'Watching The Detectives'

Day 12

 

Boston Manor - Bounds Green

 

A slightly unusual post this week, as, for reasons that will hopefully become clear, I'm going to be splitting the post between descriptions of two days rather than one - firstly, the day of the actual journey to the two stations (yesterday), and secondly, the following day (today)...

***
Yesterday...

A few weeks ago, I commented on the apparent over-zealousness of a Police Community Support Officer who hovered behind me as I took a photo, and gave me the impression (although he didn't say as much) that he thought I was up to no good.

 

While I stand by what I said on that occasion, I'd like to redress the balance a little and give my whole-hearted thanks and appreciation to the Haringey Police, who's presence on the streets today was exceptionally welcome, and who were most definitely in the right place at the right time.

 

I can't go into too much detail here, since it may prejudice any future prosecution, but I'll say what I can now, and hopefully be able to provide more information at some point in the not too distant future...
 

One thing you'll notice about today's entry is the lack of photographic evidence to back up my claim of having visited the two stations listed above. The reason for this is that, in fact, my camera's memory card is hopefully going to provide photographic evidence in a much more serious matter, and has therefore been kept (for the time being) by the police. I hope you'll be able to take my word for it, for now, that I have indeed visited these two tube stations today, and I will provide the evidence as soon as I can, when my card is returned to me.

 

The matter I'm referring to took place at the second of my two locations today, so - at the risk of being needlessly mysterious - I hope you'll forgive me if I first deal with the relatively unexciting earlier part of my day, at Boston Manor.

***

For once the 'Manor' to which the name Boston Manor refers is still standing, rather than being a long lost feature of a more medieval landscape. It's a Jacobean house, built in 1623, and it stands in one of the several parks that surround the tube station. I'll come to the house and park in a little while, but first a quick look up and down the main road...

The tube station itself stands on Boston Manor Road - a long stretch of road running from Hanwell (to the west of Ealing) down to the M4 and Brentford. At this point along its length there are a few shops and restaurants, the Mechanic I took my car to on Day 5, and a Harvester restaurant (which I've never been to before). Other than that, it seems to be a mainly residential area around here, and I make my mind up fairly quickly to get off the main road and into the greenery of the park.

Boston Manor Park, lying south of the tube station, is somewhat predictably the name of the park in which Boston Manor House stands. It's looking particularly lush this morning after recent April showers, and the lake that greets me almost as soon as I enter the park is the home to many ducks, geese and even a heron that preens itself nonchalantly as I pass by.

Round a corner the footpath leads me to what is actually the rear of the house, and I stop to take a couple of photos before continuing round to the front. The house is open to the public, but only at weekends and bank holidays, so today I have to content myself with the outside views, and some information gleaned from the ever-helpful internet...

For starters, it's a Grade 1 Listed building. In 1623 a certain Lady Mary Reade had the house built, and her initials can apparently be seen in the corners of some of the elaborate plasterwork. A later owner, James Clitherow, a City merchant (younger son of a former Lord Mayor of London) purchased the house in 1670 and significantly enlarged it. The Clitherow family remained the occupants for more than two and a half centuries until the house was sold to the local council in 1924.

 

There's a link here, should you be interested in paying it a visit some time.

Pleasant though the park is, I feel I've seen all there is to see here, and head off to my next - and as it turns out, final - destination of the day; Bounds Green.

***

I arrive at Bounds Green tube station at about 11.30am, having spent most of the journey standing, as the train is unusually packed for this time of day. I presume there has been a problem with an earlier train, or perhaps a 'one under' (as I understand the tube staff refer privately to those poor souls who, deliberately or otherwise, end up under a moving train) - but there's nothing to tell me which it might be, so I resign myself to a standing journey and hope that I can get a seat once we're through the central part of London and out the other side.

When, finally, I arrive at Bounds Green (I did get a seat - hurrah!) I have a quick look around from the entrance to the station, and am met with a familiar sight of shops, cab offices, fast food restaurants and sundry other businesses - nothing, in short, to give me cause for alarm or apprehension, and certainly nothing to hint at what would happen in a short while.

I take a couple of photos of the station first, as is my wont, then I head towards something I've spotted on the map which looks quite interesting.

New River (which at first glance seems to terminate at Myddleton Road - east of Bounds Green station - but which actually reappears at Alexandra Palace further south) is an artificial waterway constructed (though not, I suspect, personally) by Sir Hugh Myddleton between 1608 and 1613. The intention was to bring clean drinking water to London from the River Lea, further north, and seems to have been a reasonably successful venture in its day.

I decide to walk along Myddleton Road to where there is a set of rough steps down to the water's edge. From there I plan to take a few photos and perhaps walk along the river a little way, before heading back to the station.

 

Things take a decided turn for the dramatic, however, when I notice some youths at the bottom of the steps.

And this is where I need to be careful about how much I say. So, in very general terms, and missing out much detail that would no doubt be of interest, what happened next was that I was followed a short way along the riverside, spoken to by one of the youths in an aggressive manner, and ultimately ended up having what looked scarily like a pistol pointed at me.

If you've never looked down the wrong end of a firearm, I can't say it's something I'd recommend.

I found out much later that it was a replica - presumably intended merely to frighten (which it did very successfully) rather than cause injury, but nevertheless not something you want to be faced with on a leisurely stroll...

I somehow managed to remain calm (externally at least) through the following few minutes, and in fact, eventually ended up deciding that the best thing to do was to turn my back on the youths and walk as calmly as I could in the opposite direction - hoping with each step, that I was walking to safety, and not going to end up with a bullet in my back.

I didn't end up with a bullet in my back, thankfully, nor was I followed any further by the youths. I left the riverside at the next bridge, and once out of their sight, thought it might be a good idea to try and get some sort of photo of the youths before they disappeared. (This is of course the reason my memory card is currently in the possession of the police.)

