Gertsamtkunstwerk

Lambeth Country Show

Lambeth Country Show happens every year in Brixton's Brockwell Park, usually in July. A two-day extravaganza of largely free entertainment, laid on by the council for the enjoyment of local residents and those from afar.

For numerous tedious reasons I hadn't been for several years until last year. The 2012 Country Show was moved from July to September, because of the Olympics. There was the inevitable public dissent and threats of riots, but the day turned out to be beautiful and almost seemed to top off the glorious London 2012 summer. I had tremendous fun, and took a lot of photos. I went again this year, had some fun and took several more photos. On both occasions, I avoided the live music areas - although, to be honest, they could be heard in my garden - because on the whole they're not really my style. And we didn't get any Chucklehead Cider, due to the eye-wateringly long queues.

People from out of town refer to it as a County Show, but, despite its location in Inner City Brixton (and leafy suburban Herne Hill) it's definitely a Country Show. The following narrative doesn't distinguish particularly between the two years, because they followed a similar pattern.

There is an arena for quirky events, such as camel racing, owls, falconry, 'Dog and Duck' (I think that's basically sheepdog trials, with ducks in place of sheep), and jousting.

     

Local Nature and Growing people have stalls, including the Beekeepers.

 

The Council's Environmental Services and contractor put on a display.

     

And sell watering cans, for Alzheimers or Foodbank, to tie in with the Mayor's Charity.

 

Next stop is the Flower Zone, which contains the world famous vegetable carving area, and displays of produce to conform with the rules of the Royal Horticultural Society.

Carrots, representing Anthony Gormley's Another Place on Sefton Beach, created by my neighbour Harriet, who this year told the Edward Snowden story in carrots - see topless Putin on his horse.

The popular favourite was Patrick Moore

RHS-ruled displays of vegetables and fruit

           

5 tomatoes; collection of 4 distinct kinds of vegetables; 4 potatoes; 3 beetroots, round, 7.5 cm tops; onions; herbs, 3 cultivars.

Displays of plants

   
   

Group of cacti; 2 succulents; foliage pot plant in a container; 3 succulents other than cacti.

And all manner of flower arrangements

           

Two with musical themes

 

London Symphony Orchestra under Valery Gergiev at The Proms, strings, brass and percussion; The Proms

   

And collections of plants in troughs

 

Vauxhall City Farm display their animals; this section seems particularly popular with small children. Still, you don't often see sheep and alpacas in Brixton!

As well as Chucklehead cider, there is plenty of food on sale. I opted for Macaroni cheese with added chipotle, and had long finished it while Jimmy queued for jerk pork. When he reached the front of the queue, they had run out of rice. 

There are also stalls selling the usual things you expect at these shows nowadays, from artisan cheeses to cupcakes. Stalls for organisations like the local FE Colleges and British Heart Foundation. Many of the voluntary groups also have stalls. I have, in the past, done my stint on the Labour Party stall. Last year, these were all down the hill, away from the main thrust.

Many people come specifically for the funfair. Nowadays, I don't generally do funfairs, because my Constant Companion gets travel sick on anything that goes round. But they're awfully good fun to photo.

     

We were escorted out of the park by these folks. They came up behind and took me by surprise. I commented that they ought to have some sort of warnign sound. Maybe one that said 'Neigh, neigh'. I thought it was blooming hilarious and was pretty proud I'd made a joke up myself. But I can't actually believe no one's thought of it before!

These and many more can be seen in the photo album Lambeth Country Show

A walk around Olympic Park

This post is more than a year out of date but I still think it's worth capturing what was a very memorable day out.

We didn't book tickets for the Olympics. A whole host of reasons and I don't particularly regret not doing so. I watched so much on TV, and bitten by curiosity, we did book tickets to the Paralympics. We left it late, so there was limited availability for our chosen day. We booked tickets for the semi-final of the Seven Aside football, at the Riverbank Arena, which hosted the hockey during the Olympics. This gave us access to Olympic Park for the day, and, if we had wished, we could have chosen to queue for admission to some of the other venues. 

Our match was in the afternoon so we arrived mid-morning. Transport to the site was uncomplicated - we travelled in comfort on the 'Jubilympic' line. There were two people in my carriage in wheelchairs, a novel and welcome sight on London Underground.

Access to the stadium was straightforward, pleasantly handled by a chap from the RAF. We were made to throw away the water in our (Olympic branded) water bottles, but even that wasn't a problem - plenty of places to get free drinking water and short or non-existent queues. It was a hot day and we did a lot of walking; water was much needed!

I could write in painstaking detail of all the different sights we saw, but I'm not sure that would add anything to human knowledge above the copious amounts that have already been written about London's Olympic Park.

What struck me most was the amount of space. I had visions of shuffling uncomfortably in crowds all day but that didn't happen. It was very quiet when we first arrived, most people being in events, especially in the 80,000-capacity Athletics stadium and the 17,500-capacity Aquatics Centre. We wandered freely around the park, going up to almost the Northern reaches, looking at the various venues, and spending some time in the wetlands. I was impressed by how the land was managed, not just sports venues amidst concrete, but lots of gardens. The park had been planted with wildflowers. Up until then I hadn't given much thought to wildflowers, but since then I have noticed more and more areas being planted or left for wildflowers to flourish. (I know there is a question about whether 'wild' flowers can be 'planted' but I think we all know what we mean by 'wildflowers').

We watched the 7-a-side football match between Russia and Brazil. Seven-a-side is for players with cerebral palsy. Unfortunately, the Paralympics included football as a sport for men only; indeed, there seemed to be more gender imbalance in the Paralympics than the Olympics, but I realise that achieving gender equality in addition to fighting for Paralympic rights, especially in non-developed countries, is a significant challenge. Russia won convincingly, it was a little bit like men versus boys, and I was not surprised when they went on to win the Gold Medal. It was a moderately entertaining football match, and I didn't really notice that the players were disabled. But, to be honest, apart from being in the arena, it was the least memorable part of the day. And just for good measure I was sat next to a very annoying brat who honestly thought he knew everything about football, and he kicked me several times.

         

The Park was a lot more crowded when we emerged from the match. People who had been to morning events stayed on, afternoon events were finishing, and tens of thousands were arriving for evening events. We queued quite a while for fish and chips, but they were worth the wait. We did try to find somewhere to sit in the Park Live area, but that was just full up, so we found a place down by the river, ate our fish-and-chips, and watched the world go by.

We spent the early evening strolling through the southern end of the park. I was just finishing a period of sick leave and was really intensely shattered and utterly footsore. I don't think I could have walked any more. Walking into Stratford Station, a member of staff approached the man behind me to tell him not to carry his child on his shoulders in case he fell down the steps. Now, I would have thought that the man was quite capable of knowing how to carry what was presumably his own child, and was quite emotionally invested in not falling. I thought it quite rude of the LU man to shout at this man over my head, as if I didn't exist, and, also, it was really painful for me to detour and walk round him. It was also extremely painful changing trains at London Bridge. But all the pain was worth it, and I got home, and I recovered soon enough.

 More photos of this walk, and the day the Olympic Torch came to Brixton can be seen in the photo album London 2012

Cycling in Sussex

Last year, there was a very hot Saturday. I know, it seems difficult to recall now. We had the truly inspired idea of heading to the South Coast. We arrived at Clapham Junction and sauntered over to the platform from where depart trains for Brighton and other seaside towns in Sussex. We were not heading for Brighton, suspecting it would be quite busy.

The platform at Clapham Junction was heaving. The Brighton train was in, but the station staff were preventing anyone else joining it due to overcrowding. They were advising people to go to Hove and then get a train back to Brighton. My heart sunk; we were aiming for the "not Brighton" train, via Hove. Not only were there a lot of people on the platform, but many of them had pushchairs. Even more had bikes.

We got on the train and it was pretty crowded. As the line approaches Brighton, it runs close to the A23 (Roman Road from Westminster Bridge, passing near my house and eventually becoming Brighton Pier). I looked out of the window and saw a queue of cars waiting to enter Brighton. 

We alighted at Shoreham-by-Sea. For years, I have been convinced I walked once from Hove to Shoreham, but I think it must have been Portslade. Not so impressive!

You could argue that Shoreham isn't actually on sea, although you'd come over as being a bit of a prat if you dug your heels in

 

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We walked down through town and crossed the River Adur to reach the actual seaside, and then we cycled to Worthing. It is without doubt a delightful cycle ride. As far as I know you can cycle all the way from Brighton, and perhaps east of Brighton to Worthing, along the coast, on dedicated cycle paths all the way.

I would observe that the public needs a tad more education about what a cycle path is. I speak both as a pedestrian and a cyclist. Firstly, there is no law or rule that prohibits people walking on the cycle path. However, should you choose to do so, you need to be aware that you may encounter cyclists. It's rude to shout abuse at them for cycling on the cycle path and ringing their bell to warn you of their presence. This particularly applies when you're walking five abreast and not actually looking where you're going. Also, it's rude to stop and chat with your mates on a cycle path when there is, as it happens, a wide pavement wide enough to drive a bus along.

Also, dog owners. You are responsible for looking after your dog. If the said dogs run out from behind a fence on a beach onto a cycle path and the cyclist screeches to a sudden halt and yells obscene words at you, please consider that the cyclist is probably very shaken, and really doesn't want to be told to take more care and the dogs were 'only playing'. The cyclist did take care; otherwise your dogs would have been 'only dying'.

I also have a lecture for cyclists. Especially unfit middle-aged cyclists with a chronic health condition. Cycling takes energy. It might make sense to take some tuna or hummus sandwiches to replenish the carbo and protein required. If half of London is on the beach in Sussex, this suggests the weather is hot. More water would be sensible.

Oh, and if part of your biography consists of 'I like take photographs', stop cycling more often and take more and more interesting photos.I salvaged three in total from the day.

This is one of my favourite crap photos of all time. Lancing College  is situated on a hill which is part of the South Downs, and the campus dominates the local landscape.

Yeah, right whatever!

Shoreham is fun, and I'd like to return. There's an airport there, indeed it's the oldest airport in the UK. According to Wikipedia: 

The airport is used by privately owned light aeroplanes, flying schools, and for light aircraft and helicopter maintenance and sales. A number of operators provide sight-seeing and pleasure flights, including the experience of flying in two T-6 Harvard World War II training aircraft.

So you get the unexpected pleasure of seeing bi-planes take off and land.

We spent some time on the beach but our luck being what it is, this was at the time the sun disappeared behind clouds that had suddenly appeared from nowhere. There were people in the sea, but, after a paddle, I decided I didn't really fancy stripping down for a swim. Missed opportunity. But it's worth remembering that away from the town centres there are miles of quiet under-occupied beaches. I have subsequently acquired beach shoes - a recommendation for the hotel we visited in Greece - and would strongly recommend them to transform the experience of visiting a pebbly beach in Sussex.

All day I saw dozens, hundreds of cyclists. I saw no one over the age of ten wearing a cycling helmet. The hot weather influenced my decision not to. I also saw no lycra. I concluded however, that when there are segregated cycle lanes, people feel safe cycling, and take to their bikes for pleasure. This lesson needs to be applied more widely.

Following this bike ride and the one on the Wandle Trail the day before, I took three weeks sick leave and began to reassess my capabilities and the consequences of 'overdoing it'.

Wandle Wanderings Part 3

Almost exactly a year ago, in the interregnum between the Olympics and the Paralympics. Inspired (perhaps) by the glorious gold medal winning triumphs of Our Cyclists, we got on our bikes. Well, we got on the train, because, you know, riding to Carshalton wouldn't be that much fun. And I had discovered a direct train between Streatham Hill and Carshalton Beeches. From there it's downhill to the source of the Wandle, Carshalton Ponds.

As an aside, there are two sources of the Wandle, the other being in Wandle Park Croydon. Sustrans start the Wandle Trail in Coulsdon, as I blogged previously. The River Wandle companion suggests that on prehistoric times it may have risen in the Weald and flowed through a gap in the North Downs near Merstham.

It was a lovely day, bright sunny and dry but not hot. We free-wheeled into Carshalton and were taken by surprise. I don't think I have ever properly been to Carshalton. Twenty-odd years ago I visited a friend on Wrythe Lane a few times, but I must have taken a bus or taxi from the station away from the Wandle.

Before we even found the Wandle we found the Greyhound, a Youngs pub. I enjoyed my coffee, and Jimmy enjoyed his ale. What more to say!

When I was a kid my aunts and cousins lived in Thornton Heath and I grew up with the belief that Carshalton is posh. I don't hold that view now, having been back in the area a few times, but it's certainly pleasant. And, frankly, given that it is firmly Greater London, you can't argue with the views. One could live the pretence of semi-rural life yet with regular trains to town and a pretty decent bus service!

Sutton Council helpfully explains the origin of Carshalton Ponds - they're not natural! There is a museum, the Honeywood, but it was closed when we visited.If you read the Wandle Companion, it gives instructions for a pleasant little walking tour around Carshalton. This book, by the way, really is a must-read for anyone interested in the history and geography of the area. Perhaps not the most elegant prose style but nothing egregious and nothing really to interrupt the flow of my reading.

It was pleasant to stroll around the pond, watch children feed the ducks and feel a step removed from the incessant traffic.

 

There are some historic buildings in the area, and a fairly large park called The Grove. Some of the buildings are now used as council offices by Sutton. Perhaps not the best use, but better than them lying derelict or arguably, being in private hands.

 

The Grove is a lovely park. It serves a dual function, a run-of-the-mill park for the local community, and host to the River Wandle.

(Run of the mill. Geddit?)

It was pleasing to see children playing in an old fashioned way - wading in the river, splashing in the waterfall. Best not to photograph these, though. Two Nursery/Infant age children, actually being played with by their parents; a group of upper junior kids unsupervised but self-contained, lively but undisruptive.

The waterfall is pretty impressive!

We cycled out of The Grove and onto Wilderness Island, barely noticing what was around us. The downside of cycling - an overview of the bigger picture but lacking in any detail. And I forgot to stop and take photographs.

We finally managed to work out how to get between Poulter Park and the Watermeads. The Watermeads is a National Trust nature reserve, not generally open to the public, which I am fine about, this isn't my normal anti-National Trust rant. It just makes access to the Wandle from the North West confusing. From the South East, it makes more sense. And it felt rather wild to be cycling along a path barely wide enough for a bike, with brambles and nettles on each side, almost losing my shoes at one point.

It was nice to get to Ravensbury Park and stop for some water and a sandwich. I've never actually been into Ravensbury Park proper, which I assume is a standard local authority multi-purpose space (and that's not a criticism, Britain's parks are vastly under-valued). The stretch beside the river is one of my favourite places in London, so peaceful. From there to Morden Hall Park, another hidden gem. We didn't linger this time, wanting a cup of tea, and not sure we wanted to pay National Trust prices whilst surrounded by out-of-control kids, perhaps an unfair judgement.

I had an incident on the path leading down to Merton Abbey Mills. It was slightly busy, and in such circumstances I am careful about how I cycle - I am stronger, faster and more powerful than pedestrians, especially small children whose parents, understandably, believe the path to be traffic free. Therefore, it is my responsibility to take care. But I draw the line at annoying small dogs that career at me, causing me almost to fall off, only to be told 'He's only a puppy'. Irresponsible dog owners!

We stopped for tea and a snack at Merton Abbey Mills. It's a frustrating place, full of potential, but not quite meeting it. But, really, other than Sainsburys and the National Trust (plus a pub called the William Morris which we had forgotten about), there isn't much in the way of refreshments round there. And then we got lost on the way to Haydon's Road station, where we had to wait 27 minutes for the train, and then cycle back through Streatham.

It was a nice day out, but in retrospect it was really quite draining, and I know I didn't take on enough liquid whilst sweating freely in temperatures that were steadily rising. We didn't return to the Wandle for several months after this.However, I have over a hundred photos taken this year in a Folder called 'To be blogged/Wandle'. So, watch this space!

