'Sunshine On A Rainy Day'

Day 16

Caledonian Road - Caledonian Road & Barnsbury - Camden Road - Camden Town

After almost a solid week of rain, today sees only a few grey clouds in the sky when I set off this morning. Let's hope they've done their worst and that it stays dry, if not actually sunny, while I travel around what must be one of the easiest sections of my journey so far.

All four stations are within two miles of each other in North London - I can walk from Caledonian Road (Piccadilly Line) to Caledonian Road & Barnsbury (Overground) then get the train to Camden Road (Overground) and walk to Camden Town (Northern Line). A doddle!

However, let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Two thoughts occupy me as I sit on the busy Piccadilly Line train to Caledonian Road.

Firstly (and perhaps most obviously) this is the first day of visiting the 'C' stations. Another landmark on the journey that, I'm beginning to realise, is going to take me rather a long time. I already feel like I've been doing this forever, and I'm still only on the 3rd letter of the alphabet. Although it's only been a total of fifteen days of actual travel (today is the sixteenth), I'm averaging one day out a week - which means it's taken me since February to get this far. And there's such a long way to go...

The second thought springs from a comment left by a faithful, if anonymous, reader (thanks for sticking with it!) who, on Day 14 commented on that day's relative lack of excitement. Coupled with a tweet I received from a resident of Brockley, bemoaning my use of the word 'sleepy' to describe what I found there, this got me thinking about the whole 'excitement' thing.

Clearly, not every station I visit will afford me the sort of excitement I encountered in Bounds Green. Nor, quite frankly, would I want it to.

On the other hand, there have been a number places where all I seem to find is row upon row of dull, grey, anonymous buildings. No historical, social or architectural interest can be cajoled out of them, and they seem to be scowling at me with a 'What do you want?' look about them.

And I've tried to record that faithfully. This is London - all of it - even the boring bits.

I try - believe me I do - to dig out some little nugget in each place. Before I set off each day, I scour the internet, peruse my books, even go for virtual walks in the area using Google Street View - but sometimes, sadly, there really isn't anything to find.

It shouldn't be all that surprising - after all, each station brings me to just a few streets-worth of London at a time, and not every street can be a Piccadilly or a Knightsbridge. It may well be that in seventeen-hundred-and-something Admiral Nelson broke wind in a tavern in Shoreditch, but unless there's a plaque commemorating the fact, you might walk past the Poundland or Kebab shop that now stands on the site and never know.

***

All of which brings me to Caledonian Road, which at first glance looks like it might end up being just another such anonymous grey street.

The area immediately outside the station doesn't look too promising, although the station itself is at least more attractive than some, with it's distinctive ox-blood red terracotta tiling (which, if you recall, I first encountered at Belsize Park, designed by the same architect - Leslie Green).

Caledonian Road - the colour red very much a theme here.

At this end of Caledonian Road (or 'The Cally' as the locals call it) I find mainly blocks of flats and offices. However, I know from my research that the walk south from here to the next station will take me past one of the most famous prisons in Britain - HMP Pentonville.

I set off in that direction. On the way I pass 'Knowledge-Point', one of the several independent training colleges specialising in 'The Knowledge'. This is the extensive set of pre-set routes that every black-cab driver in London is required to learn in order to receive their licence. There are 320 routes in Central London (and many more for the suburbs), and drivers must be able to name not only each street, in order, that they pass through, but also the type of junctions they cross, what landmarks or famous buildings lie alongside them, and in what order they appear on the street. It can take up to three years study, followed by several attempts at the exam, before the qualification is gained.

After a few more minutes I reach Pentonville Prison. Opposite a café (the amusingly named 'Breakout' Café) stands a seemingly innocuous white wall, behind which you can just catch a glimpse of barbed wire and barred windows.

Pentonville - Just Visiting...

The prison has been 'home' to various well-known figures, including Oscar Wilde, Dr Crippen, John Christie, and in more recent years, Boy George and George Michael. It was opened in 1842, when it held 520 prisoners in individual cells. These days it has a capacity of over 1300 - which must, I assume, mean that that there are either many more cells than there were originally, or that there are at least two or three prisoners to each cell - which does seem rather crowded...

Incidentally, if you've ever wondered why prison uniforms used to be printed with arrows all over them, I can inform you that the 'Broad Arrow' (or 'Pheon'), which comes originally from the world of Heraldry, was used to indicate the 'property of the British Government' (and is not, as I always imagined, an indication of which way up the prisoners should be packed into their cells). It is, apparently, still a crime to reproduce the Broad Arrow on any goods without authority.