I'd noticed earlier a police car on Myddleton Road, and so - full of relief - I went straight to it and informed the officers of what had occurred. They were, of course, completely professional about it and as I sat  in the back of their car, the necessary action was taken to locate, identify and then arrest the suspects.

Two hours later, having given my statement, I left Bounds Green and headed home - still somewhat shaken, naturally, but also determined not to let it put me off for good.

The fact is, this could have happened anywhere in London, and indeed anywhere in any city in the world. I happen to have been in London for over 20 years now, and this is the first time anything like this has happened to me - naturally I hope it's also the last. With that hope in mind, I'll be continuing my journey as soon as I can.

 

***

Today...

 

So - that was yesterday. Today I was asked back to Wood Green police station, firstly to see if I could identify one of the suspects, and secondly to have my camera's memory card returned to me.

 

The days of the traditional 'half-a-dozen-people-in-front-of-a-height-scale' Identity Parade are, I'm relieved to discover, long gone. These days, you sit in a little room with a TV monitor, on which numbered videos of various faces are played as you watch. After that, you simply state whether or not you can identify any of the numbered faces. It's a huge relief, I have to say, not to have to face the person in the flesh - even if it were from behind tinted glass or something similar.

 

Since I'm still not sure what may or may not be prejudicial to the case, I'm going to play it safe and not say any more than that about what happened today.

 

Instead, thanks to the good offices (and indeed good officers) of the Metropolitan Police, I am now able to leave you with a selection of the photos I took yesterday, although you won't be surprised to learn that there is one photo I won't be showing you - the photo I took of the suspects is, and will remain, safely in the hands of the police.

 

So here instead are pictures of Boston Manor (Station, Park and House), and of course - Bounds Green station.



Boston Manor - The day started so well...





Art Deco tower

Boston Manor House - Front

Boston Manor House - Rear



Heron Today...

...Gone Tomorrow

 

Bounds Green - looks quite innocuous doesn't it?

 

'Panic'

Day 11

Blackhorse Road - Blackwall - Bond Street - Borough

Today starts with a minor panic, as the horrifying possibility that I might have inadvertently missed out a station hovers menacingly before me for a few moments.

 

I've been using a "To Do List" app on my phone to keep track of the stations I've visited - painstakingly typing in the whole list of stations before I started, and checking them off as I go.

 

Unfortunately, it seems I didn't take quite as many pains as I'd thought...

As I sat at home planning today's trip, my stomach lurched as I realised that one of the stations on the tube map, and which I was due to visit today, wasn't on my list! Horrified, I checked back through the stations I'd already ticked off - but thankfully I hadn't missed any out on my travels. I had, however, missed out another station further down the list - so it was lucky I spotted it now.

It was a nasty moment. What would I have done if I'd got to the end of this challenge, only to realise I'd missed a couple of stations out? The OCD part of me would have had a breakdown and insisted I do it all again! (The lazy part of me would have told the OCD part of me not to be such a prat, but nevertheless, the nagging feeling that I hadn't actually completed the challenge would always be there in the back of my mind...)

I double checked the list, and praying that it was now correct, I set off.

 

***

My first port of call, Blackhorse Road station, is, I'm afraid, a disappointment. Located in Walthamstow, in north-east London, it sits on a crossroads - the junction of Forest Road, Blackhorse Lane and, of course, Blackhorse Road - and in every direction the view is a bleak collection of industrial estates, run-down shops, and cafes.

 

The station itself is mainly grey and blocky looking, although the bas-relief of a black horse on the frontage does liven it up a little.

 

Blackhorse Road - a splash of colour in an otherwise grey landscape

On the map, I've seen that Forest Road spans a collection of reservoirs, which I hope will at least provide some interesting photo opportunities, so I set off on the long straight road. Sadly, the water is mostly obscured by high walls and, where it is visible, the view is uninspiring. I try my best to make an interesting photo out of what I see, but end up with a shot of railway tracks rather than expanses of water.

Reservoir No. 4 - I suspect the others were equally fascinating.

 

Despite my best efforts, I can only stretch out my enthusiasm for this area to a meagre fifteen minutes, and I'm soon on my way south again, heading for Blackwall.

 

***

Famous for its tunnel (if not for much else), I'm initially worried that Blackwall is going to prove equally disappointing as I stand at the bottom of the staircase from the DLR station platforms. I seem to be in the middle of a rabbit-warren of subways, and can't see above ground beyond the surprisingly elevated station.

Blackwall - a lot of steps.

 

I revert to technology and discover, via Google Maps, the direction I need to head in order to find the river. Blackwall is pretty much the north-easterly corner of The Isle Of Dogs (which is that sticky-out bit of land in the looped section of the Thames seen on the opening credits of Eastenders) and is very  much in the dockland area.

 

I walk along Preston's Road as far as Blackwall Basin, passing many new and semi-built apartment blocks in the shadow of the Canary Wharf skyline and finally get some interesting views of the water.

 

Blackwall Basin

There are views across the Thames of the O2 Arena (formerly the Millennium Dome) and, somewhere under the wide expanse of the river, is the Blackwall Tunnel, taking cars north and south between Blackwall and North Greenwich.

O2 Arena

The Blackwall Tunnel (honestly, it's under there somewhere)

 

In the opposite direction, the high-rise skyline of Canary Wharf provides a somewhat incongruous background to the older, and more bijou residences, which were presumably here long before the Docklands Development of recent years.

The old and the new - together in perfect harmony?

Having retraced my steps towards the DLR station to look for somewhere for lunch, I'm disappointed to discover my only option is a McDonalds. However, as I approach it I realise that just a little further along the road is Billingsgate Fish Market - another famous landmark I can visit while I'm here.

