Something small but significant vanishes from the streets of London this week. The letter A. Or, to be more specific, letters at the end of bus numbers. There are tons of London bus services with a letter at the beginning (nightbuses for example, and most of the buses in Hillingdon and Walthamstow) but only one bus still has a letter at the end. There used to be scores of them. Not for much longer.
60 years ago there weren't just As after bus numbers, there were Bs and Cs too. Between Stratford and Forest Gate, for example, you could have ridden aboard the 25, 25A, 25B or 25C. But travel any further east and you had to know precisely which variant to catch (the 25 to Goodmayes, the 25A to Chigwell, the 25B to Becontree Heath or the 25C to the Woolwich Ferry). No wonder they've simplified things since. Thirty years ago there was only a single C remaining (the 77C, for what it's worth), while Bs faded away in 1994 with the disappearance of the 36B.
Which just leaves the 77A. The perfect, nay the only, bus to catch if you ever need to escape Wandsworth for the centre of town. Between Clapham and Vauxhall it shares the road with its twin the 77, then heads across the Thames past Tate Britain and the Houses of Parliament on its way to Aldwych. Just another ordinary bus, but with what is now an out-of-date route number. That A has to go.
Reshuffling bus numbers isn't easy. Almost all of the possible route designations from 1 to 300 are already taken, so planners have had to be cunning in swapping round some other routes to make space. In this case they've scrapped the old 87 (which has run for years between Barking and Romford) and simply extended the 5 to Romford to make up for the loss. A two-digit number ending in 7 is now conveniently vacant, and so from Saturday morning the 77A will be rebranded as the 87. No need to worry about which 77 goes where, because there's only going to be one of them. Much easier to remember, honest.
And letters aren't all that's disappearing. Lists of destinations on the front of buses are being cleaned up too. The future is big, bold and basic. The front of this number 13 bus is fairly typical of the new order. Gone is the list of intermediate destinations...
replaced by just the terminus and a giant number in a font size large enough for even the most myopic passenger. Apparently there's no point in listing key intermediate stops any more because (if you don't know London at all) there's no way of knowing whether or not the bus has already passed them. To work out where the bus will be stopping you'll need to check the timetable at the bus stop instead, assuming it's not been vandalised. It's getting more like taking the tube, really. The front of a Piccadilly line tube will only read Cockfosters, for example, and then you're supposed to work out from a map that the train's heading east and will be stopping at those nice museums, Harrods, Covent Garden and that big square with all the cinemas.
It seems that, in accommodating the Disability Discrimination Act, less is more. Accessibility is about so much more than just step-free access, it's also about having a dead simple system of route numbers and destinations. We must now remove information from the front of buses in case it baffles people. We need to write everything in really big letters so that the short-sighted aren't disadvantaged. And we can't have complicated bus numbers any more, because they confuse tourists and those with an IQ below 70. No matter that generations of Londoners have coped with such complexities before. Come Friday evening, letter-suffix extinction beckons. I wonder what they'll kill off next?
Sunday, May 28, 2006
I SPY LONDON the definitive DG guide to London's sights-worth-seeing Part 9:Victoria & Albert Museum
Location: Cromwell Road, SW7 2RL [map] Open: 10am - 5:45pm (late opening Wednesdays) Admission: free 5-word summary: a temple to grand designs Website:www.vam.ac.uk Time to set aside: at least a day
Vast & Arty Next time you're in South Kensington, if you're tired of natural history and sick of science, try art and design instead. The Victoria & Albert Museum is Britain's national repository of the decorative arts, a bit like a giant historical bazaar but without the price labels. The building dates back to 1852, built just after the Great Exhibition, and boasts an extensive network of interconnecting galleries on several levels (i.e. it's very easy to get lost). On the ground floor, for example, you can wander at length amongst artefacts from South and East Asia, or pause to ponder Renaissance religious relics, or study statues close up in the refitted long gallery. And that's just for starters.
Varied & Amazing I was unprepared for the vast scale of the Cast Courts. Given that most of the world's great sculptural masterpieces aren't located in London, the Victorians created life-sized plaster casts of some of the best and dumped them all in two great halls so that Londoners could view them anyway. A fake Michaelangelo'sDavid stands proud in one corner, with a keen crowd of amateur artists sat sketching on stools before him. Elsewhere are Italian monuments, a German cloister, Gaelic stone crosses and medieval tomb effigies. But most dramatic of all is the towering plaster cast of Trajan'sColumn, copied from the 30m-high Roman original. They've had to chop it in two so that each half fits beneath the skylights, but it's hard not to be impressed by the detailed tableaux carved in a spiral around the circumference.
Visionary & Atmospheric One large corner of the museum is home to the British Galleries - a history of British interior design and craftsmanship from Tudor times to the end of the 19th century. The displays showcase the development of our nation's aesthetic aspiration, and it's easy to to imagine modern designers coming along for inspiration. Exhibits include original William Morris block-printed wallpaper, the notorious Great Bed of Ware (a Herts hostelry's oversize overnight accommodation) and some splendid Georgian Chippendales. I was particularly taken by the Bromley-by-Bow Room, a complete 1606 wood-panelled interior rescued from the Jacobean mansion which once stood just over the road from my house.
Valuable & Attractive Elsewhere in the museum the emphasis shifts more towards materials and techniques. Upstairs are two long galleries devoted to silver (think 'Sothebys') and to ironwork (think 'garden centre'). There are semi-deserted rear chambers given over to tapestries (think 'Bayeux-ish') and to textiles (think 'Whitechapel market'). There are shelves packed with glassware (think 'John Lewis') and rooms full of 20th century design classics (think 'car boot sale'). There's even a room full of shiny, gaudy, over-priced, over-styled trinkets and accoutrements (think 'museum shop'), but there's so much else to see you probably won't have time to explore it.
Visit & Admire by tube: South Kensingtonby bus: 14, 74, 414, C1
150000 BC: Three passing woolly mammoths become London's first foreign tourists. 43 AD: The Romans invade Britain, build a fort on the Thames and call it Londinium, little realising that one day this new settlement will be at the centre of a great world empire (much like their own). 61: Boadicea pops down from East Anglia on a weekend break and burns the city to the ground. 407: The curtain goes down on 'Romans in Britain' after a record-breaking West End run. 457: The Saxons invade, only to be kicked out by the Viking invasion of 851, only to be kicked out by the Britons under King Alfred in 886, only to be kicked out by the Danish invasion of 1013, only to be kicked out by William the Conqueror invading in 1066. I told you this was a brief history. 1078: With classic medieval simplicity, William builds a white tower called the White Tower. 1209: The first stone London Bridge is completed, and is promptly decorated with the severed heads of those who've failed to pay their Congestion Charge. 1397: Dick Whittington is elected Mayor, narrowly beating Ken Livingstone in the second ballot. 1599: Verily doth William Shakespeare establish ye Globe Theatre in fair Southwark. 1665: The Plague kills 70000 people but leaves buildings standing. 1666: The Great Fire of London lays waste 13000 buildings but leaves only six people not standing. 1814: Global warming kicks in as the last ever Frost Fair is held on the frozen Thames. 1829: The Metropolitan Police Force start to fight their losing battle. 1863: The world's first underground railway is built, with much of the signalling still in use today. 1907: The last public flogging of a Londoner convicted for failing to wear a hat in a built-up area. 1940: During the Blitz the Queen Mother single-handedly protects the East End from destruction by batting bombs away using her handbag. 1952: Lethal smog descends on the capital, leading to the discovery of asthma. 1986: The completion of the M25 - merely the latest city wall to protect the capital from invaders. 2053: Rising sea levels cause the permanent innundation of the capital, which reopens shortly afterwards as a watersports centre and underwater theme park.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Hammered!
The FA Cup's not come to East London for years, not since West Ham won it back in 1980. Yesterday afternoon, just for a couple of hours, it looked like it might be coming back.
For those West Ham supporters who weren't able to make the trip to Cardiff (which would be most of them), the next best option was to head down to UptonPark and drink themselves silly in front of a big screen. And so they came, by the trainful, thronging down Green Street and the Barking Road to enjoy their moment in the limelight. The claret and blue army were here well before kick-off, gorging on pie and chips, downing several pre-match pints or just wandering down the street with big grins on their faces. The strains of "I'm forever blowing bubbles" could be heard blaring out from at least three pubs in the local area, usually with drunken accompaniment. Kerbside stalls were busy selling possibly-genuine purply-blue clothing to passers by, while hawkers flogged long fluffy coloured things on sticks to younger supporters for 50p. Some children had the team's logo painted on their face - good preparation for a few years' time when they get those hammers tattooed into their forearm just like Dad.
We'd not have won the World Cup in 1966 without West Ham, and a bronze statue at the foot of Green Street remembers key players from that legendary team. That's England captain Bobby Moore up there holding the Jules Rimet trophy, himself being held aloft by Ray Wilson, Martin Peters and hat-trick scorer Geoff Hurst. The statue's become a favourite meeting point for fans, or just somewhere to sit down with a fag and a can or three of lager. It's a charming addition to the area, and a reminder of the football club's importance to the local neighbourhood over the last 100 years.
