted by Russell on February 14, 2008 | Filed under England Museums Russell
Permalink | Comments (1)