Q&A: Chris Leslie, photographer of a disappearing Glasgow
There are few more handsome cities than Glasgow. But for photographer Chris Leslie, it’s not the warehouses of the Merchant City or the sandstone tenements of the West End that interest him, but the notorious high-rise estates on the edge of town. And it’s those developments that are the focus of his book, Disappearing Glasgow.
Once the embodiment of 1960s optimism, Glasgow’s tower blocks became synonymous with the economic decline of the city, slowly disintegrating until they were unfit for habitation. Since the 1990s, the local council has demolished many of them, something which Chris Leslie started to capture as part of his master’s degree in 2007.
Graduating with distinction, he’s carried on with the project until the present day. Here, he tells Umbrella why.
Hi Chris. What attracts you to Glasgow’s estates?
High-rise landscapes like Sighthill and Red Road were fantastic to photograph. But what was more important were the stories the blocks contained. I wanted to find out what turned them from being the solution to a housing crisis in the 1960/’70s to a ‘problem’ later on.
A lot of these estates are being demolished. How do you feel about that?
I’ve never lived in a high-rise or a ‘sink estate’ so it was never really for me to really comment. But we’re witnessing a major turning point in Glasgow’s social history and these tower blocks needed to be documented before they disappear.
Can you tell us a bit more about the Red Road flats?
They were the most iconic of all the city’s high-rise estates due to their sheer size and scale, and later, their notoriety as a place no-one wanted to live. But roll back to when they were first constructed in 1967 and they were in big demand. Soviet town planners visited the site for inspiration.
So what went wrong?
When heavy industry left the area in the late 1970s/’80s, the north of the city, and Red Road flats in particular, began their slow decline. Poor management from the Glasgow Corporation and subsequent city council left the buildings neglected. High unemployment and drugs moved in and families moved out. Attempts to rebrand the flats as student accommodation had limited success but when asylum-seekers moved there in the late-’90s their fate was sealed. They were finally demolished in October 2015.
What was the strangest thing you saw?
I’d heard rumours there was an ‘underground level’ to the Red Road flats that had been closed off since the late-’90s. In 2011, when the demolition crews needed access, it was opened to reveal an abandoned underground ‘bunker’ that once housed the local amenities for the 4,700 residents.
Incredible. What was it like?
This underground world consisted of a nautically themed bar called The Brig – a local pub without windows, but with boat-themed decor, wood-panelled walls and compass tables. Next door was a staggering 1,000-seater Mecca Bingo Hall, a favourite haunt for Red Road’s ladies. Completely flooded and partially damaged by fire, it still managed to retain its grandiose interiors of mirrored pillars and a bold red-and-blue colour scheme.