Upton Park's seen many changes since 1966. Green Street has become the heart of Newham's thriving Asian community, its shops and cafes offering much more than just a taste of the East. On non-match days elegant saris are more popular than football scarves, and spicy samosas outsell jellied eels several times over. The street's also famous for its jewellery, more handmade class than bling, and the Boleyn Cinema screens all the latest Bollywood hits. For many (but not all) of today's local residents, football exists only in some alien non-intersecting universe. I suspect a large proportion of yesterday's claret and blue crowds had travelled in from boroughs further east, and from southern Essex, summoned back to their footballing roots like spawning salmon.
I left the fans to their drinking and boundless optimism before the Cup Final kicked off. How they must have cheered when West Ham took what looked like an unassailable lead. How they must have shuddered when Liverpool came back to equalise, twice. How they must have despaired as both teams limped feebly into extra time deadlock. And how utterly utterly dejected they must have felt to lose out in a desperate penalty shootout. West Ham should have won, obviously, as every fan will have been telling the bottom of a glass ever since Liverpool's final lucky save. Football's like that, it's a bloody unfair game unless you win. And there's always next time.
FA Cup Winners: 1964, 1975, 1980 Runners-up: 1923, 2006
Saturday, May 13, 2006
I SPY LONDON the definitive DG guide to London's sights-worth-seeing Part 8:Thames Barrier Visitor Centre
Location: Unity Way, Woolwich, SE18 5NJ [map] Open: 10:30am - 4pm (11am - 3:30pm in Winter) Admission: £1.50 5-word summary: mini exhibition beside engineering marvel Website:here Time to set aside: ½hr indoors, ½hr outdoors
The ThamesBarrier is a marvellous sight. Its gleaming aerofoil piers span the river at Woolwich Reach, protecting large swathes of the capital against the threat of innundation. Admittedly Beckton and Belvedere are still in for a soaking, but the residents of Chelsea and Camberwell have good reason to thank the GLC for their foresight. Designed as long ago as the early 1970s, the Thames Barrier was engineered to withstand even a once-in-a-millennium storm surge. When the call comes, and it comes more frequently with each passing decade, six hidden gates rise up out of the water to block the incoming tide. The mechanism's based on gas-tap technology, you know. I know, I saw it at the exhibition.
Visitors aren't allowed inside the main Thames Barrier buildings. Instead there's a small 'official' café built atop the flood defences on the south bank where you can rest awhile after taking in the awe and majesty of the barrier gates. Maybe you fancy a nice cup of tea and a jam-topped scone, or perhaps you have a sudden urge for a cheap souvenir pencil or tacky fridge magnet. But offer the lady at the till a handful of coins and she'll buzz you through a side door down into the basement where an exhibition reveals the barrier's secrets. It's not a very large basement, indeed on entering you'll wonder if there aren't several other rooms and galleries tucked away out of sight, but what you see is what you get. Display boards recount past floods, most notably the disastrous storm of 1953. Learn too about the ecology of the Thames and the estuary's other flood defences. Flick through some of the designs which lost out to Charles Draper's rotating underwater gates. Look, there's a murky fishtank complete with murky fish. And over here is a big model of the barrier in a glass case which whirrs into action so you can see how everything works. Maybe you'd like to watch it go through its paces a couple of times, just to stretch your visit out to fifteen minutes.
For your second fifteen minutes, enter the mini-cinema with its mini-video. If you've ever watched Tomorrow's World or seen one of those terribly worthy public information films, you'll know what to expect. Lots of shots of engineers standing around holding clipboards; a succession of workmen moving things with cranes and pouring concrete into moulds; a strip of dull white text speeding across the screen outlining a list of dry facts and figures; some BBC-type bloke reading out an earnest commentary in proper Queen's English; a burbling synthesiser playing over-dramatic tinkly muzak in the background. Yes, nobody's replaced the video at the visitor's centre since the barrier was opened in 1984, and it shows. Still, the film kept the attention of a visiting toddler without him running around and screaming, which was more than the rest of the exhibition had managed.
Back outside a far more impressive attraction is the barrier itself. The nine silver piers poke out of the water like a row of submerged skyscrapers. Red crosses or green arrows glow beside each gate like giant traffic lights. The harbour police scud aimlessly down the river. Passing couples linger at the water's edge to take awestruck photographs. Toddlers play happily, and noisily, on the climbing frame. You could do worse than come visit for yourself, if you have nothing better to do. But, all things considered, you might prefer the view from Thames BarrierPark on the northern banks instead. by bus: 161, 177, 180, 472by train: Charlton, Woolwich Dockyard
Monday, May 08, 2006
The Sultan's Elephant: I told you it was brilliant. Throughout the weekend spectators descended on Central London in greater and greater numbers to watch the continuing adventures of the the sultan, his mega-elephant and a 16-foot toddler. On Saturday Trafalgar Square was packed with people to see London's Deputy Mayor welcome the sultan to the capital. Sadly most of them couldn't hear anything because the loudspeaker system was inadequate, but the grand spectacle made up for it. Yesterday grinning crowds followed the elephant to and from lunch in Piccadilly, while lucky children queued to take a rocking ride on the giant girl's arms in St James' Park. And now they've departed, the girl into her wooden spaceship and the elephant into our imagination. London will miss them all. And next weekend's looking awfully empty already.
The next station is... Gillespie Road Well that's what Arsenal station used to be called, at least until 1932. This was the high point of Arsenal's inter-war success under legendary team manager Herbert Chapman, and also the year when the West Stand opened. But, now that's Highbury's closed for business forever, maybe the tube station should go back to being called Gillespie Road again. Especially given that the original name is still clearly spelt out in the tiling on the platform walls, so it really wouldn't take much effort to change it back.
But no, don't worry, the name's staying. Drayton Park station may be rather closer to the new Ashburton Grove stadium, but TfL have decided against upgrading it, or even opening it on matchdays. Visiting fans will have to walk rather further to get home, with officials recommending long overland treks to Finsbury Park and Highbury & Islington. But the tube station closest to Ashburton Grove, just across the big new white footbridge and a short route-march up the street, is in Gillespie Road. And it'll still be called Arsenal station. Some things never change.
The last ten Underground stations to change their name 1) Surrey Docks → Surrey Quays (1989) 2) Heathrow Central → Heathrow Central Terminals 1, 2, 3 (1983) → Heathrow Terminals 1, 2, 3 (1986) 3/4) Trafalgar Square / Strand → Charing Cross (1979) 5) Charing Cross → Charing Cross Embankment (1974) → Embankment (1976) 6) Brent → Brent Cross (1976) 7) Bushey & Oxhey → Bushey (1974) 8) West Ham (Manor Road) → West Ham (1969) 9) Aldersgate → Barbican (1968) 10) Bromley → Bromley-by-Bow (1967)
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Highbury pilgrimage
This afternoon Arsenal play their last ever home match at Highbury. 93 years of history come to an end with a key end-of-season decider against, er, Wigan Athletic, which will either be a stonking victorious finale or a miserable withering disappointment. And then, after the doors close and the supporters head home, the business of turning this fabled stadium into exclusive housing starts in earnest. The North Bank and Clock End stands will be demolished and replaced by mews, while the more characterful East and West Stands will be transformed (sympathetically, one hopes) into yet more apartments. Meanwhile the pitch will end up as some landscaped memorial garden with gushing water features, no doubt accessible only to residents. Moan as much as you like about the price of a Highbury season ticket but it's still peanuts compared to spending half a million on a two bedroom apartment without even any football to watch.
I headed over to Highbury yesterday afternoon for one last look. I thought the area would be pretty quiet, what with the final match still being 24 hours away and the ground tucked well off the beaten track in the middle of a quiet estate of terraced houses. But no, it seems I wasn't the only fan with a desire to capture sporting history before it vanishes. All around the stadium, in Avenall Road, Gillespie Road and Highbury Hill, Gooners young and old were out with their cameras. Spotty teenagers in redcurrant strip stood in reverence before the glorious Art Deco facade of the East Stand. A patient wife trailed her over-eager husband as he insisted on having his photograph taken in front of every gate and entrance. A succession of avid supporters waited patiently for the opportunity to stand right up close to the front doors and peer through into the marble entrance hall. Two bored brothers sat in the back of their 4x4 while Dad hopped out to take some final photographs. A group of students aimed their camcorder at a local resident and asked for her matchday memories. And I was even forced to pause three times while exiting Arsenal tube station to allow a succession of Nick Hornby types to flash away at the 50m-long 'FinalSalute' mural.
There were also long queues in the Arsenal Shop as keen fans waited to snap up a souvenir of the old stadium. I hope they were buying the tasteful polo shirts (£33) and t-shirts (£12), and not the rather dodgy-looking cushions (£10), red leather filofaxes (£25) and crystal decanters (£50). And all around the stadium local residents continued with their everyday lives, no doubt delighted that they face only one more afternoon of noise, congestion and drunken away fans pissing in their front garden.
Come July, following a lengthy planning battle and several years of construction, the new Arsenal stadium opens less than half a mile away on Ashburton Grove. This is no quaint pre-war antique, this is a modern bowl-shaped arena with 50% greater seating capacity. It has everything a modern football stadium needs, like a tier of executive boxes, several luxury restaurants, a merchandising megastore and heaven knows, maybe even some character. The new stadium is taller and broader than Highbury, and towers over the surrounding area in the same way that the old stadium doesn't. It's been squeezed in on reclaimed industrial land between two railway lines and, to be honest, the view out from the main entrance is pretty grim. Departing supporters will pour down a series of gleaming parallel staircases onto a bleak mini-roundabout surrounded by billboards, rundown buildings and a railway viaduct. A neighbouring row of tumbledown warehouses and small factories has been compulsorily purchased so that it can be torn down to build some snazzy apartment blocks. And, despite the bleating of the Arsenal PR department, public transport connections aren't anywhere near as good as they'd have you believe, not unless you fancy a bracing walk every time you attend a match.
