'Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head'

Day 39

 

Grange Hill - Great Portland Street - Greenford

 

Well now, guess what - today is the 1st anniversary of starting this blog! Exactly one year ago I had the bright idea of starting this mad venture - and here I am nearing the end of the letter 'G' and just over a third of the way through. Not a bad achievement, I reckon...

But no time to celebrate - on with the journey...

***

As well as getting a soaking from the non-stop rain, I have a bit of a palaver getting started this morning, as for some reason there don't seem to be any trains from Ealing Broadway to Grange Hill - my first stop.

 

It's another of those distant stations on the Hainault Loop, and the normal route for me would be a direct train to Woodford, via Hainault - stopping at Grange Hill along the way.

 

This morning however, thanks to an apparent lack of any such trains, I have to get a train going all the way to Epping, get off at Woodford, and then catch a train heading back into town (via Hainault) from there, so I can get off at Grange Hill in the opposite direction. Tsk!

 

***

The Grange Hill I'm visiting today has, sadly, nothing whatsoever to do with the school of the same name in the kids' TV programme familiar to those of us who grew up in the 70s and 80s. The school where Tucker, Zammo and the rest got up to their merry japes was actually in the fictional London Borough of 'Northam'.

 

Which is a shame because when I get to the real Grange Hill, I realise it's just another Essex-borders ghost town, and there's bugger all here.

 

Grange Hill

 

You know I sometimes worry that my readers don't believe me when I say of such places "There's nothing there!" - surely, you opine, there must be something otherwise there'd be no point having a station there at all... And yes, of course there is something - a road, a few houses, a few shops, maybe even a small park - but something interesting? No. Not really.

 

So here, for the doubters, is the view from outside the station:

 

It's all go around here...

You see? Just a long old stretch of road with not very much going on.

 

It's not helped by the rain of course - it's a real downpour now, and the only upside is that, since there's nothing to photograph, there's no risk of my camera getting wet.

 

I head to a small parade of shops which includes a café, and stop in for a coffee in the hope that the rain will ease off a little in a short while (it doesn't). The two middle aged Jewish women who run the place seem determined to force feed me a toasted bagel (or 'bye-gull' as they, and the customer who comes in after me, for some reason pronounce it) with my coffee - but I resist and stick to just a latté - to their great disappointment. Perhaps the thought of selling baked goods is as exciting as it gets in these parts.

 

Back at the station, barely ten minutes later, I find from the platform displays that the next train back into central London (via Hainault) is a sixteen minute wait, while there's no train at all indicated in the opposite direction (via Woodford). The chap at the information window tells me that the Woodford train broke down so they're waiting for a replacement, which - when it comes - will be the first train to depart. Great.

 

But it won't actually go into central London, as it's going to terminate at Woodford, so I'll have to change there.

 

Not so great.

 

This part of town is really not endearing itself to me. I imagine I'm in one of those ramshackle old American wild west train stations, where the track stretches for mile upon unbroken mile in either direction - nothing but tumbleweed interrupting the view. A lone station-master, with a moustache Mark Twain would have been proud of, checks his pocket watch - though why he does so is anybody's guess, as he knows there's only one train a day and it won't be along for another five hours or so - and shuffles back into his tiny cubby-hole. All you can do is sit on your battered old suitcase and play the harmonica or whittle a piece of wood while you wait...

 

***

Having, finally, got a train into the centre of town, and changed yet again at Liverpool Street onto the Circle Line, I emerge once more into the pouring rain at Great Portland Street station. It's some three hours after I set off this morning and so far I've visited only one station - and that for only ten minutes.

 

Great Portland Street

Great Portland Street station sits at the northern end of the street of the same name, which runs due south from here all the way to Oxford Street. To the north is Regent's Park - but since that has its own dedicated station, I'll leave exploring it for another day. Instead I take a brief respite from the pouring rain in a church doorway, from where I take my photo of the station entrance.

 

The building is Grade II listed - which sounds impressive until you realise that quite a few of the stations on the London Underground system are listed - I've visited 33 of them already. In fact of the 368 stations on the map, 76 of them - or just over a fifth - are listed buildings.

 

On the other hand, it's an attractive enough building - with its cream terracotta exterior instead of the more usual red brick or ox-blood tiles.

