Hello and welcome to the latest feature in my series of Photo-Blogs! The purpose of these features is to chart my progress in documenting the remaining Subways, Flyovers, pedestrian bridges and connecting concrete spaces left over in Birmingham, my hometown. This week I’ve chosen to feature Hockley Circus and its vast Flyover, all of which sits just north of Birmingham on the main A41 road near Handsworth.

The majority of these concrete spaces sprang up in the 1960s as Birmingham chased the dream of building a modern interconnected City, moving faster and faster into the future. The reality of this was the mass building of roads that encircled the City and people navigated the concrete chaos by going under or over, through underpasses and over bridges.

That reality of Concrete Brum, its subways, brutalist buildings and concrete playgrounds, it is my childhood and formative years. It is a history that I am very fond of, despite the grim truth that the Brutalist period in Birmingham certainly wasn’t a Paradise. Today’s glittering shiny Bull Ring shopping centre isn’t my Bull Ring. That Bull Ring, passed into history when it was demolished in the late 1990s. It was dirty, smelly yet full of life, it was a truly unique place. It was a concrete utopia of the Underpass, the Ramp, subterranean markets, Manzoni Gardens, concrete spirals, endless escalators and the Pigeon Palace, you could walk across town and never raise your head above the road. That was normality.

Sadly the City’s latter-day saints seem hell bent on washing away those 20th Century sins. Birmingham is now steaming towards a new Paradise, pedestrianised, cleaner air, eco-touchy-friendly, homogenised plate-glass offices and it’s distinctly Car-less. The subways are being filled in, the concrete spaces destroyed and the bridges are going nowhere. Since the late 1990s much of the original inner ring road system has been flattened, the concrete collar around the city centre untied and its infrastructure mostly demolished.

But there are tantalizing relics left over, and a lot of what is left is actually very good (if not well looked after). Despite the local Council’s determination to eradicate it all, these concrete circuses and flyovers are still fit for purpose. When these places were built they often incorporated artworks specially commissioned to elevate these spaces into places for leisure and community, concrete park spaces. Mosaics, paintings, sculptures and high-relief panels lined the walls for the public to look at, to make these places more attractive and instil some sort of value to the local community.

My (completely voluntary and unpaid) mission is to document these places, with my camera, talking about how these places look today and how they made me feel. I’m not hoping to persuade you, dear Reader, to go where I go, after all some of these places aren’t always that safe if you’re alone. But I love these places precisely because they are so deeply unloved by so many people. I value the traces of beauty (yes, beauty, verily I declare!) that remain, as well as the new artworks that have evolved into these spaces as leisure times have morphed into disaffected expression. Above all, I try to have some fun on my little journeys here and thereabouts. I’m no scholar or poet, waxing false and spitting lyrical. I take photos and react to these places, often meeting interesting people along the way. Sometimes it gets weird, because people are funny, or mental. Often both.

A place that I particularly enjoy visiting is Hockley Circus, which sits beneath the looming colossus that is the Hockley Flyover. This great golden plank of concrete (and more…) straddles the valley between Hockley Hill on the city side and Soho Hill on the Handsworth side, running more or less north to south. The Circus beneath is a busy roundabout, channelling traffic off and on to the flyover to the A4540 Birmingham Ring Road. It is an extremely busy road, devoid of pedestrian crossings.

The cobbles that line the slopes into the interior of this vast concrete amphitheatre were recycled from the local roads when they dug up the old road layout to construct Hockley Circus. Much of the ground-works and infrastructure is solid concrete, but I read recently that such was the drive to cut costs that literally any old iron, old fridges, cookers and kitchen sinks, salvaged from the demolition of nearby houses, were thrown into the ground and even the concrete pillars.

If you’re on foot and wish to cross over you have to take the plunge and enter one of many subway entrances, you’re going deeper underground. Walking through subways littered and dirty, even flooded in places. It smells down there, but oh so quiet. But the walls man, the WALLS. This is a street art haven, all colours and tags, it’s vivid and often gloriously funny. But yeah, the smell is quite strong.

So, Hockley then. It’s a bit run-down innit tho’. It backs on to the luminously successful Jewellery Quarter (which is technically a part of Hockley) the money soon disappears as you walk away down Key Hill. Loft living this isn’t, I won’t kid you Folks, it’s classic inner city. The area surrounding is a mix of light industrial works and pre / post war housing. It’s a distinctly multicultural area, mosques and churches limn the skyline. The lack of investment in the area stands in stark contrast to the money pouring into constructing the desirable, fashionable J.Q. for the darlinks. Yeah nah Bro, as my Kiwi-chick would say.

Because, who needs love like that when you have a big sexy concrete beast straddling your valley?!? I mean, deeee-lish, phwooaaaar!! Sorry (wipes sweaty brow), phew. I’ve always had a thing for Toho monsters and colossal beasties, be they fictions, films or gorgeous concrete planks. A day enjoying brutalist buildings followed by ‘Godzilla, King of monsters’ will have my pulse racing faster than quick set concrete…..