It looks nearly ready, the new ground, unlike certain other national stadia I could mention. The curved glass windows gleam and the interior staircases have immaculately painted red handrails. Soon the long stack of portakabins will be carted away, the perimeter fencing will come down, and the new EmiratesStadium will be open for business. Ghastly name, and I'm not convinced that many fans will suddenly feel the urge to book a flight to Dubai as a result, but financial needs must when a football club is compelled to move on. For a new generation of Arsenal players and supporters the new state-of-the-art stadium will soon come to be called home. But my heart will still be at Highbury, no doubt buried somewhere beneath a flowerbed in a garden I shall never see again.
The best ideas are often completely bonkers. Let's bring a 16-foot marionette and a 42-tonne time-travelling mechanical elephant to the heart of London and then tell a story by walking them round the streets for three days. That's exactly what French theatre company Royal de Luxe are doing this weekend, and their concept, technical expertise and execution are quite brilliant. The spectacle was premiered in the French cities of Nantes and Amiens last year (to commemorate the centenary of Jules Verne's death) and later in the year you can catch the giant beast in Antwerp, Calais and Le Havre. But right now the Sultan's Elephant is touring central London, and it's unmissable.
On Thursday a wooden space capsule appeared overnight in Waterloo Place, just above The Mall. Steam billowed from the (utterly convincing) cracked tarmac throughout the day, and Londoners gathered around to gawp and to take photographs. Then yesterday the metal hatch opened and a small girl emerged. OK, so she was four times the size of a normal girl, and she was made of wood, and she was being operated by red-suited puppeteers using a big crane and a series of overhead wires, but she was still unmistakeably a small girl. She (and her string-pulling entourage) went for a long walk around town, stopping the traffic along the way, before finally ending up at Horseguards Parade. Here she met and greeted the Sultan and his giant elephant, like you do, before settling down for an afternoon nap in a giant deckchair. The scene was set.
I caught up with the story as Big Ben struck five. An ever-increasing crowd had gathered around the sleeping travellers, most of them families with small children or passing civil servants, fresh from a savage reshuffle. An open-topped red London bus entered the arena, and the giant girl slowly awoke. A crane hoisted her carefully onto the top deck of the bus as the elephant rose slowly, majestically to its feet. It roared, shook its head and waved its trunk in an utterly lifelike manner. The crowd were captivated, and struggled to take as many photographs as possible of the stirring beast. And then the performers headed off on a short tour of the St James's area, first the bus and then the elephant. Operators sat precariously beneath the giant head to control the trunk movements, while on the ground one man's job was to lift the elephant's feet forward one at a time to enable it to make progress. Meanwhile the sultan and his courtiers surveyed the crowd from their platform on the elephant's back, or drank tea and made small talk on the balconies to either side.
Where the elephant went, the crowd followed. They watched from the grassy lawns of St James' Park, and massed around the beast in the wider spaces of The Mall. Stewards clutching red tape helped to seal off a moveable exclusion zone both in front and to the rear as the elephant passed through. A band of musicians playing loud magical Eastern-style jazz followed on a truck behind, adding to to the very special atmosphere. Children stood in awe and wonder, while every cameraphone in the vicinity was being pressed into use. And every few minutes the elephant showed off its party trick, waving its trunk towards the onlookers and squirting them with a fine spray of water. At least I hope it was water because I got a soaking.
And that was just yesterday. The story continues today with further London sightseeing and an official civic reception in Trafalgar Square, then tomorrow there's lunch in Piccadilly and a wander through St James Park before the over-sized entourage finally departs. Do go and see the Sultan's Elephant if you can. If the look on the faces of the crowd yesterday are anything to go by, you'll leave with a big grin on your face and memories to last a lifetime.
A thick-skinned blundering beast, storming and moaning its way out of Whitehall followed by a crowd of cheering onlookers? It could be Charles Clarke but no, it's The Sultan's Elephant.
It's clear that the key to boosting England's annual quota of bank holidays is to introduce local or regional celebrations. Germany may only have nine national holidays, but live in the right state and you can get up to three more. Northern Ireland manages 25% more bank holidays than the rest of the UK by commemorating a local saint and a historic battle. Catholic regions of Austria take a 24 hour siesta more often than their Protestant counterparts. Every province in New Zealand takes an extra day off on its anniversary day. So what London needs is its own London-only public holidays. Days that we in the capital get off, and nobody else does. I've racked my brain and tried to come up with a few. Well, twelve actually. It's worth a try...
Al Fayed Monday (first Monday in January): A day off to allow you to queue 24 hours earlier for the Harrods Sale. Multi-faith Minority Sunday (third Sunday in February): A day of festivities in Trafalgar Square for all the non-Russian, non-Chinese, non-Irish, non-English, non Sikh, non-Hindu residents of the capital not yet catered for by the Mayor's token staged events. Vauxhall Virgin Bonfire (24th March): Age-old traditional gathering in Kennington Park during which ten innocent Lambeth damsels are burnt at the stake (subject to availability) Buggered Tubesday (Easter Tuesday): Quick, while everyone's on holiday, let's shut down the entire tube network to allow essential engineering work to take place. The Fertility Pole (1st May): The world's largest maypole is created by dangling coloured ribbons from the top of Nelson's Column. Prince Philip and Victoria Beckham take the lead by tying each other up in knots. St Ken's Day (17th June): Hordes of happy Londoners flood the streets to celebrate the birthday of their glorious Mayor. There'll be face-painting, newt racing and, in Fleet Street, the ancient sport of hurling vicious insults at the press. St Coe's Day (6th July): Merry Olympians gather at dawn on Stratford Marshes to compete in archaic contact sports such as concreting the river, demolishing the factories and evicting the locals. Seven/Seven (7th July): Probably best to have a day off work because nobody's going to want to travel on public transport today, just in case. Firepride Friday (first Friday in September): To commemorate the Great Fire of London in 1666, a grand parade to thank the capital's three remaining firefighters for all the sterling work they do despite recent funding cutbacks. Reclaim The Streets Tuesday (last Tuesday in September): The first day after the summer season when all children are safely back at school and almost all of the tourists have gone home. Quick, get out there and enjoy London while you have a chance. St Arbuck's Day (16th November): Free lattes for all, and a thrilling barista-juggling competition on the South Bank (n.b. this holiday is available to the highest bidder each year. Please apply to City Hall, Marketing Department) Blitz Day (29th December): A service of commemoration at St Paul's Cathedral for all those lost during the wartime bombing of London. A wax effigy of the Queen Mother (employing the latest electronic 'arm-waving' technology) will ride to the cathedral in the Gold State Coach.
Monday, May 01, 2006
May Fair - Rowdyism & Vice
Across the UK the first of May has long been a day for celebrations and festivities, often with a bit of ribboned pole-dancing thrown in for good measure. London itself has a long history of springtime frolics and debauchery, often spread over several days, although the focus of these mass celebrations has shifted somewhat over the years. Up until the 17th century the capital's main spring gathering was held in the Haymarket, just up the road from Charing Cross. But as the city expanded a less central location was sought, somewhere far more suitable for lewd drunken activity, and in 1686 the May Fair moved on. You can probably guess where.
in 1686 most of the area northwest of St James's Park was green pasture alongside the babbling Tyburn brook [map]. There were no local people to complain about London's annual May Fair moving in, save the residents of a few grand houses backing onto what is now Piccadilly. The sprawling fair began each year on May Day and lasted for a full fortnight. It attracted wild revellers from all over London and the home counties, as well as countless thieves, charlatans and lewd women. Over the course of two weeks much ale was quaffed, much money was wagered, much flesh was feasted upon and much seed was sown. It's a far cry from the sanitised celebrations Mayor Ken permits in Trafalgar Square these days, with the emphasis very firmly on raucous excess rather than social responsibility.
As London continued to spread westward, the new inhabitants of north Piccadilly became resentful of the fair on their doorstep. They feared for the morals of their wives, servants and children, threatened by corruption in this iniquitous "nursery of vice". Rich residents petitioned the courts for the fair's removal, initially without success. Then, as the suburbanisation of the area continued, landowners moved in to erect new houses on these riverside fields. Shepherd Market (pictured) was laid out at the heart of the old fairground site in 1735, but it was not until 1764 that the Earl of Coventry successfully used legal means to force the entire revels to move elsewhere. With the May Fair's departure the area headed rapidly upmarket to become the exclusive aristocratic neighbourhood of Mayfair we know today. And Shepherd Market still survives as a charming backstreet enclave of restaurants, antiques shops and pubs, although it's never quite shaken off its reputation as a haunt for shady backhand deals and prostitutes.
The May Fair moved on, five miles eastward, re-establishing itself in a field just outside the small village of Bow [map]. Here it amalgamated with the existing Bow Fair, a long-standing bacchanalia held a few days after Whitsun.
