Back in the late Nineties, and new to the North, I visited the Royal Armouries Leeds. I recall parking on an empty brownfield site, among broken brick outlines of past industrial buildings. Around the area, large hoardings offered investment opportunities and I could hear the constant rumbling from the cross-city routes and motorway junctions nearby. Edged by stunted bushes and brambles, that windswept space had not been inviting
However, among this emptiness, there stood what seemed a windowless fortress, created from vast blocks of smooth, steel-grey stone. Walking towards the roof-high glazed entrance, I saw it was marked by two copies of a strange curled-horn helmet.
This helmet is an emblem of the Royal Armouries Leeds. Opening in 1996, as one of several new ‘Northern’ museums, the building was designed to display and conserve the UK’s historic collections of armour and weaponry.
Inside were layers of galleries, filled with glittering, polished metal and craftsmanship, with different sections tracking the development of combat, armour, guns, pistols, and policing. Outdoors, but within the walls, was a tiltyard, an open area where exhibitions of combat, falconry and horsemanship were staged. I was interested enough during my visit but, no longer curious about the contents or place, had never returned.
And so it was, until this month, when a visiting friend with an interest in historical armour gave me reason to return. I went, wondering about that windswept site.
Years had passed, so how would the Armouries building look now? Did visitors still visit? Had any of that hoped-for regeneration happened? And was that ‘fortress’ still working as a place of cultural interest and inspiration?
I did not want keen to drive there by car this time, as the routes in, through and around Leeds are currently over-run with roadworks and redirections.
This time, we took the train from Harrogate to the 'new' Leeds Station. We left, as instructed, through a 'new' South exit, down gleaming escalators and sturdy glass doors. We arrived at the level of the Aire and Calder Navigation, and the place where the River Aire flows in a torrent between brick walls and under arches beneath the station. We were close to the famous dark arches of Granary Wharf, where quantities of goods were once loaded and unloaded, but where new businesses fill the renewed spaces.
Following signs to the towpath we arrived at a set of concrete steps and a short wait for the Waterbus. Opposite, on the far canal path, stood small groups, old and young, wrapped against the wet and weather. When the stretch of canal was clear, they cast large magnets on long ropes into the murky water, fishing for lost metal. They seemed more like characters from Mayhew or Dickens than proud examples of the city’s prosperity and regeneration, and I hoped the task brought them fun and occasional profits.
The friendly boatman helped us on to his twelve-pasenger ferry and, motor chugging, steered his craft through an area of the ‘new’ Leeds.