A definitive ranking of every Beatles tourist magnet in Liverpool

The writer, Jack, having the time of his life. Photo: Abi Whistance

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Dear readers — What do you call a Post journalist in a suit? The defendant!

Yes: we’ve been in court this week, the results of which we’ll be able to bring you shortly. But either way, it’s thrown a spanner into our usual operating procedure. Hence the delay to and subject of today’s story, which a cynic might call low-hanging fruit. What’s never low effort, however, is our reporting – as you’ll soon discover.

The Beatles. What more can be said about them? Until Pepper Mills, they were undoubtedly the biggest musical sensation to come from Liverpool. But what kind of legacy have they left for the city’s tourism? To find out, we sent Abi, Jack and Laurence all around Liverpool to definitively rank the best Beatles-themed attractions. Whether you’re a Fab Four fan or a Beatlemaniac, let us know whether you agree with our rankings.

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8. John’s house, Paul’s house, George’s house and Ringo’s house

Stop hanging around people’s childhood houses.

7. The Cavern Club (and Pub)

By Laurence Thompson

Infamously, the Cavern was closed down and filled with cement in 1973. Spend too much time around Mathew Street today and you’ll begin to sympathise with that decision. The quarter is now a battlefield between cringe “Irish” bars and backwards-looking vaguely Beatles-themed tat, patrolled by tourists posing for photos in the most awkward spots. It’s a hazard for me in more ways than one: the outstretched bronze fingers of Our Cilla’s effigy are at my eye level, so if I don’t watch where I’m going amongst the buskers and besotted pilgrims I’m in for a future of exclusively Blind Dates.

Nomes! Photo: Laurence Thompson/The Post

Taking refuge in the Cavern Pub, I try to get into the spirit of things, ordering a pint of Cavern Lager. It’s just about the worst beer I’ve ever tasted, but I manfully choke it down while staring at an even less digestible glass display of Status Quo memorabilia. For an underground dive bar, it’s far too bright in here, and really it has nothing to do with The Beatles – they never played or drank here. So I cross the street to the excavated Cavern Club. Even the £6 entry fee has not deterred the tourists: the place is chocker.

In one episode of The Simpsons, Marge and Homer visit “TGI McScratchy’s”, a bar where the suicidal staff are forced to bring in the New Year over and over. I think that’s what working in the Cavern must be like: it’s always the Summer of ’62 and hapless bizzies in tall helmets are forever holding back scores of prematurely hormonal teenagers outside. But despite his Sisyphean gig, even at 4pm on a Tuesday the Cavern’s resident acoustic act Tony Skeggs has the crowd of foreign pensioners absolutely rocking. Or, at least swaying, watching him do Please, Please Me through their phone screens. The Spirit of the Sixties lives on.

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