‘My favourite thinking place’: Enjoying the solitude of Victoria Pier

CALMING: Victoria Pier on a warm summer evening

This Place, a column by Vicky Foster

Exploring Hull & East Yorkshire

I’m not old enough to remember when ferries used to come and go from Hull Pier, or when actual horses used the ‘Oss Wash,’ which is maybe why, for me, it’s always been a place that feels settled and calm, even though I know it’s been a place of massive movement and transition since it was built in 1825.

It’s also maybe controversial of me that when I talk about the pier, I don’t just mean the actual wooden structure that protrudes into the water. I include all of Nelson Street too; the whole area surrounding the pier that edges this short stretch of river. And of course, I have been there when it is swimming with people, during festivals like Sesh and Freedom, and I’ve often visited for small family gatherings, in the snug, bar or outside tables of The Minerva.

But usually, it’s a place I visit on my own when I have something that needs to be contemplated, or when I need to be soothed. Standing at the railings, looking out across the water, seeing the movements of its tides, the view of distant shores, with the wind in my hair, has always worked wonders for me.

So, it was a real blow that it was closed during the lockdowns when, let’s face it, we all had rather a lot to think about. Not a good time to lose my favourite thinking place, and I know I wasn’t alone. There aren’t many better places to walk in Hull than along the river edge, and every time I set out on one of those outdoor exercise sessions we were all encouraged to do, it was to the pier that I wished I could go.

SENTINEL: The statue Voyage keeps watch as a ferry heads out to sea

But it was for safety reasons that both pre-date and have extended beyond the pandemic that it had to be closed off for a couple of years. It’s well-known to most of us that Hull is not only at risk of flooding, but actually does so fairly regularly, and the overtopping of the River Humber is one of the causes. So, new flood defences had to be installed along much of its edge, from Paull to Hessle Foreshore.

On Nelson Street these have taken the form of a glazed flood wall. I know it needed to be done, but even so, it is with a mixture of excitement and trepidation that I finally set out to visit when the area re-opens. I’m so excited at the thought of getting it back, but a little bit worried about how different it might be.  

When I arrive, at about 8pm on a June evening, the light is muted, reflecting back copper from the scales of The Deep. A thin mist smudges the hills and houses at the far side of the Humber and softens the refinery lights and towers on this bank, the dark hills and trees beyond it. A solitary gull cuts the sky, swooping, and I let out a long breath, relieved.

I lean against the new wall, red brick with glazed, grey-framed panels, and everything is still visible. The view is unchanged, and the plinths that top the wall are wide and smooth enough for elbows, even a notebook, which, I decide, is an improvement. Before I would have had to perch on railings if I wanted to get comfy and look out.

VANTAGE POINT: Victoria Pier extending into the Humber

Once I’ve spent some time appreciating all of this, I look around and see I’m not the only one devoting some time to river-watching. There’s a man to my left, similarly propped and silent. A couple with a kid on a bike. Two twenty-somethings holding hands, then letting go to point at the sky, something in the distance. A carful of adults pull up, climb out laughing, and head straight to the wall, quieting, and looking out awhile.

When I work my way round to my favourite spot, just beside the Voyage statue, I find this improved too. Wide white speckled pavers extend to form a platform and there are new wooden benches. A man in a football shirt with a bulldog on a lead strolls past with a pregnant woman. We all smile at each other, and he nods vaguely towards the river and the sky.

There’s always a subtle holiday vibe here in the evenings when the weather is warm. It must be the salt-air and the seagulls. The reflected movement of water on glass. I take his gesture to encompass all of this. Something similar to the way people walking in woods always say hello to each other when their paths cross, or the way people acknowledge each other on beaches, with sand in their toes. Look at all of this, they seem to be saying, isn’t it good to be here?

What’s left of the sunlight is silver on the rippled surface of the water, and the lapping of the waves is gentle, soothing in the slight breeze. Tall white flagpoles flank the pathway, their fabric folds hanging loosely. I watch as the ferry makes its steady progress towards the river mouth, leaving, and decide it’s probably time I did the same. I’ll sleep better tonight, knowing this place is returned to us now. It is good to be here again.