Working with York-based design agency LazenbyBrown, we have refined our original logo. The Trust’s logo was chosen when Trust was founded in 1946 and was inspired by the York assay mark of 1423. An assay mark was a guarantee of quality, stamped on precious metals to confirm their standard. York’s right to use one signified the city’s importance as a centre of trade and craftsmanship in the medieval period. In addition to the historic fleur-de-lis, the new logo more closely resembles the leopard-like face of the original mark. The result is a clearer, more distinctive symbol that will serve the organisation for years to come.

Old logo (1946-2025)

New logo (from 2025)

The brand refresh also introduces a new colour palette and typography with strong ties to York’s history. The headline typeface references the work of Frank Pick, a former pupil of St Peter’s School, York, and later a pioneering figure in British design. Pick was instrumental in commissioning the Johnston typeface for the London Underground.

“The brand refresh is a big step, and one that will help shift perceptions of the Trust. The new logo, colours and typeface, developed with LazenbyBrown, will help us present a clearer, more consistent identity, one that reflects who we are today and ensures the Trust remains relevant and recognisable for years to come.”

Delma Tomlin, Chair, York Civic Trust

“In such changing times for heritage and place branding it’s been a pleasure to assist the York Civic Trust to define and develop an identity that defines and characterises their progressive approach to stewardship of such a remarkable City as York.”

Mat Lazenby, Creative Director, LazenbyBrown

York Civic Trust at 80

The refreshed identity launches as York Civic Trust prepares to mark a major milestone. Founded in 1946, in the aftermath of the Second World War, we have spent eight decades promoting the sensitive conservation of York’s heritage while supporting the city’s growth as a thriving, modern place for residents and visitors. Our legacy includes supporting the foundation of the University of York, campaigning for pedestrianisation of the historic city centre, conserving or reusing twenty-one important historic buildings, and installing hundreds of blue plaques across the city.

In 2025 the Trust will launch ‘Our York’, a three-year programme of events and initiatives that both celebrate the city’s rich history and look ahead to the future. Highlights will include a major refresh of the blue plaques scheme, a new community heritage grants programme, and expanded outreach work to engage more people in shaping York’s story.

The post York Civic Trust unveils refreshed identity ahead of our 80th anniversary first appeared on York Civic Trust.

Putting you on the spot, can you recall the details of York’s coat of arms? I bet most of us can’t, whereas you’ll easily visualise the Yorkshire flag.

If so, what does it say about the merits of the city’s official emblem as a form of logo, or, in modern phrasing, ‘brand’? Or does it matter if our city emblem is a bit dull and forgettable?

A recent moment of serendipity got me thinking about our coat of arms and why it has seemingly never changed, whereas so many logos in life are continually changing and, from it, offers far greater public interest.

Scrolling through an online news feed while stuck in traffic on the A59 at the very edge of the city’s boundary, an item popped up about a possible ‘leak’ of next season’s Leeds United’s home strip. It proved to be fake, of course, but there was a moment of excitement that the football shirt would feature the classic ‘smiley’ badge of the 1970s as its new logo (if you know, you know!) And then, looking up to spot the city’s boundary sign, complete with the coat of arms emblem…

York’s civic coat of arms is a shield of St George’s flag with five lions arranged across the red cross bit. There’s a saltire cross formed of a sword and mace behind the shield, with a ceremonial cap of crimson velvet lined with ermine resting on top.

Its history is more interesting than how it looks. York was granted its shield of arms under Edward III, who effectively made the city the capital due to making it his base to wage campaigns against the Scots. He even held numerous parliaments in the city, and, in 1328, married his Queen, Phillippa of Hainault, here. Why there are five lions is unknown, but until 2015 a former coaching house on Walmgate, now the Watergate Inn, was known as The Five Lions.

As to the sword, mace and cap, a physical sword was presented to the city by Richard II in 1389 to symbolise privileges bestowed on York. (It was lost in the late 18th century). He also presented a mace (since disappeared) and cap (disintegrated) when he returned to the city with his Court in 1392 to escape an outbreak of plague in London. But the addition of these to the shield of arms of the city as Civil Regalia seems to have come from a bit of design whimsy of 1730 to complement a fireplace in the then new Mansion House. Besides, these additions have no heraldic authority as they aren’t recorded by the controlling body, the College of Arms.