The crowd's behaviour here was just as atrocious, with Londoners arriving in their droves by road and river to take out their frustrations on this tiny rural backwater. But as Bow's population grew so too did the number of complaints from local residents, as before, until in 1823 the fair was banned altogether "due to rowdyism and vice".
Here's the site of Bow's 'Fair Field' today, on the corner of (where else) FairfieldRoad. The striped building is PoplarTown Hall, an example of early modernist civic architecture, officially opened in 1938 by former mayor and Labour leader George Lansbury. It's no longer a town hall, having been downgraded to mere offices in the mid 60s, but it still provides an impressive (if slightly shabby) presence on Bow Road. In 1957 Fair Field's reputation for vice and criminal activity was rekindled briefly when the Kray Brothers opened their very first club, the Double R, here nextdoor to the old town hall. Nowadays only a school playground and a car hire portakabin are left to mark this doubly notorious location.
As a resident of Bow Road I'm both saddened and relieved that London's premier spring revels no longer take place so close to home. Whilst it would be really convenient to have a major fairground just a couple of hundred yards up the street, I really wouldn't want drunken merrymakers urinating on my doorstep and singing bawdy songs throughout the night. Neither would I enjoy the smell of congealed roasting meat permeating my flat, nor countless prostitutes hanging around outside the kebab shop and launderette. Not for a fortnight. Not in my backyard. Not until the Olympic circus arrives, anyway. Mayday, mayday.
Yesterday I ended up on the western edge of London in the randomly selected borough of Hillingdon. It's a long way from the centre of town, tucked up against the fringes of Herts, Bucks and Surrey, so it took me ages to get there. And it's a vast borough, the second largest in the capital, stretching a full twelve miles from north to south, so I had my work cut out trying to travel around. Hillingdon's a very suburban borough, really quite rural in places, but with a less glamorous hinterland along the A4 corridor. The council's official list of local attractions suggested I was in for a dull old time, but actually there was plenty of interest to see. Inbetween the dull bits.
Somewhere famous: Heathrow Airport The London borough of Hillingdon just happens to be home to the world's busiest international airport. Heathrow is like a city within the city, covering more than 3000 acres, employing 68000 workers and processing a greater number of passengers each year than actually live in the UK. It is at the same time both a modern miracle of efficient accessibility and a blight on the environmental living standards of almost the whole of west London. Can't live with it, can't live without it. And it's celebrating its 60th anniversary this year.
Heathrowopened in 1946, an unassuming alternative to the existing London Airport based in Croydon. Terminal facilities were provided in an army tent equipped with armchairs and chemical toilets, and a mere 60000 passengers passed through in the first year. Then came the jet age, the advance of air freight and a mushrooming in international travel and hey presto, one giant airport hub complete with one, two, three, four passenger terminals. A fifth terminal is nearing completion and should be operational in two years' time. It'll dwarf the remaining buildings (T5 could be the third largest airport in Europe in its own right), but only BA and Qantas passengers will get to check in beneath its signature glass roof. The futuristic 87m-high control tower has already opened, although it has the look of a fragile Thunderbirds model and might therefore be expected to explode and topple at any moment.
I got quite lost trying to find my way around between the terminal buildings. There are subways, gangways and slow-moving luggage everywhere. The roads are clogged not with cars but with buses and coaches, ferrying bleary-eyed foreigners to their grim boxy hotels spaced out along the northern perimeter. Suspiciously tanned aircrew wheel miniature suitcases towards unidentified buildings. Bemused families queue at sterile check-in desks in order to prove they're not terrorists. Everybody seems intent on passing through as quickly as possible, but nobody's having much luck. Welcome to the waiting zone.
Strangely the one thing that's very hard to do within the centre of the airport is to watch the planes. There are no aircraft immediately above you, merely those in the process of landing or taking off along the two parallel runways to either side. Visitors used to be able to stand on an observation deck atop the Queen's Building but that's been closed down, presumably in case an unassuming plane spotter turns out to have a surface-to-air missile hidden in their lunchbox. I discovered many displaced enthusiasts standing outside the airport perimeter in the car park close to the Renaissance Hotel. They clutched optical devices with huge lenses, wielded radio receivers which helped them listen in to control tower traffical and jabbered excitedly about percieved anomalies in the landing pattern. Every 90 seconds or so another plane thundered down the runway, its engines screeching as it picked up speed before ascending with a roar into the sun-dazzled western sky. Each passage was observed, discussed and recorded with disinterested fascination.
Beside the same car park I discovered the little-known HeathrowVisitorCentre - a small hands-on exhibition detailing the airport's aviation history. It's adequate, as far as a PR exercise goes, and provides a useful café in which some of the more ardent spotters can rest their heavy notebooks. But the view out through the grimy glass observation window was less than ideal and, while I was there at least, the place seemed to have doubled up as an adventure playground for bored mischievous toddlers. It's not the real Heathrow. I guess the only authentic way to experience the delights (or otherwise) of the airport would be to arrive with a giant suitcase, file meekly through security, drift aimlessly around between the duty free boutiques and then strap oneself down inside a Boeing. Maybe I'll try that particular option next weekend instead. by tube: Piccadilly line by train: Heathrow Express
Somewhere historic: Harmondsworth Harmondsworth is a small village located on flat meadowland just under a mile north of Heathrow airport. It's not historic in the sense that William the Conqueror built a castle here or that Henry VIII stopped by to cure the locals of dropsy, but it is still a very old village. St Mary's Church dates back to the 12th century and its Norman doorway is one of the finest in London. Nextdoor there's a golden-brown tithe barn, reputedly the largest in the country (although I grew up in a different village which also claimed the same thing, so I'd take that with a pinch of salt). Harmondsworth therefore boasts one scheduled ancient monument and several Grade II listed buildings, all gathered around a triangular village green with a couple of pubs and a few sweet asymmetrical cottages. Most historic. For now, anyway.
Because not even the giant Terminal 5 is expected to be enough to feed Heathrow Airport's future expansion, so a sixth terminal and a third runway will most likely be required. Original plans for the third runway (published in 2003) saw the wholesale destruction of Harmondsworth village. Church - razed. Tithe barn - relocated. Quaint village green - tarmacked. And all so that international business could expand, long distance freight traffic could increase and you and I could fly abroad more often. Tough decision. But then last year, after a major public outcry, BAA amended theirplans slightly. They still plan to build their new runway except fractionally further east, so now only the northeastern corner of the village is scheduled for demolition. Like the areas pictured below, for example.
The first picture shows part of Harmondsworth Moor - in twenty years' time thunderous aeroplanes will be taking off on the new runway across this field. The second shows one of the many existing houses under threat - this very spot will form the western end of a new taxiway. And the third shows a field immediately to the east of Hatch Lane - the new terminal 6 is destined to be plonked right here. Not good. And not good for the rest of the village left behind either. Although all of the listed buildings will survive, noise levels beside the end of the new runway will be quite unbearable. Nobody's going to want to live here beside the perimeter fence, not quite this close to an umpteen decibel blast every couple of minutes. Every house will be blighted, so when the new runway opens BAA might as well have knocked down the whole village anyway.
