Day 32
Elephant & Castle - Elm Park - Elverson Road - Embankment
Of the many and varied station names that litter the London tube map, Elephant & Castle must surely be one of the more exotic.
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| Elephant & Castle |
The name comes from that of an old coaching inn that once stood here, and now refers to both the tube station and the area surrounding it, which is all very well but doesn't really explain anything. Why was the inn given such an odd name in the first place? British pub names, in my experience (which is reasonably comprehensive) tend to have at least some logic behind them. The Royal Oak, The Fox And Hounds, The Bricklayer's Arms - it's not too difficult to trace the origin of these names, be it to historical events, local pastimes or professional groups. But under what possible circumstances (especially four or five hundred years ago when the name was first used) would an Elephant - of all things - and a Castle come together in a south London suburb?
In fact (or at least, in probability) the Elephant & Castle pub was the favoured haunt of the Worshipful Company of Cutlers, whose Coat of Arms just happens to feature several Elephants (to symbolise the ivory used in the various handles) one of which has a castle on its back. The castle may in fact be a representation of a howdah, but that's pure speculation.
All of which is ancient history, and bears little relationship to the modern-day Elephant & Castle - a busy roundabout surrounded by offices, higher education establishments, a Shopping Centre, blocks of flats and a modern day pub-cum-steak house bearing the name of (though probably little other resemblance to) the original inn.
There are two entrances to the station - and they're very different in design. This is the result of one of those 'marriages of convenience' that have often taken place in the tube's history - where two stations, built at different times and serving different lines, have eventually come together underground and become one.
The entrance I encounter first is that which was originally the Bakerloo Line station. The Bakerloo Line terminates here, and its station is as, you can see from the photo above, a typical example of Leslie Green's design.
We'll come to the second (Northern Line) entrance in a while, but first I cross the busy road onto the roundabout at its centre, on which is the first of the many memorials I'm going to encounter today - although at first glance you'd be forgiven for not noticing its memorial-ness at all...
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| Michael Faraday Memorial |
The silvery construction at the centre of the roundabout is a memorial to the scientist Michael Faraday, discoverer of electromagnetic induction (but don't ask me to explain what that is...). The memorial is a huge stainless steel box which actually contains an electrical substation providing power to the tube lines that run beneath it. It was designed by Rodney Gordon and erected in 1961.
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| Information on the Memorial |
Immediately to the south of the roundabout, crossing the road again, I come to the other entrance to the tube station - this time forming the original entrance to the Northern Line station.
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Northern Line Entrance
and Strata SE1 |
What draws the eye upwards though, is the huge skyscraper, somewhat reminiscent of an electric razor, that towers above it. This is the 'Strata SE1' - a residential high-rise building with its own wind-turbines on the roof, and winner of various design and popularity awards, as well as, by way of contrast, being voted in 2010 the 'ugliest building in the United Kingdom completed in the last 12 months' - thereby winning the 'Carbuncle Cup'.
Just south of the station entrance is a bronze statue of the eponymous pachyderm - which does add a little splash of colour to an otherwise rather grey and concrete area.
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| The Elephant and its castellated burden. |
I don't plan on spending much more time in this area, but there's one more visit I want to make before I leave, and that's a little further south - to the East Street Market.
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| East Sreet Market |
This lays claim to being the birthplace of Charlie Chaplin - although whether the birth actually took place at one of the stalls, or in a nearby building, is unclear. There is a blue plaque commemorating the famous birth, and the gazebos at the entrance are also proud to announce the association with the diminutive tramp. But none of the market's customers seem to be that bothered, and the 'genuine leather' and 'three for a fiver' goods that are being peddled here today seem a rather poor memorial to the legendary movie star.
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| Memorial Plaque to Charlie Chaplin |
***
And so on to the next stop which is way out east on the District Line - Elm Park.
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| Elm Park |
Elm Park is one of the last stops on this stretch of the District Line, and lies beyond some of the places I've already visited such as Barking, Becontree, Dagenham and East Ham. I've not, as a rule, been impressed with these places - finding them a little drab and down at heel - so I'm hoping that Elm Park will buck the trend and impress me a little more.
On arrival, my hopes are raised ever so slightly by the classical music being gently piped into the station from several small speakers. How very civilised.
Outside the station however, things soon fall into a familiar pattern. It's mainly residential, by the looks of things - row upon row of 1930s semis and terraces - with just one main shopping street immediately outside the station. The shops are the usual bunch too, and although it has a little less of the intimidating aura that some of the other places I've visited have exhibited, this comes at the expense of being just a little humdrum.
Why is this?
What is it about the eastern end of the District Line that makes it seem so depressed (and depressing)? Especially when you compare these places with their counterparts at the western end. Could you get any more wildly different than Richmond, Kew, Putney et al, compared with Dagenham and Barking and so on?
