When I told you that there were twelve mosaics under the A1058 in Newcastle, you may have had one of two thoughts:

1. Aren’t there fourteen? Why yes, that was poorly fact-checked.
2. Does this mean 13 more posts featuring photographs of grimy 1970s mosaics from a dodgy underpass? I can neither confirm nor deny, but this post might give you a clue.
   

Deep beneath the A1058 in Newcastle lies a subway decorated with twelve mosaics. These were installed in 1979 in anticipation of the 900th anniversary of the city’s founding, celebrated the following year.

Each panel was chosen to represent a key event in the history of the city. With a little foresight, they included the opening of the Metro as one of those seminal moments:

The trains captured in that image have trundled round the system continuously since it opened… but not for much longer. Yesterday, the first of a new generation of Metro trains entered passenger service. Perhaps someone, somewhere is making mosaic to celebrate.

It’s a sign of the times that the new train is having to trundle under Gateshead at a reduced speed due to the risk of collapse of the crumbling Gateshead flyover. Small steps forward are always welcome, but with the UK’s public realm and infrastructure suffering from long term under-investment, it looks like we’ll be stuck with cascading sets of problems for years to come.

I’m very lucky to be able to walk to work… but walking to work by the light of the moon is a bit of a downer. Not as much of a downer as the alternatives, but a downer nonetheless.

Even with the solstice on Saturday, there’s a little while longer to go until the sunrise begins to get a little earlier.

Nothing says ‘Christmas’ quite like a giant cuddly peanut with reindeer antlers.

This is Flying Angel in Custom House, a building built as a seafarer’s mission in 1936 when the nearby docks were thriving. Note the little model ship on the roof. These days, the building has been converted to flats.

I’m approaching two years of daily blogging. One consequence of this, as Wendy will tell you, is that I’m prone to whip out my phone and photograph any public artwork or memorial I happen across.

This one, in Hartlepool, struck me as one of the better artworks I’ve seen this year… but it’s been on my list of things to post for longer than usual, as I’ve struggled to find out anything about it.

But now, I’ve cracked the mystery. It is the output of a competition from the 7-9 year olds at the nearby Ward Jackson Primary, 18 years ago. The kids were asked to design an artwork to replace frequently-vandalised lamppost. This winning design belonged to Jessica Draper.

An interview with the artist at the time revealed her motivations: “Most people like the sun and say it makes them feel better, so I thought I would include it in my design.”

Honestly, I think that may also be one of the best justifications for a bit of civic art that I’ve read this year as well.

As someone who has occasionally been a little grumpy about children’s art, even I think this example is worth celebrating.

This is an ex-RAF Jet Provost which looms over the car park of the Hartlepool College of Further Education. It’s there because the college specialises in aerospace courses, among other things.

I’ve driven and walked past it many times, but most recently thought about it when I was in Stockholm earlier this year, and saw this Bell 206 helicopter on a stick:

Visible for miles around, and prominent in the landscape from the nearby Metro line, Cleadon’s 1860 water tower is the village’s best-known landmark. It has a very distinct and decorative Italian style.

I’ve always wondered why a water tower would be needed in the middle of nowhere. I usually think of a water tower being required to power industrial processes, such as canal locks, dock works, railways, or systems that need sudden deluges of water. But there’s nothing obvious nearby that would need such services… so why does it exist?

Well, in a sense… it doesn’t. Despite its name, it isn’t a water tower at all, and never has been. The Sunderland and South Shields Water Company used to pump water from the limestone in this area to supply to local residents and businesses. It used steam boilers to do this work, and the tower is actually a disguised, aesthetically pleasing chimney. You can see how easily a ‘tower’ associated with a water company would become known as the ‘water tower’ in local parlance, even if that was never its function.

The tower also contains a staircase around the central flue, and a balcony at a height of 25m. In the Second World War, it was therefore repurposed as a lookout for enemy aircraft. These days, it is used as a site for radio aerials and the like.

But Cleadon Water Tower isn’t, and never has been, a water tower.

This rock, which gives strong ‘Permanently Low Prices Forever’ vibes, commemorates the opening of Seaton Carew’s Esplanade by Councillor R Sargeant in August 1905.

The area on which it now stands was in fact constructed in 1997 as part of a new coastal protection scheme for the town.

So the rock is commemorating the opening of something that, in a sense, closed some time ago. I’m not sure I’d have retained it in the new scheme for that reason—but, then, no-one is ever likely to put me in charge of any commemoration of anything being opened. Thank goodness.