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The lavender of London

Wandle Wanderings Part 2

Subtitle: The day we never saw The Wandle

I purchased Cycling Traffic Free London - other areas also exist. This includes the Wandle Way, in two parts. Part 2 is, sensibly, Mitcham Common to Wandsworth. Part 1 is Coulsdon to Hackbridge. So, we followed the book, cycling from Coulsdon South to Carshalton Beeches, with not a glimpse of the Wandle. We changed at Norwood Junction for Coulsdon South. We immediately got lost and decided to sit in a nearby park, Coulsdon Memorial Ground opened in 1921, and dedicated to the memory of the men who fell in WWI. The play areas were refurbished in 2009, funded by the National Lottery. The café and toilet block was closed - the internet suggests this is long-term. By this block lay much broken glass and abandoned cans of lager, and some evidence that someone was sleeping rough there.

We found a nice little coffee shop/art gallery, Art Rebellion, definitely worth a visit if you're in the area. But, to be honest, if you want to enjoy this ride, you might as well start at Woodmansterne Station, which we passed not having really seen anything of interest.

We paused for a sip of water and found ourselves looking at a clearly historic railway bridge. Nevertheless, we didn't think anything more of it until a chance reference on a TV programme a couple of weeks later, when we realised that this was an integral part of the Surrey Iron Railway (picture copied from Wikipedia under Creative Commons).

This was the world's first railway to be publicly subscribed by Act of Parliament as a railway throughout.

It was horse drawn. More information here. The original railway went through the heavily industrialised Wandle Valley from Croydon to Wandsworth; this extension is in what one might think of the notional Wandle Valley.

It's complicated. There's a long explanation in River Wandle Companion that shows it's not nonsensical to ride out in Coulsdon in search of the Wandle. Book review here. Basically, it's about streams that only rise in wet weather.

As instructed we took a right and came upon a surprisingly pretty village green, that of the village of Woodmansterne. Quiet and peaceful, although with little more than a church to justify it as a village. I don't know why I didn't get my camera out. It was a warm day and perhaps I was more concerned with drinking water.

At this point, the instructions offer two alternative routes. We took the less strenuous, but, nevertheless had to get off and push up Chipstead Way, much to the amusement of local residents tending their gardens. No doubt, they see this sight often enough.

The great thing about climbing, especially when you believe that you are heading for a valley, is that you get the chance to whizzzzzzzzzzzzzz down Carshalton Road at considerable speed, a journey not made less hairy by the cars also doing the same. That scary feeling when you're rounding a bend and wondering what will stop cars coming up from behind and sending you into the hedgerow. I'm not saying I'm a nervous cyclist but I do prefer off-roading.

At the bottom of the hill are Mayfield Lavender fields, which were in full bloom. 

     

There were hordes of people in attendance. A surprisingly large proportion were of Japanese or Korean appearance. The tea tent was heaving - and was over-charging for weak tea in polystyrene cups - we passed. It was also possible to buy lavender and lavender-related products in the gift tent. Again, no. We passed. Still, it was nice to spend a few minutes strolling in the sweet-scented lavender fields. 

I was quite astounded at the poor level of driving in the car park and the sheer desperation on the faces of the 4x4 drivers, desperate for a parking space. One hassling a middle aged man who was trying to manoeuvre his infirm mother into the car. Another blindly driving at me even though I tried to get out of the way.

We crossed over into Oaks Park, where we did get a decent cup of tea. Although not without me being assaulted by a dog, whose owner didn't seem to realise that not everybody enjoys being slobbered over by a dirty animal, especially not when eating. I say eating, but all I could get was a packet of crisps. This park cafe had resolutely stopped serving food by 4pm on a sunny July Saturday. And Jimmy's coffee was woeful.

Still, The Oaks Park is rather splendid. Sutton Council carries a page turgidly describing its history, and showing how it connects with various local and sub-regional walks. The history is largely about the famous Oaks race 

The original Oaks Race ran from Barrow Hedges, north of The Oaks and through Oaks Park before heading west to approximately the site of the current Epsom Downs Racecourse

We will revisit it one day, when we have more time - and energy - to explore. I thoguht the view across the road was rather nice and not what you'd normally expect within the Greater London boundary.

We found a gloriously muddy track through the woods that took us back to Woodmansterne Road. For a few minutes I felt like a proper off-road cyclist. It was fun. At this point we called it a day and caught a direct train from Carshalton Beeches to Streatham Hill, our home station. But we were only a few hundred yards from the (minor) source of the Wandle!

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Wandle Wanderings Part 1

Wandle Wanderings Part 1

It's - frighteningly - over four years since we discovered the Wandle Trail. We rode along part of it one gorgeous autumn day back in 2008. Looking at my photo album we didn't visit again until August 2011. We have been on several different parts of the Wandle Trail since.

On those earlier bike trips I took very few photos. Cycling's that. It's nice to stop from time to time, to sip some water, and if you're clever, to take some interesting photos. But, unlike walking, you can't keep stopping and still sensibly call it a bike ride. Major downside of cycling - you miss a lot of the detail.

You may recall that last summer was pretty hideous weather-wise, except for a few days in May, right up until the Olympics, which, like the Paralympics, were endowed with nearly perfect weather. It's because of that that I don't moan about the summer of 2012, although I realise that the weather wasn't helpful - to put it mildly - for people dependent on a fair amount of reasonable weather to earn a living.

But one Sunday in July, the nation rejoiced, as the weather looked bright and dry, and not too hot. So we set out for the Wandle. Oh, what a fun day that was! We started with a row on Wandsworth Common, when Jimmy decided without consulting me that the best way from A-B is the most direct way, irrespective of the volume and stupidity of vehicles and their drivers.We had another row in Earlsfield, and I nearly went home, only slightly pacified by coffee. We never did find St George's Park, the sensible way to start the Wandle Trail if you're not a total completist (a shopping centre lies between there and the Tideway). 

It's impossible to explain the charm of the Wandle. The Northern reaches are unsurprisingly urban and still to some extent industrial. It also challenges my awareness of South London - before long, you're passing Plough Lane and the Wimbledon (greyhound) Stadium, yet 'Wimbledon', eg Wimbledon Park, tennis, and common seem so far from home. And, suddenly you feel that you're in the country! Or, at least Wandle Meadow Nature Park, through the more urban Wandle Park (Colliers Wood), and then you have to deal with the chaos that is Merton High Street.  It was the first decent weekend day for weeks, since before the Diamond Jubilee, by then a long-fading memory. There were few people out along the river, but streams of people flowing to Marks and Spencer and Sainsburys, still known to many South London as 'Savacentre'.

Merton Priory was founded in 1114 by Gilbert Norman, Sheriff of Surrey under Henry I. Former pupils include Nicholas Breakspeare (later, Pope) and Thomas Becket. According to Wikipedia 

In 1236 Henry III held a Parliament at the Priory at which the Statute of Merton was agreed allowing amongst other matters Lords of the Manor to enclose common land...As this was the first recorded statute of the first recorded parliament its real significance is as the starting point for parliamentary democracy

A sad statute. The Wikipedia author may celebrate the birth of Parliamentary Democracy, but all over England, and beyond, we see the destructive effects of the arbitrary enclosure of common land for the use of the rich and privileged - remember, back in 1236, the ordinary working man - let alone women - had no say in the land being stolen from us. This New Statesman article is illuminating about land-ownership, albeith in rather impenetrable prose. I'm sure I have read somewhere that over 70% of land in England is owned by fewere than 100,000 people, many of them inter-related. 

Merton Priory was demolished when Henry VIII dissolved the Monasteries. He used much of the masonry at Nonsuch Palace. 

We cycled on through Morden Hall Park, a rare National Trust property in Greater London. I have mixed feelings. I have an increasing dislike for the National Trust, and, to be honest, Morden Hall is a place of no great interest or historical relevance. But the grounds are expansive and calming. The Rose Garden is a bit underwhelming, and, on balance, the greatest attraction of the park is the River.

Even nicer than Morden Hall Park is Ravensbury Park, a tranquil place with the river as a feature, and plenty of places to sit and think. (Or just think). If we weren't with bikes we could have caught a bus home, or a tram from Mitcham. Slightly tedious to trawl down to Mitcham Junction, but the cricket green is rather pleasant. I've just noticed on the map that there is a Wandle Industrial Museum nearby. This is due to move into Ravensbury Mill this year.

Starting to expand the photo collection at Wandle Way; I promise there will be further - and better illustrated - posts on the Wandle!

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Thames Barrier Park

Last July, in that seemingly endless rainy season stretching from the Diamond Jubilee to the Olympics, we went on an excursion in East London. The first part, a ride on the cable car and walk along the Royal Docks is blogged at A pre-Olympic trip on The Dangleway. The second part required us to cross the intimidating A1020 North Woolwich Road, a frightening pedestrian (and cyclist) unfriendly urban freeway.

I was surprised to see a fleet of English National Opera lorries parked under the high level viaduct that carries the Docklands Light Railway to Pontoon Dock station.

 

Presumably, these are to transport scenery between workshop and theatre, theatre and storage. I guess they must do this frequently to justify a large fleet of lorries (rather than spot rental). It certainly isn't for touring, despite their inaccurate use of the name 'National'.

From the entrance to the park, I spotted this curious building. I can no longer remember its purpose or significance. Suggestions welcome in the blog comments!

According to Wikipedia Thames Barrier Park exists  to aid the regeneration of the area by creating an attractive public space alongside residential and commercial developments.  A key characteristic is that it has a sunken garden you can walk through, or you can walk at ground level, looking down into the sunken garden. Garden Visit says The green trench running through the park was intended as a reminder of the site's dockland heritage. It provides a sheltered microclimate for a 'rainbow garden' - strips of coloured plants.

I like it as a park, and suspect that if I lived nearby I would go more often. I don't think there's enough there for it to count as a visitor attraction for people from other parts. However, I would recommend it as a suitable follow-up to a ride on the cable car and a walk down the dock.

I have recently become aware of how lovely lavender looks in a mass-planting scheme. There was lavender growing in the garden when I was a child, but a typical suburban garden is limited in how expansive one can plant. I didn't like how the lavender attracted bees - we were all brought up that bees were 'nasties', to be avoided, rather than our friends, to be respected and nurtured. Much like spiders. We used to gather up the lavender, dry it, sew it into scraps of material and place them in drawers to give clothes a faint perfume. I don't suppose anyone does that nowadays!

I must also have liked the hydrangeas, given that I took photos at two different stages in our walk. The Pavilion in the background acts as a memorial to local people who died in World War II.

 Next to the river are sculptures that remind you that you are next to the river, which has waves.

The Park fronts onto the River Thames, with views of Woolwich

With the tide low, it was interesting to see just how much rubbish ends up in our urban rivers.

Also, you notice the tiny little streams, tributaries without a name, that flow into the great river.

I can never resist a picture of a redundant and probably rotting jetty.

Oddly, the main reason I wanted to visit Thames Barrier Park was to see the Thames Barrier. It's amazing Civil engineering, and being so unusual in its design, you would think it presents superb photography opportunities. But actually, because it's so wide and relatively squat, it doesn't lend itself to the ratio, 4:3, that I use for photos, and I wasn't close enough to take interesting photos of detail.

Looking back over the park affords a magnificent view of Millennium Mills

So close to City Airport, you are frequently aware of small jets flying over.

Next to the river and next to the park is a residential development. As far as I can gather, this is a Barratt Homes development, and therefore probably dating from no earlier than the 1980s. But it has an air about of it the 1930s, reminding me of Pullman Court in Streatham, or the De La Warr Pavilion in Bexhill-on-Sea, constructed in the International Modernist style (more commonly known as Art Deco).

We walked back out through the park, and I took photos of the hedges sculpted to look like waves.

 

It was a nice diversion in the park, and we were lucky with the weather  - when we got back to Brixton the skies opened and we nearly got soaked just going to the market. It was also nice to see a class of Primary School children who had been taken to the park simply to enjoy it. I would imagine - albeit with no supporting evidence - that many of the kids don't get out much with their parents. My eyes were opened and my horizons broadened by seeing the river and the Thames Barrier, and the planted gardens; imagine the effect on children from cramped housing and impoverished homes. Just weeks after this, public discourse was about 'Olympic Legacy' and the need for more sport in schools with idiot ex-Etonian politicians banging on about organised chasing balls round fields. I believe fervently that everyone and especially children, should have more activity, and it is this sort of outing that is far more important, and more active,  than standing around on a hockey pitch hoping that someone might pass you a ball and you might get the chance to trot or waddle with it for a few seconds, until a bully nags at you to pass the ball to someone else.

We caught the DLR. I so wanted to sit at the front and pretend to be the driver but some awful studenty type had got to the right spot on the platform first, and he got to pretend to be driver. It was a bit of a downer on an otherwise enjoyable day. 

 

A pre-Olympic trip on The Dangleway

It seems so very long ago, but I had such a good day out, and took so many photos, it seems wrong not to blog about this trip. And, let's be honest, everything else that happened since! 

The 'Dangleway', or more properly, the uh, thingy, cable car from, er, like, near the Dome, opened at the end of June. We had seen test rides from afar A pre-Olympic trip to Greenwich Park, and I wanted to take a ride before it became popular. It hadn't exactly proved to be so up until that point, and certainly hasn't over the winter. The day before we visited, free tickets were distributed to residents of nearby Boroughs. We didn't qualify. I don't think it will ever become popular as a means of transport. TfL season ticket and Freedom pass holders have to pay a cash (or Oyster) fare, so unless your journey is basically North Greenwich Peninsular to the Royal Docks (or vice versa), with no onward travel, you might as well get the Jubilympics Line. Unless you're carrying a bike! But as a tourist attraction it's amazingly cheap.

We shared a cabin with a family - small baby and Dad, and Dad's parents. Grandma was a nervous flyer, but once the cable car took off, she was fine. I liked that it gave me a different view of an area of London I don't know very well. Also, it proved to be a gateway to further explore this area.

We caught the Jubilee Line to North Greenwich Station and strolled to and past the construction known variously as Millennium Dome, O2 Arena, and North Greenwich Arena.

Above the car-park hung the Dangleway

I became unnecessarily excited that the cogwheel that drives the cable car was clearly on display. We queued up

 and soon were able to launch ourselves into an actual cable car capsule. (Do they call them capsules? Or is that exclusively London Eye nomenclature?).

From the deepest reaches of South London, we embarked on our epic trip to the undiscovered East.

In life, it's best not to look back. But on a cable car, anything goes.

So many different means of transport. I assume this is a Thames Clipper, or something similar

Perhaps surprisingly, this was my first glimpse of Olympic Park, with the iconic stadium and Anish Kapoor's controversial Orbit.

Our next London 2012 venue was the Excel Arena

and we also had a good view of the residential area lying south of the Royal Docks, and Silvertown Way.

The ride does not take very long, although you can buy a return ticket and return to North Greenwich Peninsular immediately, or later. We decided to walk along the dockside and head towards the River Thames.

The Royal Docks are no longer working docks but their industrial heritage is referenced by the use of cranes as a decorative feature.

It's difficult to imagine the size of the docks until you see them. The buoys mark out the area which isn't safe for small boats. I know that, because I saw some people in kayaks. But I didn't photograph them and I don't know why.

Once you have walked past the Excel there is a footbridge across the Dock. A quaint little thing. You take a lift to reach the deck. It is 15 metres above the water, to allow tall yachts to pass under. If you stand in the middle and look East, you have some great views of London City Airport.

and if you look back, you see the towers of Canary Wharf rising behind the Dangleway.

The area to the south of the Royal Docks is still in need of attention, or regeneration. This surprised me because I had rather assumed the entire Docklands area had been transformed into Yuppie Flats. This warehouse looked semi-derelict:

It seemed to be part of the site for the what turned out to be ill-fated London Pleasure Gardens project. We went past after the Bloc 2012 weekend, but before administration. It seemed very desolate and strangely out of place. I think this strange Golf Ball-like construction was part of the 'offer' from LPG.