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. The East/West divide is as real as the North/South divide and is firmly entrenched in the London consciousness. Think 'West End' and you think glamour, glitz, wealth, power. Think 'East End' and what springs to mind is more poverty, grime, slums and deprivation.
This may be a historical hangover - but from what I've seen there's more than a little modern day truth to it as well.
However, determined not to give in too easily - I head north from the station to a park I've spotted on the map, and I have to say that here, at least, I find somewhere really pleasant to spend a little time.
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| Geese is the Word |
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| Swan Lake |
The park - Harrow Lodge Park - is a haven for both birdlife and (today at least) canine life. I lose count of the many dogs and their owners enjoying the open spaces, but like them I really do enjoy the walk around the central lake, with its geese, swans, ducks and many other feathery visitors.
Refreshed, and not a little relieved to have found at least one thing I can wholeheartedly endorse here, I head on to the next stop - Elverson Road.
***
Hmmm - I knew it was too good to last.
Elverson Road is - and there's no polite way of putting this - a dump.
In fact the only thing I can give it any credit for is being the record holder for my shortest visit to any station thus far.
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| Elverson Road |
Having made my way here via Canary Wharf (that bastion of wealth) on the DLR, I emerge onto a very plain looking street outside a very plain looking station. The research I've done in advance of my visit has yielded little in the way of 'things to see', and the sole point of interest on the map seems to be the Ravensbourne River, which runs through nearby Brookmill Park.
Two steps into the park, however and I'm immediately turning round and retracing my steps. No haven for wildlife this - unless you count the two very drunk and very offensive middle-aged men on the first park bench I see ahead of me. They shout and swear at anyone (me in this case) who gets within a few hundred feet of them, and - since the river seems to be a typically clogged up stretch of stagnant water, and the park a mere collection of scraggy trees rather than a pleasant place to take a stroll, I decide to cut my losses and get the next train out of here.
***
To ease my bruised sensibilities and remind myself that London does have some nice bits to it, I decide to get off the DLR at Cutty Sark, and take a boat - the Thames Clipper - from Greenwich to Embankment - my final stop of the day.
Another reason for doing this is of course to tick off another mode of transport - well why not? - and when, on my next trip out, I visit the two stations at either end of the Emirate Air Line, I'll have used every from of public transport available to me - with the exception of the so-called 'Boris Bikes', which I have no intention of subjecting myself to!
The river trip is a slower journey than the tube would have been, but that's fine by me as I take in the views of Tower Bridge, Shakespeare's Globe, The Tower of London, St Pauls, City Hall, and the various wharves and docks that line the route.
After forty minutes or so, I disembark at Embankment Pier, ready for the last leg of today's journey.
***
Embankment Station was originally
called Charing Cross - despite not being connected to the station that currently bears that name - and I’ve already touched on some of the history of the
various name changes under the entry for Charing Cross on this blog.
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| Embankment Station |
However it’s probably worth
a recap. When this station opened in 1870, it served the District Line and was
called Charing Cross. It was what is known as a “Sub-Surface” station – meaning
it wasn’t very deep. Then a separate “Deep-Level” station for the Bakerloo Line
was opened below it in 1906, and it was this
station that was initially called Embankment. The opening of the Northern Line
platforms brought another change of name, to Charing Cross (Embankment) in 1914,
and then the stations were combined and renamed Charing Cross in 1915. In 1974
the station was renamed Charing Cross Embankment, and finally in 1976 it was renamed
back to Embankment. Phew!
The Embankment in question is (at this point) the Victoria Embankment, which in turn forms part of the larger Thames Embankment - running from the Palace of Westminster to Blackfriars Bridge. It was constructed in order to incorporate part of London's new sewerage system (following the 'Great Stink' of 1858) and to ease congestion on the Strand.
It's also home to a particularly concentrated collection of statues, memorials and monuments.
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| W.S. Gilbert |
I begin by walking eastwards as far as Waterloo Bridge. Along the way I pass a memorial to W.S. Gilbert (his co-writer Arthur Sullivan will be appearing shortly), a monument erected by the Belgian People in thanks for Britain's help during the first World War, and perhaps the most striking of all - Cleopatra's Needle.
Each of these has its own story of course - but it would take too long to go into all of them in detail. So, forgive me if I gloss over one or two of them in passing.
Firstly - William Schwenck (what a fabulous middle name) Gilbert, is of course one half of the famous writing partnership - Gilbert and Sullivan. Their operettas (The Mikado, Pirates Of Penzance, Iolanthe et al) were performed at the nearby Savoy Theatre by the D'Oyly Carte company and were the equivalent of today's hit west end shows.