The prison's website reads more like that of a theme park, with its Visitor Centre, Play-Area Facilities and Refreshment Bar, although I don't believe Alton Towers has introduced Biometric Identification checks - at least not yet.

Beyond the prison I reach a railway bridge that helpfully tells me the nickname of the street:

The Cally - quite why a street needs a nickname I'm not sure...

The bridge used, in common with many railway bridges, to have the word 'Ferodo' printed on it, advertising the Brake Pad manufacturer of that name. It seems odd to me now, having grown up seeing this name on bridges all over the country, that this was (correct me if I'm wrong) the only company that ever advertised in this way, and what is perhaps more surprising - the only way this company ever advertised. Can you imagine McDonalds or Starbucks coming up with something similar in a marketing meeting? 'I've got a great idea - let's just put our name on a few roundabouts...'

The other side of the bridge is where I find - although I'd be forgiven for missing it - Caledonian Road & Barnsbury station.

Caledonian Road & Barnsbury

It's currently being renovated, so is hidden behind huge wooden hoardings, with just a narrow gateway leading into it from the street.

And the street itself is just getting interesting. There are plenty of shops and eateries along this stretch, and it feels a little more lively than the northern end of 'The Cally'. Nevertheless, unless I plan to walk all the way down to King's Cross (which I don't) I'll need to turn around and head into the Overground Station - so that's what I do.

***

And about five minutes later (golly this is an easy day's travelling...) I arrive at Camden Road.

Camden Road - power to the people?

The sun has decided to make an appearance after all, and although there are still one or two ominously grey clouds in the sky, it's suddenly a lot warmer and brighter than it was on Caledonian Road. It's as if the weather is saying 'Ooh that's better - yes, this is a much nicer place...'

It's immediately clear - in contrast to 'The Cally' - that this is where the cool people live (or at least where they come to visit). Even the railway bridges (having seen the demise of yet more Ferodos) have been 'branded'. Both this bridge, and the one at Camden Town, have a 'power' icon instead of the letter 'O' - Camden is 'switched on' geddit? Unless of course you want to be pedantic and insist that this icon is actually the symbol for going into 'standby' - in which case Camden is an annoying little red light.

I can practically see the next station on my list - Camden Town - from here, as it's only 450 metres away. First though, I have a little wander along the towpath of the Grand Union Canal, which passes under the road nearby.

It's not the prettiest stretch of the canal, by any means, and it takes me some time to find anything other than rather scummy water in it - but eventually I spot a  couple of narrow-boats, which are always worth a snapshot...

Grand Union Canal

Before too long though I stroll down Camden Road to Camden Town.

The station is familiar enough - another of Leslie Green's fantasias in red (he really should have changed his surname...) and - like Camden Road - there's a distinct sense of 'vibrancy' here. Like Brixton, Camden has a well deserved reputation for being lively, cosmopolitan and 'happening'. Suggs from Madness even wrote a song about the place.

Camden Town - 'I'll meet you by the underground'

Graffiti - not quite Banksy...

Up the road from the station are the various markets that Camden is also famous for, although a piece of graffiti on a nearby wall suggests an alternative to the 'Get Rich or Die Trying' market forces mentality...

The Markets are, as always, heaving with tourists and I avoid the crush by staying on the main road and letting it all wash by me.

'The' - not just 'A' - Camden Market

I do like this area, and enjoy the sense of fun the shopkeepers obviously have. Where else would you find shoe shops with giant Dr Martens or Converse shoes erected on the walls outside?

Camden High Street - shoe shop heaven

House Of Leather - and planes...

And, of course, if you own a leather goods shop, what better way to advertise your wares than a great big silver plane hanging off the front of your shop...

The variety and eccentricity of the shop frontages is matched only by that of the hairstyles and clothing worn by the visitors to the many tattoo parlours along the road. I spot, entering one such establishment, a man who, I feel sure, must be in the wrong place, as he is dressed in the de rigeur outfit of a member of the Ramblers Association - khaki shorts, beige shirt, cagoule and brightly coloured back-pack (worn on both shoulders, naturally). I just can't imagine what sort of tattoo would appeal to him - apart from perhaps the Ordnance Survey symbol for a church with a spire...