There's clearly potential in the area - I guess this is why the nearby Docklands Light Railway station is known as Pontoon Dock

It's more residential away from the excitement of London ExCel and associated hotels. The decorative cranes still dominate. From the residential streets, a clear view of the Emirates Airline and the Dome.

A sense of post-industrial bleakness lingered.

Depending on which way we looked there was Canary Wharf or an industrial chimney.

I had to photograph Pankhurst Avenue. The Silvertown page of Hidden Histories says:

 People sought to improve their working and living conditions through Trade Union and political activities and sought office on West Ham Council and in Parliament. Canning Town had become the focus of a number of new movements and a leading voice for working class people, Will Thorne and James Keir Hardy became leading figures in the Labour Party. Women played a significant part in the struggles Eleanor Marx, Sister Edith Kerrison, Daisy Parsons and Sylvia Pankhurst all worked to improve the plight of working class people and helped to shape the new services provided by the council, they were especially concerned with housing, health and welfare.

 I took a picture of Millennium Mills

I think there's a lot of fascinating industrial history to research, or simply to read about in that area. But if you want to do it seriously, it's likely to take up a great deal of time. To be honest, I prefer to be more local, because you can just absorb hyperlocal information almost by osmosis, having a greater sense of place and context!

We crossed over Silvertown Way, but that will be another blogpost.

 

Polesden Lacey in June

Polesden Lacey is one of the National Trust's most visited properties. It is one of the closest to London. We set out late morning one day in June. At the time I tweeted Spent way too long trapped in almost-stationary traffic in Tooting & Putney.

It seemed to take an interminable time to reach our destination We stopped off en route at Palmer's Deli Café in Ashtead. I would highly recommend the food offering at this place - I had a ploughman's platter, a sumptuous plate of cheese, biscuits and a lot of accompaniments, and was able to choose my cheese from across the range (they also sell the cheese to take home). Jimmy had a similar platter but based upon choose your own paté. If you're ever driving down the A24 I would strongly suggest stopping here. However, although the staff were friendly and welcoming, I was a bit taken aback by their laid-back approach to service. When we arrived every unoccupied table inside and out was laden with dirty dishes whilst seemingly countless staff stood around chatting. When we left, the staff were just bothering to clear away the outside tables which had lain dirty since before we arrived. And while we were there, an elderly gentleman, insisting on his usual corner table in the window, was clearly annoyed that he had to ask specifically for them to clear away the dishes of the long gone previous occupant. A shame that the owners had such a good idea for what constitutes a good product offer but were let down by staff with little work ethic.

Onwards to Polesden Lacey, and what a dire afternoon that turned out to be. They charged to park the car, and again to enter the grounds. If we had wanted to see inside the house that would have been a further charge. Seemed petty: there could be no other reason for using the car park than to visit their poxy grounds and house. And I ended up having a contretemps with the patronising cow on admissions, all because I asked if Senior discounts were available (for Jimmy, not me, obviously), and she wanted me to fill in a customer questionnaire before I'd even got through the admission turnstile. She was condescending to me because I'm not a National Trust member. Frankly, I'd never join an organisation with someone like that as their public face.

 Even today, their website declares Enjoy the stunning formal gardens, including the famous Rose Garden; when we visited at the end of June, they declared it was National Rose Week, and you could pay £4 for a guided tour of their Rose Garden. I'm glad we didn't do that: it was a disgrace. In summary beds and beds of diseased and neglected roses, planted with little thought about colour blocking and with no imagination, in formal beds:

 

In need of dead-heading/ Blackspot

 

Brown spot /showing off the Rose Garden

 

Lots of flowers...and dead heads / advertised as a rose spectacular

 

They were selling a guided tour of this Rose Garden / Probably under-nourished  

There's some potential in the grounds and it wasn't an entirely unpleasant experience, especially when we escaped from the most crowded areas. Again, I felt frustration that the overwhelming majority of people there were either quiet adults of various ages, like ourselves, or people who had brought their well-behaved pre-teen kids for a relaxing day out. But there were several parties who considered this the ideal location to let their toddlers run around, ride their scooters round formal gardens, or for them to show off that, despite not seeing their own children from one week or month to another, they were nevertheless excellent fathers who almost supervised football on the sweeping lawns to which other people gravitated for sunbathing or 'chilling'. 

Places like this seem to bring out the worst in people.

The woman who owned the house buried her pets in a special pet cemetery close to the house. As we walked close by, some chap asked if we knew where it was, and, trying to be helpful, we pointed it out. And he poured forth about how the woman who owned the house was a 'Bitch', seemingly based entirely on that the pets included dogs, and female dogs are known as bitches, and it's absol hilair to describe a seemingly harmless and long dead woman as a 'Bitch'.

Even as we walked up to the house, I climbed a small flight of steps in order to take a photo. A passing Japanese couple saw me there, and panicked that they might be missing out on that photo, and came to stand far too close to me. I found that annoying, it was a lack of respect for my space. I wouldn't expect anyone to thank me for finding a good vantage point, but I also don't wish to be crowded out, especially when they are too stupid to look and think for themselves.

I had another set-to in the tea room. It wasn't so much the content of the conversation, which was commonplace enough - but the tone: me asking whether I could I have my tea in crockery not cardboard (no); me asking if I could have a larger cardboard cup, for holding a greater voume of liquid (we've run out); and could I have a teaspoon for my tea (it's over there - halfway down the long hall, thank goodness there were no small children running around unsupervised). And I was closely supervised in milking my tea - presumably in case I stole more than my fair share of mass-produced UHT milk-substitute.

Even before I was served, the woman in front of me was saying in loud tones "It's so busy today, it's so quiet when I usually come every day, obviously people just visiting because it's sunny" (Oh, p*** off, I thought). She then ordered a muffin and turned to me to explain it was for her daughter who she was going to pick up from 'riding'. I was supposed to be impressed. I missed a trick in not asking what sort of bike she had. Later, the woman and, presumably, her husband sat near us in the courtyard. She brayed at him, and he stared past her, unable to keep the despair and loathing from his face.

On the drive back, we passed Chessington World of Adventures. If you think there are no class divides in Britain, there really are. I couldn't help think that they live in different worlds. I think I would have preferred a trip to Chessington. But Jimmy doesn't like things that go round and round. Or up and down.

The highlihgt of the day, other than Palmer's in Ashtead was driving on what was already signposted as the Olympic Cycling Road Races route.

Photos also in my Surrey photo album

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A pre-Olympic trip to Greenwich Park

It seems a very long time ago; indicating what a backlog of blog posts and photos I have to process!

Having occasional use of a car I opened Google Maps and searched for big patches of green not too far from home. I chose Blackheath and Greenwich Park. Not far to go, but, being by car, an unnecessarily long and tedious journey. I think it took us longer just to get through Peckham than it would have done to go by train!

Blackheath was a disappointment. I'm sure I went past it years ago and it seemed huge, but on this occasion it seemed a lot smaller, and even less interesting than Clapham Common. Which is hideously unfair of me. If you had asked me five minutes ago, I'd have given you this long spiel about how it's left desolate because it's a plague pit, eternally contaminated by the countless corpses of plague victims. But Wikipedia seems somewhat dismissive of this, mentioning in passing 

Virtually every part of London has a local tradition about plague pits

More interesting is Greenwich Park. I've been to Greenwich several times by boat, and wandered the streets of the town, and skirted round the Royal Naval College.

At first we strolled around a gated garden, beautifully planted, and designed, no doubt, for tranquil relaxation. That seemed to be the aim of all but one of the parties we encountered. Needless to say, there was one party which used the garden to shout very loudly at their children, ensuring that their voices echoed round the space. (As we left we noticed a sign with the usual 'no music, no cycling, no ball games, dogs on leads' and overheard one mother tell her children, no, we're no going in there, not with your scooters).

 

 

 
 

We strolled through the park and commented on how quiet it was. Hardly a soul around, although in the far distance there were crowds around the Royal Observatory.

We found ourselves at the top of a hill that fell away steeply below. Us, one woman and a dog (on a lead) and another couple and their bicycles. And no one else. I took photos!

The new cable-car from North Greenwich to the Royal Docks was not yet opened, although it was clearly undergoing trial runs.

I was mildly intrigued by this building.

I later found out it was Vanbrugh Castle, perhaps a grander name than its history truly warrants.

The panoramic views from this surprisingly deserted spot were truly amazing.

Canary Wharf

In the foreground Greenwich Power station, a stand-by back-up source for London Underground, and my third power station of the weekend!

We saw the former Millennium Dome, currently known as O_2, although temporarily known as the North Greenwich Arena for the 2012 Games.

Views of the City of London and further afield

Closer at hand were The Old Royal Naval College

and the Greenwich Observatory, famous for being the 'home' of Greenwich Mean Time

Below us, the Boating Lake

and an arena being built in preparation for Olympic and Paralympic Equestrianism

We continued our stroll through the park and encountered Queen Elizabeth's Oak. It dates to the 12th century, and died in the 19th, but remained standing until 1991. Queen Elizabeth I was said to have often taken refreshment whilst relaxing in its shade.

 

We arrived at the Observatory. The immediate surrounds were teeming with people, most of them there just to tick this off their sight-seeing list, few of them courageous enough to venture into the wider park, and many of them desperate to get the photos from this famous viewpoint on their phone cameras.

I basically took the same pictures as before, but from a slightly different angle!

 

I had to laugh at one point, because I was stood on the stairway taking one particular view. It wasn't especially inspired on my part, just logical. Some woman, clearly a tourist, saw me, perhaps noticing that I had a camera that wasn't just a phone and stood right next to me, practically pushing me out of the way, as her face wore that expression of tourists the world over - basically, feeling information overload but scared of missing that one important photograph.

"Excuse me, personal space!" I exclaimed, in one of my more lame/pretentious moments. Nevertheless, she seemed to get the hint and moved away. Good thing, because otherwise I would have kicked her down the steps. Possibly.

It had been pleasant rambling through the park, but I found this area depressing. We walked back down to the Blackheath Gate. We had been hoping to see the Rose Gardens, but they appeared to be shut, in preparation for the Olymics and Paralympics.

I also took a photo of this, which I assumed at the time was specifically horse-related, although I now know they were at most Olympic venues, for checking the ticket-holding public.

We had an interesting journey home, missing the entrance to the A2, driving into a small bus garage, and having to do a turnaround in Homebase. But eventually we got home, although the traffic was crawling bumper-to-bumper through New Cross and Peckham. We ended up with a much-needed pint in one of local, recently refurbished & modernised pubs. We had been meaning to go for ages, and also intending to go back; in fact, just this Friday we planned to call in on the way back from our local firework display. But it was packed tight!

More photos from this trip, and many more as well are in my London photo album

Cycling through Chelsea

(This post makes several references to an earlier blogpost:

A meander round Greater Battersea)

I got a nice little book Cycling Traffic-Free London - Sustrans do a series of them for various areas: we've also got the South East. Some brilliant suggestions that wouldn't have occurred to me, and some which are pretty obvious but it's actually quite nice to have a little guide.

We started from home and more or less free-wheeled to Battersea Park, which lies alongside the River Thames. First of many repeating arguments with Jimmy. He says "Let's cycle the most direct route". I say "Let's take slightly longer but avoid as much traffic as possible". Unfortunately, because of the criss-cross of railway lines you do end up on the sheer hell that is Queenstown Rd with all types of different road users fighting for very limited space. 

We had a nice cycle round Battersea Park. Afterwards, I realised that there are some lovely grounds around the lake, and because I'd been concentrating on riding, I hadn't taken any photos! We had a good laugh at a family out for a Saturday walk. Mum and Dad in their 30s, strolling along. And Grandma, approaching 60, running after a small boy loudly encouraging him to be brave to bicycle unaided. Brilliant!

Leaving the park, I was delighted at how cycle-friendly most of the rest of the ride was. Shared pavement across Chelsea Bridge and down through Chelsea. Wow! Someone did give me a 'look' but the signs were unambiguous, and there were many other cyclists enjoying the run. I felt an extraordinary sense of smugness as I looked at people hemmed into their slow-moving cars on a bright sunny day. I was on my bike, and free!

One of the many things I love about London is that although it is a super-busy and sometimes overcrowded city, it is so easy to get away from the crowds. According to Natural England:

• Two thirds of London’s land area is occupied by green spaces and water, of this about a third is private gardens, a third parks or in sports use and a third includes London’s natural landscape features: woodlands, historic parklands, remnant grazing marsh, river valleys and downland.

and so very accessible!

I can't decide whether Chelsea Embankment is attractive. On the one hand, close to Ranelagh Gardens and Chelsea Physic Garden (on the 'to visit' list), with great river views. On the other hand, constant through traffic. Very expensive. Passing along there and Cheyne Walk, Jimmy commented he'd never delivered paraffin there. Kensington, yes, but not this part of Chelsea!

 

Still, nice river views:

 

The mudflats of Chelsea are populated by houseboats. One has recently sold with an asking price of £429k, which may make you gulp, but, given the neighbourhood, is nothing. I hadn't thought of houseboats for years until Battersea in April, and then this ride. Just this summer, someone I know has bought a houseboat on one of the waterways outside London. I get the strong impression that affordability was a major factor. She swears not to be a hippy or boho; another acquaintance has friends with a narrowboat - they travel round but also have a fixed winter mooring. It appeals a bit to me, but if I did it, it would look copycat! 

Briefly, we had to leave dedicated cycle trail to hit the shared road. But the shared road was Lots Road. I was so excited I almost crashed my bike into the Power Station. Lots Road Power Station. Less talked about than Battersea, but just as evocative (several links in my Battersea post). I was extraordinarily jealous later in the day when a friend remarked on Twitter she had been on a guided tour just before it was decommissioned.

As we crossed Counter's Creek - or Chelsea Creek - we were able to see Battersea Power Station in the distance! 

  

I am assuming that this is the location of Chelsea Creek. It's prominent both physically and on a map and is precisely described in this article on the Kensington Canal but Wikipedia says that it flows into the Thames at Sands End, to the South of Chelsea Harbour, and the luxury development called Chelsea Creek also appears to be south of Chelsea Harbour. Re-writing Geography, I wonder.

And into Chelsea Harbour. In some ways, the epitome of modern luxurious living. According to Wikipedia  it is reputed to be the residence of a number of UK and international celebrities. Although the only ones I can think of are Frank Lampard and Piers Morgan. 

What an empty soulless place! When I saw it from across the river in Spring, on a gloriously hot day, I saw only one person, and she was carrying a camera. No busier today, just us and a handful of other tourists. A pokey little estate, nothing in the way of gardens. Waterside bars and restaurants deserted - unimaginable elsewhere in London. With one exception, the boats look unloved - status symbols, not beloved toys. I can appreciate a clean and tidy neighbourhood, but this just seemed bereft, how one imagines the empty cities in China to be.

 

 

 
A couple of sights of some interest from the riverbank. I've called this one Kayaks under the BT Tower

and this is the spirit of Chartwell, which had been done up all nice to transport the Queen along the Thames for the now notorious Diamond Jubilee Pageant.

I more or less stopped taking photos after that, after we sped through Imperial Wharf and Sands End. Imperial Wharf is a strange place. All 'luxury apartments' and an immaculately landscaped garden with no soul or character. Deadly dull. I tried to calculate how many 'luxury apartments' there are in London, even just along the riverside. Not even considering the megarich ones, but ones selling for under a million. And who are all the people living in them? I'm not being judgemental, just trying to do the sums. Take away all the people who would choose to live in suburbia or beyond, for a garden and children. Add in people who've inherited the proceeds of the parental home. Acknowledging that wage statistics never properly reflect unearned and freelance/self-employed income. There seem to be a lot of riverside housing that doesn't by any definition include 'affordable housing'. A new sort of inner-city ghetto, perhaps.