So, what’s the message found in our city’s coat of arms? The use of lions, the mace and sword are heavily associated with the monarchy, especially as a military force. Even the cross of St George is about war, being “the military saint”, and often connected with The Crusades.

This might still appeal to some traditionalists – and those who have a grudge against the Scots! – but for many it’s a message of power formed in the 14th century, a time and context remarkably different from how we live today.

Should our attitude towards the city’s emblem be more organic and change over time – just as football strips and club logos seemingly change every season? York’s rich history of chocolate, Quakers, railways, merchants, nurseries … even the tansy beetle might have been or be worthy inclusions to the emblem.

If this sounds sacrilegious towards our heritage, then here’s two thoughts. New civic emblems and flags are created and change over time. A gold border with acorns was added to the historic arms of Chester in 1974 to acknowledge the inclusion of new land from a major boundary change. The flag of Yorkshire – the House of York’s white rose on a blue background – only dates from 1960 (the flag of Lancaster, only since 2008!), even if it already feels iconic and historic.

Secondly, this is not a rally cry to ‘replace’ the emblem through some act of iconoclastic destruction. It’s wonderful that our city emblem is literally ‘trapped in stone’ in York: on the façade of the Bars of City Walls, the drinking fountain of the Museum Gardens, and Mansion House, among others. But should we design and introduce a new version to reflect our modern city?

By Duncan Marks, July 2025

The post York’s historic coat of arms: time for a modern redesign? first appeared on York Civic Trust.

There are elements of Roman York hidden in plain sight that give a sense of the buildings and structures of the Roman fortress and civilian settlement. Join York Civic Trust on this walk to discover some lesser known and more recognisable features in the city centre that are free for anyone to see and hear about the history behind their survival.

The post Reconstructing Roman York from the Ground Upwards first appeared on York Civic Trust.

These paths have often taken people to worship and work, provided access to businesses hidden away in courtyards or provided short cuts to avoid the hustle and bustle of traffic and tourists.

As the city has grown, some, often centuries-old paths, have joined the modern city. These paths with an array of names – snickets, ginnels, alleyways, courts, yards and lanes – are often grouped together today as ‘Snickelways’ – a modern word only applying to such pathways in York.

The word was first published by author Mark W. Jones in 1983 in his book Snickelways of York. Jones defines a Snickelway as ‘a narrow passageway or alley between walls, fences or buildings’.

Whilst one word is convenient, their individual development suggests they have had a much more varied and diverse past. Some started out as much wider paths for driving animals to market, entrances to now-lost church grounds and elements of street pattern of both Roman and medieval York and the surrounding countryside.

Some may well have been once small streets laid out 2,000 years ago in the Roman fortress of Eboracum.

Walking along Coffee Yard through the medieval Barley Hall or entering The Slug and Lettuce bar from Grape Lane you may be following in the footsteps of Roman residents.

Approaching St Sampson’s Square along Finkle Street from today’s Back Swinegate you may hear the echoes of the squeals of medieval pigs being brought to market.

Once known as the Thursday Market, the square was the city’s second most important marketplace after Pavement and home to York’s main meat market. Wide with an elbow at its middle, its name may reflect an Anglo-Saxon origin.

Its neighbour, the straighter Nether Hornpot Lane, may also have its origins in early medieval York. It was probably a place for soaking horn in large pits or ‘pots’ to free the horn’s bony core from its outer keratin layer. This could then be used as a very versatile material akin to modern-day plastic, even making medieval spectacle frames – the original horn-rimmed glasses.

It is not the only Hornpot Lane in York; a second exists by following a surprising entrance on the left of Poundland on Low Petergate to the peaceful and well-hidden Holy Trinity Church.

Three Snickelways between Market Street and High Ousegate – Peter Lane, Pope’s Head Alley and Le Kirk Lane – once led to the now lost St Peter the Little Church (not to be confused with its bigger namesake The Cathedral and Metropolitical Church of St Peter in York).

As buildings were constructed on the periphery of the church’s ground and the church was demolished and built over, the public desire to continue the tradition of using the churchyard’s three entrances to move between the markets at Pavement and Thursday Market (St Sampson’s Square) formalised three new pedestrian routes in the city. The alternative route provided by Parliament Street did not appear until 200 years later in the 1830s.