I decide to eat lunch at the 'Blues Kitchen', expecting (not unreasonably I think) that in an area with such a rich musical history, and that boasts such venues as the Roundhouse and the Electric Ballroom, this place will be reminiscent of the blues bars of Chicago - which I've had the pleasure of sampling. I walk in hoping to find what I did in Chicago - a dingy room, dining tables laid out, a few lunchtime diners scattered around, a bar serving the occasional beer, and a lone blues guitarist moanin' and groanin' his heart out, despite it being the middle of the day. In the evening the place would of course be packed, as Buddy Guy takes to the stage, but at lunchtime it's a more laid-back affair, with occasional ripples of applause rather than whoops and hollers.

The Blues Kitchen in Camden is, sadly, a somewhat sanitised version of all this. It's a nice enough bar, and the food (burgers of course) is pretty good, but the décor of faded American posters and instruments hanging from the walls seems rather 'plastic' and fake. The music - though great - is piped rather than live, and the empty stage in the corner seems to cower guiltily.

Even the piped music is soon drowned out by the various 'let's do lunch' meetings going on around me. Salesmen, media execs, software designers - they're all here and all determined to out-volume each other with talk about 'derivatives' that is itself, ironically, derivative.

It's a shame. I've enjoyed Camden - and even the Blues Kitchen, despite not meeting all my hopes, was a nice enough place to eat. I wander away from the flashy suits in the bar and back to the torn black denim and leather jackets of the High Street. As I breathe in for one last time the more bohemian atmosphere of what seems to me to be the 'real' Camden', the skies darken and it starts to rain again.

Time to go home.

'Driving In My Car'

Day 15

 

Burnt Oak - Bushey

 

A break from the norm today, as for a number of practical and geographical reasons I decide to travel to my final two 'B' destinations by car.

 

"Cheat! Foul! Fraud! Humbug!"

 

Well - no, not really. I never said I would travel exclusively on the tube network. In fact it would have been impractical, if not actually impossible to do so - hence the several occasions already on this journey when I have made use of both buses and my own two feet. The car is just another mode of transport, and today at least, saves me a good two hours travelling time. Not to use it would be to impose a needlessly arbitrary rule on myself - and lord knows there are enough of those on this project already.

 

Which is why this morning I find myself driving round the North Circular to the Edgware Road (to within a short distance of where I recently stood on a footbridge overlooking the traffic at Brent Cross) and thence northwards to Burnt Oak.

 

***

I have to say that my first impression of the place (and indeed my second, third and all subsequent impressions) is not a good one.

 

Burnt Oak - I came, I saw, I didn't stay long...

The station lies at the bottom of a hill - a stretch of Watling Avenue - which consists of a multitude of shops and other businesses which, without exception, look run-down and shabby. Chinese, Afro-Caribbean, Arabic, Asian, Irish - the variety of food and drink available is impressive, even if the shabbiness of the shops themselves is less than inviting.

 

The main claim to fame this street seems to have is that it is the location of the very first Tesco store. Although the founder, Jack Cohen, had been a market trader for some time, and had created the 'Tesco' name in 1924 (using the initials of a tea supplier - T.E. Stockwell - together with the first two letters of his own surname) the first store actually opened here in 1931. The site is now a Superdrug, and there is no apparent indication of its historical significance.

 

I walk up and down both sides of the street, but without even the normally ubiquitous Starbucks or Costa to stop at, I decide to head back to my car. I do pay a visit to the Tesco store that now stands on Burnt Oak Broadway, to pick up a drink and a bite to eat - but that too is singularly bereft of any hint of the company's history, and seems to fit in with the general air of 'can't be bothered' that pervades the area.

 

I sit in my car, writing my notes and sipping from my bottle of coke - wondering how it is that some places seem to gradually, but inexorably, decompose, while others are continually rejuvenated. Is it the people who live there? The local authorities? The location of the place? Or is it a matter of history? And can the process be reversed?

 

In any case, there's nothing else for me here - so I plug in the SatNav and head over to Bushey.

 

***

Bushey Station is not, annoyingly, in Bushey at all, but in next door Oxhey. This causes a minor disagreement between me and my SatNav, but after a frank exchange of views (and the mediation of the nice Mr Google and his map) we settle our differences and I "perform a U-turn when possible". Five minutes later I'm parking a few streets away from the station.

 

Bushey - it's not in Bushey.

The station - originally called 'Bushey & Oxhey', since it serves both towns - was renamed in the seventies, for reasons that have been lost in the mists of time. There is a story that, during the war, when many signposts were painted out so as not to be of any help to a potential invading force, the people responsible for doing so here were unfortunately rather too literally minded. Ordered to 'paint out the names of the station', they took this to mean just the words 'Bushey' and 'Oxhey' and not  the '&' symbol between them. The station apparently therefore became known as Ampersand Railway Station - and had the signpost to prove it.