It was surprisingly quiet in Harmondsworth on Saturday afternoon. The graveyard around the church was deserted, apart from the odd bumblebee. The tables outside the Five Bells pub were packed with hordes of good-natured unwashed student types with sculpted hair and piercings. An old lady in a sari sat down in the bus shelter on Holloway Lane and smiled across the street. One front lawn in Hatch Lane was busy receiving its first lawnmower trim of the season. A courting couple disappeared with intent down a heavily willowed path into Bateman's Orchard. The cattle on Harmondsworth Moor just stood and watched it all. And, in the distance, the planes taking off at the airport were clearly audible but never overly intrusive. It's strange to think that this peace could be shattered so utterly and irrevocably, and all for the benefit of people who'd never think of visiting Harmondsworth otherwise. Still, it has a better future than the neighbouring village of Sipson which is still due for complete eradication if the third runway gets the go-ahead. The last village round here which suffered a similar fate had the rather quaint name of 'Heath Row'. And who remembers that nowadays? by bus: U3
Somewhere pretty: Ruislip Lido Much of the northern swathe of Hillingdon lies within the green belt, so it's more like proper countryside than part of Western Europe's largest city. Ruislip in particular has the air of a small market town, though admittedly one populated by stockbrokers. By common consent the prettiest spot in the area is Ruislip Lido, a 150-acre lake nestling amid ancient woodlands (and the odd golf course). At first glance it looks like a place of purely natural beauty, complete with wooded banks and resident waterfowl (I was charmed by a couple of amorous crested grebes, and got quite close to a large swan). But look again. Most genuine lakes don't have a child-covered beach with proper golden sand, do they, nor a low dam blocking one end. That's because this is really an artificial lagoon, constructed in 1811 as a reservoir to feed the Grand Union Canal. The place was astonishingly popular in the 40s, 50s and 60s, the beach packed by eager kids who'd never even seen the sea, let alone the Mediterranean. Today the crowds have passed and the sailing club and water skiiers have dispersed, but Ruislip Lido remains a much cherished spot for local people to pass a couple of hours. The tarmac path around the edge of the lido is just long enough to make you think you've done some valuable exercise. Alternatively it's the perfect length for walking the dog, or for jogging round (once) or for taking your toddler out for a ride on their mini tricycle before they get bored. And there's a proper miniature railway right around the lake too, with trains departing from 'Ruislip Lido' station for 'Woody Bay' every 40 minutes, although I arrived too early in the day to see them in operation. No doubt the place is packed with divorced dads on Sunday afternoons, maybe topping off their visit with a meal at the Harvester-style restaurant next to the big car park. All still just the right side of charming, but I hope bird flu paranoia doesn't keep the crowds away in the future. by bus: H13 by train: Woody Bay
Somewhere retail: UxbridgeHigh Street I must confess that Uxbridge doesn't normally spring to mind when I think of London's great retail centres. But the Hillingdon council website assured me that Uxbridge was home to not one but two marvellous shopping centres. And, as you may have noticed by the lack of photo in the report above, I'd managed to leave home without my camera's memory stick so I was in urgent need of a replacement purchase. So I went. Good old Dixons in the Chimes Centre had a memory stick for a bargain price, plus they were only too happy to fetch a pair of scissors so that I could rip open the ludicrously well sealed plastic packaging and start taking photos again. Elsewhere in the two-level mall the families and youth of Hillingdon were partaking of their Saturday shopping fix. Some ripped jeans and glitzy gold chains for the younger consumers, perhaps, or a restful muffin and coffee for the more mature purchaser. I had to fend off a particularly keen woman trying to get me to switch my electricity supplier, twice, and carefully avoided the gangly pierced alternative types signing up at the bottom of the escalator for the Ministry of Paintball. Across the street the Pavilions Shopping Centre proved to be just as large, but slightly more downmarket. There were a few faux market stalls clustered round a central staircase (now I know where to come for all my mobility scooter needs) and several not quite brand-name stores (like Secrets, Purelife, and Popiandy's cafe). Outside a few large traditional stores lived on, like Randalls furniture & carpets store (the family business of the local MP), but shopping in Uxbridge is generally as 'clone town' an experience as you might expect. I didn't stay long. by tube: Uxbridge by bus: anything starting with a 'U'
Somewhere sporty: Hayes FC I suppose, given that I was exploring the heartland of deepest Middlesex, that I should have visited somewhere cricket related. But the MCC are based some distance away and only deigned to play a single one day match at the Uxbridge Cricket Club last year, so I decided against. I was very tempted to write an in-depth report from a local bowling green, this seeming to be the official sport of Hillingdon borough, but thankfully the season doesn't seem to be properly underway yet. So instead I hunted down a top local football team, Hayes FC, from the Nationwide Southern Conference no less, Although maybe not for much longer. The team are languishing in the relegation zone at the moment, so yesterday's match against Lewes was a crucial points-gathering exercise. I tracked down their mid-suburban Church Road ground a couple of hours before kickoff to view the first stirrings of pre-match preparation. The huge car park was still nigh empty, bar the odd souped-up motor or white van. A shaven headed bloke in a suit arrived and lugged a heavy kitbag through the side entrance towards the changing rooms. The groundsman stood by the red-painted turnstiles and waited. Local residents walked, or drove, past without giving the old part-time stadium a second glance. It came as no surprise later to discover that official attendance at the thrilling two-all draw had been only 167. I hope the club survives potential relegation to the Isthmian League - it's a long way down. by bus: 195, H98
Somewhere random: Yiewsley Rearrange all of London's placenames into alphabetical order and Hillingdon boasts the last name on the list - Yiewsley. Which seemed a good enough reason to visit. This small town owes its existence to two great 19th century endeavours, the Great Western Railway and the Grand Union Canal. I arrived via the former (happy 200th birthday - today! - to chief engineer Isambard Kingdom Brunel) and went for a short walk up the towpath of the latter. The flooded gravel pits of the Colne Valley are really rather scenic, but alas much of this stretch of the canal skirted several warehouses and a patch of post-industrial wasteland instead. A giggly gang of four schoolboys hung from the ironwork off the footbridge leading to the Slough Arm of the canal, and proud barge owners sat looking out from their improvised gardens on the banks of the Packet Boat Marina. Yiewsley High Street, running parallel, was a different world. A long string of shops ran down to the station, featuring such retail delights as Sweet Dreams discount bed showroom, Dades electrical store and Gordon's - one of those slightly musty independent ladies fashion outlets that exist only in suburban parades. Architecturally the only point of note was brick-built St Matthew's Church, designed by Sir George Gilbert Scott who was also responsible for the gothic excesses of St Pancras Station. And a warning to any reader tempted to book into the 'Heathrow Guest House' prior to a flight out of the country. You might be expecting a homely hotel close to the airport, whereas what you're really getting is a block of first-floor rooms above an opticians, a bakery and a unisex salon. In Yiewsley. You can do better. by train: West Drayton
Friday, April 07, 2006
Waterloo → City
The Waterloo & City line has been shut down this week for a major facelift. The 'Drain' is more than 100 years old, so it's about time that all the trains, tracks and other infrastructure were completely overhauled. The line's completely cut off from the rest of the tube network, which is why over the weekend all the carriages had to be hauled out of their tunnelusing a big crane. Come September the line will be reopened - faster, cleaner and with lovely new teal-coloured upholstery on every train. But until then 40000 commuters are going to have to find an alternative way to get from Waterloo to Bank. Here's Transport for London's recommendation...
That's not quite the direct trip which commuters are used to. In fact, and I'd like to take issue with TfL on this, their replacement route is considerably longer than necessary. It looks quite sensible on the tube map but, as we all know, the tube map isn't a true representation of reality. For a start TfL's route starts by heading in completely the wrong direction - northwest. Then there's a surprisingly high number of stations on the Circle line section of the journey, slowing everything down. And finally the route requires you to use one of the best disguised inefficiencies on the entire network - the Bank/Monument 'escalator link'. Bank and Monument may look like neighbouring stations on the map but in reality they're nearly half a kilometre apart, joined by a deep subway canyon requiring a descent into the bowels of the City. Look, here's a helpful 3D cutaway diagram. The twisting labyrinth between Monument and Bank takes at least five minutes to negotiate, as those following TfL's instructions will find to their cost.
So I thought I'd do some adding up to try to find the fastest way from Waterloo to Bank now that the Waterloo and City line is out of action. Here's the maths:
Original route (currently closed) Waterloo & City (4 minutes) = 4 minutes (1 station, 1.5 miles)
Alternative route 1 (change at Embankment - TfL preferred) Bakerloo/Northern (1 minute) + change (3 minutes) + District/Circle (8 minutes) + walk from Monument to Bank (5 minutes) = 17 minutes (7 stations, 2.2 miles)
Alternative route 2 (change at Tottenham Court Road) Northern (6 minutes) + change (3 minutes) + Central (7 minutes) = 16 minutes (8 stations, 3.1 miles)
Alternative route 4 (change at London Bridge) Jubilee (4 minutes) + change (3 minutes) + Northern (2 minutes) = 9 minutes (3 stations, 1.5 miles)
Hmmm. It seems that there are three routes which are quicker than TfL's suggested diversion. Travelling via Tottenham Court Road means passing through more stations, but is quicker. Travelling southeast via Elephant and Castle involves heading in completely the wrong direction, but is quicker. But it's the alternative route via London Bridge which really stands out. It's only 1½ miles long. It passes through just three stations. And it takes less than ten minutes. It's glaringly better, quicker, faster and more direct than TfL's preferred route. OK, so the Jubilee line may be scarily sardine-like during the rush hour, but even so. Surely TfL should be encouraging displaced commuters to take the tube via London Bridge, rather than a sinuous alternative which takes almost twice as long. I wonder why they're keeping so quiet?
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Building a Stonger London
Tony Blair gave a big speech at City Hall yesterday pledging to regenerate London, and East London in particular, in time for the Olympics in 2012. Hurrah. He and Mayor Ken are keen to leave behind a legacy of urban improvement, lest their political epitaph might read that they presided over a financial sporting fiasco of Dome-sized proportions. They urgently need the Olympics to be a catalyst, not an albatross. As a (very) local resident I'm obviously delighted to see that so much time, money and effort is about to be showered onto the surrounding community. So naturally I leapt upon the chance to read a copy of "Building On Success", the newly-launched 50-page glossy brochure in which all these challenges and initiatives are lovingly outlined. Precisely how will my local neighbourhood be improved during the next six years?
Well, I've had a read, and I'm none the wiser. The brochure tells me nothing new. It's just a catalogue of existing political initiatives, from Empty Dwelling Management Orders to Skills Academies and from Neighbourhood Renewal Funds to Community Cohesion Pathfinder Programmes. Buzzphrases such as 'key challenges' and 'pan-London choice' are scattered throughout. It's just more of the same, only with sillier names. 'Unemployment', for example, has been rebranded 'worklessness'. And, in what can only be described as an example of proofreadinglessness, chapter 4 has accidentally been entitled "A stonger, safer, greener city" in giant green letters. Oops. This ill-thought-out document reeks of well-meaning strategic nothingness. I am stongly underwhelmed.
Perhaps most disturbingly of all, as part of this initiative the Prime Minister now appears to be attempting to piggyback on the success of an existing website - pledgebank.com. This is the site where concerned citizens offer to carry out some social obligation, just so long as a target number of other people sign up too. Recent pledges have included contributing money to an orphanage in Uganda (target of 10 signees reached) and writing to the Environment Secretary calling for a levy on outdoor patio heaters (24 people have signed up, 76 more needed). And now there's now a (genuine) pledge from the Prime Minister...
