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Standing silently against the horizon of Merseyside’s coastline, the Iron Men of Crosby Beach have become one of the UK’s most recognisable public art installations. Created by acclaimed sculptor Antony Gormley, Another Place is far more than a collection of statues — it is a meditation on place, identity, time, and the relationship between humanity and the natural world. Unlike the fleeting novelty of snowmen or seasonal spectacles, these cast-iron figures endure wind, tide, and history, drawing visitors from around the world to Crosby Beach year after year. This short piece of flash fiction gives voice to one of Gormley’s Iron Men, offering a sharp, satirical, and reflective perspective on modern art, public space, and the quiet permanence of cultural landmarks.

Iron Men, Not Snow Men

You don’t get snowmen on Crosby Beach. You get Iron Men.

Snowmen are ridiculous things—lumpy white compromises built by little people with little minds, minds not yet ready to appreciate a proper piece of modern art. They arrive trailing buggy-pushing mothers who judge the world solely on whether it’s “good for the little ones.” If they’d had their way, we wouldn’t be here at all.

That’s what happened in Leeds. Our supreme creator, Gormley, put forward a sculpture proposal and was beaten by some sprog-friendly fairground nonsense—a sit-in teacup where parents take photos and pretend culture has happened. Imagine if that logic had ruled here. Iron Men out. Unicorns in. Because kiddies like unicorns. And once you ask children, it’s a slippery slope: rainbows, rainbows everywhere, arcing out of fibreglass backsides. Crosby Beach transformed into a pastel nightmare, hosting birthday parties for seven-year-olds while Alan Carr cuts a ribbon in sequins.

Want to know more about Gormley and the inspiration for his works? Take a look at Learning to Be Antony Gormley.

Instead, you got us.

We’re international, you know. We began lined up in Cuxhaven—Germany, not Combe Haven, the holiday park. People get that wrong more often than you’d think. Then Norway. Belgium. A bit of the Baltic. Finally Merseyside, for the Capital of Culture. We were meant to head off to New York after 2008, but we proved too popular. The public decided we should stay.

I wouldn’t have minded seeing the States, but I’m settled now. Moving coastlines takes its toll. Northern Europe was enough, thanks. The Atlantic looks choppy, and history alone is reason enough not to fancy that crossing.

Summer is our busiest season. Winter is quieter—dog walkers mostly, and then a brief festive surge when work stops and schools close. Occasionally there’s snow, and with it the inevitable, half-hearted snowmen. They look absurd beside us: sagging, dirty parodies of the human form. We were cast from our master’s body. Snowmen are just guesses.

Want to have a go at recreating one of Gormley’s men in clay form? Primo self hardening clay will get you started.

Usually the children give up and start dressing us instead. Everton scarves. Liverpool shirts. Christmas jumpers. Hats. Shirts. The works. Like snowmen, some of us sink slowly into the sand—another deliberate trick of our creator. Unlike snowmen, we’re restored. Preserved. We’ll outlast many things. Maybe even Gormley himself. Stonehenge? Who knows. But we’ll certainly rival our brother, the Angel of the North.

There was talk of Gormley doing something in St Helens, but the council decided it would be too much of a good thing. They got another artist instead. The Dream. A big head. That’s it. We’re better. We’re many. We stretch for miles, guarding the shore.

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Of course, public art has its hazards. We are admired, photographed, climbed on—and peed on. Frequently. Dogs don’t respect international art installations. Would it have been different in New York? No. Dogs are dogs. Asia? Perhaps. But then there are monkeys. I’ve heard stories. I’ll take Labradors, thanks.

So that’s it. Enjoy the rest of your walk. My colleagues and I will remain here, gazing eternally at the horizon—quietly impressive, faintly aromatic, and infinitely preferable to snowmen.

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