 

Whether the story is true or not (and the only authority for it is Wikipedia - so you can make your own minds up about that) it's an amusing idea, and certainly no sillier than anything else the British mentality has been capable of in its rigid pursuit of pedantry.

 

Having taken a photo of the station, I wander for a few minutes in the various directions available to me, but find nothing much here at all. Oxhey seems to have little raison d'être other than as the location (confusing as it may be) of a station that doesn't even bear the same name.

 



Clock Tower Weather-Vane

Bushey itself lies to the East of Oxhey (and the station) - although this seems to be designated 'West' on the weather-vane sitting atop the station clock  (perhaps there's still a desire to confuse any potential invading hordes). So, giving up on Oxhey, I get back into my car and drive the five minutes down the road to Bushey.

 

A more marked difference between this town and Burnt Oak is difficult to imagine. Where Burnt Oak was grotty, Bushey is genteel. Instead of Burnt Oak's huge ethnic diversity, Bushey is firmly and uncompromisingly white middle-class. If Burnt Oak is-in-your-face, Bushey is in-your-neatly-trimmed-back garden.

I wander along the High Street, past trinket shops, coffee shops, estate agents, a church, and a pretty little cottage that bears a plaque informing me that it was the first Metropolitan Police station in the town. I can imagine the cheery village bobby cycling back home from a hard day's ticking off cheeky youngsters for scrumping apples...

I lunch at the Red Lion, with a smattering of locals, and over a sandwich and a pint, read up on the area and its history.

As well as being the birthplace of (among others) Simon Le Bon and Michael Portillo, and the place where George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley went to school together before forming Wham, Bushey has featured in several films and TV programmes, including Monty Python, Grange Hill, and Little Britain.


St James's Church (and duck pond) - Little Britain indeed...

Nearby Elstree Studios has also used several local buildings as locations in films such as Monty Python's Meaning Of Life, Indiana Jones And The Last Crusade and the Harry Potter movies. In fact, Bushey is so much the epitome of a (these days largely non-existent) picture post-card England, that it could easily be mistaken a for a film-set.

Is this art imitating life, or the other way round, I wonder...?

Leaving such philosophical questions behind me, I say goodbye to Bushey, and (finally!) to the letter 'B' - and, allowing myself a mild sense of achievement for crossing another letter off the list, I begin to look forward the next, even longer, leg of my journey.

'Here, There And Everywhere'

Day 14

Brockley - Bromley-by-Bow - Brondesbury - Brondesbury Park - Buckhurst Hill

A bit of a trek today, assuming I manage to get to all the stations I hope to reach. I don't think I'll finish the 'B's - that would be too much to hope for - but my plan is to tick four more off the list at least. The only trouble is, none of them (apart from the two Brondesburies*) are anywhere near each other - or even on the same lines.

 

*(I'm assuming that's the plural of Brondesbury - and if they will put two stations with the same name in such close proximity to one another, a plural is bound to ensue)

 

By the time I've finished today I'll have been south, east, north and, of course, back west for home. I'll have changed trains ten times, and travelled (almost) full circle round the centre of London.

 

To start off with, I'm getting the District Line to Westminster, followed by the Jubilee to Canada Water, and then the Overground Line to Brockley.

 

This is familiar territory, as I did almost the same journey to reach Anerley way back on Day 3, and I'm glad these previously unfamiliar parts of London are beginning to slot together in the mental jigsaw puzzle of the capital's geography I'm gradually assembling in my mind.

 

***

Whereas on my previous day's travelling, I felt that Brixton could only be described as 'Vibrant', today the word that springs insistently to mind as I wander through the streets of Brockley, is 'Sleepy'. My pre-womble research has told me that Brockley has had many famous residents over the years - Kate Bush, Spike Milligan, Chris Tarrant, Lillie Langtree, Marie Lloyd, to name but a few - but I fear their influence, if it ever existed, has long gone from this quiet little suburb.

 

Brockley - this colour-scheme is possibly the loudest thing about the place

I walk down Brockley Road from the station, pausing only to take a photo of some colourful murals on the wall of a car repair centre - they're vibrant enough, I grant, but they're tucked down a back street and beginning to show a little wear and tear. Brixton has nothing to fear just yet.

 

Murals Wedding

My goal is a park on a hill - appropriately, if not imaginatively, called 'Hilly Fields' - from which the views are said to be well worth the climb. As it happens the climb isn't all that steep, or arduous, and the views - while picturesque - are somehow less than the spectacular vista I'd hoped for.

 

Hilly Fields - a field, a hill... you think of a name then!