 

Unfortunately however, my visit consists of nothing more than standing at the front gate and taking a photo, as being a market dealing in fresh fish, it opens at 5am and closes at 8.30am. Now, I consider myself a relatively early riser (not being able to sleep in past 8am, even at weekends) but I'm afraid there's no way I'm getting up that early!

Billingsgate Market - No wonder they have a reputation for swearing
if they have to get up that early every morning.

On a roundabout just in front of the Fish Market is a piece of art created by French sculptor Pierre Vivant (which must surely be a pun - who but a sculptor would have a name which translates as "living stone"?).

 

The Traffic Light Tree

It's called the Traffic Light Tree, for obvious reasons, and is fun to watch for a few minutes. However, time is getting on, and I'd like to get through two more stations today if possible, so I head back to the station and on to Bond Street.

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

I step out of Bond Street station onto Oxford Street.

 

Bond Street - looking quite deserted for a change.

And that's probably all I need to say, if you're familiar with this part of London. Anyone who has lived, worked, or been a tourist in London has visited Oxford Street at some point; and whether you arrive, as I do, via Bond Street station, or via one of the other stations along its length (Marble Arch, Oxford Circus or Tottenham Court Road), your experience is going to be pretty much the same.

 

Ah, here come the hordes of shopping fanatics.

Oxford Street is, and has been for generations, the destination of choice for the serious shopper. The big names in retail have always referred to their Oxford Street shops as their 'Flagship Stores', Selfridges, one of the most famous department stores in the world, is located here (and nowhere else in London) and the pavements are always thronging with people bustling along (albeit bustling along at a snail's pace).

 

And I really can't see the attraction.

 

It's always been a mildly grubby street in my opinion, and anything you can get here can also be found in far more pleasant shopping areas elsewhere. With the exception of Selfridges, and one or two of the more 'independent' type of shops (where you can buy cheap t-shirts with "I ♥ London" printed on them, or have your phone lovingly covered in pink glittery plastic) every single one of the businesses here will have an outlet that's nearer to where you live, not surrounded by hordes of tourists, and quite simply a nicer place to visit.

 

Having experienced the 'delights' of Oxford Street all too often in the past, I decide instead to visit the street that gave Bond Street station its name - Great Titchfield Street.

 

(That was a joke.)

 

Bond Street doesn't, in fact, exist as a single entity and is actually two streets - New Bond Street and Old Bond Street, which between them stretch from Oxford Street south to Piccadilly.

 

New Bond Street, which is by far the longer of the two, being about four times longer than its older brother) is the most northerly, and therefore the first part I walk down.

 

It was added to the original Bond Street only about forty years after the first part was built in the late 1600s, so the epithet 'New' is somewhat misleading. In fact the two 'halves' are fairly indistinguishable - oozing with ostentatious wealth from every jewellery store and art gallery window, it's no surprise that all the cars parked here have personalised number plates, and there are 'bouncers' outside every shop door.

 





Henry Irving lived here

I'm pleased to spot the name of one of my theatrical 'ancestors' on a blue plaque as I approach the Old part of the street - though Henry Irving must have been more successful than most actors these days, who could barely afford to walk down this street, let alone live here.

 

 

 

 

 

Across the street from Henry Irving's house is my second piece of public artwork of the day.

 

Called 'Allies', it's a depiction of Winston Churchill and Franklin D. Roosevelt having a bit of a natter, by the American sculptor Lawrence Holofcener. I say sculptor, he's also been an actor, director, poet, playwright, novelist, singer and songwriter in his time, so naturally I hate him, the successful git.

 

'Allies' (or 'Do You Come Here Often?')

I'm surprised to discover that the sculpture was only created in the 90s, as I'd assumed it would have been a post-war celebratory piece. However, it seems it may have been the germ of an idea that the artist went on to develop in creating several more pieces, celebrating great figures of the 20th Century.

 

Having reached Piccadilly, I head to the station at Piccadilly Circus and on to my final destination of the day - Borough.

 

***

Borough station is in Southwark, as indeed is Southwark station. Southwark is the name of the London borough in which you'll find both stations. Borough is not a borough, but just another name for Southwark, which, historically, was also known simply as 'The Borough', and therefore 'Borough'... which can get confusing.

 

Borough - not a borough

The station sits on the corner of Borough High Street and Marshalsea Road and, for anyone who has read much Dickens, the name Marshalsea will instantly bring to mind one particular novel - Little Dorrit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There really was a Marshalsea Debtor's Prison here, although all that remains of it now is a stretch of wall, part of which formed its southern boundary.

 

Marshalsea Prison - Welcome To Dorritland

Along Angel Place, the tiny alley that gives access to this wall (appropriately enough, given its literary association, running alongside a library), are various signs and paving slabs referencing the novel and its author, and it soon becomes very clear that the local authorities are going to milk Little Dorrit for all she's worth.

Angel Place paving slab - a kind of York Stone York Notes.

And a quotation from the novel.

I  walk through the tiny Little Dorrit Court, into Little Dorrit Gardens, where children play on the Little Dorrit Playground, and I turn the corner, ending up rather unexpectedly in Disney Place.

 

Disney Place - which is
the one thing it's not

Along with its neighbour, Disney Street, it was apparently included on a 2011 'Disney Adventure Trail' map produced by the Disney Store - despite not having anything whatsoever to do with the American animator or his cartoon creations. Should anyone have followed the map they must surely have been perplexed at the very un-Disney-like tiny little back-street in which they found themselves.

 

 

 

 

Still waiting...

Still, having got here, they can at least find someone else to play with if they wait long enough...


'The Best Things In Life Are Free'

Day 10

 

Bethnal Green - Blackfriars

 

It's a sunny day again as I set off on another foray among the 'B's. Up to now I've visited thirteen B stations - just under half of them - whereas by now I had completed the 'A's. Mind you, the 'W's are the real bugger - forty of them, and right at the end of the journey too, just to drag it out to the bitter end...

