Touring these seldom-trod places, I’ve borne witness to a remarkable landscape of change – a constant flux of regeneration and redevelopment, interspersed with the inevitable demolition and disappearance of old structures. Preston, my closest city, exemplifies this dynamic. It is currently undergoing a significant transformation, boasting a new £45m leisure complex, a meticulously revamped museum, and a new bridge gracefully spanning the River Ribble, with numerous other ambitious plans in the pipeline. St Helens, my childhood town, proudly maintains its historic Lancashire identity, despite being administratively part of Merseyside and now integrated into the Liverpool City Region. At present, St Helens resembles a vibrant drawing board, a town mid-metamorphosis. Both locations, however, despite the occasional frayed fabric of their urban landscapes, are unequivocally changing for the better, if one takes the time to truly observe and appreciate their unfolding narratives. Preston My initial impression of Preston was shaped by its low-slung eastern edges, an expanse that felt as if land had been deliberately cleared. This was, I soon realised, not so much clearance as a pervasive "Americanisation" of the landscape – an architectural trend characterised by squat, boxed retail units, expansive, often desolate car parks, and the omnipresent hum of ring roads. It left me with a somewhat flat, uninspired feeling. However, Preston, with its layered history and unexpected architectural marvels, began to grow on me the moment I stood beneath the extraordinary, almost hypodermic spire of St Walburge’s Church. Designed by Joseph Hansom, a name more commonly associated with the hansom cab, this neo-Gothic masterpiece is not only the tallest parish church in the UK but also a powerful testament to the enduring strong Roman Catholic presence in "Priest’s Town," a nickname reflecting its historical religious significance. Gazing upwards at such an imposing structure, stretching towards the heavens, offers more than just architectural appreciation; it evokes a primal sense of hope, a form of primitive cognitive therapy that encourages one to look beyond the immediate and find inspiration in aspiration. My journey of discovery continued with the imposing Harris Museum and Art Gallery, which triumphantly reopened last September after an extensive £19m refurbishment. This transformation has cemented its status as a vital cultural nexus, a place to immerse oneself in art, delve into local history, explore intricate textiles, fashion, and ceramics, or simply find solace with a good book from its integrated library. It is, without doubt, the ultimate refuge on a rainy day or, indeed, during a heatwave. The Harris stands as a regional treasure, a guardian of local heritage. It also prompts a compelling, perhaps provocative, question: should venerable institutions like the Ashmolean and British Museum consider returning the complete Cuerdale Hoard, the largest Viking hoard ever discovered in England, unearthed right beside Preston’s River Ribble, to its rightful home? Such an act would not only acknowledge the significance of local provenance but also further enrich the narrative of this exceptional regional museum. My time serving on jury service at the crown court provided an unexpected opportunity to turn daily walks from the park-and-ride into impromptu sightseeing tours, revealing Preston’s diverse architectural and historical fabric. Highlights included the remarkable Brutalist Preston Bus Station and Guild Hall, bold concrete structures built for an unrealised "new town" vision for Central Lancashire. The bus station, once threatened with demolition, has been famously saved and refurbished, a testament to the appreciation for its monumental design. I also encountered the poignant monument to the 1842 martyrs, textile workers gunned down by infantry and police during the tumultuous General Strike, a stark reminder of the city’s radical industrial past. The elegant Victorian market hall and court, alongside the ornate Miller Arcade, showcase the city’s mercantile grandeur. Winckley Square, with its serene park and grand Georgian terraces, offers a glimpse into Preston’s affluent past, while the diverse array of religious architecture, from St Wilfrid’s and St John’s Minster to the vibrant Saint Alphonsa Syro-Malabar Cathedral, speaks to the city’s enduring spiritual and multicultural character. Granted city status in 2002, Preston has long been a locus of power and influence, a pivotal starting point for the legendary cotton-town trail through east Lancashire, both geographically and chronologically. It was here, in 1732, that Richard Arkwright, often hailed as the father of the factory system and co-creator of the revolutionary water-powered spinning frame, was born. The colossal Centenary Mill, built for the empire-spanning textile firm Horrockses, Crewdson & Co., stands as a monument to this industrial might. Its magnificent chimney, a defiant vertical statement, was once seen as "mammon’s shameless challenge to the churches," a symbol of unbridled capitalist ambition. Today, an annexe off its vast yard hosts a magical emporium of antiques, fixtures, and