Imperial Wharf is a new tube station, on the London Overground (orange) line. I have never paid it much attention previously, but it lit a lightbulb. Ask most Londoners to name the bridges over the Thames and very few will name Cremorne Bridge. It's almost invisible on Google maps - you have to know where to look and stare very hard. But, by linking Clapham Junction with Imperial Wharf and the line beyond to Willesden Junction, it's a way of getting from South West London to North West London and Hertfordshire without going Underground. Seemingly bike friendly, too. Clapham Junction to Imperial Wharf is a rail journey I must do.

Here, the Thames Path diverts through Sainsbury's car park and onto the main roads surrounding Wandsworth Bridge, no more appealing or cyclist/pedestrian-friendly than on the southern bank. We diverted onto New Kings Road to find a coffee shop or somesuch, but with no luck. I had looked forward to eating our sandwiches in one of the parks around Putney Bridge, but as it was beginning to drizzle, we went instead to a pub. Looking on a map, it seems to be called The Temperance, although I don't recall sniggering at this seemingly ironic name for a pub.

We emerged into even heavier rain, so decided to cross the river to Putney Station. However, the rain eased off and we thought we'd cycle home. We couldn't seem to avoid the A3, and we ended up getting the train from Wandsworth Town station. We saw enough to realise there's no benefit - other then completism - in doing the final stretch of the Wandle Way as it meets The Tideway. But it would probably have been easier to cycle  home via Earlsfield than faff around on trains. Still, I got to eat my home-prepared sandwiches on the trains!

I have updated my London photo album

From London Bridge to Bermondsey

This blogpost a continuation of the previous one Blackfriars to Bermondsey Thames stroll.

It's very simple to walk along the Thames in London, on either side. The route rarely leaves the riverside, and when it does, it is generally well-signed, and is exceptionally easy to do with no guidance. However, guidance does exist, eg a detailed a route descriptor by Walk London:

A gem of a walk — The Thames Path Walk needs no introduction as the main artery that runs through the beating heart of London. While the National Trail stretches westwards to the source of the River Thames in the Cotswolds, the London section covers a magical 40 miles (64 km) of easy, level walking on both sides of the river from Hampton Court Palace, through the heart of London to the East India Dock on the north bank and the River Darent on the south bank.

They've cut the walk into several chunks, quite useful for the first-timer, especially one who wants to see many sights. We started at the bottom of Page 2 of South Bank - Albert Bridge to Tower Bridge (Pdf) and we should probably have progressed further into: South Bank - Tower Bridge to Thames Barrier.

Just before London Bridge is Glaziers Hall, home to, unsurprisingly, the Worshipful Company of Glaziers, and other less predictable Worshipful Companies. According to Wikipedia, there are 108 such Livery Companies in the City of London. Of course, being south of the river, these are not in 'The City'. Wikipedia acknowledges that Glaziers Hall is outside the City. The oldest livery company is the Worshipful Company of Mercers dating back to before 1394. The Glaziers and Painters of Glass date to 1638; its predecessor to 1328. Its original hall burned down in the Great Fire in 1666; they have been in their current hall since 1977.The Scientific Instrument Makers achieved Livery status in 1964; the Launderers in 1977. It awards scholarships to laundry students. The most recent (1999) is the Worshipful Company of Security Professionals. People obviously care about these things, forming new companies and writing copiously on Wikipedia. I've lost the will to live just blogging them; consigned to List of Things That Don't Matter As Much As Their Members Would Like Us to Think.

I took a picture of The Shard. I cannot emphasise how much I hate The Shard.

The Shard is the tallest completed building in Europe, and is also the second-tallest free-standing structure in the United Kingdom

It is too tall and in the wrong place. This isn't actually so obvious from close-to, but as seen from the top of Brixton Hill, arguably the most important viewpoint, it is out of proportion. Because it is significantly closer than the City's skyscrapers, it doesn't appear slightly taller, but loomingly disproportionately out of place. Also, its ten apartments are valued at approximately £50 million, another reason to hate it.

For a while, the path leaves the River, but there are instructions to take a path back to the Thames by the private London Bridge Hospital, not to be confused with the free world class Guy's Hospital.

The riverscape changes dramatically at this point. Throughout our walk from Blackfriars we had been conscious of walking through the narrow streets of Elizabethan Bankside, but now, the riverbank was wide open for tourists alongside the Pool of London, the home of commercial shipping. Now overtly Touristy, I find it nearly impossible to imagine how it must have been with the wharves and cargo ships.

I was determined to photograph the various sailing ships moored in the aftermath of the Diamond Jubilee. We stopped for a drink at the Horniman at Hays. It would be difficult to imagine a more touristy situation for a pub, but gratifyingly, they were well-stocked with a wide range of ales, and had plenty of staff on duty. The ones I encountered seemed interested in proper customer service not just indifferently pushing product to tourists. The sheltered, heated beer-terrace is situated alongside HMS Belfast, another excuse to take photos!

 

 
 

 

Up until this weekend, I had never heard of Potter's Field. But I read that it was a venue for a peaceful Republican protest during the Jubilee pageant, and subsequently I learned that it is and was the venue for a Big Screen for London 2012. It has an impressive timeline, although it only because of relevance or interest in the 17th century. It was reopened after refurbishment in 2007. It's not a destination, but when walking in that area it's nice to have the Open Space. By the way, notice the Agitos on the flag outside City Hall. There was also an Olympic flag flying, just visible at the edge beyond the Union Flag.

I don't think I had ever walked East of Tower Bridge before this year, and now, in consecutive weekends, I had managed it on both banks. The Lower Pool of the Pool of London runs down to cherry Gardens pier in Rotherhithe. We didn't get that far, but it is a short and fascinating walk through Shad Thames. 

I always think you can't beat a good bit of modernish sculpture on a Riverside walk, but it's hard to think what to make of this piece.

I love this stretch of waterway, known as St Saviour's Dock. It is, apparently, the mouth of the subterranean River Neckenger - 
the name of the river is believed to derive from the term "devil's neckcloth" (i.e. hangman's noose) because pirates were hanged there. It separates Shad Thames from Jacob's Island. It is authentically Dickensian, being where Bill Sykes had his den in Oliver Twist, and where Sykes fell to his death in the novel. And invariably pointed out by the narrators on the Thames cruises downstream to Greenwich.

But, mostly, it was about boats. Boats moored on the Thames.

We spotted that many people had stopped, to watch. Someone was wielding a very serious camera. And then, we saw it, the Bascules of Tower Bridge rising. Bascule had been actually trending on Twitter the previous day, in people's excitement at finding a new word we could actually use. I think I like the bike park almost as much as the rising bascules!

We left the river soon after, to walk to Jamaica Road to catch a bus back to Elephant, but I couldn't resist another photo of The Shard.

Finally, I had read about the tens of tonnes of rubbish removed overnight by Westminster city council alone following the Diamond Jubilee boat show, and this made me sad, as I tried to guess how much was removed in total by the approximately six local authorities that fronted the route. I understand it's nearly impossible to avoid creating *any* litter, as things get blown about, but I see no difficulty in taking home what you bring. I have subsequently seem numerous reports during the summer of parks and beaches despoiled by people dumping their rubbish, assuming it's someone else's problems, and someone else will take it away. I find it ironic that this masquerades as patriotism. And I'm not impressed.

And who the hell gave these vandal patriots the right to trample the flowers? Are they following the example of the Scrounging Thieving Royals they worship for their indolence and disrespect?  Because I happen to think that sort of person is scum, and, frankly, should just stay away from London if that's how they treat public property, and exercise their mindless patriotism in their inbred villages.

 

A day out to Whitstable

It seems a long time ago. The sun was shining. It seemed like summer.

I was on Sick Leave. Officially signed off  by the doctor. And my Carer decreed that I needed a trip to the seaside. So, bus to Brixton, and then a mad dash up the thousands of stairs to the platform at Brixton station, needless because my watch was two minutes fast. And, anyway, the next train would have got us to Whitstable just as quickly - we changed at Bromley South.

The first thing I wanted on arrival at the seaside was a cup of tea. Drawn to an al fresco place, we were soon tempted into ordering no-fuss hot meals. It was an odd place. Clearly unprepared for the burst of hot weather and understaffed, it was almost painfully slow and disorganised. A few tricks missing, such as bringing drinks straight away, irrespective of how long the wait for food. The tables weren't numbered but the orders were, by numbered blocks of wood - so we were number 5, but the people on the next table who ordered just before us were number 36. However, despite the obvious chaos I would highly recommend it. The staff were, without exception, the nicest bunch of youngsters I have ever encountered in their positions, and the food was worthwhile. I had a large bowl of delicious mussels and a generous bowl of chips, and Jimmy was happy with his 'catch of the day'. I'm sorry I didn't photograph them, but I did shoot my tea, such a pleasure after having been served too many poor quality cardboard cups of tea. Other than a couple of doughnuts later in the afternoon I didn't eat again all day.

 

After eating we walked around the harbour, enjoying the heat and sun (looks outside at pouring rain, sobs uncontrollably). I've been to Whitstable once before, the first serious outing with my previous camera, a Canon G3. There's something about the town I like. Although I don't like that it's a disproportionatelt long train ride for its distance from home - it's easier and quicker to Brighton. But it's a working port and thus more photogenic than Brighton Marina.

At this point, I realised that somebody was watching me take photographs and then take the 'same' photo himself. I thought it a bit silly. He didn't really know what I was focusing on or why I was photographing it. It's like cooking when unhappy - if you don't feel even a mild personal inspiration, it doesn't taste very nice. But at least an unhappy will be nutritious. 

But I can feel very competitive so I had a short burst of shooting at quirky objects

 

 

We walked a short distance along the sea front. I noticed from signs that the beach is privately owned - by the Whitstable Oyster Fishery Company. They seem to be quite dominant in the town...I know I need to be careful because I'm sure I'll be corrected if I get this wrong! They won restaurants, pubs, a hotel, and ex-fishermen's huts to let. I feel uncomfortable at the thought of one company dominating in this way, but my thoughts when writing now are influenced by my subsequent visit to Bournemouth. For now, I'll say that the Whitstable's way of doing it is better for the visitor!

 

 

We sat on the beach in just about the same position as we had on our previous visit. It was at this point that I realised that sitting on a pebbly beach is not that comfortable. And most beaches in the south of England are pebbly. (We have subsequently bought a couple of cheap roll-up foam mats, which we hope to use some time this summer!).

 

It was pleasant to people-watch on the beach. It was  gratifying to see how many small children were brought for some fresh air and exercise after school; but a bit saddening to see how few were, too. Here and elsewhere. Frantically jealous of the kids who have this in their life.

Unfortunately, I wasn't feeling too well, although more tea, and doughnuts, helped. But then the breeze began to blow and we decided it was time to head home. A long round trip for just a few hours by the sea!

I've added these photos to my previous set from 2003. I hope they reflect the fondness in which I hold this town.

Wombling the Capital Ring

I like the idea of the Capital Ring.

Wikipedia says

A strategic walking route promoted by London's 33 local councils, the Greater London Authority and Transport for London. It is called a "ring" because the route completely encircles inner and central London.

Walk London says

It’s easy to forget just how green London is — this engaging walk offers a chance to savour some of the capital’s most glorious scenery. 15 easily walked sections leave you free to enjoy it all at your own pace.

There are other similar initiatives, such as the  London Outer Orbital Path (LOOP) and the Green Chain Walk. 

We started the Capital Ring in an odd place, Crown Point, partway through Section 4: Crystal Palace to Streatham. That is a great stroll:

...then comes a level stretch through Biggin Wood, one of the few remnants of the Great North Wood. 

A final climb in Norwood Grove leads through beautiful gardens and past the former mansion. A welcome cafe serves refreshments at Rookery Gardens, then you descend Streatham Common.

Done that several times, I don't rate the café. We saw no point in continuing to Streatham Common station for its own sake, so made our own way to  Section 5 at Tooting Bec Gardens. Somehow, we missed the Pumping Station, and then took a short stroll across a tiny corner of the vast Tooting Commons. We missed a sign or took a wrong turn in Balham and ended up in a time-warped pub on the Weir Estate, which, splendidly, was showing unedited a Manchester United v Arsenal match from 1983.

I read a blog that described Streatham to Wimbledon Park as 

I'm gutted that this leg turns out to be one of the least interesting day walks on the whole Capital Ring

so I followed his advice and decided we would recommence the Capital Ring at Section 6

This stretch from Wimbledon Park to Richmond is, however, one of the greatest day walks in the whole of Greater London, and in its entire 6.9 miles it doesn't put a foot wrong. If you only do one day of the Ring, make it this one; it really is something special.

We didn't start well. As we approached Streatham station, I calculated that we would just miss a train and have to wait almost 30 minutes for the next, so we might as well as stay on the Wimbledon-bound bus. In some ways I wasn't wrong. We arrived at Wimbledon station (Underground and Overground) only five or so minutes later than if we had waited for a train. In other ways I was very wrong. A dull tedious trundle down through heavy traffic in Tooting and down to Colliers Wood in increasing stifling conditions. But on arrival at Wimbledon, it is simple enough to get on the District Line and travel one stop to Wimbledon Park.

Wimbledon Park is a delightful suburban park which is worth a half-day visit in its own right. We visited it two years ago and enjoyed a stroll around the Boating Lake and down to the village church. The Capital Ring is designed to take you through just one part of the park and march relentlessly past the the lake, barely pausing to spy the All England Tennis club in the distance.

     

The next part of the route is through suburbia. The curiosity in looking at other people's houses soon fades. There's a limit to the number of times you can say "That building looks grim but they have a lovely view" or "Heck, they must be loaded." Even counting the Ocado vans isn't that much fun. 

 

Eventually the path reaches Putney Heath, which has quite an interesting history, and is a surprisingly wild shrub land, even if it doesn't last very long. You are soon on Wimbledon Common and approaching its famous windmill. There's a nice little museum there, worth passing quarter of an hour. And they sell Wombles, although I was not allowed to buy one. I have already written about the café, which was a disgrace. After that we ploughed on along the Capital Ring route. Unfortunately, our time at Queensmere was ruined by a party of poorly supervised pre-pubescent children. I imagine on a good day that Queensmere is a lovely tranquil place. But a party of schoolboys running wild and loud, watched by schoolgirls brought up to be passive observers, echoes round the arena and makes a restful pause or stroll impossible.

 
We walked across a golf course, which seems tastefully managed. No blot on the landscape, and golfers instructed to give way to walkers. And down through dense woodland. Dense, but not dense enough to muffle the noise of young men playing rugby in the far distance and, again, dominating public spaces to the possible detriment of everyone else not in their domineering demographic. Unpleasant.

 

I am not made for walking, at all, so it was a relief to hit Kingston Vale. This is a necessary but horrible dual carriageway section of the A3 that is very unfriendly to non-motorised road users. I was intrigued by the Pegasus crossing - only recently installed - that allows mounted horse riders to cross from stables at Richmond Park to Wimbledon Common. I was less impressed by the difficulty in finding a bus stop when I was all but fit to drop.

Fortunately, we found a bus, and it took us to Putney, where we found a pub called the Spotted Horse. I was in there about twenty years ago and don't intend to leave it that long before returning again. An extremely nice pub, lovely decor, an excellent choice of drinks - Jimmy had real ale, I had a soft drink designed for discerning adults. And, most importantly, the food was of good quality and good value for money. If I lived nearby I'd be in there a lot.

 

So, the Capital Ring. It's a very good idea in theory. It's there to encourage Londoners to walk. I know many people have got pleasure from doing the entire Ring. 

I enjoy walking, but only up to a point. I can't walk far, and especially not on paving stones and other hard surfaces. If one follows the Ring precisely, you miss out on the glory of the parks it attempts to showcase. This section was supposed to continue into Richmond Park. I have subsequently done my homework and have decided that I would be better off doing the Tamsin trail. I have bought a Cycling Traffic-Free London book - this is from Sustrans, their website contains many walking and cycling books that cover the country. This book includes a cycle tour of Wimbledon common that criss-crosses it and is a day out in itself, rather than simply skimming across one corner, as Capital Ring does.