 

However, today is a fairly painless excursion - a direct run from Ealing to Bethnal Green on the Central Line, and then, find my way somehow down to Blackfriars. I'm not planning on seeing more than these two stations today, so it shouldn't be a problem.

 

The first of my two stops, Bethnal Green, has a particular significance for me, and for this journey, as it is the home of the person who could be considered my inspiration for this 'quest'. I've mentioned Dave Gorman before, but for those of you who may not have heard of him, he's a comedian who specialises in 'projects' such as the one I'm engaged in. He tends to fall into them by accident, such as when his flatmate challenged him to find and meet 54 people who also happen to be called Dave Gorman, or when he discovered the phenomenon known as a Googlewhack, and set out to form a chain of ten Googlewhacks in a row... but I somehow feel he would 'approve' of my own self-imposed challenge.

 

I therefore arrive in Bethnal Green with the naive hope that I might bump into Dave somewhere along these streets, and manage to keep him talking long enough to drop into conversation the fact that I'm 'following in his footsteps' as it were.

 

Bethnal Green - Blink
and you'll miss it

Emerging from the subway that leads up from the station, I'm immediately aware that this is one of the stations in London (and there are many) that have no street-level architecture to announce their existence. There are subway entrances at various points on the pavements surrounding the crossroads under which it is situated, and they each have sign bearing the traditional London Underground 'roundel', but other than that, the streets are uninterrupted by the presence of the station.

 

 

 

About five minutes north of the station is the Museum Of Childhood. An adjunct to the main Victoria & Albert museum in South Kensington, the museum was opened in 1872, although it was some time before it settled on 'childhood' as its specialist field.

 

Museum Of Childhood - not a playground

Entry is completely free (although donations are encouraged) and naturally a popular attraction for the many groups of parents and children I see entering it this morning. There are two levels to the museum, both filled with glass exhibit cases bursting with toys and games from the last hundred years or more. There are dolls, jigsaws, train sets, Star Wars figurines, early video games, meccano, and lots more, all very neatly displayed and labelled.

 

What there isn't much evidence of, sadly, is playfulness. The Science Museum in South Kensington is famed for being an extremely 'interactive' experience for children and succeeds in removing most of the expected boredom kids feel when being dragged round a museum. This museum on the other hand, though ostensibly dedicated to 'childhood', seems to be much more a place where parents can move from display case to display case exclaiming, "Oh, I had one of those!" every few minutes.

 

Perhaps I'm being unfair. There were a few things the kids could touch and play with, and there was, while I was there, a pirate themed story and song session in one corner. And it is free - a rare treat these days. It's just that the whole place was imbued with the traditional 'look but don't touch' ethos of more old fashioned museums.

 

***

In 1943, when the air-raid sirens were heard over Bethnal Green, the locals made their way, as usual, into the underground station to shelter.

 

On this occasion, however, a woman carrying a baby somehow tripped and fell three steps from the bottom on her way down to the platform. A man tripped over her in turn, and so began a chain reaction that was to end in the deaths of 173 people, mainly women and children, crushed and asphyxiated in the cramped stairway.

 

Unaware of what was happening, hundreds of people continued to push their way into the stairway, hoping to reach safety from the air-raid, when in fact they were adding to the lethal crush below. Over 300 people were wedged into the stairway, and inevitably those at the bottom of the pile were killed, with another 60 requiring hospital treatment. It was the largest single loss of civilian life in the UK during World War II.

 

Stairway To Heaven Monument

Today, in Bethnal Green Gardens, there is a memorial (although it is not yet complete) dedicated to those who died. It is called 'Stairway To Heaven', a twee title perhaps, but I'll forgive them, as the memorial itself is quite powerful. It consists of a sloping stone plinth, inlaid with one plaque giving an account of the tragedy, and many more on which the memories of some of the survivors or relatives of the deceased are displayed.

When (hopefully) full funding has been obtained, the completed monument will have an inverted staircase attached to its upright section.

The account of the tragedy.

The account of the tragedy is powerful enough, but it is the words of those who lived through it, or whose families were affected by it that evoke a deeper response:

"My mum, Ivy Brind, was pushed down the stairs and landed on her back holding her 2 year old nephew, Barry Seabrook, in her arms. She tried to protect him by holding her arms above him but the weight of so many people falling on them became too great. Next morning she found that her mum had also died in the crush. She heard the screams and cries every night thereafter." - Sandra Scotting, daughter.

"Jean Maguire: Mum refused to let Jean visit our aunt and uncle that night but she kept badgering until mum gave in. That was the last time she saw Jean. My father never spoke again to my aunt and uncle because they were in the shelter with her and they survived but Jean didn't." - June Blackman, sister.

"I was trapped on the 3rd stair from the bottom shouting for help. Air raid warden Mrs Chumbley grabbed me by my hair then under my arms. She finally pulled me free. My aunt, Lillian Hall, came down to the bunks a little later, tattered and bruised. As instructed, we said nothing to anyone all night." - Alf Morris, survivor.

The instruction to "say nothing" was primarily a desire on the government's part to avoid giving propaganda to the enemy and lowering morale at home. However, there do also seem to have been secret official reports that there had been "panic" and "surging", which were later proved untrue, and earlier requests made for safety barriers to slow down the crowds had apparently been ignored by the authorities.

This is the second such war-time tragedy I've encountered on my travels so far, a reminder that the tube has a long, and not-altogether happy history, which remains in my thoughts as I descend once more into the station (without, sadly, having bumped into Dave Gorman) to catch another train to carry on my journey.

