An Englishman's home is his castle, or so they say. His own little world. The Forbidden Corner, near Leyburn in Wensleydale is a very English place, and indeed is its own little world. What the Forbidden Corner is, exactly, is hard to describe. A public garden, yes, but also a maze. A folly, but a folly hidden from site. A sculpture, and a piece of theatre; a fairground fun house that tries to unnerve as well as startle.

Getting in is itself something of an odyssey. Tickets must be booked in advance, to comply with National Park planning regulations; and once you have one, you must explore winding country lanes before reaching the car park and the gift shop, which looks like an ordinary, standard gift shop aimed at the holiday-souvenir and school-trip market. "Have you been here before?" asks the girl on the ticket desk, giving you a leaflet. "The clues are all in the leaflet, but not in the right order." And what you thought might be a plan of the site is a spread of cryptic ditties, each one hinting of treasures within. A sign at the door asks you to make sure you close all gates and doors behind you; and the next thing you find is a building with a wide, gaping mouth, inviting you to walk inside.

The Forbidden Corner was designed, originally, as a private folly. Tupgill Park, Coverham, is the family estate of a diplomat called Colin Armstrong. Over twenty-five years ago, he started clearing paths in a small wood originally planted as a windbreak. Things grew, and he hired a local architect called Malcolm Tempest to design a grotto. The grotto is still there, at the heart of the garden, but surrounded by a labyrinth of paths, glades, and formal gardens, on a site which feels much, much larger than a map would have you think. After a court battle with the Yorkshire Dales National Park Authority, Armstrong opened his folly to the public; and every winter it is changed, altered and extended, to keep the visitors coming back.

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Posted by FP on August 11, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (4)

North-East England, in the past few years, has been busily redeveloping itself. Towns have been smartened up, decaying buildings redeveloped, and irredeemable monstrosities torn down. The process started twenty years ago, and it's still ongoing today. In the next few months, a large block of Gateshead town centre, for example, is to be torn down and redeveloped. In the process, the building that is arguably the town's most famous and most prominent landmark will be demolished.

Trinity Square car park stands firmly above Gateshead, by some way the tallest building in the town centre. It's been Gateshead's biggest landmark for over forty years, having been opened in 1967 after five years on the drawing board. Built over a market hall and surrounded by a shopping precinct at its base, it was intended to be a centrepiece of its community. The top floor featured a space for a cafe-bar, with large, gorgeous, square picture windows looking out over Gateshead and Newcastle. It was never used, and has been empty for almost the whole of the building's life. Rather than becoming the centre of its community, the building is instead famous for the role it plays in a film, the 1971 gangster movie "Get Carter". A corrupt (and fictional) property developer shows Michael Caine around the empty cafe, and is later thrown off the building to his death. His grim demise fits well with the film, and with the dark bulk of the car park itself.

By the time the car park was constructed, its Brutalist design was already out of date and unfashionable. Its outdoor shopping precinct quickly became outdated too; shoppers preferred indoor precincts such as Newcastle's Eldon Square or, later, the Metro Centre in suburban Gateshead. Nevertheless, the building is still distinctive, striking, and important. Although the car park is closed off, the precinct surrounding it is still just about accessible. Almost all the tenants have left, now, given the impending closure, their shops hidden behind pastel security shutters. Boots The Chemist was so far as I could see, about the only remaining tenant, when I visited in January 2008. The precinct was still busy with locals, though, using it as a shortcut, hurrying through draughty passageways amid a forest of concrete columns supporting higher-level roads and walkways. The lowest two or three storeys have been slathered in thick cream masonry paint, presumably to help prevent graffiti; but above, the car park is still its original bare grey concrete, alternately dark and light, constantly changing shade with light and weather.

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Posted by FP on February 03, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (3)