 

I walk hurriedly down Great Portland Street itself, glancing upwards occasionally to take in the rather grand Edwardian architecture either side of me, and the blue plaques which tell me who once lived here (James Boswell, Felix Mendelssohn, Carl Maria Von Weber, to name a few). However, since every time I do so I get a face-full of good old British rain, I mainly keep my eyes at ground level, where the facades are more prosaically 21st Century - Starbucks, Prêt à Manger, Costa... A far cry from the 30-odd car dealerships that used to dominate this street. 'Motor row' as it was nicknamed, used to be to the motor trade what Hatton Garden is to the diamond business - Benz, Jaguar, Austin, Vauxhall - all had showrooms here.

 

The street also forms the border between Fitzrovia (where I found myself last week) to the east, and Marylebone to the west.

 

Marylebone (the area bordered by Marylebone Road to the north, Edgware Road to the west and Oxford Street to the south - as well as Great Portland Street) gets its name from an old church called 'St Mary at the Bourne' ('bourne' being a small stream - referring to the Tyburn stream which ran from South Hampstead to the Thames.)

 

As well as the well-known streets that form its borders, the area also includes one or two other familiar names, such as Regent's Street, famous for its shops, and Harley Street, the home of expensive private medical practitioners since the middle of the 19th Century.

 

One among the many doctors who have lived and worked here over the years is Lionel Logue, the Australian speech therapist who was the subject of the film 'The King's Speech' - but my favourite has to be the improbably named Sir Grantly Dick-Read, who - appropriately enough perhaps - was an obstetrician.

 

***

So on to my final stop of the day - Greenford.

 

Greenford

The station is unique in that the escalators here take passengers up to the platforms, rather than down as they do elsewhere. Obviously, therefore, the platforms sit above street level, which isn't all that unusual, but the other stations which share this feature tend to have either lifts or stairs, or both.

 

The station is located some distance from the main shopping area known as Greenford Broadway, which lies a kilometre or so to the south. The two are separated by the A40 - or Western Avenue as it is called at this point - and this area to the north of the motorway is much more industrial than residential.

 

Hovis used to have a factory here, and there are still one or two food distribution and manufacturing operations along Oldfield Road.

 

I'm not, I confess, particularly excited by the prospect of wandering up and down outside factories - nor is the Grand Union Canal, which meanders through Greenford on its way from London to Birmingham, especially picturesque anywhere along this stretch.

 

Grand Union Canal

I take a brief stroll along the towpath, but after only a few minutes decide to turn back and catch a bus to the centre of Greenford.

 

Some years ago I lived in a flat above a shop on Greenford Broadway, so I know the area reasonably well. It hasn't changed very much - some of the businesses have different names, and sell different products, but in general it's typical of many suburban shopping streets. A mixture of take-aways, newsagents, mini-supermarkets and - these days - mobile phone unlocking stalls.

 

In other words - nothing very exciting (see? it's not just the east of London that's a bit dull!)

 

So, another day is over, and another three stations are crossed off the list. I hope next time - when I expect to complete the G-section - will prove a less water-logged, and slightly more inspiring and stimulating excursion...

'Papa Don't Preach'

Day 38

 

Golders Green - Goldhawk Road - Goodge Street - Gospel Oak

 

After days of gloomy grey skies, the sun is out in force today, so I take the opportunity to get some Wombling done in decent weather.

 

There'll be a bit of a fanfare too later on today (but more of that in a while) so the sunshine seems somehow appropriate.

 

My first stop is Golders Green, which is on the Edgware branch of the Northern Line. It's also the first station in daylight as you emerge from the tunnels north of Hampstead, so again, it's nice that the sun is giving me a warm welcome to my first stop.
 

Golders Green

 

The station is on one corner of a busy crossroads in what looks to be a particularly lively part of town. There are plenty of shops, cafés and other eateries and (today at least) plenty of people bustling between them sampling their wares.

 

It's fairly common knowledge that this area is home to a sizeable Jewish community, whose parents and grandparents originally came here from Europe following Hitler's rise to power in the 1930s. There is naturally therefore a preponderance of men wearing yarmulkes (which is the Yiddish word for skullcaps - the Hebrew word being kippah) and Jewish products available in the local supermarkets.

 

What's more surprising is that there seems to be a higher than usual concentration of Japanese businesses - shops, restaurants, take-aways and so on - dotted around the area. Is there an equally populous but somehow less widely-known Japanese community here too? Or does the Jewish community go for Japanese food and culture in a big way?