*** 

Except that I don't, in fact, catch a train. Looking at the tube map on the station wall, and comparing it with the real geography of the area, I realise it will actually be easier and probably quicker, to walk to Whitechapel Station, and catch the District Line from there to Blackfriars. So, turning on my heel at the underground entrance to Bethnal Green, I climb those fateful stairs once again, and walk southwards to Whitechapel.

***

And a short while later I'm stepping out of a train onto the shiny new platform of the recently modernised Blackfriars Station.

Blackfriars - it's all shiny and clean and new! (For now)

It was closed for renovation between 2009 and 2012 and has a gleaming new glass frontage that dominates the north end of Blackfriars Bridge on which it sits - a far cry from the unobtrusive subway entrances of Bethnal Green.

It's also a far cry from most of the other buildings in this area, which has a history stretching back to the 14th Century, if not further. We're now in the original 'City Of London' (which, somewhat like the Vatican, is a city within a city) and Blackfriars was first called this in 1317.

As you might guess, the name derives from the colour of the robes worn by the Dominican Monks who were resident in the area until the dissolution of the monasteries by Henry VIII in 1538.

Across the river I can see the London Eye, Oxo Tower and National Theatre - examples of more modern (relatively speaking) architecture, which combined with the river being only a few feet away really makes me feel like I'm in 'central' London. So far on this journey, I've spent a lot of time exploring the suburbs - it's nice to remind myself of the more familiar landmarks of the city.



The Black Friar - although he
probably wouldn't fit inside

Near the station is a pub called the Black Friar, which has absolutely no historical connection to the monks, being built in 1905, but which looks like it could be the smallest, narrowest pub in the world. It's a Grade II listed building, in the Art Nouveau style, and was apparently saved from being demolished by a campaign led by former poet laureate Sir John Betjeman.




***
You can always tell when you're in 'old' London, because the street names start to get all silly.

I pass through Puddle Dock, up Wardrobe Terrace and (for fans of David Hasselhoff) into Knightrider Street.



Knightrider Street - Hoff not supplied

The street looks too narrow for the famous black car to enjoy much of a spin here, although it does have a minor connection to another TV show you may have heard of - Doctor Who. Apparently one of the original episodes from 1969 features a horde of Cybermen marching along the tarmac...

***
It's the river though, that draws me to it for a few moments of afternoon relaxation. I join the various local office workers enjoying their lunch by on the riverside in the sunshine, with the bridge stretching out in front of us, and the joggers and city workers passing by. It's pleasant, relaxing, entertaining, and above all - free.


Blackfriars Bridge

Blackfriars Bridge itself is actually one of two that span the river here - the other being the Blackfriars Railway Bridge.


The old bridge supports

Between the two are a series of red columns, which at first glance resemble the remains of an ancient Egyptian temple. They are in fact the original supports of the first railway bridge, which was removed in 1985 because it was too weak to support modern trains. This makes it sound like a frail old grandfather, unable to lift his grandchildren, and is rather poignant.

 

 

I decide to end today's explorations here, as there are other stations which will bring me back to some of the landmarks that are tempting me from across the water - The Tate Modern, National Theatre, London Eye, and so on will all have to wait for another day.

'Two Out Of Three Ain't Bad'

Day 9

 

Belsize Park - Bermondsey

 

I'm back in town two days later for my (rescheduled) meeting, and as is becoming a habit, my first thought is: "how many stations can I fit in today?"

 

The meeting is at Leicester Square, so the first station on today's agenda - Belsize Park - is an easy hop up the Northern Line. After that, I drop back down on the parallel branch of the Northern Line to London Bridge, switch to the Jubilee Line, and go one stop to Bermondsey. So the only question is, can I fit in a third station - Bethnal Green - before the rush hour, which is something I've generally tried to avoid at all costs.

 

So, at about 1.30pm, having finished my meeting, I arrive in Belsize Park, one of many stations designed by a man called Leslie Green in the early 1900s - with their distinctive "ox-blood red" tiling and semi-circular windows, there is a certain elegance about them which, sadly, most stations lack.

 

Belsize Park - one of the nicer parts of town

The word 'Belsize' comes from the French 'bel assis', which means 'nice arse'.

 

Oh, ok then, not really - actually it means 'beautifully seated' or 'well situated' and in general I'd have to agree with them on that score.

 

The main street, which runs alongside the station is called Haverstock Hill, and there are many other hills in the area, including one of the most famous in London, Primrose Hill, which offer great views across the centre of town. At the northern end of the road is the huge Royal Free Hospital, and Hampstead Heath is within walking distance.

 

Haverstock Hill is an attractive tree-lined road with a lively collection of shops, restaurants, pubs, and one of the 'Everyman' chain of cinemas. The restaurants remind me that I haven't yet had lunch, so I stop at a Gourmet Burger Kitchen, and sit on one of their outside tables watching the world go by for a while.

 

At a Starbucks next door is a man who looks the absolute spitting image of Javier Bardem in 'No Country For Old Men', although this guy is playing what looks like a ukulele to his friend sat with him (people do that sort of thing in coffee shops round here), so he loses some of the more threatening resemblances to Bardem's character.

 

I actually know this part of town, or at least this street, reasonably well, as a few years ago I was in a play just up the road. I plan to revisit the venue of that performance in a little while, but first I decide to head south, down the hill, to a road called England's Lane, which a quick glance at Wikipedia has told me offers one of the best views of Central London.

 

Haverstock Hill is a deceptively gentle-looking slope at first glance, but by the time I've reached England's Lane, I'm aware of being quite a lot lower than when I started - and of course, I'll be walking back up it in a while. Nevertheless, I continue my walk along England's Lane, keeping my eye out for a gap between the huge tall houses in the area - which presumably is where the amazing view is to be found.