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| Belgian War Monument |
The Belgian War Monument really speaks for itself - Britain welcomed hundreds of Belgian refugees in the first World War, and this is a thank you from the Belgian people.
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| Cleopatra's Needle |
Cleopatra's Needle is a genuine Egyptian obelisk, measuring 68 feet high and weighing 186 tons. Having said that, it has absolutely nothing to do with Cleopatra herself - having originally been erected for Pharaoh Thutmosis III. This mistaken attribution is also shared by the two other obelisks of the same name - in Paris and New York. It's as if they collectively thought 'No-one's heard of this chap Thutmosis - who else can we use? Anyone think of any famous Egyptians? Erm... no not Omar Sharif... Ooh! I know......'.
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| Arthur Sullivan |
At Waterloo Bridge I turn back - heading into the Victoria Embankment Gardens - where I find many more examples of the statuesque.
First we have Mr Gilbert's partner in rhyme - Arthur Sullivan. Social status was, apparently, always a bone of contention between the two men, so the fact that Sullivan gets a bust on a plinth, with a beautiful maiden draping herself in woe before him, while Gilbert gets an age-dulled plaque on the wall opposite the station, may be far from an accident.
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| The Camel Corps |
The next statue I take note of is a rather petite camel and rider, commemorating the Imperial Camel Corps which fought in Egypt, Sinai and Palestine between 1916 and 1918. They stand barely two feet tall on their plinth and seem almost toy-like.
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| Robert Burns |
Behind them, however, and dominating this part of the gardens, is by contrast, an oversized statue of the poet Robert Burns.
Other than the fact that he is frequently misquoted (it's the 'best laid schemes o' mice an' men' that 'gang aft agley' - rather than the best laid plans often going wrong...) I know little about oor Rabbie... For instance, I didn't know that he died young - only thirty-seven - nor that he made so little from his poetry that he had to supplement his income by working as a tax inspector...
Leaving the Gardens back at Embankment Station I continue westwards along the Thames, where not surprisingly the monuments become a little more military in nature.
I say not surprisingly, because we're entering Ministry Of Defence territory.
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| RAF Memorial |
Thus we have the Royal Air Force memorial - primarily in recognition of those who fought in the first World War. And a little further on, a memorial to some more airmen - 'the few', who fought in the Battle Of Britain in World War II.
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| Battle Of Britain Memorial |
***
Now, I realise that what I'm about to say may not win me any friends, but I must admit to a definite lack of jingoism in my attitude to the armed forces - and looking on some of these monuments and the people they commemorate, I take a moment to consider the word 'hero', which seems to me to have been rather devalued in recent conflicts.
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| Opposite side of the memorial |
Of course I appreciate the job the armed forces do, often in horrendous circumstances, and I am fully aware that it is not a job I would ever wish to do myself.
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| Detail of the memorial |
But that's just the point. They have in fact chosen to do this job. They made a decision, knowing full well what that decision might lead to. Does that make them all, by default, 'heroes'? Surely, if it is to mean anything at all, a heroic act must be one which is 'beyond the call of duty'.
I'm not - by any means - diminishing the personal loss of each and every person who has died in conflict. Every loss of life is a tragedy for that person's loved ones. But there seems to be a growing sense that anyone who doesn't enter into the public wailing and gnashing of teeth which attends the death of a British serviceman or woman, is somehow insulting that person's (that 'hero's') memory.
We seem to have become incapable of keeping our grief private. There's a kind of emotional Big Brother making sure that we show the appropriate level of public mourning. Flowers left by the roadside, books of condolence, candle-lit vigils, Facebook and Twitter explosions at the death of a celebrity - I'm afraid I just don't get it.
Anyone who has ever known real grief - the death of a close friend or relative - must surely know the difference between that feeling and the momentary 'click on the RIP button' of what could be called 'Social Mourning'.
I apologise for perhaps bringing down the mood, and for any offense I might have caused. All I can say is that when my time comes, I would rather have one solitary person who feels genuine grief at my passing, than a thousand Facebook RIP messages.
Anyway - let's move on.
***
The last monument I pass, on my way back the tube station, is that of William Tyndale. He was a priest and scholar in the 16th Century who was the first to translate the Bible into English, thus making it more accessible to the common people and removing some of the Church's power - something they were not entirely happy about, naturally.
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| William Tyndale |
He fled to Germany, but was eventually arrested, tried and executed (although this had as much to do with his opposition to Henry VIII's divorce of his first wife, as it did with his 'heretical' translation).
Ultimately his work formed the basis of The King James Bible, and as well as making the bible understandable to even the 'boy that driveth the plough', it also introduced such phrases into the English language as 'the powers that be', 'the salt of the earth', 'the twinkling of an eye', 'fight the good fight', and my own personal favourite - 'eat, drink and be merry'.
Now that's my sort of hero...