That said, the park is pleasant enough, and since today is a particularly sunny day, I take the opportunity to sit on a bench and watch the world go by for a short while. In the distance I can see the aerial towers of the Crystal Palace transmitting station in Crystal Palace Park - one for another day...

 

Vitamin D replenished, I head back to the station. There are other things I could have seen in Brockley - a theatre for one (the Brockley Jack) and in the park I've just left, a stone circle erected in 2000 as part of the millennium celebrations, but I've lots to see elsewhere too - so I head northwards to Whitechapel and then turn east towards my next destination - Bromley-by-Bow.

 

***

Bromley-by-Bow

Bromley-by-Bow station stands on the stretch of the A12 known as the Blackwall Tunnel Northern Approach. It's an unremarkable brick building, and the road it stands on is a busy three-lane highway in each direction. There is, consequently, not much beauty to be found at the station or its immediate surroundings. However, I have as always done my research, and I know that just a short walk away, is another example of a former way of life, preserved - like Brixton's Windmill - for future generations to visit, and in my case, photograph.

 

The Clock Mill

Three Mills Island is the site of - you guessed it - two mills.

 

Ok, so I'm being a little unfair. There were originally eight or nine mills here recorded in the Domesday book - all tidal mills (which means that water was trapped by a sluice gate at high tide, and then released at low tide to drive the water-wheel). The area was known as Three Mills in medieval times, so presumably some had gone by then, and a windmill joined the tidal mills at some point, but has since been demolished.

 

At any rate, the two remaining mills - The Clock Mill and The House Mill are well preserved, and the House Mill (though as yet not in full working order) is the largest tidal mill still in existence.

 

House Mill (background far left) and Clock Mill (centre)

I pass a pleasant ten or fifteen minutes here, with the mills before me and narrow-boats on the canal behind me, and even the odd duck or swan to complete the rural scene.

 

However, time and tide wait for no man, not even at a tidal mill, so I pack my camera away and trudge back along the A12 to the station, marvelling again at how much there is to discover, hidden behind London's grim grey façade.

 

***

Brondesbury (pronounced Bronze-bury) and Brondesbury Park are within ten minutes walk of each other, and both on the Overground Line. I therefore head back to Whitechapel once more, and rejoin the Overground, heading northwards.

 

Although the Overground Line effectively circles the whole of central London, it does so (as I have discovered before) in quite short bursts. The section I'm on at the moment only goes as far as Highbury & Islington, so I'll have to change there to another train (and in fact another platform) to continue westwards to Brondesbury.

 

When I get there, and emerge onto Kilburn High Road, I'm surprised anyone ever gets on a train here at all. The entrance to the station is an almost unnoticeable doorway in the shadow of the railway bridge above it, and seems to have been left there as an afterthought by whoever built the station - as if they didn't realise people would need some way of actually getting to the trains.

 

Brondesbury - no, really - look closer, it's there, I promise...

It's also within spitting distance of what I imagine is the more popular station of choice for getting to Kilburn - Kilburn Station. This is only a couple of hundred yards up the road, and on the Jubilee Line, so I suspect sees rather more passengers, as a rule, than its neighbour.

 

Since Kilburn Station is so close, I don't think I can avoid retracing these steps on a later exploration. However, I do my best by heading in the opposite direction (southwards) which looks to have more to offer by way of shops and (since I realise it's now lunchtime) restaurants.

 

Kilburn High Road has, it must be said, all the bustle of Brixton, without, sadly, the accompanying 'vibrancy'. With an eclectic mix of eateries, pubs, shops, and even a well-respected theatre, it should feel more lively than it does - but everything has an air of being past its best.

 

Even the theatre (The Tricycle) despite having entertained me with some excellent performances in the past, lets me down today by not having its kitchen open and presenting me instead with a bar-counter utterly devoid of sandwiches.

 

So, after an indifferent Panini served by a sullen waitress in a grubby Italian café, I walk through the surprisingly picturesque avenues that run off the High Road, towards Brondesbury Park.

 

While Brondesbury Park (the station) is at least slightly more conspicuous than its semi-namesake, Brondesbury Park (the street) is sadly completely uninspiring.

Brondesbury Park - erm........... no, sorry, can't think of a thing to say about it...

 

The station is pretty much all it has to offer, so - having taken the usual photo - I decide there's still time enough today to manage just one more 'B' - Buckhurst Hill.

 

***

Ticking Buckhurst Hill off my list today means that I'll only have two more 'B's to see. It also means I won't be starting my next jaunt with a bloody great long journey to the other end of the Central Line from Ealing - since Buckhurst Hill is only five stops from the eastern end of the line.