fittings culled from mouldering mansions, a fascinating repurposing of industrial space. Preston’s industrial heritage, in myriad ways, spurred many of its other notable innovations. The rise of the temperance and teetotalism movements, notably spearheaded by Joseph Livesey, a clothier’s son from nearby Walton-le-Dale, was partly a direct reaction to the perceived "urban immorality" and widespread alcoholism prevalent in industrial centres. Likewise, the burgeoning professional working class sought new forms of leisure, giving rise to professional football. Preston North End was a proud founder member of the English Football League, and Deepdale, its home ground since 1875, remains one of England’s oldest and most revered stadiums. Equally significant, though historically suppressed, was the formation of Dick, Kerr Ladies in 1917, one of the world’s first women’s football teams, whose remarkable success during and after World War I challenged gender norms before a discriminatory FA ban curtailed their influence for decades. While I respect the historical significance of the temperance movement, I confess a deep affection for the Black Horse, Preston’s most beautiful old pub. Its interior is a perfectly preserved slice of Victorian grandeur, with intricately etched windows, fixed snug-like seating, gorgeous tiling, and a rare ceramic bar, offering a tangible link to a bygone era of socialising. Complementing these cherished traditional spaces, Preston’s culinary scene has flourished with new venues like Kimji, a cool Korean restaurant offering authentic flavours, Pintxos, serving delicious Spanish dishes, and Aven, providing a modern British dining experience, all reflecting the city’s evolving contemporary appeal. The administrative upheaval of the 1974 local government overhaul, though controversial at the time, inadvertently positioned Preston as a future "capital" of sorts within the newly defined Lancashire. It is a billing that the city is now beginning to live up to with remarkable success. A little bird – or, more accurately, an old pigeon outside the Harris Museum – once whispered to me that "Manchesterism" is a misnomer. The groundbreaking central idea of local authorities actively exerting control and investing strategically in a place, often referred to as "community wealth building," actually originates from Preston. This "Preston Model" has demonstrably led to local living standards rising significantly faster than in many other parts of the UK. Even Manchester’s former mayor, Andy Burnham, has publicly acknowledged Preston’s pioneering role. It is not hyperbole to suggest that "Prestonism" may yet change Britain and, perhaps, the world, all over again. Beyond the city centre, visitors can explore the 21-mile Guild Wheel, a circular route popular for walking and cycling, offering scenic views and promoting active lifestyles. Other attractions include the historic Tram Bridge, the distinctive Preston England Temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and the intriguing "Devil’s House" on St Wilfrid Street, shrouded in local folklore. For those interested in industrial heritage, the Ribble Steam Railway and Museum offers a fascinating glimpse into the region’s railway history. St Helens Until recently, I had never stepped inside St Helens Minster, despite being born nearby. In my defence, it only achieved Minster status in May of this year, having previously been known simply as the parish church. This renaming reflects its elevated role as the mother-church of the entire community, a significant symbolic shift for the town. St Helens traces its origins to a collection of four ancient rural manors – Windle, Parr, Sutton, and Eccleston – clustered around a chapel of ease where weary wayfarers could find rest and prayer. These old names still encompass even prettier-sounding villages today, such as Clinkham Wood, Thatto Heath, and Nutgrove. St Helens was once verdant fields, then it transformed into a bustling hub of shops, coal pits, and glassworks. Now, it is undergoing another profound transformation, striving to redefine itself for the 21st century. Two major developments are currently unfolding, shaping this future. One, though appearing small on a map, carries immense symbolic weight: the ongoing conservation work at No 7 Cannington Shaw Bottle Shop. Built in 1886, this was once part of a complex of nine such "shops" or factories, constituting the largest glass bottle production site in the world. This lovely redbrick circular building, with its classic conical roof, is the sole survivor, nestled on a rare patch of rough land between a large Tesco supermarket and the impressive, flashy rugby league arena of the St Helens Saints. Here, tons of molten glass were once heated to incandescent temperatures, with skilled glassblowers expertly scooping up gobs of glowing material to inflate, shape, and mould into countless bottles. Today, No 7 Cannington Shaw Bottle Shop has been revitalised, hosting artisan craft markets on the first Saturday of every month, complete with a bar and food stalls. After serving as an air raid shelter and storage depot, the site was abandoned and only narrowly escaped