So far only Ken Livingstone and Tessa Jowell have followed suit. I wonder who else (if anyone) will be loaning their time to this special community cause? It would be great if this noble enterprise worked out, but somehow it smacks of a PR stunt to me. What East London really needs is genuine action, not worthy words. And don't tell the PM, but the most successful pledge on the site is "I will refuse to register for an ID card and will donate £10 to a legal defence fund but only if 10,000 other people will also make this same pledge") which is 1365 people over target. I doubt Tony will beat that.
I wandered down to the site of the Olympic Stadium over the weekend (it's only a 15 minute walk, it's not far). The crumpled cardboard box in my photograph marks what will one day be the southwestern grandstand, and those warehouses in the near distance stand in what will eventually be the central arena. But nothing physical appears to have happened around here since the award of the Games was announced. Local businesses are still operational. Tall incinerators still belch cooking oil and waste into the skies. An ethnic ragbag of workers still emerge from rundown factories (at four o'clock precisely) to carry home their minimum wages. Boy racers still drive at speed along deserted Marshgate Lane. Disaffected kids still ride their trailbikes round (and round) a bumpy circuit of overgrown hillocks. Unwanted sofas still litter the pavement beneath an overhead sewer pipe. Pylons still stalk the horizon. Herons still soar high above the industrial landscape. Leafless branches still dip down to touch silently flowing rivers. But not for much longer. This Summer's probably your last chance to visit the Lower Lea Valley as it is now, as it used to be, before the construction companies move in and erase the lot. Let's hope, for East London's sake, that their destruction won't be in vain.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
There are some great independent booksellers in London. There are fewer than there used to be, partly thanks to the continuing advance of ferociously commercial chains like Waterstones and the convenience of online outlets like Amazon. But there's nothing quite like browsing around a 'proper' bookshop, even if you end up paying a little extra for the privilege. Below are three of my favourite independent London bookshops, reviewed in 50 words or less, and a few you've contributed to the list.
London's best independent bookshops • Foyles (113-119 Charing Cross Road): A towering family business that's somehow survived a century of eccentric business practices. I could never find anything before they rearranged the ludicrous "by-publisher" cataloguing system, but the modernised store is rather more rational. And still huge. And still refreshingly quirky. • Hatchards (187 Piccadilly): Possibly London's poshest bookshop, purveyors of showy hardbacks to the aristocracy, but still with a charming homely touch. Climbing the winding central staircase is like exploring a giant five-storey townhouse, peering inquisitively into library after library. And their carrier bags are well smart. • Daunt (83 Marylebone High Street): A proper Edwardian bookshop with long oak galleries, emerald lampshades and elegant skylights. At the front are the latest hard- and paperbacks, while to the rear the emphasis is on first- and second-hand geographical (all arranged by country). A true retro traveller's treasure trove. (and) • Housmans (5 Caledonian Road): recommended by The Girl • London Review Bookshop (14 Bury Place): recommended by anne and Disgruntled • Gay's The Word (66 Marchmont Street): recommended by Nigel • Newham Bookshop (745-747 Barking Road): recommended by Ems • Crockatt & Powell (119-120 Lower Marsh): recommended by P
Friday, March 10, 2006
Baker100
It's exactly 100 years today since London Underground's Bakerloo Line opened, on Saturday 10th March 1906. Only eight stations were ready for traffic at the time, but the tuppenny tickets proved most popular and 37000 passengers packed the trains that day. To celebrate this centenary I'm taking a virtual journey along the original line, station by station, from Baker Street to Lambeth North. It's not just an interesting underground journey, it's also a damned fine walk above ground, so there'll be plenty to see along the way. Mind the doors.
At the turn of the 20th century there were three different east-west underground lines through the centre of London (the Metropolitan, District and Central) but no lines travelling north-south. The new Baker Street & Waterloo Railway aimed to change that, allegedly inspired by the desire of certain Westminster gentlemen to reach Lord's more easily to watch the cricket after work. This was one of London's first deep level tubes, burrowing deep beneath London's streets rather than using much cheaper cut and cover methods. Initial construction was slow due to lack of funds, but inspirational American businessman Charles Yerkes stepped in with financial support and provided the impetus to complete the project. And it was an Evening News headline soon after the railway's opening which first nicknamed the line the "Baker-loo", and the name has stuck ever since.
Here's a brief Bakerloo line history (and if you need a map to follow, try here):
1906: The Bakerloo opened between Baker Street and Lambeth North (then called Kennington Road). Tunnels to Elephant & Castle opened in August of the same year. All further extensions were to the northwest. 1907: Extended westward to Marylebone (terminus of the Grand Central Railway) and then Edgware Road (not the Metropolitan station of the same name). 1913: Extended southward to Paddington - following an extremely tight curve which looks very different on a geographically accurate map compared to the usual smoothed-out Harry Beck version. 1915: Extended northwest to Queen's Park, where Bakerloo trains met up with overground trains on the London & North Western Railway. Some Bakerloo trains continued to Willesden Junction and (in 1917) to Watford Junction. 1939: The Stanmore branch of the Metropolitan line transferred to the Bakerloo. 1979: The Stanmore branch switched to the new Jubilee line (I've covered this in enormous detail before, remember...) 1982: Northernmost Bakerloo terminus cut back from Watford Junction to Stonebridge Park. 1984: Trains restored between Stonebridge Park and Harrow & Wealdstone (which is how things stand today).
The Bakerloo's a strange line. It ventures from darkest Southwark to leafy suburbia. Its squat little trains rattle and wheeze through bendy tunnels. Its underground stations remain gloomy and labyrinthine. Its overground stations feel bleak and unloved. But the Bakerloo's still a great little line, nimbly joining several key London locations, and a characterful throwback to how the underground used to be. And it's brown. Even 100 years ago, brown was cutting edge.
NDA Farewell
Which just leaves the 77A. The perfect, nay the only, bus to catch if you ever need to escape Wandsworth for the centre of town. Between Clapham and Vauxhall it shares the road with its twin the 77, then heads across the Thames past Tate Britain and the Houses of Parliament on its way to Aldwych. Just another ordinary bus, but with what is now an out-of-date route number. That A has to go.
And letters aren't all that's disappearing. Lists of destinations on the front of buses are being cleaned up too. The future is big, bold and basic. The front of this number 13 bus is fairly typical of the new order. Gone is the list of intermediate destinations...
Finchley Road Oxford Circusreplaced by just the terminus and a giant number in a font size large enough for even the most myopic passenger. Apparently there's no point in listing key intermediate stops any more because (if you don't know London at all) there's no way of knowing whether or not the bus has already passed them. To work out where the bus will be stopping you'll need to check the timetable at the bus stop instead, assuming it's not been vandalised. It's getting more like taking the tube, really. The front of a Piccadilly line tube will only read Cockfosters, for example, and then you're supposed to work out from a map that the train's heading east and will be stopping at those nice museums, Harrods, Covent Garden and that big square with all the cinemas.I SPY LONDON
Location: Cromwell Road, SW7 2RL [map]
Varied & Amazing
For those West Ham supporters who weren't able to make the trip to Cardiff (which would be most of them), the next best option was to head down to Upton Park and drink themselves silly in front of a big screen. And so they came, by the trainful, thronging down Green Street and the Barking Road to enjoy their moment in the limelight. The claret and blue army were here well before kick-off, gorging on pie and chips, downing several pre-match pints or just wandering down the street with big grins on their faces. The strains of "I'm forever blowing bubbles" could be heard blaring out from at least three pubs in the local area, usually with drunken accompaniment. Kerbside stalls were busy selling possibly-genuine purply-blue clothing to passers by, while hawkers flogged long fluffy coloured things on sticks to younger supporters for 50p. Some children had the team's logo painted on their face - good preparation for a few years' time when they get those hammers tattooed into their forearm just like Dad.
We'd not have won the World Cup in 1966 without West Ham, and a bronze statue at the foot of Green Street remembers key players from that legendary team. That's England captain Bobby Moore up there holding the Jules Rimet trophy, himself being held aloft by Ray Wilson, Martin Peters and hat-trick scorer Geoff Hurst. The statue's become a favourite meeting point for fans, or just somewhere to sit down with a fag and a can or three of lager. It's a charming addition to the area, and a reminder of the football club's importance to the local neighbourhood over the last 100 years.
I left the fans to their drinking and boundless optimism before the Cup Final kicked off. How they must have cheered when West Ham took what looked like an unassailable lead. How they must have shuddered when Liverpool came back to equalise, twice. How they must have despaired as both teams limped feebly into extra time deadlock. And how utterly utterly dejected they must have felt to lose out in a desperate penalty shootout. West Ham should have won, obviously, as every fan will have been telling the bottom of a glass ever since Liverpool's final lucky save. Football's like that, it's a bloody unfair game unless you win. And there's always next time.
