If you’re not already scintillated enough, walk exactly 1km east along Redcar seafront from Sinterlation and you’ll happen upon Lifelines, another 2013 Ian Randall sculpture celebrating local heritage. It symbolises fishing boats being pulled back to shore.

The two make a nice, inoffensive pair.

Installed on Redcar seafront in 2013, this is Sinterlation, a sculpture which references the town’s fishing history (the boats which form the bottom of the columns) and its historic steelmaking (the chains). The non-standard spelling references sinter, a mixture of iron ore, limestone and coke which is used to feed a blast furnace.

It’s a perfectly nice, if forgettable, bit of civic sculpture which brightens up the place, but I’m not moved to any strong feelings.

Still visible in Redcar is a former local newspaper office, for a paper that has had quite a few different titles over 155 years. From 1869 to 1938, it was The North Eastern Daily Gazette. From 1938 to 1940 it was The North Eastern Gazette, then The Evening Gazette, and since 2014, it’s just been The Gazette. A bold decision, then, to carve the name above the door.

I have a history with the newspaper: as a student, I blogged for them for a while. I can’t remember how that came about, but I do remember having a bit of back-and-forth about the title of the ‘column’, as they wanted some reference to me being a ‘trainee doctor’ which seemed inappropriate to me as a mere medical student. It ended up being called ‘Simon Says’—hardly inspired—and it only lasted a year or so, after which their digital strategy changed.

After a couple of days on the trot of mildly depressing posts about memorials, here’s another. Don’t worry, I’m fine.

This is Redcar’s memorial to their remarkable and much-loved MP, the late Mo Mowlam. She famously didn’t want the job as Secretary of State for Northern Ireland, which she became following Labour’s 1997 election victory. Yet, despite her reservations, she threw herself into the role, overseeing the negotiations which led to the signing of the Good Friday Agreement.

This remarkable legacy was achieved despite having been diagnosed with a metastatic brain tumour in late 1996, which sadly finally ended her life in 2005.

This memorial was unveiled in 2009: an intricate mosaic designed by local artist John Todd. It was installed alongside the new-refurbished Coatham Boating lake, a stone’s throw from her former home. (The boating lake has since sprung a leak, hence it looking a little under-filled in the background of that picture.)

This anchor, on Redcar seafront, belongs to the Finnish sailing vessel ‘Birger’, which sank in the area in 1898. The sinking not only cost 13 lives, but the vessel’s wheelhouse tore through Coatham Pier, severing it—and, indeed, the whole pier collapsed into the sea the following year.

Over the following days, Christmas presents which those aboard were carrying back to their families washed ashore. Redcar residents thoughtfully collected these, and forwarded them on with letters of condolence.

The Birger’s anchor was recovered by the Cleveland Divers’ Club 100 years later, and now stands ‘in memory of all seamen who have no known grave but the sea’.

There’s a much fuller story of the Birger’s sinking on Kerry Shaw’s Notes from Redcar blog.

This colony of nine penguins sits on Redcar promenade. As I wandered past, I found myself contemplating the artistic intent. Two of the penguins are off to the side looking out to sea, and one—as can be seen in the background of both of these photos—appears to be inspecting another artwork.

The installation has, in fact, been moved three or four times since its 1994 installation, including once to make way for the bandstand. They were designed by the artist Tony Wiles, who was commissioned by the Council to create a ‘jolly’ addition to the esplanade.

The Council in question was Langbaurgh-on-Tees Borough Council—renamed in 1996 as Redcar & Cleveland. I’m surprised that I’ve never come across that historical nugget before—I don’t recall ever seeing a reference to Langbaurgh anywhere!

I often think of bandstands as morsels of Victoriana, relics of past forms of recreation in simpler times. Yet Redcar’s bandstand is so modern as to have solar panels on the roof.

It was installed in 2008. The story goes that during the filming of Atonement, the residents came to like the look of the bomb-damaged bandstand that formed part of the set. They liked it so much that local fundraising and an application for a lottery grant won them their very own permanent version.

I don’t think anyone can accuse it of being excessively ornate like some of it’s antique cousins—‘utilitarian’ might be the word—and I’m surprised it was constructed with steps rather than a ramp. But it’s great to see people invested in improving the public realm in their community.

The last editions of the Yellow Pages in the UK were printed in 2019, so no-one’s really ‘in the book’ any more.

The hit film Atonement, based on Ian McEwan’s novel, was partly filmed in Redcar, including the famous five-minute walkthrough of the Dunkirk beach. To commemorate the even, the film’s director (Joe Wright) and producer (Paul Webster) unveiled this steel sculpture by Lewis Robinson.

The artwork is successfully photo-bombed by sportswear brand Discipline. The juxtaposition of the boneheaded slogan ‘attitude wins the game’ with a tribute to a film about the complexity of profound guilt, reconciliation and the impossibility of true atonement is certainly eyebrow-raising.

Brighton’s i360 is sometimes described as the world’s first ‘vertical pier’, but Redcar’s similarly-described construction was completed three years earlier. Neither are up my street.