LIVERPOOL, CHINA, AND TERRACOTTA

The Liver Building - and Europe's largest clock-face

The maritime city of Liverpool was the second adventure on our itinerary. On a muggy morning, as the clouds hung over the Mersey and the sun baked through them, we stood outside the World Museum, waiting for it to open.

And this is where I should confess our real purpose on Merseyside: rather bizarrely, it was China, or rather, terracotta.

The World Museum in the centre of Liverpool has a special exhibition on until October, and we were there to see it - ‘The First Emperor of China and the Terracotta Warriors’.

You might be familiar with the Terracotta Army - in around 200 BC, the First Emperor of China, Qin Shi Huang, died, and was buried in a vast mausoleum containing him, and his meticulous preparations for the afterlife. On his quest for immortality, he had surrounded himself with 8,000 life-sized, painted clay warriors, in ranks and battle positions. Each one was carefully and individually crafted, and together in hundreds of standing rows, these soldiers guarded the dead emperor for over 2,000 years. The Terracotta Warriors were discovered in 1974. And this year, a few of them are on display at the World Museum, Liverpool.

The Intrepids wanted to see them to make up for a trip that they missed while visiting China. While they’d taken in all the skyscrapery greys of Shanghai, they weren’t able to visit the Forbidden City, the Great Wall, or the mausoleum of Qin Shi Huang; they had skipped out on the Terracotta Warriors. As for me, an ongoing fascination with history, coupled with no desire to ever to actually go to China made this a really easy decision.

So, we found ourselves happily in Liverpool. And sort of in China. But not really.

The Terracotta Warriors - the guy on the right is
driving a chariot, not milking a cow.

The exhibition was great! I learned how the warriors were made, how they were painted, and to what great lengths the ancient emperors went, to extend and protect their kingdoms. I learned how Daoism (Taoism), Confucianism, and Legalism competed for prominence in Chinese history at a time when we Europeans had barely learned how to attach a plough to a horse. I read about the Silk Road, about craftsmanship, and stone armour plating, and pigments, and arrows. The whole thing was captivating.

And of course, the terracotta figures themselves! My Mum was disappointed. She wanted to see rows and rows of them, standing to attention. There were seven - a general, some archers, and a horse-master. Considering how huge they are (they really are life-sized), I thought seven was fair enough. And the exhibition was well thought-through. I bought my Mum a miniature soldier to go on her mantelpiece. 

I suppose one of the niggling questions about things like this is about the respectfulness of digging these things up. We talked about it afterwards. At what point does it become archaeology instead of grave-digging? What would Qin She Huang make of his post-mortem bodyguards standing in a line in a cool dark room, out of context, in a land far away from his remains, being gawped at by pensioners and schoolkids? Does it matter? There’s a certain sadness about that that I can’t quite put my finger on.

But, thankfully, sadness doesn’t last long on sunny afternoons. By the time we emerged, blinking into the sunshine, Liverpool itself was basking in the heat of the June day.

The Catholic Cathedral. My Dad was calling it 'Paddy's Wigwam'
which I thought was racist until Billy Keegan the Tour Guide said it.

More recent history hits you everywhere in Liverpool. It’s a city of remarkable buildings and atmosphere. The architecture is arresting - from Portland stone to the characteristic blackened red brick, the elaborate columns and apexes of buildings around St George's Hall and Lime Street Station; then there are the contrasting styles of the 'three graces' by the docks, and of course the Radio City tower, poking above the leafy streets like a giant sugar lollipop.

When we left the museum, we jumped on a tour bus and looped around the city. It's always best, I think, to get one of those with a live tour guide, rather than the ones with the commentary. For a start, you get a lot more information, and as an added bonus, usually the accent, the idioms, the flavour and the culture that is so intertwined with a place. I can't imagine this being truer of a place than Liverpool - the accent is so strong, it may as well be in the bricks.

'Bill Keegan' flashed his yellow name badge around the top floor of the bus, eyes gleaming with pride. He was explaining how thousands of people had come over during the Irish potato famine, and settled in the city in the Nineteenth Century, and how he too had been a descendant of that migration. He had a way of speech that made him sound enthusiastic about every single thing he said.

"And if you look to your left like, you'll see where they bricked up the windows!" he said, eyebrows raised with glee, "It was a window tax! Can you believe it?"

The Port Authority building. It used to get blackened by smoke.

I smiled. Enthusiasm can be infectious sometimes, and in Liverpool, that seems to be just about the way of things.

We got off the bus at the docks. According to Bill, at one time or other, 40% of the world's trade passed through Liverpool. There would have been a time when the docks were the last place any of us would have wanted to have been. I imagined the tall ships bobbing on the flat, wide Mersey, grubby sailors hauling barrels and shouting through smoke and the fog. Slaves too, would have passed from ship to shore, shackled and beaten in the shadow of those same great buildings. Like most large cities in Britain, much of the grandness we look up at now, was built from the passage of slaves.

The 'three graces' grace the river these days, much more pleasantly. There is the grand Port Authority building, for some reason flying a Canadian flag alongside the St George's cross. Then there's the shorter Cunard building, where you'd get your first-class cruise-liner tickets. Then of course, the famous Liver building with its two Liver birds looking out over the city and the sea.

We wandered along, past the very lifelike bronze statues of the Beatles, and then ate lunch by the Isle of Man ferry.

These jokers were famous for a while, I'm told.
I think one of them narrated Thomas the Tank Engine

I like Liverpool a lot. It says something that I spent a long time working out whether I could have gone to university in a place like that. In a lot of other cities, it was never a question - the answer was so obviously a no, that I never entertained the question. Cardiff? Forget it. London? Physically can't spend more than three days there. Edinburgh? Lovely, but essentially freezing and too far away. But the 'Pool gets a maybe, veering on a yes. From the cheerful tour guides (Billy Keegan), to the chatty restaurant staff; from the over-excited museum helpers ('hope you have an amazing time guys' x5) to the friendly bus driver who tried very hard to get me to admit to being a student so he could actually give me a concession... there's a certain ease and friendliness to this city that I'm not sure you get elsewhere.

Even if seven armoured warriors were out-of-place, far from home and discoloured by dust and time, I most certainly felt the opposite of all those things.