 

As well as the Jewish (and presumably the Japanese) faith, Golders Green is also home to one type of religious practitioner I'm afraid I have very little time for.

 

Admittedly, since I'm not at all religious myself, I have very little time for any faith - but there are some which - it seems to me - are more insidious than others.

 

Sitting right next door to the tube station, and occupying the former Golders Green Hippodrome building (which was, until 2003, the home of the BBC concert orchestra) is the 'El Shaddai International Christian Centre'.

 

El Shaddai International Christian Centre

 

The centre is run by an evangelist by the name of Ramson Mumba, who preaches a doctrine known as (wait for it) 'Prosperity Theology'.

Stories of American TV evangelists asking for huge 'donations' in return for a quick 'Praise da Laawwd!!' are nothing new, but I had no idea that it was a recognised doctrine, or indeed that it had spread to this country.

The basic premise is this: Since God apparently wants you to spend a long and happy life doing good works, it stands to reason he would want to provide you with the means of doing so. Clearly (the argument goes) you can't devote your life to others if you live in abject poverty yourself. So in essence, God wants you to be very, very rich (just ignore all that nonsense about camels and eyes of needles for the moment). Now, if you happen to be one of the many people who doesn't have a vast fortune just knocking about the place, what on earth are you supposed to do? How do you get rich enough to do all that good work God wants you to do? Well, don't worry - the 'church' has the answer. Another theory of the 'Prosperity Gospel' is that if you 'plant a seed', it will grow. Or in other words - if you give some money today, you will get back lots more money later ('sevenfold' is the return often bandied about). And of course the church wants to make the task of 'giving' very easy for you, by providing you with a handy recipient for your largesse. So, if for example you were to make a sufficiently hefty donation (to, say, your local evangelist's bank account) God would gratefully reward your generosity at some (alas unspecified) future date, with a nice fat wad of cash.

Sounds like a great system doesn't it.

Hmmm. It's like some heavenly National Lottery - only with rather less chance of winning.

And like the National Lottery, the people who spend the most are the ones who can probably afford it least. Meanwhile the church rakes in the cash - allowing them to blow £5,000,000 on buying the Golders Green Hippodrome, rather than (just for instance) feeding a few starving Africans, fighting the odd life-threatening disease, or housing a homeless person or two.

I'm afraid that leaves a rather nasty taste in my mouth.

Prosperity theology started - where else - in the USA and the leader of this particular church in London, Ramson Mumba, is very closely associated with his 'spiritual mentor', the American preacher Creflo Dollar (yes, that is what he calls himself - never let it be said the Americans avoid being blatant).

In fact Mumba now lives in Houston with his second wife Estrella (he reportedly had an affair with his PA and later divorced his first wife Linda, with whom he started the church, before finally marrying a former South American 'actress' - one or two more Bible teachings he seems to have been able conveniently to ignore.)

Not bad for a Bradford lad. At least one person is getting the prosperity end of the deal...

***
Deciding to get as far away from this sort of insidious nonsense as possible, I move on to my next station - Goldhawk Road.

Goldhawk Road
Break out the party poppers and champagne!!!

And now it's fanfare time!

It just so happens that Goldhawk Road is station number 123 on my list - which is not only a pleasingly neat number in itself, but is also exactly ONE-THIRD of the way through the total number of stations. Well, alright - for the pedants among you (myself included) - I should point out that there are actually 368 stations on the map, not 369 - so it's not 'exactly' one-third. But I can't really visit 122.66666666666 stations, so it'll have to do.

But hey - that's an achievement, eh? Tra-lal-la! Yeay me!

A pity it's such a dump.

We're in the middle of Shepherds Bush here - with its eclectic and multicultural collection of businesses. Ethnic supermarkets, exotic take-aways and textile shops line the road either side of the station, and to the north is Shepherds Bush Market, so market stalls full of food and bric-a-brac abound. I hope to visit the Market later on, since it has its own dedicated Tube Station - but it looks like I'll have to be quick about it, as there is a regeneration plan in the offing which may mean the whole thing is ripped down and turned into luxury flats.