 

Buckhurst Hill - one of the more attractive stations I've seen today at least.

Now, if Brockley was 'sleepy' then Buckhurst Hill is practically comatose.

 

This isn't meant (well, not entirely) as a criticism - I really don't mind leaving the incessant drone of traffic, people and Heathrow-bound planes behind me, to be replaced with birdsong and the occasional 'alright, dear?' from a passing pensioner. It's just that, well... there's nothing here!

 

According to the map, there's only one street that shows any sign of life and that's Queen's Road. Accordingly I head there from the station, to discover a narrow, almost semi-pedestrianized street with a Waitrose at one end, and various cafés, knick-knack shops and hairdressers along its length, There are few people about, despite it being school chucking-out time, and I complete my walk up and down both sides of the street in under ten minutes.

 

Down a side street I spot some greenery, and find myself at a quiet and secluded side-entrance to Knighton Wood. I'm tempted (for a minute or so), but decide in the end to leave it (possibly my demons haven't, after all, been entirely exorcised). In any case, it's a long journey back to Ealing, and rush hour isn't too far off, so...

 

I do my best not to notice how much I'm trying to justify to myself my reasons for leaving the wood unexplored, but can't help but feel a niggling (if minor) twinge of self-contempt as I catch the next Central Line train back home to Ealing.

'On The Road Again'

Day 13

Bow Church - Bow Road - Brent Cross - Brixton
 

Given the unexpected excitement of a couple of weeks ago, you might be forgiven for thinking that the lack of any recent activity on the tube travelling front was the result of nerves on my part. However, you couldn't be further from the truth if you were a tabloid journalist.

In fact, a combination of firstly, a tube strike which would have made travelling difficult and unpleasant, and secondly (and more agreeably) the fact that my wife Mrs Nowhere Man had taken the week off work, meant I was more occupied than usual at home, and subsequently not inclined to go a-wombling last week.

 

That said, I admit to a minor flutter or two as I set off this morning to walk to the tube. Natural enough, given what happened I suppose, but surprising nonetheless as I thought I had put the episode well and truly behind me. I'm sure (well, as sure as anyone can be) that nothing similar will happen today, but, well, you never know. However - let's not worry about that. I'm on the road again, and that's what matters...

***

First stop today is Bow Church on the DLR, although as the next stop - Bow Road (District and H&C Lines) - is only 300 metres away from it, the surrounding streets I'll be exploring will realistically be common to both.

Rather than the convoluted journey required to get me to the DLR, I start with a much simpler trip on the Central Line to Mile End. From there I could get a tube on a different line to Bow Road, and then walk to Bow Church. However, the pedant in me baulks at getting the two stations back to front (alphabetically speaking) so instead I decide to catch a bus from Mile End - enjoying being above ground for a change - and simply look the other way for a few seconds as we pass Bow Road station on the way to Bow Church.

The bus journey takes all of ten minutes, although there isn't much to see along the way. Bow Road (on which both stations sit) is mainly a collection of three or four storey buildings - presumably all now subdivided into flats - dotted with the odd row of shops. There's a police station (in case I need it later...), a pub or two, and of course the station itself, which is much like any other DLR station - its bright turquoise (Pantone 326, since you ask) signage standing out against today's rather cloudy sky.

Bow Church - not a church

There's not much else of interest however, until I reach the church - nestling on a tree-lined island in the middle of the road - after which Bow Church Station is named.

 

Standing in front of the church (and rather unfortunately over the entrance of some disused public toilets) is a statue of former Prime Minister William Gladstone, and immediately noticeable is the statue's red hands - and thereby hangs a tale...

Gladstone - finally, a
politician caught red-handed

The statue was commissioned by a certain Theodore H. Bryant of the famous match manufacturing firm, Bryant & May, who was a staunch supporter of the Liberal Party. Unfortunately, Bryant's liberality doesn't seem to have extended to his workforce, who apparently worked in very poor conditions. The 'match girls' as they were known, would eventually (and I'm reasonably confident, if a little disappointed, that no pun was intended here) strike in 1888 for better conditions. However, before that, in 1882 when the statue was unveiled, they were angered by their belief that the statue had been paid for (at least in part) by them each having a shilling deducted from their wages. Consequently, they gathered at the unveiling with stones and bricks in their pockets (although it is not clear whether anything was actually thrown) and some even went to the extreme of cutting themselves and letting the blood trickle symbolically over the marble plinth.

