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.
On both sides of the canal, historic warehouses had been converted into waterside apartments, with the new-builds squashed between echoing that same architectural pattern. People did seem to be living within: there were green plants on windowsills, tiny coffee tables on balconies, cloths drying on railings and so on: signs of sparse hopes that this was not an economic illusion.
As we chugged along, the sunshine set letters glittering on old signs, marking out the ornate ironwork decoration on the Victorian bridges and the wide steel arcs of a more recent crossing. Here and there, were glimpses of the smooth walkways and cyclepaths that wove alongside and through the area. When, I wondered, would we come to that bleak open space I remembered?
Suddenly the ferry steered to the right and took us through an open lock gate and into a canal basin. 'Leeds Dock,' the ferryman called as we moored at a long, low wooden jetty. Was this it, our destination?
I stared around. We stood among a horde of tall modern apartment buildings. At ground level, there were shops and offices, and a few house-boats moored in the overshadowed waters. This could have been any new waterfront development, but in brightly coloured eight-metre-high letters across one wall were two words. ‘CREATIVE LEEDS’.
That old windswept wasteland I remembered had been swallowed and changed into what is known as a city hub. We were in a ‘Destination Area,’ complete with coffee shops, yoga studios, tech businesses and monthly weekend craft-markets. Although Creative Leeds was not exactly pulsing with crowds, people were wandering busily or sociably about. As of course, was I, still looking for that empty expanse and the huge, solitary fortress.
Suddenly, turning a corner, I glimpsed two grotesque armoured heads, still on display; we were right beside the Royal Armouries. At that moment, my memory of that solitary grey fortress seemed somewhat diminished, even though the high-rise structures nestling closely beside its walls made the area more hopeful and welcoming.
And inside the Armouries?
The museum, purposefully designed by the architect Derek Walker, is still impressive in appearance, atmosphere and space, with many rooms tall enough for the carrying of an upright lance. Do look at the map of the Armouries maps on arrival: the floors are based around a slightly confusing ‘H’ floor pattern, which allows several floorspaces for talks and presentations. We took the long flight of stairs up the tall circular tower, whose walls house a striking display of weapons and blades, possibly missed by visitorswho ride up in the glass lifts.
The second floor held the collection we were after. The range of armour in the cases ran from mail tunics and simple body plate through to hinged elbow and knee joints, and onwards to neat, close-fitting padded jackets formed hundreds of metal ‘leaves’ and covered with delicate engraved patterns. The gallery offered videos, such as blacksmiths at work or a knight, helped by his squire, putting on armour, as well as several other information panels.
However, the finely honed skills of the metal-smiths would give little protection as handheld guns and firearms arrived. The museum contains a whole range of examples. from the early blunderbuss through to pistols, rifles and every sort and size of deadly device. Among the third floor galleries are displays about policing and modern spy-craft too. Too much to see it all on our short visit!
I must add that the museum seemed aware of the implications its lethal contents. While the second floor did hold a display about the Joust, with flags, banners and a brightly striped tent, overall the galleries overall had little colour: most backgrounds stood sombre and muted against the gleaming metal. Even the life-size tableau of embattled knights on horseback had been given a ghostly, powdery-white cast. To my mind, there was no emphasis on movie-level gore or awful glamour, with focus throughout on the design and technology.
However, along with these static exhibitions, the Armouries can bring its collections to life. Each day, there are real-person talks, displays of combat and more, depending on staffing issues, each event focusing on a different aspect and era of weapons or warfare.
We opted for a 'costumed character‘, who gave us a lively retelling of the 1485 Battle of Bosworth, the last of the Wars of the Roses. He took on the role of a mercenary pikeman in Lord Stanley’s army, waiting on the edge of in the battlefield and unsure who and which side they were to be fight in.
What army should the regiment cheer for? Who should they join? The rightful king, Richard of York, with the bigger army? Or Henry Tudor, with the smaller army, who is also a rightful ruler?
While the soldiers wait and watch, rumours arrive that determine their stance and loyalty. When reports suggest that Richard III's army is struggling, or even that the Yorkist king has been killed, the devious
Lord Stanley and his men set off to join battle on the winning Lancastrian side.
As a presence, our pikeman was large, rough, energetic and told his story with plenty of action and humour. He made it clear that payment, not loyalty, was what interested soldiers like him, as well as rights to the plunder once the battle was over. In fact, he stressed how he was actually protected by such stolen goods: from the thickly padded jacket he stripped from a German soldier, to his brightly patterned metal helmet collected after another battle, and even his treasured short sword.
Tellingly, with humour and gusto, he demonstrated how easily his handy blade could slip through the many gaps in an un-horsed knight's armour, despite such glamourous 'protection'. The audience's groans and gasps proved the relevance of such details, among the parade of glittering armour.
Do, if you go, look on the notice boards for any 'live' activities on offer, as they add much to the whole experience, and come from different periods of time. I did not, that afternoon, have time for the display of non-European armour and weapons, nor the magnificent armoured elephant, but my friend had the information and ideas she needed.
This second visit to the Royal Armouries Leeds was interesting in itself, but also gave me a useful way of reflecting on time passing. That lone fortress in a desolate wasteland is now part of the history of the city's landscape.
And I've reaclled that I may need an 'imagined' sword for in my current working novel. I know where there's help if I need it.
Penny Dolan
Ps. The Royal Armouries Leeds is free, donations welcome and a paying car-park has been built nearby. Closed Mondays. There is still a Royal Armouries collection displayed in the White Tower, at the Tower of London, as well as at Fort Nelson, Fareham, near Portsmouth. Website: https://royalarmouries.org/leeds
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