These are just some of the snickets, ginnels, alleyways, courts, yards and lanes that are freely accessible today – there are many more. Each with its own history and story.

As the city has changed, many remnants of others have become private, often surviving as part of city-centre shops, somewhere to keep the bins, or closed off at either end they have disappeared into the building itself.

A varied and personal past for many of these Snickelways can be found in their names, often hand painted on surviving street name plates; Lady Peckett’s Yard, Straker’s Passage or Malt Shovel Yard, to name three.

Snickelways are not restricted to the City Centre – such pathways exist across the whole of York. If you are shopping at Clifton Green a narrow entrance in the middle of the parade of shops will take you down perhaps the longest Snickelway in York that follows the route of a footpath that has been in use for at least 300 years.

Next time you are walking the dog, stretching your legs away from the office or simply idling time then turn into somewhere different and perhaps discover a new path to a part of York’s story.

By Andrew Morrison
For the York Press

The post Secret history behind the best snickelways of York first appeared on York Civic Trust.

York’s rich and long history would suggest that underneath every street and building there lie hidden layers of the city’s past.

But what about the city’s open green spaces, enjoyed by so many people, are they as fertile ground for evidence of the city’s history?

Many have survived mostly unscathed by development. The strays of York – the green wedges that provide a connection between the centre and the city’s outer reaches have remained reasonably untouched for 2000 years.

The green ramparts that lap the city’s medieval walls likewise have been mostly undeveloped.

Dean’s Park may hide a bishop’s palace and Museum Gardens holds the remains of one of the richest and most powerful monasteries that existed in Medieval England, but what about the numerous small patches of green space that we sometimes perhaps do not think about or even notice. What might lie beneath their grassy surface?

Take for instance the grassy knoll that lies beneath the bright yellow Biles Bean sign, restored in 2012 by York Civic Trust. Does anyone pay any attention to it?

The site is split into two by a single brick wall. On one side is a raised platform crossed by a footpath and on the other is an uneven depression surrounded by gravestones.

In the 12th century, a small parish church dedicated to St Maurice was built on the site, on what is now the corner of Monkgate and Lord Mayors Walk.

St Maurice was, according to a 5th century author, serving in a Roman legion made up entirely of Christians, recruited from Thebes in Egypt.

The legion was ordered to what is now Switzerland by the Emperor Maximian.

Their task was to help quash a revolt of local Christians. On account of their faith, the legion refused to fight against fellow Christians. The emperor had the legion ‘decimated’ – 1 in 10 soldiers killed as a punishment. They still refused to fight and eventually the emperor in retribution has the entire legion slaughtered.

The legend of St Maurice inspired many dedications across Europe including perhaps the most famous – the now ski resort of St Moritz in Switzerland. York’s church to St Maurice did not fare as well. It was in a state of disrepair some 300 years after its foundation. Repaired piecemeal, it was eventually replaced by a much larger Victorian Church in 1878. The local congregation could not support the church and within 90 years it was demolished in 1967 – the last to be demolished in York. The last remnants of the church were incorporated into the building of St James the Deacon in the west of York.

On the other side of the dividing brick wall the neighbouring piece of level land was once home to first a terrace of five houses and their backyards fronting onto Lord Mayor’s Walk and then three larger post-second world war homes – all now demolished.

That such a small patch of grass has nearly a 1000-year history should be of no surprise to York. Though today the site perhaps feels somewhat under-appreciated and under-used. Dominated by the proximity of the busy junction of Lord Mayors Walk, Monkgate and the appropriately named St Maurice’s Road it is not really a place for relaxation and enjoyment. But could it be?

Sitting directly across Lord Mayors Walk from the city wall and its rampart is there an opportunity to turn this corner into something different? Perhaps a pocket garden that could provide a respite after a busy day in the city centre, a place to sit before beginning a journey home from the neighbouring St John’s Car Park, somewhere that local residents could garden and provide some enhanced habitats for nature.

York’s city centre is a warren of narrow streets with small spaces often locked in between them which have no pressing purpose today, but all have a very long history of use and change. Could these spaces like Monkgate Green – once home to St Maurice’s Church provide the city centre with opportunities to create a network of ‘pocket parks’ – benefitting city centre residents, visitors, workers and nature.