The area's one real claim to fame, such as it is, is that in 1657 a resident of the road - Miles Sindercombe - attempted (and failed) to assassinate Oliver Cromwell. He was one of several conspirators, and lived in various locations under various pseudonyms, so the association is hardly a definitive one. I suspect that very few of the current inhabitants would have a clue who he was.

To the east of the station is Shepherds Bush Green, but like the market, I'll be leaving the exploration of that area to when I visit Shepherd Bush's other stations.

After a brief stop for lunch then, I head off back into town to Goodge Street.

***
Goodge Street is named after John Goodge - a carpenter in the 18th Century who owned land around the area (then known as Crab Tree Field) and whose sons named the street in his honour.

Goodge Street

The station was used as a Deep Level Shelter during WWII - and was used by Eisenhower's Allied Expeditionary Force as a signalling installation.

The wider area is called Fitzrovia, after the Fitzroy Tavern, which was in turn named after Charles Fitzroy, 1st Baron Southampton - he was a soldier, MP and courtier in the reign of George III and was at one time one of a dozen or so 'Grooms Of The Bedchamber' - in charge of helping the king put his trousers on the right way round.

Fitzrovia has many tube stations in it, so I concentrate on the area immediately around Goodge Street.

Moving away from Tottenham Court Road, and its electronic shops, onto Charlotte Street, I'm greeted by what is probably this area's most famous, and certainly most striking, landmark - the BT Tower.



BT Tower

Formerly the Post Office Tower, it was built in the 1960s to house the aerials which broadcast telephone, television and radar signals.

It stands a total of 627 feet high, and had a rotating restaurant at the top, which was the site of an IRA bomb attack in 1971. The tower was closed to the public in the early 1980s for security reasons, but is still in use as a communications centre.



Top of the tower

Looking at it from the ground, the top of the tower seems to be perched rather precariously on the floors below, but I suppose, since it has stood for almost exactly 50 years, it should be safe enough.



Round the back of Goodge Street station, on Scala Street, is Pollock's Toy Museum, which houses a collection of toys and games including, marbles, toy theatres, teddy bears (they have the world's oldest) and doll's houses. The museum is housed in a dingy looking Georgian house (or rather two houses knocked into one) and looks very dry and dusty (literally as well as metaphorically). I recall the huge V&A toy museum I went to in Bethnal Green - which was free to enter - and I can't help but feel the £6 adult entry fee for this place is pushing it a bit. It's certainly enough to make me turn away without going inside.

***
And so it's on to the final stop of the day.

Gospel Oak

Gospel Oak station, on the Overground Line, is on the very empty-feeling Gordon House Road. There is a pub and a few shops, but the whole place seems very quiet - despite it being half-term week, when you'd expect kids to be up to no good on street corners and in playgrounds and so on.

The area got its name from - not surprisingly - an oak tree that was once the site of impromptu Gospel readings in the 18th Century. John Wesley - the founder of Methodism - may well have preached here.

It sits at the very southern tip of Hampstead Heath and has some pleasant residential streets made up of Victorian cottages in an area known as Oak Village. The former Python, and travelogue writer extraordinaire, Michael Palin lives here - having bought one house in the 1960s and gradually acquiring and knocking through into the neighbouring houses over the subsequent decades.

But there's no sign of him, nor indeed any other resident, as I wander the quiet streets.

I visit Lismore Circus - a small park area, where Mr Palin apparently planted a replacement oak which sadly didn't survive - but even here there's no-one to be seen.

So, a little disappointed with the place, I leave Gospel Oak, and walk to Chalk Farm in order to catch the tube back into town. Along the way I do, finally, encounter one other person coming in the opposite direction. He's wearing sunglasses and is wrapped up warm against the winter chill, but looking twice at what I can see of the vaguely recognisable face I realise it is the actor Dennis Lawson - uncle of Ewan McGregor and familiar to all Star Wars fans as the X-Wing pilot Wedge Antilles.

I won't bore non Star Wars fans by going on about it (did you know he is the only character to survive both of the attacks on the two separate Death Stars?) but I will admit to a small frisson of geekish pleasure at the encounter.

Better than hokey religions any day of the week...

'In My Place'

Day 037

 

Gallions Reach - Gants Hill - Gloucester Road

 

Today's collection of stations (or at least the areas they serve) have one thing in common in that they all got their names from people or families, rather than historical usage (Shepherds Bush or Burnt Oak for example) or local landmarks (e.g. Mansion House, Temple, etc.). So we have Gallions Reach, from the Galyon Family, Gants Hill from the Le Gant Family, and Gloucester Road, named after Maria, Duchess of Gloucester.