However, I will use the Capital Ring, London Loop and Green Chain Walk, as well as Walk London's other brands- Jubilee Walkway, Jubilee Greenway, even Lea Valley, and of course the Thames Path - for hints and inspiration, but rather than attempting the journey, I will focus on the featured parks and attractions.

Other people on Capital Ring Section 6

Diamond Geezer

Stephen and Lucy

Angry Beaton

Tim Bertuchi

Kate

Darryl

Wandering Genealogist

Martin Rich

Nunhead Cemetery

"Perhaps the least known, but most attractive, of the great Victorian Cemeteries of London. Consecrated in 1840, it is one of the seven great Victorian cemeteries established in a ring around the outskirts of London. It contains examples of the magnificent monuments erected in memory of the most eminent citizens of the day, which contrast sharply with the small, simple headstones marking common, or public, burials. Its formal avenue of towering limes and the Gothic gloom of the original Victorian planting gives way to paths which recall the country lanes of a bygone era."

That from the Friends of Nunhead Cemetery website. Wikipedia says

Nunhead Cemetery is one of the Magnificent Seven cemeteries in London, England. It is perhaps the least famous and celebrated of them

It features in Section 11 of the Green Chain

We went in, randomly and unplanned, having spotted it as we were passing. Really very different from how I imagine cemeteries to be. What a nice place to visit, and what a lovely place to walk around. The Gothic menace from outside belies the tranquility and splendour of an overgrown nature reserve, replete with graves and mausoleums in disrepair. It was opened in 1840, but by the middle of the last century the cemetery was nearly full.  A lack of care and cash surrendered the graves to the ravages of nature and vandalism, and it was not until the early 1980s that a group emerged to champion the graveyard.

Entering from the parking layby on Linden Grove, you walk up a short drive lined with aging gravestones and monuments, including one in Braille from 1876

 

 At the end of the drive is an Anglican chapel, once obviously grandiose, now a haunting shell - it fell victim to arson in the 1970s, and was partially restored with funding from the Lottery and Southwark Council.

 

 So many interesting graves, from different eras. Interesting to think of the stories behind them. There's a Moslem section. This commemorates a Mathematician and Mother.

The story of the 2nd Walworth Scouts, drowned almost a hundred years ago is a sad tale.

 At 4am they set off and were in sight of the camp when, 2 miles off the coast, a sudden gale caught them and the boat capsized. The local lifeboat was launched and found a shocking scene. 

Due to several acts of selfless heroism ,especially by their Scoutmaster Sydney Marsh, many lives were saved. But 8 scouts and Frank Masters from the training ship Arethusa had drowned. 

1 million people watched as the coffins, draped in Union Jacks and Scouts staves entwined with flowers, passed by on their way to Nunhead Cemetery

 Copied from the Daily Express

"This was the generation that, just a couple of years after the boys' funeral, would become numbed by the deaths of millions of boys not much older, than these lads in the trenches of the First World War.

The best explanation is that these boys represented something special, the real effort that was being made at that time to make life better for boys like these, to give them the opportunities and unlock the potential that was often buried by the poverty of their families.

To have a tragedy like this happen at the very moment when they and their Scoutmaster were doing their best to make something of themselves touched the national consciousness very deeply."...

...Another family lost their 12-year-old boy, William, who was a talented scholar. His family were devastated, but their two other boys came home. They were John and Edward Beckham. If Edward had not been saved his great-grandson - England football captain David - would never have been born:

I was touched by the sight of the commonwealth War Graves. Young men - boys - who had travelled from South Africa, Australia and New Zealand to fight someone else's war.

 

I was particularly struck by Private Hovell (and the internet suggests I am not alone)

It was a pointless enough war for my English working- and middle-class ancestors and relatives. More so for the Empire descendants of Brits. But for Private Hovell - why did an 18 year old Maori boy get slaughtered in the petty squabbles of the European ruling class, who woud not normally have given him the time of day?

With thanks to @DavidUnderdown9, we can know a little more about Private Hovell.

The New Zealand (Māori) Pioneer Battalionwas first raised in 1915 and served at Gallipoli and the Western Front and largely served as pioneers. "Of these by the end of the war, 2227 Maori and 458 Pacific Islanders had served in what became known as the Maori Pioneer Battalion. Of these, 336 died on active service and 734 were wounded. Other Maori enlisted (and died) in other battalions as well."

He served at Gallipoli and disembarked in Malta on 30 September 'slightly sick' and died of thigh wounds on 20 October. He appears to have died in King George's hospital on Stamford Street. There is a conflicting report that he died en route from Gallipoli, but David says, if so, he would have been buried at sea.

NZ casualties highest as % of population of any British Empire force. With memories of Maori wars fresh, many in authority did not  want to arm and train Maori, in WWI they served as pioneers. Maori Units of the NZEF

Scarletfinders website run by very useful for understanding medical side of war

See Auckland Museum for background on Pte Hovell, and link to digitised service record. He was one of the original Native Contgt

his individual CWGC record

Kiwis and Aussies easiest to research, all their records survive and largely digitised. UK records 60-70% destroyed by Luftwaffe

looks like he lied about his age. Record states born 28/1/1895, which would have made him 20. Grave says 18 (details from family)

looks like 16/548 Charles Harry Pirika Hovell was his brother - survived with rank of Sgt, and Mentioned in Despatches. Record not dig

I don't know what he died for. I wonder if he knew what he was fighting for.

Another grave that drew my attention was Siegfried Reihl. He died in 1918 aged 21. To me, the name seems German, although perhaps no more so than the great English war poet Siegfried Sassoon, who was named for his mother's love of Wagner.

 

 

 

 

All visitors to Nunhead seem to love the grave of Calvin G Simpson, a rare actor. He seems to have appeared in an episode of The Bill.

We walked past more graves, old and new:

 

and came to an avenue of mausoeums. All of them showed signs of damage. I wondered whether it was the result of subsidence, but Jummy said they had all been broken into. Perhaps when the cemetery lay derelict, or maybe decades ago.

 

 

 

 

At the end of the circuit, close to the entrance, is the monument to the Scottish Martyrs

This is a memorial to five men, three of them English, who were imprisoned for campaigning for parliamentary reform in the late 18th century under the influence of the ideals of the French Revolution. The five were accused of sedition in a series of trials and transported to Australia in 1794 and 1795. The Wikipedia article describes the monument on Calton Hill in Edinburgh but states "In February 1852, a second Monument, initiated by Hume, to the Scottish Political Martyrs was unveiled at Nunhead Cemetery, London. This monument stands at 33 feet high."

A little more on Transpontine blog

More blogposts:

Nothing to see here

Londoneer

The delightfully dead Nunhead Cemetery is buried alive

James's posterous

the pen, the brush and the needle

London is cool

Flickr Group

Nonsuch

We had limited occasional access to a car and therefore I was under instructions to plan a trip out. The brief was only implied, but I understood it to be, somewhere we haven't been before, and not an epic long day. Somewhat randomly, I selected Nonsuch. Green, just outside London, and Historic. Also, I liked the name. Possibly because of the irony:

Nonsuch Palace in Surrey was perhaps the grandest of Henry VIII's building projects. Work started on 22 April 1538...Within two months the name 'Nonsuch' appears in the building accounts, so called because it was claimed there was no such palace elsewhere equal to its magnificence...

...It returned to royal hands in the 1590s, and remained royal property until 1670, when Charles II gave it to his mistress, Barbara, Countess of Castlemaine. She had it pulled down around 1682–3 and sold off the building materials to pay gambling debts.

So, there is no such Palace as Nonsuch, although there is a sizable park and an 18th century mansion, which is Grade II listed.

At the time we visited, I was mulling over my blogpost about preserving historic buildings. I was thinking along the lines of - if there had been 'listing' in the 17th century, this Nonsuch Palace would have been preserved, for the nation. I had a vision that the disappeared palace with a silly name had some mythical ethereal status, and that a visit would be akin almost to a pilgrimage. 

In the event, it was nothing of the sort. It's a local authority park that currently appears to be well maintained. But it's really rather dull. The drive out was tedious. Stuck in traffic from Tooting Bec to Colliers Wood, we eventually hit one of those strange 1930s arterial roads, each one indistinguishable from the others, with their identikit clusters of shops that have seen better days. Every drive along one seems like a ghostly reminder of an otherwise forgotten drive along a different one in times past.

As we approached the park, the locality took on a distinctly twee mock-Tudor veneer. Roads with names like 'Tudor Drive' and 'Offwiththeirhead Avenue'. An ultra-modern retirement home complex styled to look like generic Tudorbethan.

The highlight was a brief stop in a pub called The Harrow. Although part of a big pubco chain, nevertheless it was a pleasant place to stop, and although the food was, presumably, nuked straight from the freezer, I've had worse - a lot worse, and often.

We spent a short time in the formal garden at Nonsuch, but it was not memorable. Just a local authority tended garden, next to a mansion of no real significance that's let out for weddings and functions. It became clear early on that the formal gardens double as a children's play area, so we didn't linger long, and went for a stroll up the hill through open fields of little interest. I have read that there is a wide variety of bird life there, of considerable interest to many people, but only fleeting interest to me. We soon discovered that the open fields were where teenagers went to do primal scream therapy. It was a far from relaxing, restorative day out to some other local authority's municipal park and a bit of a waste of time.

 

 

I wonder whether Nonsuch Palace was worth saving for the nation? Henry VIII only visited it three times. Should the village and monastery destroyed to make way for it have been preserved, too? Perhaps the fascination with the Palace that disappeared are more important lessons to history, about the arrogance and omnipotence of a brutal King. Some historic buildings are interesting in themselves. Conversely, if we insist on saving everything that is 'historic' ie old, we continue to live in the past, arguably repeat the mistakes of the past, and become too scared to innovate in case we destroy something of little value.

Saving unimportant churches for the nation

I started this blogpost, including its title, with a pretty firm thesis in my mind. All I needed was the facts to support my view.

In some recent blogposts I have brought you photos of:

St Matthew's Brixton

and its twin St Jude's

St Mary and St John the Divine Balham

St Paul's Herne Hill

St Mary's Battersea

and St Martin's Ashton-upon-Mersey

The thesis was broadly:

The system of listing buildings as being historically or architecturally significant is heavily biased towards stately homes and churches, and, in general ignores the history of ordinary, non-Establishment people.

I did some research - reading various articles on the internet - and realised that my thesis was at best a blunderbuss approach. It turns out that my problem isn't the principle of Listing buildings. English Heritage explains it: 

   All buildings built before 1700 which survive in anything like their original condition are listed, as are most of those built between 1700 and 1840. The criteria become tighter with time, so that post-1945 buildings have to be exceptionally important to be listed. A building has normally to be over 30 years old to be eligible for listing.

I don't think anyone could argue with the fundamentals of that.

Wikipedia says  

It was the damage to buildings caused by German bombing during World War II that prompted the first listing of buildings that were deemed to be of particular architectural merit...The listings were used as a means of determining whether a particular building should be rebuilt if it was damaged by bombing, with varying degrees of success.

Again, how can this be contentious, at least at a strategic level? 

So, it seems I was putting the cart before the horse. I was irritated at the high number of churches (and stately homes) that were regarded as 'historic', whereas I ought to have observed: a large number of buildings that have survived from before 1700 or the 19th century to Second World War or present day, are churches. This proves that many churches are old.

Listed buildings account for about 2% of English building stock. In March 2010, there were approximately 374,000 list entries of which 92% were Grade II, 5.5% were Grade II*, and 2.5% were Grade I. Places of worship play an important role in the UK’s architectural heritage. England alone has 14,500 listed places of worship (4,000 Grade I, 4,500 Grade II* and 6,000 Grade II). In fact, 45% of all Grade I listed buildings are places of worship.

Wikipedia, again.

My irritation was fuelled by the lazy complacency of some small parish churches. They have no real significance beyond their parish or county but they trumpet their current importance by reference to their Listed Building status. Which in most cases only means 'the church is old'.

I would be relaxed about this if they used this merely as a starting point for telling the story of the community that grew up around the church. Or if they acknowledged the circumstances in which they were built - eg by Government, to suppress possible revolution from amongst the working people: the Commissioners' or Waterloo churches. 

St James's Bermondsey boasts:

In 1724 at the Bishop's Visitation, it was recorded "In Bermondsey there are 9,000 people". The only houses were along Bermondsey Wall, which was part of the only road or highway from the City out into Kent. Here wealthy merchants had magnificent houses. The first streets in our Parish were Salisbury Street and Janeway Street. Here a rich West India Merchant built a house and called it Jamaica House, after the island from which his fortune was derived. By 1710 there were enough poor people living here for it to be necessary to provide a workhouse for 50 people.

The Church now built was dedicated to St James but everyone called it Bermondsey New Church. Its grandeur recalling the days when wealthy merchants still lived in Grange Road and Jamaica Road.

That makes me almost vomit with disgust. The West India Merchant 'derived his fortune from Jamaica'. This really is obscene. Unforgivable.

Conversely, the Reverend Arthur J Dobb wrote about St Philip's Salford

Although fine words were spoken about the need for some spiritual, restraint of the working classes to their indulgent practices of gambling lounging, drinking and debauchery, nothing was done to provided churches in the slums until, under a Parliamentary Act of 1818, £1 million was granted to build new churches "lest a godless people might also be a revolutionary people". As less emotive reason for building these churches, they were to be the nation's token of Thanksgiving to Almighty God for the victory at Waterloo, hence they are sometimes known as "Waterloo Churches". The overall intentions may have seemed worthy, yet the monies were mainly spent in the middle-class suburbs and did little to alleviate the acute distress and harsh repression which manifested themselves in such demonstrations as "Peterloo".

Could the money have been better spent on providing an education for poor people? Could that have reduced their indulgent practices? Or would it have caused them to think for themselves, question the repression of the masters, and organise to change society?

Some years ago I read - almost certainly in Alan Piper's History of Brixton - about how the property developers built houses and then built churches, not so that the people could go and worship, but as an ostentatious display of their wealth and piety. (I paraphrase significantly). The churches built were generally Anglican but, again according to Wikipedia, The religious census of 1851 revealed that total Nonconformist attendance was very close to that of Anglicans. Additionally, there were Catholics, Jews and people of no religious practice. The churches were not democratic.

I like looking round churches. Some display attractive art. Some tell part of a story of humanity. Churches, organised religion and ritual are of immense sociological fascination. But if they trumpet their assumed historical importance, they must tell the whole story, not just the Government/Establishment propaganda. Otherwise, they are historically irrelevant. Or worse - celebrating that their church was there to celebrate the vast fortunes that were made from slavery. 

I have been critical. There will be more photos of more churches. And perhaps more criticism. St James's Bermondsey, I have my sights set on you. 

 

Also, recently, but not yet blogged, I have visited Nonsuch Park and Nunhead Cemetery, and I have watched a TV programme about the Lost Gardens of Heligan, which all tell a different story of what happens when architecture and heritage is neglected and abandoned.

So, I have no desire to knock down the churches I have visited or walked past. Just to take St Matthew's in Brixton. Its congregation is much smaller than many of the Evangelical/Pentecostal churches and the many local mosques. Together their numbers are eclipsed by the vast majority of the population that seldom if ever attends a place of worship. It is clearly in dire financial straits and, to be honest, it serves little or no purpose in the community.

Would it be missed? I don't know. As a functioning church, probably not. As a building, probably, at least for a while. But as a space? Without a doubt.

Look again at the pictures of Brixton around St Matthew's. Or go there yourself physically. Or go to your own town or village centre. Imagine the church knocked down and the space, including its churchyard, built over and used for a secondhand car showroom, a supermarket or 'luxury apartments'. I can't stand that thought. At the very least, the old churches provide a respite and a breathing space. But I wish they would tell the truth about their history, the whole truth about their community. Then they would truly be a community asset, not just an ignored artefact.

