We bumped into Kate Griffin of Concerteenies at a Mini Malarkey, so we asked her to list the best uses of her banjo.

Hull Tour Guide Paul Schofield may rule the roost these days but, as our ancient archivist correspondent Angus Young reports, he certainly wasn’t the first.

When it comes to local history, tour guide and Curiosity contributor Paul Schofield certainly knows his stuff. Paul and his famous hat entertain thousands of visitors to Hull and Beverley every year with entertaining stories on his renowned walking tours.

But who was the first populiser of local history in this neck of the woods?

That accolade probably goes to William Andrews who was born in Kirby Moorhouse in Nottinghamshire in 1848 and came to live and work in Hull in 1872. In 1878 he became the editor of Hull Miscellany, a weekly literary journal. A year later he was one of the founders of the Hull Literary Society and acted as its secretary for a decade until becoming its president.

A man of words, Andrews established the Hull Press in 1890. From its offices in Dock Street, the company published and printed a large number of books, many of them written by Andrews himself. He wrote on a huge variety of historical subjects, drawing inspiration from his own personal collection of rare books, local guides, documents and ephemera.

In particular, he specialised in researching and preserving some of the stranger elements of British cultural heritage such as regional folklore, fairy tales, old religious customs and the staging of so-called ‘frost fairs’ on frozen rivers. In his book ‘Old-time Punishments’ he examines the use of ducking stools, pillories and whipping posts in the Middle Ages while in ‘The History of Dunmow Flitch’ he recounts his own experience of presiding over an ancient event held every four years in Essex in which couples are required to prove to a jury they are happily married with the winners being presented with a side of bacon.

Andrews wrote in a scholarly yet accessible style and readers lapped up his re-telling of forgotten stories and quirks from the past. If he was around today, he’d probably give TV historian Lucy Worsley a run for her money.

Typical of his narrative skills can be found in an eye-catching chapter called  ‘A Fight Between the Lord Mayor of Hull and the Archbishop of York’ from his 1891 book Old Church Lore. In it, he takes the reader back to 1378 and a skirmish between the two men and their aides  over who was entitled to receive duty on casks of wine being unloaded from ships on the River Hull in which “blood freely flowed” and the Archbishop’s ceremonial staff was broken into several pieces. “The place where the fight occurred was regarded by the superstitious as sacred, crowds of fanatics repairing to it to shed tears,” he wrote. “Not a little inconvenience was caused by their conduct, and their proceedings were stopped  by a permanent guard being appointed to keep folk away from the place. After the death of the Archbishop, it was believed for many years that his spirit haunted the spot where the battle took place.”

A Fellow of the Royal Historical Society, Andrews was also a founder of the East Riding Antiquarian Society. In 1900, after retiring from the Hull Press, he became chief librarian at the Hull Subscription Library based in the Royal Institution in Albion Street. Founded in 1775, it eventually held a stock of some 80,000 books, including foreign and standard works together with serials, fiction and non-fiction.

He worked there until his death in 1908.

Angus Young

Actor Rachel Dale takes a wander down Wincolmlee to take in the longest artwork in the city

Amy Thompson takes a trip to East Hull to find a library that’s a secret to many.

Marianne Lewsley-Stier, the big boss of of Humber Street Gallery, outlines the responsibilities of her role.

A tale of lies, damn lies and dummy artillery is reported by our public deception correspondent Angus Young.

On 25 January 1915 a notice appeared in Hull newspapers under the heading: “Arousing the Public”. It read: “In the event of certain happenings, for which the Germans will be responsible, the public at Hull are to be warned by the shrill blasts of steam whistles, The steam organ valve whistles are being supplied by Messrs. George Clark and Sons, Waterhouse Lane. The type to be used in Hull are 6in diameter.”

It was the first public warning of the prospect of aerial warfare arriving in the city for the first time.

Just over four months later on the evening of 6 June the whistles were sounded. Previous alarms had amounted to nothing but this time they were followed by the sound of a Zeppelin’s engines and a series of large explosions. Between 20 and 30 bombs were dropped by the enemy airship that night. Nineteen people died directly in the blasts, five more from shock and a further 40 were injured. The Zeppelin had flown over Hull without much resistance. The only return fire came from some Royal Navy ships berthed in the docks. Despite the threat of air raids, no specific military preparation had been put in place to defend the city from attack.

Public fury over the raid spilled over into violence and several shops owned by German families were targeted. In a hasty attempt to restore calm and boost morale, the Army came up with a cunning plan worthy of Baldrick in Blackadder. With few anti-aircraft guns available, an idea  was hatched to install a dummy gun on a tall building. It would not only trick the Germans and persuade them to steer clear but also fool the people of Hull into thinking they were now much safer from attack than before.