In later years, the hands of the statue were daubed with red paint on several occasions, in remembrance and support of those who protested.

***

Bow Church - or to give it its full name, St Mary and Holy Trinity Church - is over 700 years old, although technically the majority of the actual building that now stands here is a little younger, dating from 1490. Bomb damage during the blitz (the 'B's really didn't have a good time of it during the war did they?) meant that the tower and other parts of the church needed to be rebuilt, which explains the mixture of very old stone and more recent red-brick seen as you approach the church through the tiny graveyard.

Bow Church - not a station

Despite the popular reference to this church as 'Bow Church', and the proximity of a pub called 'The Bow Bells', the church bells here are not, sadly, those that, according to folklore, give us the definition of the 'true' Cockney. Nor do they include the 'great bell of Bow' mentioned in the nursery rhyme 'Oranges and Lemons'. Both of these are actually references to the church of St Mary-le-Bow, which is located in Cheapside between the Bank Of England and St Paul's Cathedral - nowhere near Bow Road.

Two-Tone Church

Quite why the local pub was given such a misleading name is not quite clear, unless (like the apparently haunted ladies toilet to which it also lays claim) it is simply a ruse to entice the gullible passer-by in for a pint...

 

 

 

 

 

I walk back along Bow Road, nearly missing Bow Road station as it is semi-hidden behind a large tree and tucked back a little from the road - none of the brightly coloured modernity of the DLR here, this is good old-fashioned red-brick tubery in all its faded glory.

 



Bow Road - blink and you'll miss it



I walk past the station a little way back towards Mile End (Bow Road and Mile End Road are in fact both parts of the A11). I don't want to get all the way there of course, as I'll be having a look around Mile End station when I get to the 'M's, so I stop when a very brightly coloured clock on a wall on the opposite side of the street catches my eye.

 



Minnie Lansbury Memorial

The clock is a memorial to Minnie Lansbury - and I confess I had never heard of her, although perhaps I should have, given not only her activities as a leading suffragette, but also her family connections. She was the first wife of the actress Angela Lansbury's father, Edgar, and her father-in-law, George Lansbury, was Mayor of Poplar and, later, the leader of the Labour Party.

 

 

As well as fighting for women's suffrage, once elected to Poplar Council she was also one of several councillors (male and female) who were jailed for taking pity on the poor and needy of the surrounding area by refusing to implement rises in the rates they were charged. Not, sadly, a sacrifice I can imagine any of our present day representatives having the moral fibre to make for their community.

 

The clock looks remarkably bright and gleaming for an eighty-odd year old memorial to a suffragette, and in fact, it was restored as recently as 2008 thanks to public donations including one from Angela Lansbury.

 

It begins to rain within seconds of me taking a photo of the memorial clock, so I scuttle back to the station to work out my route to Brent Cross - the next on my list. There are a couple of ways I could get there on the tube, although I'd have to change lines, but something makes me hesitate. Sitting on the bus earlier this morning has given me a taste for being above ground today, so I decide to do the same now, and catch a bus from Bow Road to Bank (passing some old friends along the way - hello Aldgate East and Aldgate, how's it going?) and get the northern line from there to Brent Cross.



***

If Brent Cross is famous at all, it is probably for one or other of two things. Firstly, it is the place from which the mother of all British Motorways, the M1 starts its journey northwards to Leeds (and of course, southwards from Leeds - they let you go both ways you know). 193 miles of joyful and pain-free motoring (ahem) start here, at Junction 1.

 

The second thing Brent Cross has going for it is the large shopping centre of the same name. With big name department stores, coffee shops a-plenty, and regular events for kids and adults alike, hours of joyful and pain-free shopping (ahem, ahem) await you within...

 

No - not for me thanks.

 

I've spent more than enough time both driving and shopping here to know exactly what each activity entails, so instead I decide to just wander a little.

 

In any case, the tube station is a fair walk from the shopping centre (and even further from the M1) so I'll stick to the rather twee residential streets around it, and see what I can find.

 

Brent Cross - not to be confused with a Greek Temple

There are two things I know I'll find sooner or later, assuming I head vaguely northwards - one is the River Brent, which of course gives the area its name, and the second is yet another famous road (are we the only country that considers roads worthy of fame?) - the A406, or (more commonly) the North Circular Road, or (even more commonly) the 'North Circ.'

 

I cross the North Circ. via a foot-bridge, and experience the little thrill I'm sure many people feel as the reach the centre and stand over the fast-moving stream of vehicles. It feels somehow daring to be so close to, and yet above, the traffic.

 

Or is that just me....?

