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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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 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.
When (hopefully) full funding has been obtained, the completed monument will have an inverted staircase attached to its upright section.
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| The account of the tragedy. |
"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.
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.
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.
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 itself is actually one of two that span the river here - the other being the Blackfriars Railway Bridge.
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.
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| 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.
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| The Black Friar - although he probably wouldn't fit inside |
***
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.
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| Blackfriars Bridge |
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| 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.
Your references to the tragedy at Bethnal Green reminded me of a Lionel Bart musical I conducted several years ago. It was, of course 'Blitz,' an eastenderly romp through similar events,but without real loss of life. Great songs: 'Who's this geezer Hitler?' and 'Mums and Dads' spring to mind. Ttfn.
ReplyDeleteI know I have said this before but this blog is really good stuff. Those accounts of the Bethnal Green tradegy are very moving. With regard to the City of London being a city within a city, having just returned to work there myself I'm also reminded of this by the presence of City of London Police and their 'slightly different' uniforms... they always seems a bit too flash to me!
ReplyDeleteThough I can't say too much at this point in time - for all sorts of reasons - I currently have a lot of time for the police, wherever their beat happens to be! All I can say is, today they were in the right place at the right time!
ReplyDelete