Sadly that's about the most interesting thing I discover on today's journey. True, it's a grey and miserable day, which doesn't help, but none of the places themselves have much to recommend them - at least not to me.

I start with Gallions Reach - the last station but one of the Beckton branch on the DLR, and also the most easterly as the line actually doubles back on itself.

Gallions Reach

Like many of the areas served by these outlying DLR stations - despite clearly having been extensively redeveloped - it still seems rather barren and 'dead'.

I suppose the problem is there's only so much you can do with the site (in this case) of a former gas works.

Yes, there's a collection of modern apartment blocks, a marina full of reasonably nice boats, and the brightly coloured facades of a Logistics and Distribution centre behind the station - but the streets are empty and lifeless (save for the occasional lone male wandering the streets carrying a can of Special Brew...)

According to the website of the distribution centre (BDM Logistics) they consider this to be a 'Central London' location - I just hope no-one comes here expecting Nelson's Column.

I wander down to the riverside - and find what seems to be the only remaining bit of the area's history, the grade II listed Gallions Hotel (or 'The Reach' bar & kitchen as it's known today). It was built in the 1880s and can claim Rudyard Kipling as one of its guests.



The Reach - or Gallions Hotel

It's a fairly attractive building - certainly compared with the surrounding blocks - but seems just as lifeless as the rest of the place at the moment. Perhaps things get livelier here at night - although I don't particularly fancy hanging around to find out.

***


Gants Hill

I head north (or rather, west, north, and then north-east) to Gants Hill - yet another station on the Hainault Loop section of the Central Line.

The station is a Charles Holden design - although you wouldn't really know it, as it's entirely underground beneath a major roundabout. The exits which pop up at various points around the roundabout are the only sign there's anything below.

Gants Hill Station

What is below is actually a fairly impressive barrel-vaulted ceiling - and this is where Charles Holden's design can be seen.




Above ground the streets radiating from the roundabout are mainly filled with beauty and nail parlours, with the occasional Indian or Chinese restaurant to mix things up a little.

Faces Nightclub

Also to be found - a few metres along Cranbrook Road - is a nightclub which, apparently plays host to stars of sport, fashion and TV and in particular has featured on the bewilderingly popular ITV show - The Only Way Is Essex. Since I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty corkscrew than watch a 'scripted reality' (I mean, really?) show, I'm afraid I can't comment on this. But here's a photo of you're interested in that sort of thing.



I head south from the roundabout to the local park - Valentine's Park - which also contains Valentines Mansion, built in 1696 and largely renovated in the 1760s. It's another grade II listed building, and hosts various events, as well as containing a recreation of a Victorian Kitchen.

Valentines Mansion

The park is a pleasant walk, and has a large lake on which geese and gulls clamour for food from passers-by.

I stroll round the lake for a while, but the day is not one for outdoor leisure, so I soon head back to the station and on to the next stop - Gloucester Road.

Valentines Park

***
Like several stations in London, Gloucester Road is an amalgamation of what were once two separate stations.

To the left - the entrance to the deep-level Piccadilly Line platforms. To the right - the sub-surface District and Circle Line entrance.

Gloucester Road

Inside they share a ticket hall and are to all intents and purposes now all part of the same station.

Gloucester Road itself, as I mentioned earlier, is not so-named because it leads to Gloucester (since it pretty much runs due north-south this would be difficult) but because Maria, Duchess of Gloucester built a house here in 1805.

Or rather, of course, she had one built for her. I can just imagine her in tattered jeans and paint-splattered t-shirt troweling mortar onto a pile of bricks, fag hanging out of the corner of her mouth and a copy of The Sun rolled up in her back pocket...

Up the road from the station, on the way to Hyde Park further north, is St Stephens Church, where the poet T.S. Eliot spent many years as Church Warden.

St Stephens Church

We're in the heart of Kensington here - to the east are the various museums for which this part of London is famous, and to the north is Kensington Gardens. There are plenty of coffee shops and tarted-up pubs to entertain the locals, and plenty of locals seem to be out and about enjoying them.

However, despite the lure of the latté, I feel like I've seen enough for one day, so home I head, hoping that next time I'll find a little more life and a little less façade.