Quite right, you don't. To the point where, if I may, it isn't a cliché but a very hard truth.
No-one who lived in Netherley in the 1970's could forget it.
Thank you so much for this excellently written description of Netherley. I came across it whilst idly googling for photos of Netherly. A wonderful read.
I was born in 1953 (I'm 55) and I lost touch with my sisters after the death of my parents sisters when I was twelve.
Sombody in London, where I lived, told me in 1972 that one of my sisters seemed to be a girl he met in Liverpool. I packed a rucksack and set off to find her, arriving in Liverpool with little money.
After a night spent outside I met a guy in a pub called the Hole in the Wall, and he said "Oh, homeless? Come to Netherley where I live. There are loads of empty places to squat in."
So I did. And there were.
The next four years were were a nightmare.
It began by my risking my life literally sticking the apartment's live mains cables together to get electricity. I used to drink a lot and smoke draw, so I was soon sucked into acid, speed and various junk.
Life in Netherley became a miserable existence, eking out a living via small-time dealing and stealing. Many people I knew then died of drug overdoses or other related things and the whole place was a lunatic asylum.
I remember the kind Chinese man at the fish-and-chip shop (or was it a Chinese take-away?) next to a pub. I lived in various places including Scafell Close, or Road, or whatever.
Rock concerts in downtown Liverpool were a godsend because they were a good place to deal acid, particularly at concerts by Hawkwind and bands like them.
There was a lot of violence although I was never set upon, nor did I get into any fights at all. Lucky I guess.
Stealing was extremely prevalent, even amongst 'friends.'
Living in Netherley was like living on another planet. It had its own codes, rules, customs. Newcomers were immediately "sussed out" to see who they were. Visitors were unwelcome. Paranoia was rife.
A lot of the paranoia came from the extraordinary amount of hard tranquiliser abuse. Seconal, Nembutal, or other 1970's versions of them were everywhe
2/7/2009 18:39
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Oops, half of my last comment isn't on the screen having pressed 'Publish Comment.' Maybe it's too long?
2/7/2009 18:38
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"Another cliché: you never really leave."
Quite right, you don't. To the point where, if I may, it isn't a cliché but a very hard truth.
No-one who lived in Netherley in the 1970's could forget it.
Thank you so much for this excellently written description of Netherley. I came across it whilst idly googling for photos of Netherly. A wonderful read.
I was born in 1953 (I'm 55) and I lost touch with my sisters after the death of my parents sisters when I was twelve.
Sombody in London, where I lived, told me in 1972 that one of my sisters seemed to be a girl he met in Liverpool. I packed a rucksack and set off to find her, arriving in Liverpool with little money.
After a night spent outside I met a guy in a pub called the Hole in the Wall, and he said "Oh, homeless? Come to Netherley where I live. There are loads of empty places to squat in."
So I did. And there were.
The next four years were were a nightmare.
It began by my risking my life literally sticking the apartment's live mains cables together to get electricity. I used to drink a lot and smoke draw, so I was soon sucked into acid, speed and various junk.
Life in Netherley became a miserable existence, eking out a living via small-time dealing and stealing. Many people I knew then died of drug overdoses or other related things and the whole place was a lunatic asylum.
I remember the kind Chinese man at the fish-and-chip shop (or was it a Chinese take-away?) next to a pub. I lived in various places including Scafell Close, or Road, or whatever.
Rock concerts in downtown Liverpool were a godsend because they were a good place to deal acid, particularly at concerts by Hawkwind and bands like them.
There was a lot of violence although I was never set upon, nor did I get into any fights at all. Lucky I guess.
Stealing was extremely prevalent, even amongst 'friends.'
Living in Netherley was like living on another planet. It had its own codes, rules, customs. Newcomers were immediately "sussed out" to see who they were. Visitors were unwelcome. Paranoia was rife.
A lot of the paranoia came from the extraordinary amount of hard tranquiliser abuse. Seconal, Nembutal, or other 1970's versions of them were everywhe