A dear friend made a (very welcome) comment about my little project recently, saying ‘Jay, do you deliberately visit these places on sunny days? Perhaps you should try visiting on a grey and gloomy day, you’d get more of a moody feel for these places’. It’s funny because on my last three outings the weather has actually cleared up as I’ve arrived. Curse you fiery ball! When I walked down Hockley Hill to the roundabout I couldn’t believe it, dark leaden clouds scurried off like delinquents and the sun bounced out all John Barrowman jazz hands, taaa-daaaaa, did you miss me?!!! I’d been hoping for freezing fog, what I got was big blue skies and frosted fingers, it was minus 2 degrees! Oh well.

I have a special affinity with Hockley Circus and I have had cause to visit it many times over the Meanwhile. It’s the same age as me, 51 going 52. It was completed and opened in 1968, like me 🙂 Since then it has endured good times and hard times (like me!), it looks rather worn in places and could probably do with a good scrub (definitely like me!) and yet it has come through those times to find a new appreciation from certain enlightened quarters, like me 😉 Yeah, okay, it’s a brutal piece of construction, but go with me on this.

Looking at old maps of the area it’s easy to see that much was swept away with the Flyover’s construction, old industries and defunct housing making way for a shiny flyover, a dynamic connected ring road and looming blocks of flats. The old Tram sheds still stand as a solumn reminder of those older times on nearby Whitmore Street. A friend and ex-colleague worked at nearby Soho House, (we both work in the Museum sector) at the top of Soho Hill, overlooking the Flyover. The contrast between the House and the Flyover couldn’t be starker. An elegant georgian house (built for 18th century industrialist Matthew Boulton) and a concrete beast. Yeah…..ummmm, where am I going with this comparison?

I think Matthew Boulton would have been completely awestruck with wonderment at this industrial construction. He and his fellow entrepreneurs, James Watt and William Murdoch, industrial pioneers and leaders in the British scientific enlightenment, I think they would have been astonished and overjoyed that people could have designed and built such monumental constructs. Tunnels for people and a road in the sky! You have to stand underneath it all to really get what I mean. The Flyover soars overhead, a runway in the sky, effortlessly carrying traffic ad-nauseum. It clatters and rumbles like a behemoth’s digestive tract, but that’s background noise, never bothersome.

It’s easy to label these places as ugly, dirty, anti-social, crime riddled, dangerous, unhealthy, unloved. And yes, all of those labels can and (sadly) do apply. I’m not going to argue any of that. Would would be the point? I’ve spoken about these issues in my previous posts – bad behaviour, drugs and alcohol, yes they are here. The ephemera littering augers no argument. Walk down here, on your own, after dark? No, not on your nelly. But then, you could say that about an awful lot of places in and around any city, couldn’t you? It’s just that in places like Hockley Circus there’s a lot more shadows and corners to hide, deal, get ya groove on. It’s cold down there too.

As I walked thereabouts, stalking the subways, looking up and under, I was struck at how empty it all feels. People don’t come here, they pass through, often avoiding it completely, locals would rather walk ON the road, hazarding the traffic than risking going beneath it. I’ve hinted at this before, this emptiness. Places like Hockley Circus, they are places of transit, you leave this place behind. It’s an accepted norm, you don’t linger. If you do, you’re bound to be up to no good.

I don’t believe that was the intent here, or even at some of the other places around Birmingham. The imposition of the Flyover created a massive void beneath it. To entice the locals to come out to play the planners invited the sculptor, William Mitchell (1925-2020) to dress the walls of this huge void. Mitchell (who’s work I absolutely love) preferred to work with concrete. But not just any type of concrete, he used Faircrete.

Now Faircrete is an interesting variant of concrete. Mitchell, in tandem with the John Laing Institute, experimented with lots of different concrete mixes, in an effort to create a special sculptors mix. Adding short glass fibres to the wet mix allowed Mitchell to perfect a mix that, when cast into position, retained it’s shape but, crucially, remained wet enough to allow Mitchell to carve out his designs. Once the faircrete had set, its hardness and durability was exceptionally good, making it suitable for outdoor situations.

Mitchell’s wall panels were designed to be climbed on. Which seems faintly ridiculous when you see them in situ – they’re not very tall, probably 3 metres at best. I think you’d have more fun and a challenge climbing a large shed. Despite this, I do love these panels, they’re just so tactile and visually arresting, recalling the intricate patterns of the ancient Aztecs and Mayans (whose artwork Mitchell was hugely influenced by). As time has passed Mitchell’s work has enjoyed a wider appreciation with much of his work achieving listed status, a position that unfortunately eludes his wonderful wall panels. If you ever are in Bristol, do visit Clifton Cathedral. An amazing Brutalist piece of Holy architecture, decorated with Mitchell’s masterful Stations of the Cross.

