'East Of The Sun'

Day 30

 

East Finchley - East Ham - East India

 

Swings and roundabouts...

From a particularly easy collection of conveniently located stations last time, to three stations today that are spread far and wide.

East Finchley is first up, and as you can see, has a particularly striking point of interest all of its own.

East Finchley - 'The Archer'

The Archer - by Eric Aumonier - is 10ft tall and faces back down the line towards the southern terminus - Morden. There is no arrow (presumably this is imagined to be flying swiftly down the tunnel) although some sources say that there was an arrow sculpture placed at Morden, which was soon stolen.

 



The Archer - again...



The statue was unveiled in 1940 and commemorates the fact that Finchley was historically located on the edge of the Royal Forest of Enfield - a popular hunting ground for over 400 years. Unusually, although nominally a 'Royal' hunting ground, commoners also had the right to hunt here.



...and again.

 



I leave the station (taking another look at the statue from the outside) and then make my way north up the High Road.

 

For once, the High Road lives up to its name - being a fairly steep hill - but in other respects is much like any other. There are numerous cafés and shops, including one in particular that catches my eye.



Ah, but what sort of advice?



 

I'm all for giving aid to animals - don't get me wrong - but I find the additional offer of 'advice' to our furry friends a curious one to say the least. I can't imagine any of the many and various animals I've come across in my time being particularly receptive to any words of wisdom I might offer them. Helpful hints such as "You're not meant to be eating the furniture" or "No, please don't roll in that" are, in my experience, pretty much guaranteed to fall on deaf ears.

 

Further on up the road is the Phoenix Cinema. Originally opened in 1912 as the East Finchley Picturedrome, it went through a couple of name changes (via The Coliseum and The Rex) before becoming the Phoenix in 1975.

Phoenix Cinema.

 

Although it began as a venue for the regular Hollywood films, it soon became much better known as an Art House cinema, and despite being threatened with closure in the 80s, survives today under the patronage of, among others, Maureen Lipman, Michael Palin, Mike Leigh, and film critic Mark Kermode.

 

After a brief pause at the splendid Dan & Decarlo coffee shop, I walk back down the High Road and spend half an hour in the green and pleasant surroundings of Cherry Tree Wood.

Cherry Tree Wood

Although the entrance (opposite the station) takes you at first into an area of open grass-land, with a children's playground and a few tennis courts, the attached woodland from which it takes its name is definitely the more attractive place to stretch your legs. Several dogs and their owners seem to agree with me.



More Trees - More Wood.



 

I've liked what I've seen of East Finchley, but now it's time to head back into town and then way out east to East Ham.

 

***

East Ham is, by contrast, sadly not a very attractive place.



East Ham



As I walk up and down the High Street (not, this time, a particularly high one) I'm disappointed to see a familiar hodge-podge of cut-price supermarkets, mobile-phone unlocking kiosks, fried chicken and other assorted take-aways, and various groups of beer-can carrying youths leaning against the railings.

 

East Ham High Street - watch where you step.

What really puts me off though, and it's not something I've been aware of elsewhere (although I'm sure it was going on in some of the other more deprived areas I've visited) is the constant - and I mean constant - sound of spitting that assails my ears.

 

In the quarter of an hour or so I'm here, and despite walking several hundred feet in either direction, the raucous "khkhkhkhkhkhkhk-ppttt...." is the non-stop soundtrack to my visit. Either there's someone permanently two feet behind me following me around, who has a penchant for expectoration, or the whole area is full of people who hawk up at the least provocation.

 

The pavements are awash with sputum, which - given that the word Ham comes from the Old English Hamm which means 'a dry area of land between rivers or marshland' - is an irony I'd rather not have encountered.

 

It's a shame, but I've come to recognise fairly quickly the areas I'm not going to get much pleasure out of visiting, and it's with only minimal reluctance that I soon turn back into the station and head to my final destination of the day - East India (the DLR station, that is - not the coastal States on the Bay Of Bengal.)

 

***

I suspect I've mentioned before, and no doubt will do again, how much I tend to enjoy travelling on the DLR.

 

It's light, spacious, elevated (enabling you to take in the various interesting views on offer), and on the whole is punctual and break-down free.

 

But (and you knew there was a 'but' coming, didn't you?) there is one thing that I find irritating in the extreme, especially given my current preoccupation, and East India is particularly guilty of it. This is the seeming determination of Transport For London to remove any and all reference to the station names at street level.

 

Get off the train at either of the platforms that sit high above the ground, loftily surveying the area around them, and you're absolutely fine. Bright turquoise signs inform you of your location every few yards.

 

But imagine the poor lost and bedraggled pedestrian faced with this...

 

An unspecified DLR station
(OK it's East India - honestly, it is - no, really - I'm telling you it is!!)

 

...and hopefully you begin to see my point.

 

Seriously - the only way you know which station this is at street level, is to find one of the two or three miniscule route-map signs next to the ticket-machines, giving you the half-dozen or so stations on this stretch of the DLR, which have the words East India highlighted in navy blue.

 

Having descended the three flights of stairs, only to be confronted with this utter lack of signage for me to photograph (and not particularly fancying the climb back up them to the platforms) I decide to have a wander round and take my traditional photo of the station name when I get back up to the platform on my way home.

 

East India is of course the name of the former Docks (now all but filled in) which were in turn named after the region of India from which the various goods arrived and were sent on to be traded in the Capital. These goods are celebrated in the local street names, such as Nutmeg Lane, Saffron Avenue and Clove Crescent.

 

The only part of the docks which survives today is the entrance basin, and I head here first to take a photo of the remaining waterway.

East India Dock Basin

 

A little further south is the River Thames itself, and Virginia Quay, which offers a great view of the former Millennium Dome, now the O2 Arena.

In Xanadu...

 

On a set of railings by the Quay, a group of what I assume (in my ornithological ignorance) to be Cormorants (please correct me if I'm wrong) sit idling their time away. They remind me of the dodgily accented vultures in Disney's The Jungle Book, and I watch them happily for a few minutes.



"What d'you wanna do?"
"I dunno, what d'you wanna do?"
"Now don't start that again..."
 

 

 



Virginia Quay Memorial

I walk along the riverside a few yards and come across a memorial to the many adventurous folk who set off from this point in 1606 across the Atlantic to found the first permanent English Colony in America.

 

 

 

 



Memorial Plaque



It was from here that Captain John Smith, the first leader of that colony, started the journey that would lead him to his famous (and in all probability highly romanticised) encounter with Pocahontas.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mariner's Astrolabe

The memorial is surmounted by a depiction of the mariner's astrolabe - the device used to determine the ship's latitude, with reference to the sun's altitude at noon.

 

 

Other than the memorial, there's not much else here to indicate the history of this place. Behind the Astrolabe is a modern development of flashy looking apartments, and the river is of course dominated by the big white modernist dome of the O2. Nevertheless, I've spent a pleasant half hour here, and as I wait for my train back at the station (where I also finally get photographic proof of my visit!) I've forgotten the minor distaste of East Ham, and am happy to have ticked off another three stations on my long, long list.



See! Told you so! East India Station in all its glory!