Here is what the excellent Michael O'Mahony had to say about the Castle and its environs in 1931:
"It is gone long ago, and its going was inevitable. The few yards of parapet cornered off Fenwick-street and not much longer than its own name plate is but a reminder of what was once the only hill within the town.
With its going, went landmarks, the loss of which is irreparable.
To the city that loves a lord antiquity would seem to have been anathema, that is, as long as there was anything well worth preserving. Gone is the venerable chapel of Sainte Mary del Key, gone the tower built in 1413 by "John the Irischman", and in which Lord Derby, who fed 60 old people daily, frequently feasted 1,000 guests; gone the majestic old Castle, and if Liverpoof to-day has no building which can truly be called ancient, there's no one to blame but Liverpool. The progress-mongers laid a heavy hand on the " Old Town " when they set about its development.
Anyway, the Castle once gone, nothing could save the Hill; indeed, from its very position it was bound to be cleared away whether the Castle went or stayed. The original site of the old keep was so high that steep stone stairs, called Kenyon's Steps, crossed the fosse to the level of Preeson's Row, but that was not Castle Hill; the Hill, so-called, ran outside the Castle wall down to the tide in a line with Moor Street, and, like Moor Street, ended at the open beach. Those who want to know what old Castle Street looked like in those days have only to look down Cable Street or Atherton Street to-day to realise it. The rent of a house was £4 a year, while a dovecote and orchard was let for 13s. 4d.
The south end of the street did not extend beyond the hill, which would be about the present Cook Street. Fosse and ditch and other environs of the castle had become hemmed in by a dense mass of buildings penetrated by narrow wynds and alleys; but with the improvements of 1786 these rookeries were swept away and the hill went with them.
Drawings of the district fortunately exist owing to the zeal of that erudite antiquary and worthy man, Mathew Gregson. In one, the end of Castle Hill, near Moor Street, are seen the houses partially pulled down. A post-chaise and pair are approaching, with a lady and gentleman inside, but find a difficulty in threading the carts carrying soil and rubbish. A gentleman in a bright red coat is seen clearing the way for a handsome stout lady in a fur-trimmed pelisse, with an immense straw hat and drooping feather and a young girl in a bright green pelisse wearing a coal scuttle bonnet. In another are seen two men carrying a sedan chair, while at the corner of Moor Street a bellman is surrounded by a little group and bawling forth announcements.
Poor old Moor Street, the murky entry down which the uninterested passer-by looks askance if he looks at all, is the one relic of the once mighty family who reigned in mediaeval state in the Old Hall which has not changed its name. It is now but a gloomy byway, but mention it, and you not only hear the rustling of the leaves of history, but the crackling of that most human document, the " Moore Rental," of which I shall have more to say later.
Though narrow, Moor Street was open to the estuary at the lower end, receiving the pure sea breezes, and looking out on to a lovely prospect; while most of the houses were of the gabled, transomed, and dormered style, containing a lingering reminiscence of the mediaeval. One mansion on the south side had a long facade in two storeys, with pilasters running up the whole height, carrying an entablature. Another house, built in 1665, bore on its front the arms of Fayreclough impaling Hyde, with this inscription, "Door, stand thou open to none but an honest man."
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Those who lived in those days every time they looked up Lord Street saw the Castle with its four towers and battlemented walls rising to the sky, and beheld what we would gladly see to-day. Although St. George's Church was architecturally no substitute for what it supplanted, I never look up Lord-street now that I do not miss its graceful spire.
If the architecture of the church was unworthy of what went before it, what can be said of what has come after it? I can only say that I am reminded of the statement that Princess Beatrice driving by the exact spot was heard to exclaim, " Surely,'Mamma never looked like that?" (It is to be earnestly hoped that her Royal Highness, if she has so far escaped the sight, will never behold a certain monstrosity in Manchester.)
Though the disappearance of Castle Hill was considered necessary for the opening of Castle Street, some regretted it for a domestic reason. It is on record that a house had subsided so far as to have a steep incline in its dining-room, which was considered most convenient by both host and guests, "as it permitted the gravy to flow on one side of the plate."
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