I ran my hands across the rough surfaces and cut reliefs between taking photos. There’s nowt like an impromptu exfoliation. Mitchell’s forms are rigorous and energetic, yet deeply controlled. The repetition of forms, lines and circles, unite to form an oblique country for the eye to explore, it’s wonderful. Stand there long enough you can’t fail to be intrigued. Did kids come and play here back in the day, I wonder? I would have, what a playground! Kickabouts, skateboards, Tracking, crikey. But, societal norms are different these days, kids don’t play out like they used too. Life has become to full of danger and threat, knives and paedos.

Walking through the underpasses you can’t fail to notice the Walls. They’re not clean. They’re livid, alive, almost angry, with Paint. Tags, big fat letters, names and pseudonyms, faces come out of the wall, wizened by moisture, scratched away by fingernails and sharps. Dirtied by the weather and excrements. Colours, stars, blokes with smokes drawling something quizzical. Part of the attraction for me is simply witnessing this weirdly ephemeral artform. Sometimes it lasts for months, but again, like the mayfly sometimes they shine bright and are oh so brief.

Going down, walking through, despite the anti-social vibes, it’s hard not to look around and take in the sheer vibrancy put into the works on the walls. I know a lot of people hate graffiti, street art, spray art, paste ups, stickers, the breathless plethora I so enjoy it. It’s the art of the times, anyone and everyone can do it. Self expression, it harms no one and gives a voice to all who partake. It’s accidentally egalitarian, I could have a go if I fancied it. Not that I would, I’m left handed, it’s not allowed, apparently. I might have made that up.

Hold up, okay, well, maybe it’s not that straightforward, we’re dealing with people here after all. People get territorial, especially in places where identity, cultural estrangement and belonging is an issue from the moment you walk out of the door, “clinging onto years of that’s not yours that’s mine, give me it” (Sleaford Mods). I’ve seen lads fighting over these sorts of spaces, it’s not pretty. But it’s also not hopeless, there’s lots of humour in amongst the art, even wisdom, like shithouse poetry. Often with the gloop dripping down the walls. Too much?

These underpasses perhaps don’t see as many people as they used too, which is a shame because when you’re here there’s an urban beauty all completely free to view and ever changing. These walls, and others like them, are opportunities. Like free air-time in a music studio, the walls give these kids out there a start to something better perhaps than a knife and prison. The ephemeral nature of street art is to be cherished as much as those lives saved by channelling self expression rather than harm. And let’s face it, those colours are fabulous!

Hockley Circus is a vast place, and I took an unhealthy amount of pictures there. I walked and stalked, stalked and walked, from exit to exit, wall to wall, curiosity maxing out. I lost count of the entrances, ramps and subways (there’s six subways Jay, so you didn’t lose count you just got a bit excited, didn’t you?) and beneath the Flyover I was happy to be able to properly document the space. Perhaps I could have focused more on finer details and perhaps teased out more of Mitchell’s patterns, I guess everyone approaches these things in different ways. I actually found that what I responded to at that time was how the light was falling in the space. A couple of friends have commented on my previous blogs that my photos seem to find the light (which is very gratifying to hear).

The low sun created the deepest shadows, high contrasts between sky and structures, bouncing lines of fencing across the floors adding interesting patterns, defining tree skeletons against the sky. I’m actually a very basic photographer, I’m not complex, I’m impulsive and react to situations, I don’t try to create what isn’t there. I am at heart a street photographer, so I would have appreciated seeing more people down there, but it was what it was. I do chat to passersby, hello’s go a long long way to disarming wary folk. But it was, curiously, very quiet.

When I had finished beneath the Flyover I realised several things. One, I was hungry and my bladder was sloshing around like that alcoholic uncle you regret inviting to family parties. Two, I was losing the light and, three, I hadn’t snapped anything from ABOVE the Flyover. What. A. Numptee. Like I said, I’m pretty basic like that. Anyhoops, the pressing urinary tract led me behind a fence, as ya do. Walking round there I surprised a couple of cats inflagrante. I have seen things you people couldn’t imagine….. attack cats on fire off the Hockley Circus. Then, hunger led me up the hill towards town and the hope of a good final photo.

I wandered across the dual carriageway for a last look at the great concrete plank as the clouds rolled in. It was empty!! I imagined a market up on there in the summertime, wow, how mad would that be? I know the Circus has housed a few gigs and festivals over the years. I’m sure to be back, to catch something more, of the people I hope, enjoying the concrete playground beneath. I love this place, this great big stupid unlikely and ridiculous construction, I hope you never disappear. Kiss Kiss, my lovely leggy concrete lady.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my little Blog. Do leave a comment, I appreciate all your thoughts. Be kind, remember, this isn’t a really serious document, it’s a blog, it’s about me and my photos of those leftover places that are disappearing from Birmingham. So, I’ll leave you with my favourite photo from here, taken under the Flyover, snapped near the end of 2018. It features Isobel, larking about on the cobbled slope. It’s all about the Light, and an asshat space ghurl.