Visitors aren't allowed inside the main Thames Barrier buildings. Instead there's a small 'official' café built atop the flood defences on the south bank where you can rest awhile after taking in the awe and majesty of the barrier gates. Maybe you fancy a nice cup of tea and a jam-topped scone, or perhaps you have a sudden urge for a cheap souvenir pencil or tacky fridge magnet. But offer the lady at the till a handful of coins and she'll buzz you through a side door down into the basement where an exhibition reveals the barrier's secrets. It's not a very large basement, indeed on entering you'll wonder if there aren't several other rooms and galleries tucked away out of sight, but what you see is what you get. Display boards recount past floods, most notably the disastrous storm of 1953. Learn too about the ecology of the Thames and the estuary's other flood defences. Flick through some of the designs which lost out to Charles Draper's rotating underwater gates. Look, there's a murky fishtank complete with murky fish. And over here is a big model of the barrier in a glass case which whirrs into action so you can see how everything works. Maybe you'd like to watch it go through its paces a couple of times, just to stretch your visit out to fifteen minutes.
The Sultan's Elephant: I told you it was brilliant. Throughout the weekend spectators descended on Central London in greater and greater numbers to watch the continuing adventures of the the sultan, his mega-elephant and a 16-foot toddler. On Saturday Trafalgar Square was packed with people to see London's Deputy Mayor welcome the sultan to the capital. Sadly most of them couldn't hear anything because the loudspeaker system was inadequate, but the grand spectacle made up for it. Yesterday grinning crowds followed the elephant to and from lunch in Piccadilly, while lucky children queued to take a rocking ride on the giant girl's arms in St James' Park. And now they've departed, the girl into her wooden spaceship and the elephant into our imagination. London will miss them all. And next weekend's looking awfully empty already.
Well that's what Arsenal station used to be called, at least until 1932. This was the high point of Arsenal's inter-war success under legendary team manager Herbert Chapman, and also the year when the West Stand opened. But, now that's Highbury's closed for business forever, maybe the tube station should go back to being called Gillespie Road again. Especially given that the original name is still clearly spelt out in the tiling on the platform walls, so it really wouldn't take much effort to change it back.
1) Surrey Docks → Surrey Quays (1989)
This afternoon Arsenal play their last ever home match at Highbury. 93 years of history come to an end with a key end-of-season decider against, er, Wigan Athletic, which will either be a stonking victorious finale or a miserable withering disappointment. And then, after the doors close and the supporters head home, the business of turning this fabled stadium into exclusive housing starts in earnest. The North Bank and Clock End stands will be demolished and replaced by mews, while the more characterful East and West Stands will be transformed (sympathetically, one hopes) into yet more apartments. Meanwhile the pitch will end up as some landscaped memorial garden with gushing water features, no doubt accessible only to residents. Moan as much as you like about the price of a Highbury season ticket but it's still peanuts compared to spending half a million on a two bedroom apartment without even any football to watch.
I headed over to Highbury yesterday afternoon for one last look. I thought the area would be pretty quiet, what with the final match still being 24 hours away and the ground tucked well off the beaten track in the middle of a quiet estate of terraced houses. But no, it seems I wasn't the only fan with a desire to capture sporting history before it vanishes. All around the stadium, in Avenall Road, Gillespie Road and Highbury Hill, Gooners young and old were out with their cameras. Spotty teenagers in redcurrant strip stood in reverence before the glorious Art Deco facade of the East Stand. A patient wife trailed her over-eager husband as he insisted on having his photograph taken in front of every gate and entrance. A succession of avid supporters waited patiently for the opportunity to stand right up close to the front doors and peer through into the marble entrance hall. Two bored brothers sat in the back of their 4x4 while Dad hopped out to take some final photographs. A group of students aimed their camcorder at a local resident and asked for her matchday memories. And I was even forced to pause three times while exiting Arsenal tube station to allow a succession of Nick Hornby types to flash away at the 50m-long 'Final Salute' mural.
There were also long queues in the Arsenal Shop as keen fans waited to snap up a souvenir of the old stadium. I hope they were buying the tasteful polo shirts (£33) and t-shirts (£12), and not the rather dodgy-looking cushions (£10), red leather filofaxes (£25) and crystal decanters (£50). And all around the stadium local residents continued with their everyday lives, no doubt delighted that they face only one more afternoon of noise, congestion and drunken away fans pissing in their front garden.
Come July, following a lengthy planning battle and several years of construction, the new Arsenal stadium opens less than half a mile away on Ashburton Grove. This is no quaint pre-war antique, this is a modern bowl-shaped arena with 50% greater seating capacity. It has everything a modern football stadium needs, like a tier of executive boxes, several luxury restaurants, a merchandising megastore and heaven knows, maybe even some character. The new stadium is taller and broader than Highbury, and towers over the surrounding area in the same way that the old stadium doesn't. It's been squeezed in on reclaimed industrial land between two railway lines and, to be honest, the view out from the main entrance is pretty grim. Departing supporters will pour down a series of gleaming parallel staircases onto a bleak mini-roundabout surrounded by billboards, rundown buildings and a railway viaduct. A neighbouring row of tumbledown warehouses and small factories has been compulsorily purchased so that it can be torn down to build some snazzy apartment blocks. And, despite the bleating of the Arsenal PR department, public transport connections aren't anywhere near as good as they'd have you believe, not unless you fancy a bracing walk every time you attend a match.
• Take the Highbury (photo) Tour
The best ideas are often completely bonkers. Let's bring a 16-foot marionette and a 42-tonne time-travelling mechanical elephant to the heart of London and then tell a story by walking them round the streets for three days. That's exactly what French theatre company Royal de Luxe are doing this weekend, and their concept, technical expertise and execution are quite brilliant. The spectacle was premiered in the French cities of Nantes and Amiens last year (to commemorate the centenary of Jules Verne's death) and later in the year you can catch the giant beast in Antwerp, Calais and Le Havre. But right now the Sultan's Elephant is touring central London, and it's unmissable.
I caught up with the story as Big Ben struck five. An ever-increasing crowd had gathered around the sleeping travellers, most of them families with small children or passing civil servants, fresh from a savage reshuffle. An open-topped red London bus entered the arena, and the giant girl slowly awoke. A crane hoisted her carefully onto the top deck of the bus as the elephant rose slowly, majestically to its feet. It roared, shook its head and waved its trunk in an utterly lifelike manner. The crowd were captivated, and struggled to take as many photographs as possible of the stirring beast. And then the performers headed off on a short tour of the St James's area, first the bus and then the elephant. Operators sat precariously beneath the giant head to control the trunk movements, while on the ground one man's job was to lift the elephant's feet forward one at a time to enable it to make progress. Meanwhile the sultan and his courtiers surveyed the crowd from their platform on the elephant's back, or drank tea and made small talk on the balconies to either side.
in 1686 most of the area northwest of St James's Park was green pasture alongside the babbling Tyburn brook [map]. There were no local people to complain about London's annual May Fair moving in, save the residents of a few grand houses backing onto what is now Piccadilly. The sprawling fair began each year on May Day and lasted for a full fortnight. It attracted wild revellers from all over London and the home counties, as well as countless thieves, charlatans and lewd women. Over the course of two weeks much ale was quaffed, much money was wagered, much flesh was feasted upon and much seed was sown. It's a far cry from the sanitised celebrations Mayor Ken permits in Trafalgar Square these days, with the emphasis very firmly on raucous excess rather than social responsibility.
"In the areas encompassing the market building were booths for jugglers, prize-fighters, both at cudgels and back-sword, boxing-matches, and wild beasts. The sports not under cover were mountebanks, fire-eaters, ass-racing, sausage-tables, dice-tables, up-and- downs, merry-go-rounds, bull-baiting, grinning for a hat, running for a shift, hasty-pudding eaters, eel-divers, and an infinite variety of other - similar pastimes."As London continued to spread westward, the new inhabitants of north Piccadilly became resentful of the fair on their doorstep. They feared for the morals of their wives, servants and children, threatened by corruption in this iniquitous "nursery of vice". Rich residents petitioned the courts for the fair's removal, initially without success. Then, as the suburbanisation of the area continued, landowners moved in to erect new houses on these riverside fields. Shepherd Market (pictured) was laid out at the heart of the old fairground site in 1735, but it was not until 1764 that the Earl of Coventry successfully used legal means to force the entire revels to move elsewhere. With the May Fair's departure the area headed rapidly upmarket to become the exclusive aristocratic neighbourhood of Mayfair we know today. And Shepherd Market still survives as a charming backstreet enclave of restaurants, antiques shops and pubs, although it's never quite shaken off its reputation as a haunt for shady backhand deals and prostitutes.
The May Fair moved on, five miles eastward, re-establishing itself in a field just outside the small village of Bow [map]. Here it amalgamated with the existing Bow Fair, a long-standing bacchanalia held a few days after Whitsun.
"At Bow, the Thursday after Pentecost,The crowd's behaviour here was just as atrocious, with Londoners arriving in their droves by road and river to take out their frustrations on this tiny rural backwater. But as Bow's population grew so too did the number of complaints from local residents, as before, until in 1823 the fair was banned altogether "due to rowdyism and vice".Here's the site of Bow's 'Fair Field' today, on the corner of (where else) Fairfield Road. The striped building is Poplar Town Hall, an example of early modernist civic architecture, officially opened in 1938 by former mayor and Labour leader George Lansbury. It's no longer a town hall, having been downgraded to mere offices in the mid 60s, but it still provides an impressive (if slightly shabby) presence on Bow Road. In 1957 Fair Field's reputation for vice and criminal activity was rekindled briefly when the Kray Brothers opened their very first club, the Double R, here nextdoor to the old town hall. Nowadays only a school playground and a car hire portakabin are left to mark this doubly notorious location.