 

Reaching the end of the road, where it meets Primrose Hill Road, I'm puzzled and disappointed. There has been no evidence of any view. The houses are all at least four storeys tall and with very little in the way of gaps between them. I turn back in the direction I've come from and retrace my steps in case I've missed something, but no - there's a very narrow view of 'The Gherkin' when you get back to Haverstock Hill, but otherwise, nothing. Where are the sweeping vistas, the impressive skyline, the city laid out like a model in front of you?

 

It turns out, of course, that in my haste I've misread the Wikipedia entry and instead of England's Lane providing the views, it is in fact Primrose Hill park, which "is a five minute walk from England's Lane". I think the word I'm looking for is "d'oh!"...

 

*** 

Back up the hill, beyond the station, Haverstock Hill becomes Rosslyn Hill, and at the junction of this road with Pond Street, is an old church called St Stephen's. It was built in the 1870s, but a hundred years later, in 1977, it was abandoned and left derelict until the early 2000s. A trust was set up to restore the church (by now deconsecrated) in order to turn it into a community arts, education and social venue.

 

Which is how, in Easter 2009, I came to be stood on a stage erected in the space formerly occupied by the church's altar, dressed in a flat cap and tweed jacket, and with a large flat tail attached to my trousers, playing the character of 'Mr Beaver' in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.

 

St Stephen's - and, for a
brief period in 2009, Narnia.

The church had barely been re-opened when we put on the show, and although the main body of the church was clear and, though perhaps a little dusty, useable as a space, the crypt where we had our 'dressing rooms' was still to all intents and purposes, a building site.

 

I had hoped to be able to get inside to revisit the 'theatre' but the church is, it seems, still not fully open to the public, and there are only certain 'open days' when you can get inside. I take a picture of the outside anyway, for old times' sake, then head back to the station to head south again.

 

***

A word or two about the Northern Line.

 

This line is unique in that it splits into two different routes, both running north-south through central London. Looking at the tube map, and starting at Morden in South London, they first diverge at Kennington, reaching up to 2 miles apart at some points, then converge again briefly at Camden Town in the North, and then split again towards Edgware on one branch, and High Barnet on the other.

 

The reason for this more complicated layout, is as you might imagine, because the current Northern Line is actually an amalgam of three separate railways into one.

 

It also has the dubious honour of being known for many years as the 'Misery Line', thanks to the slow running and regular breakdowns of its trains. Things seem to have improved in recent years, and certainly I encounter no problems on my journey south.

 

***

Bermondsey, in contrast with Belsize Park, gives the appearance of being rather down at heel. With very little other than tower-blocks immediately outside the station to greet me, I wonder if I'm going to be turning round and heading straight on to my next destination.

 

The area has seen more affluent times - the Biscuit manufacturers Peek Frean and Co. gave it the nickname 'Biscuit Town' for a while, and there was a Spa leisure resort here in the 18th Century, but today it's one of those inner city areas that seem to offer little attraction for the locals other than a place to eat, sleep and work. Necessary, to be sure, but hardly food for the soul.

 

Bermondsey - not much to look at.

Before giving up, however, and through the wonders of modern technology (i.e. Google Maps) I discover that it's only a two minute walk, through some back streets, to the River Thames.

 

There's always something enticing about being close to the water, and living in London does have the great advantage that you're never that far from the river. I stand with my back to an otherwise unexciting collection of modern housing and instead look out across the great grey expanse of water. I can see Tower Bridge and the Gherkin to my left (west) and Canary Wharf to my right.

Upstream - Tower Bridge and other assorted landmarks

Downstream - Canary Wharf

 

It was somewhere along this stretch of river that Turner painted The Fighting Temeraire, although these days the kind of vessel you're most likely to see is a tourist river cruiser.

 

A little way along the riverside I come to a mooring post sticking up out of the water and notice a sign or placard tied to the post.

 

A couple of lovebirds

 

 

 

 

It seems that, rather sweetly, a couple of pigeons may just have become engaged...

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wishing them every happiness for the future, I take my leave, and realising that it's now gone four o'clock in the afternoon, and the rush hour will be starting soon, I reluctantly accept that a visit to a third station today is no longer a viable option, and I set off on my way home.

'Parklife'

Day 8

Bayswater - Beckton - Beckton Park - Becontree

 

I'm setting off a bit earlier than usual this morning, as I'm meeting up with someone in town at 11am, so the plan is to visit one station in the morning, and then a couple more after my meeting.

 

There's a thick mist hanging over West London as I walk to the station, and for a while I imagine the title of today's blog post will be 'A Foggy Day (In London Town)'.

 

'Play Misty For Me'

 

It's nothing like the choking 'pea-soupers' our old friend Sherlock Holmes would be familiar with, but it's uncommon enough these days in London to be worth a mention.

 

First off today I'm heading for 'Batswater'.

 

No, that's not a typo - well, it is, but not mine. On the railings by platform 12 at Paddington is a map of the Circle Line, which unfortunately has the station between Paddington and Notting Hill Gate, which should be Bayswater, labelled instead as 'Batswater', an unpleasant sounding place to visit I'm sure you'll agree...

 

Batswater - the QWERTY keyboard has a lot to answer for.

Now, on Day 7, in Barkingside, you'll recall that my camera attracted some attention, and I ended up having an entertaining chat with two very different but perfectly friendly people as a result. Today, as I'm taking the above photo, it attracts attention once again, though of rather a different kind.

 

I sense a 'presence' hovering just behind my left shoulder, as I'm stood with the viewfinder to my eye, and I lower the camera to find a Police Community Support Officer (PCSO) watching me silently.

 

For the benefit of those who may be unfamiliar with these entities, I can do no better than quote from their own website www.policecommunitysupportofficer.com:

 

PCSOs "...are members of support staff, employed, directed and managed by their Police Force. They will work to complement and support regular police officers, providing a visible and accessible uniformed presence..."