Where houses and a church once stood could new life be brought back to continue the 1000-year process of change?

The post Hidden history of this 1,000-year-old York green space first appeared on York Civic Trust.

Since the introduction of British Summer Time in 1916, the guardians of York’s public clocks have sought to keep people on time throughout the year. There are few modern public clocks that automatically update to reflect the changes in British Summer Time.

Public clocks have been a feature in York for nearly 700 years. In the 1300s, the first public clock in York formed part of the city’s council chambers on Ouse Bridge. It regulated the day for the whole city, setting the time when people could trade at the city’s markets and the start of council meetings and court proceedings. (The clock was replaced in the 1500s and, when the present Ouse Bridge was built in 1810, this ‘new’ mechanism was repurposed in Hull and can now be seen in North Lincolnshire Museum in Scunthorpe.)

Standing on Ouse Bridge today, looking towards Coney Street, you can see the oldest surviving public clock in the city – the painted clock face high up on the wall of the Spurriergate Centre (St Michael’s Church). Originally painted in the late 18th century and moved to its current location when the church tower was removed in 1960s. The clock has informed travellers of the time for over three hundred years. The clock mechanism was updated in 1896 by York’s premier clockmaker, George JF Newey, who was also responsible for clocks on Coney Street, George Hudson Street and De Grey House on St Leonard’s Place, amongst many others.

York is rich in public clocks with over 17 examples in the city centre alone. The majority of people now look to their phones, wrists or ears to find out the time. Yet our public clocks fulfil a valuable role in setting the character and ambience of our society. The little Admiral on top of the clock in at St Martin le Grand’s church on Coney Street is perhaps one of the most photographed statues in the city.

However, it is a difficult job maintaining the city’s public clocks. How many times have you looked up and noticed, somewhat annoyingly, that one of the city’s clocks seems to be telling the wrong time? You might suspect that a historic city like York would have a city official with a quaint title, something like the Timemaster or Keeper of the Clocks – but alas no. Today the majority of the city’s largest and most prominent clocks are set and maintained by the amazing yet small group of volunteers of the York Clock Group. Reaching many of these turret clocks, as they are known, involves running the gauntlet of ladders, pigeons and inaccessible spaces. Sometimes it is just not possible to reach a clock and so time stands still or is out of step with the seasons of the year. On this particular occasion nothing to do with climate change.

For travellers who came to York before November 1840 this would not have been too unusual as there was not a standard time across Britain – local time ruled. Local time was set by the sun and with no means of communication faster than a horse or pigeon this did not really matter. The development of the railways and the electric telegraph greatly sped up communications between towns and cities and local time variations became a problem. In 1852 cutting edge electric telegraph equipment was installed at the Royal Observatory Greenwich which could transmit accurate time signals throughout the country. Within three years nearly all public clocks were set to ‘railway time’ displayed on station clocks adjusted regularly to the signals set from Greenwich.

In our global digital world today, time is mostly set according to Co-ordinated Universal Time (UTC), making the old ways of localised time feel very parochial.

So, when you look up at York’s rich array of public clocks, as tens of millions of people have done before, just consider their history and the work that goes into maintaining them and that they might not be telling the wrong time – just another form of time.

The post Going back in time: Secrets behind York’s public clocks first appeared on York Civic Trust.

Removing Queen Street bridge near the station has revealed views of our fabulous city walls that haven’t been visible from ground level since 1877 when the bridge was built.

Beautiful as they are, they’ve not always been so highly treasured by the city. Two hundred years ago, they were very much under threat.

It reminds us to think about whether we make the most of our walls – or do we perhaps take them for granted? And if so, what more might be done with them?

In 1800, a series of petitions were made by York Corporation to the House of Lords. They appealed for permission to remove the city walls, posterns, the bars and their barbicans. The petitions were refused, fortunately.

Shocking as this sounds today, it highlights challenges York was facing at the time … and with some resonance today.

Our modern thinking that grand medieval walls are amazing heritage, which leads to tourism and income, was still a century away in 1800. Instead, the walls were seen as a financial burden on York and its citizens.

Other British cities with medieval walls, such as Edinburgh and Newcastle, had by 1800 recently pulled them down, making it more tempting for York to follow.