Random borough (9): Hillingdon
Heathrow opened in 1946, an unassuming alternative to the existing London Airport based in Croydon. Terminal facilities were provided in an army tent equipped with armchairs and chemical toilets, and a mere 60000 passengers passed through in the first year. Then came the jet age, the advance of air freight and a mushrooming in international travel and hey presto, one giant airport hub complete with one, two, three, four passenger terminals. A fifth terminal is nearing completion and should be operational in two years' time. It'll dwarf the remaining buildings (T5 could be the third largest airport in Europe in its own right), but only BA and Qantas passengers will get to check in beneath its signature glass roof. The futuristic 87m-high control tower has already opened, although it has the look of a fragile Thunderbirds model and might therefore be expected to explode and topple at any moment.
Strangely the one thing that's very hard to do within the centre of the airport is to watch the planes. There are no aircraft immediately above you, merely those in the process of landing or taking off along the two parallel runways to either side. Visitors used to be able to stand on an observation deck atop the Queen's Building but that's been closed down, presumably in case an unassuming plane spotter turns out to have a surface-to-air missile hidden in their lunchbox. I discovered many displaced enthusiasts standing outside the airport perimeter in the car park close to the Renaissance Hotel. They clutched optical devices with huge lenses, wielded radio receivers which helped them listen in to control tower traffical and jabbered excitedly about percieved anomalies in the landing pattern. Every 90 seconds or so another plane thundered down the runway, its engines screeching as it picked up speed before ascending with a roar into the sun-dazzled western sky. Each passage was observed, discussed and recorded with disinterested fascination.
Harmondsworth is a small village located on flat meadowland just under a mile north of Heathrow airport. It's not historic in the sense that William the Conqueror built a castle here or that Henry VIII stopped by to cure the locals of dropsy, but it is still a very old village. St Mary's Church dates back to the 12th century and its Norman doorway is one of the finest in London. Nextdoor there's a golden-brown tithe barn, reputedly the largest in the country (although I grew up in a different village which also claimed the same thing, so I'd take that with a pinch of salt). Harmondsworth therefore boasts one scheduled ancient monument and several Grade II listed buildings, all gathered around a triangular village green with a couple of pubs and a few sweet asymmetrical cottages. Most historic. For now, anyway.
It was surprisingly quiet in Harmondsworth on Saturday afternoon. The graveyard around the church was deserted, apart from the odd bumblebee. The tables outside the Five Bells pub were packed with hordes of good-natured unwashed student types with sculpted hair and piercings. An old lady in a sari sat down in the bus shelter on Holloway Lane and smiled across the street. One front lawn in Hatch Lane was busy receiving its first lawnmower trim of the season. A courting couple disappeared with intent down a heavily willowed path into Bateman's Orchard. The cattle on Harmondsworth Moor just stood and watched it all. And, in the distance, the planes taking off at the airport were clearly audible but never overly intrusive. It's strange to think that this peace could be shattered so utterly and irrevocably, and all for the benefit of people who'd never think of visiting Harmondsworth otherwise. Still, it has a better future than the neighbouring village of Sipson which is still due for complete eradication if the third runway gets the go-ahead. The last village round here which suffered a similar fate had the rather quaint name of 'Heath Row'. And who remembers that nowadays?
I must confess that Uxbridge doesn't normally spring to mind when I think of London's great retail centres. But the Hillingdon council website assured me that Uxbridge was home to not one but two marvellous shopping centres. And, as you may have noticed by the lack of photo in the report above, I'd managed to leave home without my camera's memory stick so I was in urgent need of a replacement purchase. So I went. Good old Dixons in the Chimes Centre had a memory stick for a bargain price, plus they were only too happy to fetch a pair of scissors so that I could rip open the ludicrously well sealed plastic packaging and start taking photos again. Elsewhere in the two-level mall the families and youth of Hillingdon were partaking of their Saturday shopping fix. Some ripped jeans and glitzy gold chains for the younger consumers, perhaps, or a restful muffin and coffee for the more mature purchaser. I had to fend off a particularly keen woman trying to get me to switch my electricity supplier, twice, and carefully avoided the gangly pierced alternative types signing up at the bottom of the escalator for the Ministry of Paintball. Across the street the Pavilions Shopping Centre proved to be just as large, but slightly more downmarket. There were a few faux market stalls clustered round a central staircase (now I know where to come for all my mobility scooter needs) and several not quite brand-name stores (like Secrets, Purelife, and Popiandy's cafe). Outside a few large traditional stores lived on, like Randalls furniture & carpets store (the family business of the local MP), but shopping in Uxbridge is generally as 'clone town' an experience as you might expect. I didn't stay long.
I suppose, given that I was exploring the heartland of deepest Middlesex, that I should have visited somewhere cricket related. But the MCC are based some distance away and only deigned to play a single one day match at the Uxbridge Cricket Club last year, so I decided against. I was very tempted to write an in-depth report from a local bowling green, this seeming to be the official sport of Hillingdon borough, but thankfully the season doesn't seem to be properly underway yet. So instead I hunted down a top local football team, Hayes FC, from the Nationwide Southern Conference no less, Although maybe not for much longer. The team are languishing in the relegation zone at the moment, so yesterday's match against Lewes was a crucial points-gathering exercise. I tracked down their mid-suburban Church Road ground a couple of hours before kickoff to view the first stirrings of pre-match preparation. The huge car park was still nigh empty, bar the odd souped-up motor or white van. A shaven headed bloke in a suit arrived and lugged a heavy kitbag through the side entrance towards the changing rooms. The groundsman stood by the red-painted turnstiles and waited. Local residents walked, or drove, past without giving the old part-time stadium a second glance. It came as no surprise later to discover that official attendance at the thrilling two-all draw had been only 167. I hope the club survives potential relegation to the Isthmian League - it's a long way down.
Rearrange all of London's placenames into alphabetical order and Hillingdon boasts the last name on the list - Yiewsley. Which seemed a good enough reason to visit. This small town owes its existence to two great 19th century endeavours, the Great Western Railway and the Grand Union Canal. I arrived via the former (happy 200th birthday - today! - to chief engineer Isambard Kingdom Brunel) and went for a short walk up the towpath of the latter. The flooded gravel pits of the Colne Valley are really rather scenic, but alas much of this stretch of the canal skirted several warehouses and a patch of post-industrial wasteland instead. A giggly gang of four schoolboys hung from the ironwork off the footbridge leading to the Slough Arm of the canal, and proud barge owners sat looking out from their improvised gardens on the banks of the Packet Boat Marina. Yiewsley High Street, running parallel, was a different world. A long string of shops ran down to the station, featuring such retail delights as Sweet Dreams discount bed showroom, Dades electrical store and Gordon's - one of those slightly musty independent ladies fashion outlets that exist only in suburban parades. Architecturally the only point of note was brick-built St Matthew's Church, designed by Sir George Gilbert Scott who was also responsible for the gothic excesses of St Pancras Station. And a warning to any reader tempted to book into the 'Heathrow Guest House' prior to a flight out of the country. You might be expecting a homely hotel close to the airport, whereas what you're really getting is a block of first-floor rooms above an opticians, a bakery and a unisex salon. In Yiewsley. You can do better.
Waterloo → City
Building a Stonger London
I wandered down to the site of the Olympic Stadium over the weekend (it's only a 15 minute walk, it's not far). The crumpled cardboard box in my photograph marks what will one day be the southwestern grandstand, and those warehouses in the near distance stand in what will eventually be the central arena. But nothing physical appears to have happened around here since the award of the Games was announced. Local businesses are still operational. Tall incinerators still belch cooking oil and waste into the skies. An ethnic ragbag of workers still emerge from rundown factories (at four o'clock precisely) to carry home their minimum wages. Boy racers still drive at speed along deserted Marshgate Lane. Disaffected kids still ride their trailbikes round (and round) a bumpy circuit of overgrown hillocks. Unwanted sofas still litter the pavement beneath an overhead sewer pipe. Pylons still stalk the horizon. Herons still soar high above the industrial landscape. Leafless branches still dip down to touch silently flowing rivers. But not for much longer. This Summer's probably your last chance to visit the Lower Lea Valley as it is now, as it used to be, before the construction companies move in and erase the lot. Let's hope, for East London's sake, that their destruction won't be in vain.
Baker100
At the turn of the 20th century there were three different east-west underground lines through the centre of London (the Metropolitan, District and Central) but no lines travelling north-south. The new Baker Street & Waterloo Railway aimed to change that, allegedly inspired by the desire of certain Westminster gentlemen to reach Lord's more easily to watch the cricket after work. This was one of London's first deep level tubes, burrowing deep beneath London's streets rather than using much cheaper cut and cover methods. Initial construction was slow due to lack of funds, but inspirational American businessman Charles Yerkes stepped in with financial support and provided the impetus to complete the project. And it was an Evening News headline soon after the railway's opening which first nicknamed the line the "Baker-loo", and the name has stuck ever since.
The Bakerloo's a strange line. It ventures from darkest Southwark to leafy suburbia. Its squat little trains rattle and wheeze through bendy tunnels. Its underground stations remain gloomy and labyrinthine. Its overground stations feel bleak and unloved. But the Bakerloo's still a great little line, nimbly joining several key London locations, and a characterful throwback to how the underground used to be. And it's brown. Even 100 years ago, brown was cutting edge.