 

The site goes on to inform us that their primary purpose is to "improve the community and offer greater public reassurance... to address anti-social behaviour, the fear of crime, environmental issues and other factors which affect the quality of people's lives..."

 

Quite why this particular PCSO is paying me so much (silent) attention then is rather unclear - I don't believe taking a photo of a tube map falls into the category of anti-social behaviour, nor is it immediately apparent where 'the fear of crime' might be. I suppose I could, at times (particularly after a potent curry) have an effect on environmental issues, but I can assure you that today my body is behaving itself impeccably. As indeed, am I.

 

I ask politely if there is a problem, to which the PCSO gives the inexplicable reply:

 

"No, no - just wanted to make sure you were alright."

 

Alright? Well, yes - why wouldn't I be? I'm taking a photo, not frothing at the mouth.

 

Of course, what he meant was "just wanted to make sure you're not a terrorist", but that's not something he can admit. Now I'm all for decent law and order and a 'visible presence' on our streets, and I don't subscribe to the view that all cops are vicious racist thugs who'd stitch you up as soon as look at you. On the, thankfully, few occasions I've had recourse to the law, it has treated me with respect and courtesy. However, I'm afraid I suspect this particular PCSO of a touch of over-zealousness.

 

A camera and a rucksack do not a terrorist make. And if, for some strange reason, you suspect that they do, then you may ask me politely what I'm doing, and why, and I will tell you, (although the law is somewhat vague as to whether or not, in fact, I am obliged to do so). Loitering with intent to intimidate is not the way to win hearts and minds.

 

Clearly I was doing nothing wrong, either legally or morally - equally clearly, this PCSO wasn't going to go away until I explained why I was taking the photo, (which, as I've said, I'm not convinced I was obliged to do). It may have been subtle, but the intimidation was definitely in the air - so I pointed out the hilarious typo on the sign, and he agreed it was mildly amusing. I moved on, feeling somehow aggrieved, and stepped out of Paddington station to the streets above.

 

***

Bayswater Station is a fifteen minute walk from Paddington, and by now the sun has burnt off the mist, so I eschew the pleasure of the amusingly misspelled Circle Line, and stroll through the grand old Georgian houses towards my goal.

 

It's easy to forget that these gleaming four- and five-storey white-washed palaces were once all private residences, belonging to a single family (plus servants). I'm assuming (justifiably I hope) that they've all been subdivided into as many flats as the landlords can get away with, though it's possible that one or two of them are still wholly owned by the more affluent of the local residents.

 

In any case, compared with the terraced working class dwellings I've encountered on many of my journeys, the contrast is stark.

 

It's with this thought in mind that I reach a street that I've been curious to see for some time - an otherwise unassuming row of Georgian houses called Leinster Gardens. 

***

While you may not immediately recognise the name, or recall the architectural curiosity to be found there, if you are a fan of the TV show 'Sherlock' (he does seem to crop up regularly doesn't he) or have read Ben Aaronovitch's latest Peter Grant book 'Whispers Underground' you will definitely have come across it before.

 

Leinster Gardens -
nothing to see here...

At first glance, as you walk along Leinster Gardens, the houses all look alike and you may not notice anything unusual about numbers 23 and 24. But take a second look - or better still, have a look on Google Earth and get the bird's eye view. Spotted it yet?

 

From above, you'll see a gap, the width of two houses, in the otherwise continuous row. The gap dates back to the early, steam-powered days of the underground, when "venting off" points were needed to let the steam out of the tunnels.

 

Switching back to 'street-view' as it were, for a moment, you might begin to realise that there's something a little odd going on here...

 

Got it yet? Go on, have another look...

 

Street level - an uninterrupted row of Georgian houses.

Aerial view - a great big gap between two of them.

 

The solution to the mystery is, of course, that numbers 23 and 24 Leinster Gardens are not houses at all, but merely false facades erected to protect the sensitive residents of the street from the reality of steam-powered tube travel.

 

It was deemed unsightly to have billows of steam erupting from the ground between these magnificent dwellings, so they simply decided to hide it all away behind false walls and painted-on windows (look again at the photo and the difference between the fake windows and the real ones next door is obvious).

 

The only problem is, they seem to have done a pretty poor job of it round the back, in Porchester Terrace... 



What goes on behind
closed doors...

... Or perhaps the residents here were not considered aesthetically sensitive enough (or rich enough or important enough) to warrant a similar bit of architectural subterfuge.

 

 

***

Round the corner from the Case Of The Missing Building, I find this chap, minding his own business. The sign on his neck reads "I am the goat of happiness" - which is nice...

 

 

 

 

 

***

Bayswater Station is on the road called Queensway, as is - unsurprisingly - Queensway Station. This is one of the difficulties of this endeavour - knowing quite how far to spread my exploratory wings from each station I visit. A lot of London's stations are so close that to draw any imaginary 'boundary' between them becomes meaningless - they are, in effect, serving the same streets and the same community.

 

Today I decide that, since Hyde Park, which is south of Queensway, is more than big enough to warrant a few separate entries from the various stations surrounding it, I shall consider the area north of Queensway station as 'belonging' to Bayswater.

 

Not that there's a great deal either of them would waste much time squabbling over. For an area with a reputation for affluence, there are a surprising number of very shabby tourist souvenir shops, and rather run-down looking cafes and restaurants. There is a shopping centre - Whiteleys - where the great and the good of Bayswater can buy the usual clothes, jewellery and frothy coffee, but it seems to be such a typical example of the genre that I decline its charms.

 

I do spot an intriguing bust (and who doesn't like an intriguing bust of a morning?) with an inscription which makes some fairly unequivocal claims about its subject... 

