The Grandstand on Carholme Road in Lincoln seems, to me, to be a building lost in time. To many, it remains a symbol of a rich history of equestrian sport within the city, and a reminder of the entertainment of yesteryear, standing proudly as it does on the site of the old racecourse. However, when brought up in conversation, fellow students and long-time Lincoln residents alike are at a loss to either, (a) what the grandstand actually is, (b) where it might be, or (c) why it still remains there today.

My historical knowledge of the grandstand is extremely limited. Unlike Steep Hill, Lincoln Cathedral, Jews’ Court, the Stonebow, West Common, Newport Arch or any of the other major historical symbols which have endured throughout the history of the city, the grandstand appears to be a structure which few know about, and fewer go to the effort of researching. From memory, I know that the grandstand itself was the main seating stand for the old racecourse that once stood on the huge plot of land where West Common, the top of Carholme Road as it becomes the A57, and the Carholme Golf Course now stand. The building bears the royal coat of arms, a statement to the opulence of the original building (and the class of person it was intended to accommodate – the wealthy and influential middle-to-upper classes). In the early 1900s it would have seen regular use, as spectators made themselves comfortable to watch horse racing – the sights and sounds of cheering, jeering gamblers, the morning suits and summer dresses of the wealthy, and the almost drum-like rhythm of hooves on dirt are quickly drawn to mind. However, in more recent times the grandstand itself (to my knowledge a listed building) was left to become worn, tired and weatherbeaten. It has for a while been used as a community centre, using rooms in the back of the grandstand beneath the seats as a venue. However, in line with increased tourism to the area, the grandstand has seen a  revival in terms of a refurbishment project alongside the erection of a huge tourism sign encouraging drivers passing through to “visit Lincoln”, and telling them of upcoming events within the city.

For me, the grandstand is an eerie symbol to a lost, almost forgotten history. I find it interesting to consider the way in which, as a place, the grandstand is almost a ‘dead site’. Castrated of its other vital organs, the only suggestion of the racecourse which once stood there is the grandstand, a sad reminder of history and culture lost to time. Many of the people who would watch races there, and the horses who ran, will now almost certainly be dead, and with them a rich historical record of the grandstand as it was – the races which took place, the big wins and the bigger losses – has all but vanished. The ghosts of dead horses and the old building itself are all that remains. To this extent, the grandstand itself could be seen as ‘dead’ – not only through its lack of use, but also through the fact that without the rest of the course (the other stands, the gambling offices, the turnstiles, the horseboxes and the hurdles) it stands almost entirely devoid of purpose if judged according to the original intention of the structure.

The grandstand can also be a contentious statement which invokes, for me, questions regarding whether or not it is the right of human beings to use animals for sport and entertainment. This is particularly potent in an era when campaign organisations such as the RSPCA and the World Wildlife Fund are pushing the animal rights agenda, and at a time where the euthanasia of horses badly injured during big racing events such as Ascot or the Grand National is within the public consciousness. The grandstand stands in some ways as a symbol to that culture; though those activities do not happen on that site anymore, the site itself is imbued with the memory of that activity, and as performers and audiences in the present day we bring our contemporary understanding of those activities – influenced by wildlife activists, newspapers and the media – to that site. The past and the present combine at the grandstand in a way which could be seen as a controversial statement about the position of such a building and what it stands for within a modern Lincoln.

Lastly, the sheer size and presence of the grandstand leads me to consider class relations, something I’ve already touched upon. That it bears the royal coat of arms is not an accident – the grandstand stands as a symbol of the mores of imperialism. Equine sport as an activity for the wealthy is an established concept – polo and dressage, for instance, are not cheap to partake in – and the grandstand remains a symbol of the privilege of those upper classes, sitting in plush, covered stands opposed to the ‘standing-room-only’ of their subordinates. Within Lincoln, recently a safe seat for the Conservative Party or other right-wing political groups, such as UKIP, the fact that the grandstand is a symbol of wealth and opulence is not one to be ignored. Nor is the fact that the royal coat of arms adorning it symbolises very locally the power of the crown, superior to local folk.

I am excited to learn more about the grandstand as we begin to use the site to inform our performance practices within the module, and am interested to see whether applying any of the history I know of the building or my immediate preconceptions about it lead to interesting performative discoveries within our process.