York was hoping to sell off the materials of the walls and the rampart land to pay for other city improvements – practical ones, such as desperately-needed repairs at Ouse and Foss Bridges.

By the 1800s, York’s walls had fallen into great disrepair. They were largely still shattered by cannon fire and tunnelling that had occurred in the Civil War siege of the city in 1644. They then suffered a century of theft of stone and illegal encroachment on the ramparts from buildings and gardens – with some of the latter still evident today.

The budget for annual repairs had been £20 in 1721 – or £3,600 in today’s money. But this was evidently insufficient; by 1827, a report suggested that £5,000 (nearly £500,000 today) was required to repair the walls – a huge sum given how cheap the cost of labour was then.

Is the council’s current budget sufficient to sustain our walls? Despite a dedicated team of stonemasons, erosion, cracks, and sagging is evidently taking its toll on some of the walls.

It’s a controversial idea for some, but international cities charge tourists to access their city walls (€29 in Dubrovnik). Could the income be ring-fenced for the maintenance of York’s walls and other monuments?

Another reason for the 1800 petitions was because the walls physically constrained the city. The width of the barbicans was too narrow for the volume of horse-drawn traffic, creating bottlenecks, and there were no separate gates for pedestrian access – all passed under portcullis. (And we think our city’s traffic problems are bad!)

For the city to function in the emerging industrial age, it simply wanted to break free of its walls.

The arrival of the railways in the 1830s and 40s also led architect G.T. Andrews to insert 70ft wide railway arches in the walls near Queen Street, and narrower ones on Station Road and near Tanner’s Moat. The arches allowed access to the original railway station, part of which survives as the Council’s West Offices, and for the railway coal depot at Tanner’s Moat.

If there was a clue our mediaeval walls were largely rebuilt by the Victorians, it is these arches!

Attitudes to conservation have evidently changed greatly since the 1840s. But it is interesting to ask under what conditions, with what public gains, would a new 70ft arch in the city walls be allowed today?

York as a tourist destination developed from the late-nineteenth century onwards. The appeal of its walls was fundamental. Chester aside, York is a unique English city for its medieval walls.

Think how prominent the walls are in historic photos or postcards of the city – many with that iconic view looking along the walls, over Lendal Bridge, and with the Minster standing majestically beyond, or those vibrant, vintage railway posters advertising trips to York.

The walls also give the city a clear sense of definition – within the historic core, and without; perfect for tourists to find their bearings.

How different might York have been had the walls been demolished in the early nineteenth century? It’s impossible to say, but with so many people in York employed in the tourist sector, would we still be attracting 10m visitors annually without our city walls?

The post How York came close to losing its city walls 200 years ago first appeared on York Civic Trust.

York’s city centre is renowned for its exceptional wealth of preserved heritage, and yet remains an ever-evolving city.

Piccadilly, York Central, the Mecca Bingo site, Foss Islands Road, the removal of Queen Street bridge … just a few of York’s ongoing city-centre redevelopments.

But do we too often focus on redevelopment as simply changing individual buildings, sites or street layouts?

Do we operate in a ‘silo’ mentality, and fail to ‘join up the dots’ of how the city might best be transformed and experienced as a series of interconnected places? Indeed, have we lost the art of ‘vision’-thinking for York?

Such questions are timely. City of York Council is developing a York Movement & Place Plan. It aims to “identify how best to balance the needs of streets as travel corridors and as places where people live, shop, go to school and enjoy their leisure”. For it to succeed, however, it needs to embrace successful placemaking as well as combating the city’s ‘movement’ issues.

Two of York’s pre-eminent thinkers on the city’s future shape were the prominent local politician, J.B. Morrell, and Lionel Brett – the latter better known by his title, Lord Esher. In his 1940 book, ‘The City of Our Dreams’, Morrell outlined a vision for York that would also greatly inform the even more radical – and largely unadopted – 1948 postwar plan by York Corporation.

Morrell’s vision was dramatic. It included widespread demolition of buildings within touching distance of the city walls’ external ramparts. Why? To better present the walls – and free up space for an inner ring road! But he also had fine ambitions for Exhibition Square and the area around Clifford’s Tower as high-quality civic spaces; two locations in York that still require a substantial rethink.