A request was submitted to Charles Downs, managing director of engineering firm Rose, Downs and Thompson, to place a gun on the reinforced concrete roof of his company’s foundry in Caroline Street. Downs agreed but wasn’t told it was to be made of wood. To maintain the deception, the Army took full control of access to the roof with soldiers posted on duty there every night between 8pm and 5am. People who could see them from nearby houses below didn’t realise the only real firepower  at their disposal were naval-style flare rockets. If a Zeppelin was spotted, their secret orders were to discharge three rounds of rockets to make it look like the gun had actually been fired. During the day, soldiers would pretend to clean the weapon before re-covering it with a sheet.

This illusion was maintained for just over six months until Downs discovered the gun was actually a fake. Fearing a public backlash if the deception became more generally known in the event of another raid, he asked the Army to remove it. Grudgingly, his request was agreed to. Once again, Hull was left without any anti-aircraft cover.

Just over a month later the city experienced its second Zeppelin raid of the war during a snowstorm. This time 16 people were killed. Two more raids followed in April and August, killing nine and injuring another 20. An anti-aircraft gun used during the April raid succeeded in bringing the Zeppelin down but in August there was no gunfire at all because it had been relocated elsewhere. A contemporary newspaper report stated: “Eager eyes waited to see the searchlights; eager ears awaited to hear the guns. The Zepp could plainly be seen, but no guns, only bombs. There was one searchlight and what was described as a ‘pop gun’.”

This time anger at Hull being left defenceless once again boiled over with local MPs Thomas Ferens and Sir Alfred Gelder raising the issue in Parliament. Both claimed only one faulty searchlight had been operational alongside a small ineffective gun. Observing wartime censorship rules, Ferens referred to Hull as an “important city on the East Coast” in his question to Major John Baird, parliamentary secretary to the Air Board. “Considering what a well-known mark this place is, was one gun sufficient?” he asked.

Major Baird batted off the question politely. “I hope my Honourable Friend will not think me discourteous, but it is most undesirable to discuss it now.” Later questions would provide the real answer. Demand by the Army for weapons and munitions for use in the battlefields of France meant providing adequate hardware to defend cities like Hull from air raids was not a priority.

Eventually, two large anti-aircraft guns were sent to Hull, being exhibited in Paragon Square before being deployed. They saw action in four further Zeppelin raids 

The MPs’ intervention was commended by one correspondent who revived the story of the dummy gun by saying he had submitted a mock tender for guns “to conform to the requirements of the new Wooden Gun Department at the War Office”. The tender offered to supply one gun made of “best deal (softwood) painted two coats at 7s 6d per running foot” and another “tin-plated if required, priced at 25 shillings “inclusive of a good hand barrow for touring gun posts.” Both would be guaranteed “take in the public all the time.”

Angus Young

Forsooth! Dr Robb Robinson of University of Hull tells the tale of one of the Bard’s minor characters who lived quite a life.

Finally, a Top 5 we can get our teeth into! Becky from Hull Minster gives us something we can all argue about.

Without cutting it down and counting the rings, we may never know, but our ancient arboriculture correspondent Angus Young reckons he’s found it.

It’s a little-known fact that Hull and the wider Humber region has significantly low tree and woodland cover compared to the UK average. In fact, only 2.5 percent of this part of the world is covered in woodland. As such, ancient woodland is a bit thin on the ground.

In built-up Hull, most of the mature trees dotted around the city are found in public parks and cemeteries having been planted in the late 19th century. But what is believed to be the oldest tree in the city easily pre-dates the handiwork of our green-fingered Victorian ancestors.

Legend has it that the black mulberry tree in the walled rear garden of the Master’s House at Hull Charterhouse was once a favourite spot for the poet Andrew Marvell to sit under as a boy. There’s no firm evidence to say when it was actually planted but young Marvell is known to have lived there from the age of three in 1624 when his father became Master of the historic hospital.

The current Master’s House didn’t exist at the time and the old hospital was demolished in 1642 to make way for a military garrison during the English Civil War. However, it’s been suggested re-building work completed in 1673 ensured the tree occupied a central position in the garden of the new Master’s House.

Mulberry trees were known to have been planted in medieval monasteries and abbeys, probably for both their shade and fruit. It doesn’t take a leap of imagination to think the current Charterhouse mulberry might have even been grown from a cutting taken from a previous tree at the site when a monastery was based there.

Thanks to its sheltered location the mulberry thrived over the years, surviving a close call during the Second World War when the Master’s House was badly damaged by a bomb As time and a degree of post-war neglect started to take its toll, crude wire meshing was used to hold parts of it together.  Then, in 2019, a large branch crashed to the ground sparking fears the old tree’s days were numbered.

Despite being largely hollow, it returned to full leaf the following year and in 2021 a large wooden prop was installed to keep it upright and avoid a potential collapse. The prop remains in place, making the tree look like a lop-sided Long John Silver leaning on his crutch. Even so, hopes remain high that it will leaf again this summer and even provide another healthy crop of fruit.

Angus Young

Playwright Maureen Lennon selects her favourite thoroughfare in the city and it’s one we all know.