We need and want to retain these buildings as churches or with alternative uses. They come to dominate our collective idea of what is 'historic' and 'important'. Churches were maintained for functional reasons more than ordinary homes and places of work and play, so our historical sense of ordinary people is dominated by churches. St James's Bermondsey demonstrate, they may not be fit and proper custodians of our history.

Crap park cafés

I like to walk in a park, find a nice café and sit down, have a cup of coffee, maybe a cake, maybe even a hot meal. If you have a café in a park, you're sitting on a goldmine. Effectively, there's no competition. Customers generally don't have anywhere else to go. Even if there's another café somewhere else in the park, or on a neighbouring street, the customer has to walk there. Easier to go to the park café.

In prosperous areas of South West London, and, I daresay, elsewhere, good or adequate park cafés are great social places for 'types' to congregate. Lonely 'yummy mummies', dogwalkers, pensioners can meet up with similar people to talk about what they have in common. Other people can break off their walks and enjoy the fare on offer. Couples can go for an escape from the rat-race.

On Saturday we went to the café by the Windmill in Wimbledon. We should have seen warning signs. A huge place, but no one was sitting down indoors. Most outside tables were unoccupied. The dog walkers sat alone with their dog, not in groups of regulars. It did not seem familiar territory to the small children demanding ice-creams.

An appalling place, that really should be ashamed of itself. We'd walked quite a way, and this was the first eating place we had passed in an hour and a half. We went in. I decided I would have a cup of tea, and, ooh, why not, a scone! 

The manager - straight out of Jennifer Saunders or Victoria Wood - asked if I wanted a fruit scone. Ooh yes, I said. We then had to move along and instruct one of 'the girls' what we had ordered, whilst the sit-com woman instructed 'no more than one girl on each thing' (filter coffee machine, teapot, microwave) - she was having to micro-manage schoolchildren. The cup of tea was pushed at me, with a mere mention of milk. No oppotunity for topping it up with further milk. And the scone, butter and jam were presented on a paper plate.

Note the lack of fruit in the fruit scone. Note also the plastic pack of strawberry 'jam' - jelly with seeds, never seen a bloody strawberry.

What this photo can't show you is stale saltiness of the cheap scone, mass produced in a factory. Or that the tea was stewed. It's not really too much to ask, is it, to have a cup of tea made properly, to be able to add my own milk without being under suspicion of wanting to steal it. And a scone that was made this month? Last time I had tea and scone, the tea came in a pot. The crockery was crockery: cup and saucer, plate, milk jug. The scone was big, bobbly, rustic and fresh. The jam had pieces of fruit in it, and along with the clotted cream, was served in a little ramekin. Apparently we can't expect such luxuries in Wimbledon.

It is entirely possible that tourists might come to Wimbledon. A town that is famous around the world for its tennis and its Wombles, an Olympic town. Disgusting.

On Clapham Common is a café called Oasis. Someone sat down one day and thoughtfully designed a chilled place. Inside, cushions on benches round a central table. Outside, picnic tables on decking. We should have been alerted on arrival by how empty the decking was - this photo was taken as we left, this woman's man had just gone inside. Don't know if they stayed.

An attractive-looking menu, with mint tea and green tea, with paninis filled with crayfish or mozzarella and tomato. 

The amiable but dim server tried to charge immediately after we (two people) had ordered just one drink. Neither Jimmy's espresso or my latte actually tasted of coffee. Several Clapham types came, took one look, and walked away. They seemed to be doing a roaring trade in selling chips and fizzy drinks to the kids in the new, nearby skate park. Which, by the way, is great. The kids looked happy, and occupied, and I'd hate to see a café that turned kids away for being, well, kids. 

The cushions smelled.

What a waste of a great location and a good concept. We didn't dare eat, didn't have confidence that the current management knew the first thing aboout food hygiene - no certificates on display. Would you buy a crayfish panini in a café that smells as if someone's been sleeping there?

It's increasingly an irritation to me. How do these people get away with it? How have they got the franchise or lease to run these places? There are so many people with a passion, the drive to make a success out of business, understanding of customers, who could make these places a destination, but are denied that opportunity by these complacent dullards who are happy to serve up crap from te 70s, or  who mess up a good idea and drive people away?

Reviews by others:

Windmill Tea Rooms by Wimbledon People

This place provides the sort of customer experience which I thought had disappeared along with Communism!...A cup of coffee and a rather overcooked flap-jack came to over £4...Overall, a disappointing experience which I won't be paying to repeat.

Windmill Café & Tea Room - Virtual Tourist

She had pre-warned me that she hadn't had very good experiences there in the past, so I wasn't expecting much.

Strolling around Ashton upon Mersey

An Easter visit up north for daughterly duties. For various reasons, complicated and trivial, it was wise to stay at the Premier Inn rather than Chez the Mother. Not least because it gave us the freedom to wander down to Ashton Village, one of the more interesting parts of Sale.

I don't have many nice things to say about Sale, so perhaps I should say them now. It is well situated in the Mersey Valley, perfect for cycling the TransPennine Trail - just a few yards from the Premier Inn. It's pretty much without hills, but there are views of the Peak District if you know where to look. It's handy for the motorway network, which takes you quickly to the airport, and handy for the tram into Manchester. Also, it's not as smug as Altrincham. Partly because, alongside the sleek over-priced villas and the complacent semis are council estates and other vaguely affordable housing. 

The Local Government Act of 1929 merged Sale and Ashton upon Mersey. Historically, Ashton was the more important place, but the canal and then the railway were built further East, diminishing Ashton's importance. And yet, Ashton Village still has the feel of a village, and we experienced genuine warmth in the pubs and the Co-Op. Both village pubs are worth a visit, with CAMRA Hulme and Trafford splitting their April meeting between the Plough and the Buck.Even pre-recession, the village was reported to be blighted by the arrival of the ubiquitous and destructive Tesco Express

 Unfortunately, it rained a lot when we visited, and in between relatives, we didn't have much time to get out-and-about, making the best of it while we can.

Buck Lane used to be cobbled when I was small, but it isn't now. Some attractive cottages, this one in particular displaying a well-loved garden.

We were heading beyond the village, to the village church, which unusually, lies a considerable distance from the village. Comfortable walking distance, though! I'm no expert but I can't think of anywhere else I've visited where the ancient Anglican church doesn't form the epicentre of the village.

A stroll down Church Lane, which coincided with work by British Gas contractors!

As I took this photo, I realised that someone was banging on the window of the extension, not visible to the right. I wasn't intending to intrude, be it the private home of a reclusive celebrity, or an institutional home. My apologies for seeming to intrude, when all I wanted was a shot of notable local building.

I was amused to see the village stocks. They date from 1836 but repairs and refurbishments sponsored by Sale Civic Society were unveiled by then Mayor Lydia Burton in 1992. And frankly, I couldn't think of a more fitting candidate to sit there and be pelted with rotten fruit. 

Oops, did I say that out loud!

Wandering along the lane was like being in the country, hardly surprising as we were right on the edge. If we'd walked further along, it would have been just fields (and Ashton on Mersey golf club). And, in the distance, there was snow on the hills, probably somewhere like Glossop.

And so, to St Martin's. Locals believe that there was a church here back in the 9th century. This sort of sounds impressive until you consider it was two centuries after Bede and the Synod of Whitby.  And Ashton is not actually mentioned in the Doomsday Book. Wikipedia says the first church was built in 1304 on the site of an old Saxon burial place. But this was destroyed in the Great Storm of 1703, which forms the basis of some fascinating reading. The most severe storm or natural disaster ever recorded in the southern part of Great Britain. Some extended reading December 1703 windstorm - 300 year retrospective (pdf).

The ancient edifice had not many claims to architectural features, and was exceedingly plain in its proportions. The interior, owing to the arrangement of the pews, was very inconvenient and uncomfortable, and in the aisles at one time was placed a continuous bench for the Sunday Scholars, which had to be stepped over by each worshipper who entered the pews.

Altrincham & Bowdon : with historical reminiscences of Ashton-on-Mersey, Sale, and surrounding townships

A new church was built ten years later, perhaps reflecting its relative unimportance in comparison to other post-storm re-building. Some of the beams from the current church are thought to have been in the original church. Unsurprising, considering that it was a storm, not a fire, and new materials would have been at a premium. The tower and the lychgate were added in 1887, at about the same time that Sale was embracing Methodism. The church is Grade II* listed, the lychgate Grade II. 

It's a nice little church and I think the stained glass window is very pretty. We were kindly met at the door by one of the ladies of the parish, who helpfully explained some of the history. They had received a grant from English Heritage to repair the tower, so are obliged to open the church to the public for a set number of hours per week. It seems from their website that the works were more or less completed by Christmas.

As I say, it's a lovely little church, but despite their best efforts it's pretty much moribund. They are without an incumbent vicar, and their dated-looking website has received less than 900 hits. There was a Parish magazine on sale, but no evidence of this being available online. I can see the attraction for people to hold their wedding there, but a church wedding is a once-in-a-lifetime event. There is no school associated with the church, so I can't really see any reason for young people to attend. St Mary Magdalene's is just a short drive away and seems a lot livelier and has an associated school.

We wandered round the graveyard, which contains an impressive War Memorial, which I previously didn't even know existed. That having been said, War memorials are all over the place. I don't know if there's an actual distinction between 'official' - where civic dignitaries lay wreaths on Remembrance Sunday  - and 'unofficial' ones, which serve their local community - or if it matters.

In the distance, you can see the spire of All Saints RC Church (1959). Their car park was packed for Good Friday service*. All Saints' Primary School is rated 'Outstanding' by Ofsted. Pity so many of them can't walk.

I'm not sure what this building is, but it looks as if it was once agricultural buildings, now converted to desirable suburban residences, literally a stone's throw from the golf club and riding school.

We walked back to the village. Jimmy popped into the betting shop, while I photographed the Old School House. It was the school attached to St Martin's church, but never in my memory. And if I recall, the Church Lady, who was probably fifteen years older than me, said she had been to Wellfield Primary School. It is currently used as office premises. Pity they can't be bothered fixing the clocks. It was quite amusing that as I walked round snapping shots, several people paused. I wasn't sure whether they were wondering if I was maybe from some property developers, or whether they decided just to take a longer look at something they drive past every day without noticing!

  

 

 I also decided to take a photo of the side wall of what is now a beauty parlour

and on the way back to the hotel I couldn't resist this picture of this fairly expensive house, with a view of Sale's only tower block of flats!

We got back to the hotel just before it started raining. That, for April, is what we regard as a victory! 

* not Mass.

A meander round Greater Battersea

It seems so long ago now, and difficult to believe, but the weather in March was glorious, the third warmest and sunniest March on record. Difficult to remember, considering that April was the wettest April since records began

Fortunately, we took advantage of a glorious sunny Sunday at the very end of March, actually the first of April, and set off for a leisurely bike ride to The River. Rather than treating it as a sporting test of stamina and speed, we decided to treat it like a walk, but easier.

We hadn't gone far when we took a stroll round our local park, Agnes Riley Gardens.

Frederick George Riley gifted 'Oakfield House', and surrounding lands, to London County Council on the proviso that it made the site into a public open space, and name it Agnes Riley Memorial Gardens. Work began to develop two acres in 1937. But World War II intervened the two acres used for allotments and occupied by the military. In 1952, and against F.G. Riley’s wishes, the LCC decided to drop the word ‘memorial’. In 1954 the whole site was laid out as a small park.

I've never actually been in before. It's a nice little park. Not one you'd travel to see, but epitomising everything a small-ish local park should be. A highlight is the ornamental pond:

 

 

It's an interesting design, and very new, so I was concerned that the planters seemed neglected, uncared for when someone should have been watering them.

Similarly, the Community Garden looked a bit dried. Still, I think it's a  great use of the space. Handy for people living in the nearby flats, and good for people like us, just walking through. Hopefully it connects children a little to plants and the origins of their food.

 

 

 

I was a bit perturbed to see the following sign. It has a  very simple message to convey. A message which is important to people who have English as a second language (if that) or have poor literacy skills. I am steeped in the language of bureaucracy but read it twice before I got it. The most important thing should be at the top. Nobody really cares about 'the interest of all user groups and the sustainability of Lambeth sporting facilities'.

If you run a sporting group you must book this pitch in advance. Call this number to make regular and one-off bookings. You cannot book this pitch on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays after 12 noon. For more information about Agnes Riley Gardens call ...between 9am - 5pm (and don't just list the number of the Council switchboard)

We continued our bike ride to Wandsworth Common. But Wandsworth Common holds no appeal. It is a nice park, well, it has a nice pond. But it's just a staging post en route to the rest of the world.

It's nice to cycle along the Common, avoiding the heavy traffic on Bolingbroke Grove. This is supposedly a cycle route, but Wandsworth Council need to learn that 'cycle route' requires more than painting a bike on the road. We thought we'd have to take to the road in heavy Sunday morning smug traffic, but instead, we discovered St Mary's Cemetery. I don't recommend cycling through this or any cemetery, even though we were the only people there, and its burial lands were exhausted in the 1960s. It's actually quite sad to see a cemetery entirely deserted on a Sunday, even though I personally never visit people's graves.

It was also sad to see graves that had seemingly been vandalised. I only hope that whoever did this will one day have a loved one buried and realise with horror what a mindless act they committed for the lolz.

Nice weather vane on the chapel, incidentally

 

It's curious walking round a graveyard. I seem to be fascinated by them and I can't really say why. In some ways, it's a way of remembering people, but in other ways it just serves as a reminder of how forgettable most lives are, unless we leave a great work for posterity.

You do get snippets or vignettes of lives. Enid lived almost fifty years as a widow after the death of her husband, and yet is for ever defined by him, her body lying with that of her sister-in-law. Perhaps John Rayner Sidney King is her brother, otherwise he seems a cuckoo in the Hellings grave.

I have stated above that I don't go to visit graves, but I know a lot of people do. That they do is none of my business. My opinion should be of no consequence to them.

However, I am entitled to express my opinion and I do find something mawkish about frequent family visits to a grave, almost as if the relatives can't let go. 

Merdy died when she was 40. I imagine it was a cancer, perhaps it would have been curable now. Her family visited her grave on Mother's Day, two weeks before our visit. They left her a Mother's Day card, and flowers in a vase marked 'Nan'. I doubt her grandchildren were alive when she died, but the ritual of visiting her grave continues. Death is part of life; it seems cruel to say 'get over it'. But she's been gone almost as long as I've been alive. She died the same year as my grandmother.

George and Blanche get visited, too.

It wasn't a pleasant cycle from there. Traffic was at a standstill on St John's Hill, and we had to play 'Dodge the rail replacement buses' as well as the arsehole drivers who think they own the road. But we reached the river via the Candle Factory, where Jimmy' mother worked when she first arrived in London, and before he came along.

I love the sight of abandoned rotting jetties and groynes. This seems especially picturesque juxtaposed with the gleaming modern 'apartment' blocks that overlook the river.

 

 

 

 

 

Especially the unbridled wealth that is Chelsea Harbour

A bit weird, because it was fairly busy on our side of the river. Cyclists, ramblers, dog-walkers, toddlers on scooters. And on the Chelsea side. No one. I got excited at the thought that someone was actually alive in Chelsea Harbour. then I realised she was someone like me, just walking through and photographing. Mind you, the Yuppie flats on the Battersea side were pretty deserted, too. I hope they'd all gone out for lunch.I hope these complexes aren't just second homes for people with mansions in the provinces. Taking up valuable land that could have been used for affordable and social housing.

The Thames Path has to divert away from the river so that people don't walk or cycle through the heliport. It's slightly strange, because out on York Road are discreet hints of being near an airport, most noticeable being the green 'RVP' signs one more often sees in deep countryside. I was quite impressed by this helicopter, thinking it was from some exotic location such as Macedonia or Mexico. I was a bit disappointed to find it is from the more prosaic (and closer) Isle of Man.

I'm not sure what to think of that block of flats. I like the design and the brash colours. I like the ceiling to floor picture windows. But there are no balconies. Understandable next to the heliport. Perhaps a condition - they couldn't have people standing on the balconies hurling things at helicopters as they take off. But who'd pay a fortune to live in a block of flats and not even have a balcony!