demolition by a fortunate accident. John Tabern, director of the project, passionately states: "As an ex-glassman, it’s extremely important to me. I’m proud of St Helens and want people to know its story. But we must monetise it with gigs and markets and all those things." This adaptive reuse beautifully marries industrial heritage with modern community engagement. The other significant development, large on the map and equally important, if less immediately evocative, involves the wholesale transformation of a vast area east and south of the town hall. Following what has been described as "blitz-level demolition" to clear outdated structures, this ambitious scheme is bringing a new bus station, contemporary homes, modern offices, a hotel, inviting green spaces, bustling piazzas, and "revitalised retail spaces" to the town centre. While demolition has been a recurring theme in St Helens’ history, the future of the Gamble Building, a fine example of redbrick Victoriana, is secure. It will soon house a smart new library, a vibrant youth space, and modern offices, embodying a thoughtful blend of historical preservation and contemporary utility. The town hall itself is another robust example of Victorian architecture, standing proudly as a civic landmark. The Beecham’s Building, constructed in 1887 at immense cost, is topped by a coquettish clock tower and speaks to another aspect of St Helens’ industrial success. Its founder, Thomas Beecham, began his pharmaceutical empire selling laxatives to costive Wiganers, and St Helens, acting as a crucible of industry, allowed his business to flourish into a global brand. The smart St Helens College, facing the former Beecham’s HQ, exemplifies how the marriage of old and new architecture can work harmoniously. St Helens also boasts pockets of significant modernist architecture. Reflection Court, the former Pilkington’s headquarters on Canal Street, features a streamlined brick facade clearly influenced by the Dutch modernist Willem Marinus Dudok. Further afield, the former Pilkington’s complex at Alexandra Park, on the edge of town, was designed by renowned modernist architects Jane Drew and Maxwell Fry, who famously collaborated with giants like Walter Gropius and Le Corbusier. While many of these architecturally significant buildings are now earmarked for apartment conversions, their presence underscores St Helens’ often-underappreciated contribution to 20th-century design. As I prepared to leave town, I made a point of visiting The Book Stop, a wonderful community bookstore in which I proudly hold "shares," and where I recently gave a talk on my latest Lancashire book. Without any prompting from me, the manager aptly titled my talk "Don’t Call Us Merseyside." This sentiment, a passionate resistance to the administrative reclassification, is deeply felt by many locals. The newer "Liverpool City Region" designation is equally unpopular, highlighting a powerful sense of historical and cultural allegiance to Lancashire. I passed a church that, as a child, I perceived as huge and ominous: St Mary’s Lowe House Catholic church. Renowned architectural historian Nikolaus Pevsner was not overly keen on its design, but I find myself drawn to its fascinating, almost conflicting, blend of a Byzantine dome and a Gothic tower – as if the architect couldn’t quite make up his mind. The brickwork, blackened by the patina of two centuries of factory fumes, tells its own story of industrial toil and endurance. Further on, I passed the Turks Head pub, routinely lauded by CAMRA for its traditional ales, and the grounds of FC St Helens, where the pioneering rugby league team played in the 1880s, marking another significant local sporting heritage. My journey through St Helens concluded at its cemetery and crematorium, a place I have visited all too frequently over the past couple of decades. St Helens was built on furnaces, and this one, sadly, remains busy. I walked beyond the neat ranks of modern gravestones, following a path that, from above, forms a distinct heart shape. In a wooded corner stands St Helens’ most ancient structure: Windleshaw Chantry, dating from 1415, a poignant relic from a time when this was open countryside. Beneath it lies a large tomb, its flat tablet adorned with abbreviated words. Spelled out, they reveal: "Here lie the remains of Jean Baptiste François Graux de la Bruyere – He was the first Who brought to Perfection A Work of very considerable Magnitude And Importance To the Commercial Interest of the British Nation." This immigrant from Picardy, who died in 1787 at the age of 48, is widely believed to be the unsung hero who introduced advanced glass-making techniques to St Helens. I am sure he would be immensely pleased that the town is at last celebrating his profound and enduring legacy. Visitors seeking to delve deeper into St Helens’ story can explore the World of Glass museum, revisit The Book Stop, discover local transport history at the North West Museum of Road Transport, admire the striking "Dream" sculpture (a colossal public artwork on a former colliery site), and enjoy a meal at local favourites like Café Laziz. Post navigation Antwerp: Where even the Virgin Mary wears couture.