I can't help thinking that if Mr Skanderberg were truly the defender of Western civilisation he claims to be, I would have heard of him before now - which I haven't.

 

Also, given that he seems to have lived for a, frankly, piffling 63 years - he can't have been all that invincible either.

 

 

However, I have a meeting to get to, so I take a quick photo of the station, and then walk right past it and on to Queensway, five minutes further along, to get the Central Line into town.

 

***

It's a measure of how much this blog has already inveigled itself into my life that, when I get a phone call telling me the person I'm supposed to be meeting has got her dates mixed up and put today's meeting in her diary for next week by mistake, I'm actually quite pleased and relieved as it gives me more time for tube travel...

I'd already hoped to visit the next two stations on my list today, since Beckton and Beckton Park are, not surprisingly, both on the same stretch of the DLR and shouldn't take too long to visit. The next station after that is Becontree, which is way out east on the District Line, and it would be very useful if I could visit that today too, while I'm vaguely east any way, rather than having to start off with that long journey on my next trip.

So - better get a move on!

After a quick lunch, I work my way across to the DLR via the Northern and Jubilee Lines to Canning Town. Since it's lunchtime, I'm surprised by the number of people sleeping (or at least dozing) on the train. Of the seven people opposite me four of them have their eyes closed. Is it just the soporific effect of the daily commute? If so, the trip I'm doing is  the perfect antidote to this mind-numbing tedium. Take a different route people! Shake it up a bit!

At Canning Town I step almost immediately onto a DLR train that will terminate at my next destination, Beckton.

The journey, as always on the DLR, is quite pleasant, since the trains are light and airy and the route is an elevated one which allows you to take in the views of London's docklands as they pass by outside. The view could be more interesting, certainly, with the London City Airport being the main attraction on this stretch, but at least you can see it, thanks to the large windows of the trains.

Unfortunately there really isn't much more to see when I arrive in Beckton. Opposite the station is a retail park with a huge ASDA supermarket, and a bus depot, and as far as I can see, not much else.

Beckton - not much happens here.

There is, rather incongruously, a statue of some horses, which I later find out was sculpted by an artist called Brian Yale in the 1990s - but it does little to enhance the rather bland surroundings.

'Horses' by Brian Yale - fighting a losing battle I fear.

The area was created in the 19th Century as a residential area to house the workers at the local gas and sewage works, which is an inauspicious start for any budding suburb. It was named after the chairman of the Gas Light And Coke Company (which was later to become British Gas), Simon Adams Beck - who must have been very proud...

Almost directly opposite the station, and easily missed is an extraordinarily long and straight tree-lined pathway which, the map outside the station tells me, leads to Beckton District Park.

The path (known as the 'Beckton Corridor' on the maps) is so long and straight that I sense some history here, and looking it up later, discover that it actually follows the route of a former railway, long since closed down, that used to serve the gas works. The final stretch of the DLR line arriving at Beckton was built over the existing line.

Within two minutes of entering the leafy avenue, the sound of traffic has faded to a distant hum, and been replaced by a chorus of birdsong. It's always a pleasure to experience this in London, which is normally such a hectic beehive of activity - it's nice to remember that there are pockets of tranquillity to be found all over London, if you take the time to look for them.

The park (which must presumably be the 'Beckton Park' of my next destination, despite the addition of the word 'District') is a fairly basic affair - there's a small pond on my right as I leave the 'Corridor' and then nothing but grass, with a few goalposts strategically placed here and there.

Still, it's peaceful and relaxing and, since the sun is by now well and truly out, it provides a pleasant backdrop as I continue my stroll south to Beckton Park station.

South?

But, surely, on the tube map...?

Yes - I know - it's one of those infuriating times when geography simply refuses to bow to the cartographer's will. The Beckton branch of the DLR actually loops back on itself. Having gone east for most of its length, it heads north at Gallions Reach and then West towards Beckton, which means that by the time you reach Beckton you're almost due north of Beckton Park. None of this is represented on the tube map of course.

The station at Beckton Park is, it seems, just another isolated stop on the line. There's nothing here other than the park I've just walked through to justify having a station here at all. I presume there are people living in the area who need transport links into town, but as I've just demonstrated, it's hardly a long walk to the next station. It's as if those responsible for planning the DLR just stuck pins in a map and played 'join the dots'.



Beckton Park - it's in Beckton... near a park...

Having stopped only briefly in this part of town, therefore, I catch the train back northwards to West Ham, where I get the District Line out to Becontree.

***
The station is, supposedly, haunted by a faceless ethereal blonde female ghost, although the only vacuous blonde I see is on a poster for Lynx deodorant, and I don't think she counts.


Becontree - Seen any ghostly blondes lately?

The area itself, which when it was originally built consisted primarily of residential council housing, was apparently the largest housing estate in the world. I'm not sure that's really a claim to fame. It's a bit like boasting that you're the most boring guest at a party...

Initially I fear the area is going to let me down - with its depressingly familiar row of shabby shops and take-aways. But mindful of past experiences, I wander a little further on northwards, and am rewarded with another park to explore. Parsloes Park is again one of those oases of peace that I love finding in London.

Parsloes Park

There's a large pond (or small lake - I'm never sure at which point the one becomes the other) in the south west corner, and I do a lazy circuit of it, taking photos of some of the local wildfowl I see along the way.

This is much more my idea of a 'proper' park. It has wildlife, grass, trees, undulating landscape, and play areas for children. The sun is shining, the air is full of birdsong, and the gentle buzz of people chattering as they stroll by washes over me.

I notice that the majority of voices I hear seem to belong almost exclusively to Russian speakers. There must be a large community here. However, it's nearly twenty years since I last studied that language at University, and other than the odd word, it's all just noise to me.

But what a pleasant end to a pleasant day - I head home tired but contented.

 

Are you looking at me?