I seem to have got into a habit of photographing the Thames's abandoned power stations. Often Battersea, about which so much has been written so often, but also Lots Road.

The Lots Road Power Station was built at Chelsea Creek between 1902 and 1904, to power the District Line and then most of London Underground. LBC and Capital Radio were transmitted from the towers from 1973 to 1975. It closed as recently as 2002, and London Underground is powered from the National Grid. There was a massive failure of the National Grid in 2003 affecting much of Central and Inner London. Coincidence? I wonder...!

Its longterm future is undecided although the building has been stripped out and cleaned up. Some folks actually broke in and photographed it between 2006 and 2009, I would guess. Impressive, but don't try this for yourself. And some more break-in photos here, from November 2011. Okay, I'm officially envious of these extreme phloggers! Brief history.

We cycled towards St Mary's church, which has a rather nice beach in front of it. It was a noticeably low tide when we visited. 

St Mary's Church dates from the 18th century, although they claim to have had a church on the site since Saxon times. Back in 693, it was known as Badrices Ege and in the Domesday Book, Patricesy. I feel that the parish history is somewhat clutching at straws. For the sake of argument, I will accept that there was a church on the site since 800, but the current church only dates from 1775. It's Grade I listed, the only such church in Wandsworth. But I'm afraid I have to give it a great big 'so what'?. It tells us nothing of the people that lived in Badrice's Ege/Patricesy/Battersea, how they lived, loved, worked and died. Just that a great deal of money was spent to build a church, seemingly paid for by 'rich city merchants'. It tells us nothing about the rise of non-Anglican Christian worship, including the development of Methodism and the revival of Catholicism. So, historically unhelpful and verging on the pointless. Also, it seemed pretty deserted for a Sunday! Certainly in comparison to St Phillips Battersea which we saw last week teeming with members of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church that now uses the building.

As far as I can tell, the cemetery we visited earlier was purchased by this church in the 1860s when its own churchyard ran out of burial space.

Still, it's a nice beach

In front of the church are moored some houseboats. I've always had a secret liking for houseboats. I'm slightly jealous of a journalist I was at school with who occasionally writes about her houseboat. It's often struck me as being a bit Bohemian. I overheard a woman saying to her boyfriend 'Ooh, I wouldn't like to live on a houseboat', and it stuck me. It's not that people choose between luxury yuppie flat or houseboat. Although it can be expensive in Cheyne Walk, elsewhere it's a lot cheaper way to be an owner-occupier in Central London. All mod cons, too, including satellite TV.

We passed Chelsea Wharf, presumably where they landed the coal for the Power Station

and also the mouth of the River Westbourne, which I recently blogged about

We then cycled to and through Battersea Park, which has been visited and photographed before, and on to Battersea Park Station. I've been through this hundreds, if not thousands of times on a train but have never previously used it as a station.

According to Wikipedia, 

The station remains effectively unmodernised since its construction in the Victorian era. It has an attractive polychrome brick Venetian Gothic facade. Access to the 5 platforms is via steep wooden staircases, and (as of October 2003) it is unusable by infirm or physically disabled travellers. Platform 1 is made completely from wood and Platform 5 is rarely in use, with through Southern and Gatwick Express services passing towards Clapham Junction.

However, because of weekend engineering works, they were running only a half-hourly service to Streatham Hill - from Platform 5, which has signs warning of the steep stairs 'Take care'. With two minutes til the train we practically ran, carrying our bikes (and me, the rucksack with water bottles, camera, pump, tool-kit etc) up the daunting stairs. Ironically, it was the first time I broke sweat all day!

And nice to get home, shower and eat a deliciously tasty late lunch.

Brixton to Ruskin Park Walk, Part 3

For earlier stages see Brixton to Ruskin Park Walk, Part 1 and Brixton to Ruskin Park Walk, Part 2.

The final stage is from Brockwell Park to Ruskin Park.

To be honest, it doesn't really a merit a stroll in itself. But, when he tackled the earlier part of the walk, we had finished with late lunch in the Lido Café and had preferred to walk home across the park rather than continue to the end of the walk. The Lambeth guide includes a partial tour of the park, including the Walled Garden, the Mansion House and the Miniature Railway, but we're familiar enough with the Park. 

Instead, after a mooch round Brixton Market, we caught the bus to Herne Hill Station, and re-started our stroll. This was "built in 1862 in the Gothic Venetian style and is typical of the period. The square tower contains a water tank that held water for the steam engines."

It's a complicated junction, with 6 roads meeting and on the corner stands the Half Moon pub. For years, I assumed it was a Wetherspoons, given their liking for 'moon' in the names of their pubs, eg Lord Moon of the Mall, and, more ubiquitously, the Moon Under Water, after George Orwell. Jimmy remembers it as a boxing venue: his boys, now in their late 30s, attended a gym there. It's also renowned as a venue for live music and comedy, but I'm not sure its claims to be a 'gastropub' are really supported by a menu consisting only of pizza and burgers, albeit homemade, and Sunday Roast. We didn't go in.

We started the slow ascent up Herne Hill, pausing to note the former Fire Station

Built in 1906, it dates from a time when fire engines were pulled by horses. The fire station closed in 1920.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Next door is the former postal sorting office. I couldn't resist photographing the sign, noting in particular its missing apostrophe.

And, of course, its statement of employment practice! It only closed in 2007 or 2008, as far as I can make out from the internet - it's now a dancing school.

I have no objection to historic buildings retaining signs that point to a bygone era when women were not really considered to be workers - or, often, people in their own right. And I photograph them as a reminder that women have had to fight for what resembles equality today. None of what we have achieved was by baking cup cakes!

Incidentally, the Herne Hill Society doesn't seem to know the origin of Herne Hill as a name.

Not mentioned in the Lambeth Walk, but worth a deviation from their suggested route to have a look at St Paul's Church.

The original church built in 1843-4 by G Alexander was damaged by fire and rebuilt by Street in 1858.  The west tower, spire and long outer walls of the Commissioners' church were kept and the chancel was enlarged and embellished. It is Grade II* Listed for its special architectural or historic interest. (The pub and railway station are also listed). It seems that it is a joint parish with St Saviour's at Ruskin Park, perhaps more evidence that South London is over-provided with 19th century Anglican churches.

 

 

 

Some interesting views from Herne Hill - this of Battersea Power station

 

 

 

 

 

The Lambeth Guide suggested we walked along Fawnbrake Road.

Enjoy the late-Victorian houses and variety of doorways, some set back and at an angle. A few upper windows have original stained glass. Look out for pretty tiles beside the doors on the left.

At the time, the Bill to privatise the NHS was about to go through Parliament, so this sight was no surprise.

 

 

I enjoyed how the terraced houses were joined together behind the main line

I suppose it appeals to the snobby, who can almost pretend they live in a semi, but I suppose it also means that the main habitable rooms only share a party wall on one side.

 

 

A nice little touch, with flowers planted where you normally only see soil or litter.

 

 

I photographed the front of this house, not realising that the owner was there, tending to his plants. He, Mr Brooks, invited us in to view and photograph the rest of his garden, out the back, and show us some traditional hospitality. It is certainly impressive what he has achieved, and it is very different from anything I have ever seen in a suburban house. He has at least 120 hanging baskets, and can spend up to three hours watering the plants. He is a retired builder, and has constructed the double decker, and the system for capturing rain water.

I thought there were some lovely aspects about the garden, and it is evidence of hard work and dedication. I suppose, ultimately, though, it isn't really to my preference. I think I would feel hemmed in, and I'd miss chance to sit or lie in the garden, to dine al fresco.

  

 

       
At the end of the road lies the magnificent Carnegie Library. Closed on Sundays, of course.Grade II listed, it was opened in 1906 after Lambeth received a grant from Andrew Carnegie. I'm not sure if he had any connection with the area; he was born in Dunfermline and emigrated to Pennsylvania at the age of 12. He made a fortune from steel, and spent his later years as a philanthropists, donating to public libraries. Perhaps motivated by a childhood in extreme poverty.

Also an interesting view from the road opposite

Unfortunately, that ugly St George Wharf Tower, like The Shard is set to dominate too many cityscape photos in South London. Talking of which...

We wandered into Ruskin Park, which for me was hitherto mythical. Not only have I never been there, I don't think I've even been past it. And, I have to say, it probably isn't the most exciting park in Lambeth's portfolio. But pleasant enough. Or would have been if the weather hadn't deteriorated sharply. I was sensibly clothed in layers, but Jimmy had been over-confident about the temperature, and was beginning to feel cold. Still, it was good to see another park that's had money spent recently to do it up.

View over London

 

Another church, St Saviour's lies just outside the park. There's a lot of St Saviour's around these parts, and further afield, but is not listed by the Catholic Church. According to Wikipedia, Saint Saviour may refer to: 

Sanctus Salvator, a Latin dedication of churches or places to Jesus, translated in English as "Saint Saviour" or, more accurately, "Holy Saviour"

so, it seems to be somewhat of a historical 'head desk'! I assume this is actually the church hall (listed).

 

 

 

As we walked parallel with Finsen Road, I had one of those lucky moments. Despite the looming dark clouds the light was surprisingly bright, combining to set off the fresh colours of the housing terrace

 

 

 

 

 

 

We strolled around Ruskin Park, which was largely empty, except for the children's playground. I don't photo children's playgrounds unless unoccupied, for obvious reasons.

 
 

 

 

 

We retired to the Cambria for a drink. I can see that they're trying to make it a very nice place, but I'm not sure I'd return, even if I happened to be in the area, which, hospital visits aside, is unlikely.

On the way to the bus stop I saw a couple of random sights worth snapping. Or so I think, anyway!

 

I think they've rather ruined the stucco by painting it. But each to their own, I suppose.

Unfortunately, we made a right mess of getting home. There's a bus that would have taken us almost to our door (45), but the bus countdown app said it wasn't sue for half an hour. So we thought we'd beat the system and get a bus via Brixton (35) to intersect with a bus coming from Clapham (137 or 417). We waited more than 15 minutes for the 35, and then had another 12 minutes waiting for the second bus. And the weather was getting colder and colder.

Still, I'm glad we finished off the walk.

Lambeth's guide is found as a PDF here and more about Walking in Lambeth here. 

Brixton to Ruskin Park Walk, Part 2

For the first part of this route, please see Brixton to Ruskin Park Walk, Part 1

After we had strolled around Windrush Square and its immediate surroundings, we turned into Coldharbour Lane 'once a winding country lane connecting Brixton to Camberwell' and followed the directions through the area dominated by the market. If I was a serious photographer, or fancied myself as one, I would take lots of photos of the market, the vibrant product and the 'interesting' characters, stallholders and shoppers. That's where I have a problem. If you are very self-absorbed I suppose it's easy to see people merely as objects to be photographed. I also feel uncomfortable being white and middle class and, somehow treating people who aren't as a curiosity. Either in far flung places or in my own town.

The first interesting sight to be photographed was the Six Sided Clock on the Railway Hotel. Several times subsequently, I have approached this corner from a different direction, and there is a much better view. But either I don't have a camera, or the weather is wet, or it's dry and I have a camera, but I'm also encumbered by shopping.

After I had started drafting this post, the Urban75 blogger posted some much better photos Brixton landmarks: the Brady’s clock tower, Atlantic Road. Brixton, London SW9 and links to further posts providing a bit of history.

...there's railways all around, with three separate lines passing within metres of the pub and this was reflected in the design of the clocktower: its six-sided design ensuring that it could be read from trains passing in all directions

Still, I accidentally managed to capture a couple of people on this photo, which seem, at least with this obscured view, to represent two of the many types of Brixtonians!

The route is supposed to go through Brixton Village, but we decided to by-pass it rather than spend/waste time, and I've recently blogged about an aspect of it.

The walk took us along Railton Road. I think this was taken along Kellett road, a distant view of St Matthew's shimmering in the haze.

This roadsign, and the housing development it describes, I suppose was a well-intended attempt by the council to remind shivering newly-arrived immigrants of sunshine, sand and palm trees. Unless it was meant to be homage to a British Leyland car

For some reason, we were then directed along Barnwell Road, which isn't exactly the most interesting road in Brixton, despite the council's attempt to convince us of the architectural interest of an incongruous bit of infill and the different styles of arches over the front doors of the cottages.

 

The most interesting garden was sadly obscured by a car parked outside

And so we came to Brixton Water Lane, which follows the line of the now buried River Effra.

A delightful Georgian villa, although I'm not entirely sure about the colour, which is better suited, in my opinion, to artisan cottages

Talking of which...

These were built around 1820 to house the staff of Brockwell Hall. 

This is called 'Surrey Lodge'. The internet throws up a historical reference to a Surrey Lodge, Brixton Hill, but I doubt this is it. I suspect it's a modern-day pretension, not necessarily by the current occupiers.

The walk then took us into Brockwell Park, a place we know reasonably well, having visited it numerous times. Nevertheless, it was a rare thing to enter from this particular entrance and take a walk along the Eastern side. 

This is the view of the rather ugly looking flats on Dulwich Road. I imagine though, that they're not necessarily a bad place to live, given that the higher floors will have a particularly pleasant view.

This is St Jude's church,

A very large church (originally 1000 seats). Last used for worship in 1975, it was declared redundant in 1979 and sold freehold in 1980 for £38,000 as a furniture warehouse (Budget Furniture plc) which was still in business as of 2005. An alternative sale to a wine merchant was rejected as an unsuitable use. By 2008 it was the home of Mark Allen Group (publishers). There were no burials in the churchyard, nor memorials of note in the church. The Willis organ was allegedly sold to a school.

The parish is united with St Matthew's in Brixton. It does seem to be further evidence of over-provision of unwanted churches in 19th century England. Unwanted now, probably not wanted then, but preserved in aspic for all eternity. I feel a future blogpost coming on, questioning the wisdom/public utility of the heritage-of-unimportant-churches industry!

The leaflet describing the walk suggests walking past Brockwell Lido, but we thought we would pop in for a coffee, as one does!

 

A coffee that 'magically' became the best mushroom burger I have tasted, lashings of umami.

While we were there, the actual pool was being pained in readiness of its re-opening (on 20 April). I worried that these chaps would end up surrounding themselves with wet paint and become trapped. The didn't.

As you can tell from the photos, it was a gloriously sunny and warm March day, but as school home-time approached, the warmth of the day was gone, and we decided to walk home across the park, leaving the final leg to Ruskin Park for another day, and another blogpost.

 

 The Shard, and other ghostly towers of London

Newly re-landscaped duckpond

The new children's playground

I laughed - cruelly - at the thought of a small child sliding down the slide, and down the hill, into the flower bed. Oops!

Brixton to Ruskin Park Walk, Part 1

London is full of interesting walks; you can make your own way, or you can rely on the research of others. If you  make your own way, you can discover some gems, if you follow a guide, you will find out more about the history that lies behind the sights.

Lambeth Council has several walks on its website. They use the term 'Lambeth Walks' somewhat hesitantly, with a knowing air that they'll be damned if they do and damned if they don't. In any case, one shouldn't confuse Lambeth Walk, in the old area of Lambeth, roughly Waterloo and Kennington, with the London Borough established in 1965, expanding from the 1900 Metropolitan Borough, which even then included Brixton, West Norwood etc

I have been to many places in England and beyond and taken a great many photographs - close to 20,000 - and very few of the place where I live, Brixton. so, one amazingly sunny and warm day in mid-March, technically still in winter, we set out on our epic journey.

We got off the bus outside the Town Hall and crossed over to inspect the Tate Library. What we mainly noticed was the shocking waste of having ground-lights on full beam in glorious sunshine. Frustrating when you know that Lambeth, like all authorities, is having to cut back vital services.

The walk starts at Tate Library, named after Henry Tate, who philanthropically donated towards the founding of this of and several other libraries, and an Art Gallery. The Lambeth leaflet describes him as Tate of Tate & Lyle, who invented the Sugar Cube. But Wikipedia says Henry Tate & sons only merged with Abram Lyle & Sons two decades after his death, and he only bought the patent for sugar cubes from a German concern. 