 

A406 - North Circular - crowd-surfing not recommended.

 

Across the A406 are more residential streets, including one on which, unexpectedly I spot a blue plaque, sitting on a rather dilapidated looking house. The name on the plaque is vaguely familiar, but I need to look it up later to remind myself.

 

'Little Tich' lived and died here. Nice.

'Little Tich', who apparently both lived and died at this house, was a music hall artiste (real name Harry Relph), who, not surprisingly given his stage-name, was only 4½ feet tall. He was famous for his 'Big-Boot Dance' (in which he wore boots which were over two feet long) dancing on the points like a ballerina and leaning at extreme angles.

 

Watching the youtube clip of him performing, I can't help sensing a hint of desperation in his act. I know it was a different time, and I'm sure many people enjoyed what he did, but I wonder how happy he was being, to all intents and purposes, a freak show.

 

Round the corner, in a somewhat secluded gap between the houses on one side, and the North Circular on the other, is the River Brent - or part of it at least.

 

Mindful of the events of two weeks ago, I'm a little wary at first, and keep my camera safely hidden in my bag until I've checked things out. However, there are regular passers-by, and a gardener mowing a lawn in a nearby garden, so I relax a little and take a photo of this rather sorry looking stretch of water.

 

River Brent - not looking its best here.

The Brent flows from Barnet in North London to Brentford in the West and I'm sure there are places along its length where it looks very pretty and rural. Sadly, that's not the case here, where it seems to struggle for breathing space with the huge road running parallel to it, and the houses overlooking it on the other side.

 

Finding nothing else to interest me in these sleepy suburban streets, I head back to the station, and catch the train to my final destination of the day -  Brixton.

 

***

The centre of Brixton is, and there's no better word I can think of, vibrant.

 

The main street outside the station - Brixton Road - is bustling with shoppers and workers enjoying their lunch breaks. The market which occupies one of the side streets next to the station (Electric Avenue - made famous by the song of the same name by Eddy Grant) is equally hectic, despite it being midweek.

 

Brixton - lively and colourful, and that's just the station.

Opposite the station, up another side street, is a huge and colourful mural of David Bowie in full Ziggy Stardust paraphernalia - Bowie was born in Brixton, at 40 Stansfield Road, and the area is understandably proud of the connection.

 

David Bowie - 'turn and face the strange...'

Bowie also makes another appearance in Brixton - as the face of one of the area's own exclusive banknotes. The Brixton Pound (or B£) is a currency designed specifically for the use of Brixton residents and businesses. It works in parallel with the pound sterling, but ties local shoppers to local businesses, and therefore (it is hoped) will boost the local economy. On the face of it, this seems like a good idea, although I can't help imagining the chaos that would arise, were every area that fancies it to introduce their own currency. "How many Lambeth Lire to the Finchley Florin at the moment...?"

 

Although the centre of Brixton is very much full of hustle and bustle, just fifteen minutes walk away, along Brixton Hill and down a quiet residential back-street called Blenheim Gardens, is something that so epitomises 'Rural England' and the 'green and pleasant land' of yesteryear, that it seems completely alien to the busy suburb that surrounds it.

 

It's a windmill. A proper, honest-to-goodness, old-fashioned, 'Windy Miller' type windmill.

 

In Brixton.

 

I know!

 

Brixton Windmill - now you
weren't expecting that, were you!

Brixton Mill (or more correctly, Ashby's Mill) was of course built when the area was very much more 'green and pleasant' than it is today - surrounded by terraces, warehouses, shops and pubs. A small patch of green and a children's playground - collectively known as Windmill Gardens - is all that remains of the rural idyll.

 

 

 

It was a working mill until 1934, when it finally closed down and became derelict, which it remained until a restoration project began in 1964. Although restored and opened to the public, the mill seems to have then gone through a similar pattern of neglect, followed by restoration, followed by neglect again, until closing down once more in 1990.

 

It wasn't until 2003 that the 'Friends Of Windmill Gardens' were formed and restoration work began again. The current mill was opened to the public in 2010 and is open to visitors at weekends.

 

Today not being a weekend, I have to settle for a couple of photos of the outside of the mill, and a read of the information provided on a sign by the 'Friends Of Windmill Gardens'. I hope this time, the mill can finally enjoy a peaceful and neglect-free old-age.

 

Anyone else got the Camberwick Green theme tune in their head right now?

And so, having I hope exorcised any few remaining demons from my experiences in Bounds Green, I head home at the end of another day - with the last of the 'B's now definitely in sight, and a few stations further along the challenge!

 

A little background information.