Esher’s ideas for redesigning York’s city centre featured in his 1968 Government Report called ‘York – A Study in Conservation’. He targeted rejuvenating York by making the most of its heritage and yet making it a working city for a modern age. A small amount of pedestrianisation – a cutting edge and controversial idea then – clearing of poor-quality housing and dirty industrial businesses within the city centre, and generally thinking of how York might be experienced as a place to live and work in were at the heart of his vision.

Both men operated at a time when York welcomed, or at least was prepared for large scale change; a more confident age, perhaps. They also built on a Victorian and Edwardian tradition of bold interventions and redevelopment of the city centre.

Two examples are the creation in the 1830s of Parliament Street as the principal market area in the city, and the making of Duncombe Place through the clearance of Little Blake Street in 1859-64. Both resulted in a huge loss of medieval housing that we’d now consider utterly charming and highly conservable, which changed the character of the spaces and sacrificed some of the historic street layouts that had been established since the time of the Vikings. But they vastly improved the function of the city economically, by strategically connecting and creating open spaces, and, with Duncombe Place, improved the setting of The Minster.

One strength of Morrell and Esher’s visions is their consideration of redevelopment in human terms: how people might experience spaces, and not simply the architectural qualities of buildings and spaces being created. It’s a simple concept, but so often overlooked – especially when tempted to primarily find traffic solutions to aid movement between spaces.

But is a traffic solution really a successful solution without also improving the quality of the places it connects?

Consider the new ‘frontage’ scheme for York Railway Station, for example. It provides fabulous opportunities to reshape how people arriving by rail access the city centre, to see their route as a space they move through, experience, and engage with. How might a transformed Rougier Street and area along North Street lead them to a more pedestrian-friendly Ouse Bridge, and then, say, to Clifford’s Tower as part of the Castle Gateway project? Equally, how can improvements to the public realm and access in Lendal, Coney Street or Exhibition Square interact with people arriving via a route using Scarborough Bridge and the Museum Gardens?

We’ll each have different visions for the city centre’s redevelopment. But there’s merit for us in following Morrell and Esher’s lead in considering how such changes will be experienced, enjoyed, and interconnected.

The post We need some proper visionary thinking about York’s future first appeared on York Civic Trust.

York Civic Trust is supporting the proposed re-development of Coney Street – after previously objecting to the original design scheme.

The proposal, first submitted by Helmsley Group in December 2022, involved major regeneration of Coney Street’s retail, leisure, commercial, and residential spaces – including a riverside walkway and student accommodation.

York Civic Trust, which is a formal planning consultee for City of York Council, objected to the initial scheme due to concern about an underwhelming public realm, the size of buildings on the river front, and access and safety issues.

Taking these concerns into account, Helmsley Group and their architects have worked closely with York Civic Trust, as well as a range of other groups and organisations, to establish a design that better benefits the city. Under the revised proposal, the riverside buildings have been setback to provide a stronger public realm including a link between the river and the street, and improved access issues by reducing potential bottlenecks.

Now York Civic Trust has supported the revised scheme, appreciating Helmsley Group’s receptiveness to their original comments, and call the scheme a ‘once in a century opportunity.’

Andrew Morrison, CEO of York Civic Trust, said, “We previously objected to the detailing of the scheme, although we welcomed the principle behind it. This is a once in a century opportunity to reconnect the city centre’s commercial heart with the river, just as it was centuries before. It can create a new community and bring economic benefits including regeneration of Coney Street.”

“The revised scheme addresses issues we raised, and the modest impact on heritage and setting has been balanced by positives from the scheme. We therefore support the application.”

In the comment submitted to the Council, York Civic Trust said that they supported the revised scheme due to, ‘the improved architectural design of newbuild on Coney Street’ and, ‘a more organic and varied use of shopfronts.’ The comment also states that, ‘the balance in favour of the scheme is largely dependent on the realisation of the riverside walkway.’

Max Reeves, development director at Helmsley Group, said: “Throughout our extensive planning for Coney Street Riverside we have taken a heritage-led approach to regeneration, working in close partnership with key organisations across York.     

“Both Helmsley Group and York Civic Trust are passionate about working tirelessly to shape the future cultural and economic prosperity of York, whilst being sensitive to its unique history and heritage.

“We are grateful to York Civic Trust in its influential role as a formal planning consultee to City of York Council for supporting our application.”

The outcome of Helmsley Group’s planning application is anticipated to be determined by City of York Council in the coming months.

The post York Civic Trust Supports Coney Street ‘Once in a Century Opportunity’ first appeared on York Civic Trust.

2024 marks centenaries for the city’s world-war memorials. They are remarkable reminders of human loss, courage, and national resilience, but also look every bit their age, with staining and erosion.

Is it becoming a futile quest to clean them each year? Is it causing more damage? Why do we want them scrubbed to look ‘anew’ – in ways we wouldn’t for other historic monuments?
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For some of us, Remembrance Day is our earliest memory of public displays of sorrow. To a child’s eyes, the normality and safety that adults provide can suddenly shift. People stop in the street, at railway stations, in shops, or gather around a looming stone obelisk; they mark a two-minute silence by seemingly doing nothing; heads lowered, fingers entwined. Somewhere in the distance the sudden BOOM of a firing cannon marks the return to normalcy, startling many and pigeons alike. It’s a commemoration experience very much handed down from an age where children should be “seen and not heard”, and can leave a strong impression that ever-after frames our attitudes towards the world-war dead and remembrance memorials.
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Different Wars, Different Memorials

Most British war memorials detail the names of those who fought in the two world wars, and are now due centenaries. York is no exception. The North Eastern Railway War Memorial on Station Rise near the Council’s offices – sometimes mistaken for the city’s war memorial – was unveiled on 14th June 1924. The actual City War Memorial on Leeman Road followed on 25th June 1925. Both were designed by the famous English architect Sir Edwin Lutyens. To this end, they are very much part of the city’s historic landscape, part of the collection of ‘heritage assets’; 14 of the city’s traditional war memorials are listed.

World-war memorials can provoke heightened emotions. This is often at odds with other historic structures in the UK. York hosts other war memorials including Yorkshire’s Second Boer War Memorial on Duncombe Place. Despite it missing stone finials and a statuette, and frequently the site of anti-social behaviour, there’s little clamour over this compared to when acts of vandalism or neglect affect our world-war memorials.

Many of us will have chanced upon a war memorial that’s been relocated or now out of its original context, when a former business associated with the plaque has ceased trading, a school that the ‘Pals’ went to has closed, a post office or police station has shut down.

Elsewhere, different forms of war memorials in the city – such as Rowntree Park, a gift to the City of York by Rowntree & Co. in 1921 as a memorial to the Cocoa Works workers’ war service, seemingly is far less emotionally charged. Why is this?
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Cleaning Issues

Each world-war memorial is unique, and yet alike in many ways – located near important civic spaces, built for permanence, designed to impress, and invoke respect. But given their age and exposure to the elements they are increasingly blackened, with stonework crumbling, and engraved names eroding and increasingly indecipherable.

The city’s two main world-war memorials have been cleaned over many decades, usually as a prelude to Remembrance Sundays. But a combination of misjudged use of abrasive materials, and being simply built of the wrong type of stone and sited where exposed to wind-driven rain or floods, has led to irreversible damage that worsens staining and erosion. With time, they will inevitably whittle away to an abstract lump of ill-shaped stone and brass.
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On purely conservation grounds – as historic material, and, if for a moment, shorn of their emotive and communal importance – is cleaning them the best thing for these structures? If not, would it be fairer to take this decision collectively, rather than leave it to the Council or Network Rail as legal owners? The centenaries would be a suitable time to discuss what their future care might be.

Different Types of Commemoration?

In 2011, and following the near-full erosion of carved names at York’s North Eastern Railway War, new inscriptions plaques were attached to the nearby retaining wall. The names are also recorded in a ‘Book of Remembrance’ held by the National Railway Museum. There’s other examples of war monuments – especially stone, bronze or timber ‘rolls of honour’ – being relocated to controlled internal environments. In doing so it separates two distinct aspects of commemoration: the memorial as a communal gathering point, and elsewhere – safely indoors – a record of those who served. Perhaps this is the future fate of our world-war memorials? If so, aren’t both still forms of respect?
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Do let us know your thoughts: email info@yorkcivictrust.co.uk

The post Should we continually keep cleaning York’s War Memorials? first appeared on York Civic Trust.