He lived in Park Hill, in the more rural part of Streatham. His house was a Convent until the late 90s, and is now a Gated Residential Community, providing some enviable Property Porn on Google Images.

 

I have heard accusations that he made his fortune from Slavery, which Tate & Lyle deny, somewhat disingenuously. I think it's probably fair to say that the business prospered on the back of ex-slaves and their descendants labouring for low pay and in questionable conditions. But the same could be said for much of Britain's Industrial Heritage. In his defence was his philanthropy; on the other hand, he made a major donation to the fraudulent quackery known as Homeopathy, which I had no idea dated back to 1796. His bust stands outside the library.

 

A major recent change to Brixton town centre was the landscaping of Windrush Square, which was formally opened in 2010. Previously, much of it had been Brixton Oval and Tate Gardens. An otherwise vacant piece of once derelict land was renamed Windrush Square in 1998, because its cleaning-up happened to coincide with the 50th anniversary of the arrival of the MV Empire Windrush. This brought the first large group of West Indian Immigrants to the UK. They were initially housed in the deep shelter at Clapham South, and some went to Brixton's Labour Exchange; this is why Brixton became the capital of Black Britain.

We walked into the gardens of St Matthew's Church. A large church with a capacity of 2,000 people

It was one of four new Lambeth parish churches commissioned under the Church Building Act of 1818, in which Parliament granted one million pounds for the building of new churches...to ensure that the masses were kept well instructed by the church and attention diverted from revolutionary ideas filtering over from France

The architect was called Porden; he is remembered in a pokey little road that goes round the back of the Town Hall and acts as a handy shortcut to Tescos.

I have read that many of the churches in Brixton, and, I daresay, elsewhere, were built by local industrialists and property developers. Their purpose wasn't particularly to meet the needs and wished of the local population but as an ostentatious sign that they were full of Christian virtue and not seeking to make a vast profit, oh no. I don't know whether this includes St Matthew's, given the history quoted above. In any case, it is under-utilised and various parts have long been used for more worldly pursuits, the rent for restaurants and nightclubs funding upkeep of the building. I miss the wonderful Bah Humbug restaurant which in the late 90s was probably my favourite; two nightclubs have recently defaulted. The rents seem prohibitively high, but are presumably what is needed to maintain the building. I wonder how much public and private money is going to keep old churches preserved in aspic for fear of destroying our 'Heritage'. 

For a long time, the so-called Peace Garden was dominated by drinkers, druggies and other down-and-outs. It seemed almost bereft when we wandered through. It's nice to have an open space so close to a town centre; it's not something you often see in towns, whether they're part of big cities or stand-alone in rural surrounds. My eye was caught by an appealing park-bench, and the strong shadow it cast. 

 

At the northern end of the park stands what I firmly believe to be the worst statue in London, the Richard Budd Memorial Mausoleum. It also commemorates his son Henry and his wife Charlotte. They lived in Russell Square.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We looked to the left to capture Lambeth Town Hall, venue of perhaps far too many evenings of my life. Four figures represent  Justice, Science, Art, and Literature. Your guess will be as good as mine as to which we can see in this photo.

We then walked to the right, past the Ritzy Cinema, where, nowadays, the Trendies & Yummies congregate for coffee. I suppose if you're walking through the market, this is probably as safe a place as any to park your bike. I don't suppose many are taken from here.

We carried on into Coldharbour Lane, but that will form another blogpost on another day.

Walking the River Westbourne

Determined to make the most of a decent, if not spectacular Winter's day, we set off an intrepid adventure. Sadly, I misread my guidebook and thought we were walking the entire length of the River Westbourne but subsequent research shows that it rises in the Hampstead foothills, not where we joined it at the Bayswater Road.

Our first mistake was to walk briskly away from Paddington Station. On reflection, we should have ventured into the mainline station to risk whichever chain coffee place, because there was a distinct lack of any, chain or independent, as we yomped down to Hyde Park via Sussex Gardens. Rather too many down-market chains of the Angus Steakhouse/KFC type. It was cold as we approached the fountains of the Italian Gardens, north of the Long Water!

Too many of my photos have the sky shot-out. It can provide a brilliant contrast with the subject matter, but if it keeps occurring, it just looks like one big error. I could edit in sky from other photos, but I won't do that as a matter of morality. If I start adding in sky, what's to stop me adding all sorts of other lies, and prostituting my integrity?

I've tried different ways of fixing this honestly. One is to take several versions of the same photo at different exposures and blend them together in processing. Definitely a good idea if you think you have a 'money shot' but tedious for tourist snapshots. I've also used the ND filter (Neutral Density) built in to the camera. Not very satisfactory - it leads to a longer exposure time and less exposure of the subject, resulting in dark blurry photos. Maybe I should practice it some time when the pressure is off, the weather is warm-ish, and I'm not embarking on a strenuous walk.

The other option is to use flash. I don't especially like using flash outdoors - or indoors, if I can avoid it - because I think it gives an artificial warmth to the light. But I switched to using flash. It helped but didn't really solve my white-sky problem; fortunately, the light doesn't look too artificial.

A brisk stroll along the East bank of Long Water, with barely another soul around. It's quite overgrown here; in Spring and Summer it would probably be impossible to see the water. As we passed under the West Carriage Drive bridge, we were now alongside the Serpentine, a more managed urban environment. A broadly North to South walk increasingly became West to East, and as we progressed, we were joined by more and more park users. Most striking were those learning to ski, not daunted by the absence of snow.

 

There didn't seem to be any hire boats out on the Serpentine, but the Boathouse was open for selling tourist tat. I was tempted to buy either a cuddly squirrel or a cuddly swan, but Jimmy wouldn't let me. Amongst his arguments was "Wagner (the doll) wouldn't like a swan..." Little does he know!

It became positively busy as we approached The Dell, and decided not to stop in the coffee shop, assuming that there would be an 'in park' premium. Years ago, when I worked at Kensington Town Hall, I sometimes walked up through the park to Hyde Park Corner, in order to get the bus home and avoid the dreaded District/Circle Line black-hole via High Street Ken. Those were the days...But I never noticed The Dell, a pleasant little cultivated garden just across Rotten Row from Albert Gate.

Coffee in the Knightsbridge café was fine, although subsequently reading the web reviews doesn't make me want to go back there again. Perhaps because we were so cold and thirsty, quality didn't matter. 

Back on our walk to meander round the route of the River Westbourne. We stopped at the Wilton Arms for a decent ale and a glimpse of the ultimately disappointing Liverpool v Manchester United FA Cup tie. A decent 3 star pub: not really doing anything wrong but nothing outstanding. Perhaps we should have walked along to the idiosyncratic Nag's Head further down the street.

An estate agent's described Kinnerton Street as London's prettiest street. We laughed at that. Some bits were nice, but it's mostly a higgledy piggledy mess of building styles, some of them pretty enough, but some positively hideous. I think many of the roads around the North West of Brixton Hill are as pretty, and Trinity Gardens is much more so. I suspect most Inner London areas can boast similarly.

The only real interest were the private mews owned by the Grosvenor Estate, complete with signs warning about all sorts of activities that are prohibited. We poked around a few, but I'm hazy about the legal boundary between private and right-of-way, and carry an inbuilt guilt that I may be suspected of casing the joint.

 

We resisted temptation when confronted with Ottolenghi, Patisserie Valerie and Roccoco Chocolates cheek by jowl all on one street, and continued along the route of the Westbourne through the backstreets down to Sloane Square. Here more than anywhere were we aware of people with more money than taste. Shops selling absolute tat, with no prices displayed, no doubt on the basis of if you have to ask the price you can't afford it. We were reminded of the shop in the comedy sketch I Saw You Coming. Either that or it's a cover for an elaborate money laundering scheme.

 

 

(Obviously, taking snapshots into shop windows does tend also to capture reflections off the glass).

There are very few statues of women in London, so I definitely had mixed feelings of these two women near Sloane Street, especially when I discover via the internet that this is just to advertise a company that does dry-cleaning with 'discreet and attentive service'. So, women not even shopping but just picking up the dry cleaning. 

 

 

We passed some momentarily interesting buildings on our way.

 

I really liked this mini. Especially since it had been cleaned with such loving care and attention. By the owner, or a servant, I don't know.

We could have inspected the River Westbourne as it passes through a pipe at Sloane Square Underground station, but decided instead to walk onto the Royal Hospital at Chelsea. An amusing incident as we waited to cross a side road off Royal Hospital Road. A large 4x4 turned in. Unable properly to drive the car properly, the driver turned a wide circle and tried to  drive down the wrong side; surprised to find oncoming traffic, the driver was forced to reverse and attempt the turn a second time, properly - although not entirely successfully - tightly and driving on the left. A couple were standing next to us. He said "Chelsea tractors" with more contempt in his voice than I could ever muster. Of course, the driver was entirely oblivious to four pedestrians waiting patiently to cross.

Extraordinary that neither Jimmy or I have ever been either to the Royal Hospital or the adjoining Ranelagh Gardens. Even more surprising considering how near they are to home. They were virtually deserted of other visitors late on this winter's afternoon; I doubt it will ever be so on any subsequent visit. We didn't linger long, because the sun was going down and the temperature was falling, and we hadn't quite finished our walk.

  

For a few brief minutes, the sun came out and shone brightly in that incomparable time that some people call The Golden Hour. This Avenue of trees almost made me think I was no longer in Central London.

 

We finished on Chelsea Embankment, where we could have seen the outfall of the River Westbourne if it had been low tide on the Thames. But the tide was fairly high; still, we had a lovely view of the sun setting over Battersea Power Station and distant Vauxhall. We walked across Chelsea Bridge, pausing to inspect the mouth of the (former) Grosvenor Canal where it meets the Thames. We caught a bus to Clapham, and, ultimately, home.

More pictures from today and other days out are in my London photo album

A stroll up the river in December sunshine

It was one of those dead days between Christmas and New Year. Neither of us was at work and we vowed we would not waste away the days stuck indoors watching TV that was spectacularly bad even by the standards we've become used to at Christmas. A weather forecast was checked and the rural ways of Surrey were researched. At which point we hit a snag. All the places that appealed as walks were served by pubs that didn't open for food until 6pm. Many of the pubs looked very inviting, but when it's dark by four, or in effect earlier, the last thing you want is to be hanging around until six, or later, for food.

Instead we headed for Kingston. We were going to go by train, catching a bus to Streatham Hill, our nearest station. What bus arrived at the bus stop but a 57, going all the way to Kingston. Genius Gert decided, let's get the bus to Kingston.

That was a long journey, even though we were doing it in almost optimum conditions. It was one of those 'dead' days between Christmas and New Year, so there was little commercial and no school-related traffic. We discovered as we sat in roadworks between Streatham and Tooting, that there was another 57 just in front of us. As a consequence our bus was remarkably empty all the way. We caught it at the second stop on the route and rode it to the terminus. A bit more pre-planning and we could have done the whole route! Part of me is wanting to do a blogpost of the entire route, but, to be frank, riding it once is enough for any lifetime, and I've done it three times. And, in the end, what can I say. Oh, Tooting has a Primark. Blimey, in Raynes Park, the Co-op and Waitrose are opposite each other. Two different aspects of co-operatives.

  We arrived in Kingston and took of indifferent coffee in a chain, due to our inability to find any independents. I'm sure they must exist, even out here in suburbia, but they weren't obvious.We did the obligatory Streathamite hiss at Kingston's John Lewis, for which Streatham sacrificed the legendary, almost mythical Pratt's, and we headed for the river. 

A moment was spent in amusement as a couple rowed away from the banks, their shopping safely stowed aboard their rowing boat, and a bunch of teenagers yelled 'Faster faster faster', and we headed over Kingston Bridge. Another moment was spent in despair at the sheer weight of traffic, despite it being one of those 'dead' days between Christmas and New Year, but we soon forgot about that as we set off along the almost deserted riverside path.

I say 'almost deserted' but we never really felt totally alone. A healthy number of walkers, and not just the obligatory doggie people. The walk was 'inspired' by page 7 of Walks Around the Royal borough of Kingston-upon-Thames, although I'm not sure one really needs 'inspiration' for a Riverside Walk. Also, 1 hour 10 minutes was hopelessly optimistic, making me think 2.9 miles was an under-statement. Much of it was around the edge of Home Park (of Hampton Court), blissfully cut off from traffic noise, mainly.

We were fortunate with the weather. It had drizzled once or twice when we were on the bus, and had looked ominously gloomy as we set off from civilisation, or, rather, Kingston, but by the time we were approaching Thames Ditton and Hampton Court, the afternoon had turned into a rather glorious pre-sunset, with a spectacular Golden Hour arriving more than an hour before sunset.

A river walk is almost always charming. I enjoy looking at the boats moored - above is a presumably replica paddle steamer, presumably not run on steam.

I also enjoy looking at the riverside properties, envying them their views. I've always dreamed of a lawn that slopes down to the river, being able to launch a small dinghy from your back garden. I'm not materialistic or driven by a need for great wealth, but, sometimes, just sometimes, I wonder whether my life could have taken a different path. And then I remember: if I could afford a house in such a location,I'd either be working silly hours and never able to switch off, or trapped in an unhappy marriage to a man doing the same. Hence my indifference to wealth!

Hampton Court Palace is an impressive building, and one we visited ten years ago. For that reason, it holds a very special place in my affections, because I had only really just started blogging - the original blog was on blogspot - and my reading of other people's blogs, and their trips out, which they photographed and blogged, was a major motivation to me to get out and see parts of London I had never really bothered about. A few photos here.

So, in a sense, this was almost a 'tribute' visit. Although we didn't go in. I imagine it wasn't far from closing, and it looked quite busy, partly because there was a temporary ice rink in the grounds by the main entrance. 

Instead, we went to a decent pub, The Albion, outside of which we sat, so pleasant was the late afternoon. someone later tweeted me it was East Molesey's best pub, which I can believe. 

I discovered that Jimmy has a slight obsession about chimneys. Several future days out were to feature him instructing me to photograph chimneys!

A few photos of this and more London treats at London photo album, and also Hampton Court photo album

Brighton October and Hot

An extraordinary October Monday, the end of an amazing hot weekend. The sort of weather that demands to be spent outdoor, if possible, and especially when you know it's almost certainly the last hot day for many months. And even more so when one hot sunny day of the weekend had been effectively ruined by a 12-hour boozy communal 'singing' barbecue garden party by some Polish temporary tenants living nearby. Monday was a great day to head for Brighton. It had been so busy over the weekend, as the neat but large piles of rubbish next to full rubbish bins on the Prom testified; a staff member at the 'Spoons at the Marina said they had run out of beer on the Sunday. I don't suppose this was meant literally and totally, but I got the picture!

The temperatures were in the high twenties all the time we were there, which definitely counts as 'Glorious Summer Day' but all around were signs of a seaside resort shutting down for autumn.Brighton is more than a seaside resort but we observed some out-of-season decline. 

Most times I have been to Brighton I've stayed West of the Pier. Looking at this map, I see that the main pier at Brighton is actually a continuation of the A23, which I know as Brixton Hill/Streatham Hill/Streatham High Road! I knew the A23 went to Brighton, of course, but it's never struck me before that I live just off Brighton Pier. Sort of! This time, we decided to head East, toward the Marina, which I once visited by taxi. Somewhat surprisingly, this was really the first time  either of us had been east of the pier!

We set off walking to the Marina, which didn't seem that far away. To cut a long story short, it was! It was a good walk, but in future we'll probably get a bus, seeing that there's a frequent service direct from the station. It's okay until you almost get there, but then there's another boring walk through Asda's car-park, almost as if the Marina  and its shops and restaurants don't want pedestrians approaching from the beach.

We saw the Ferris wheel being dismantled, which is a sight you don't see every day. 

 

I noted the existence of a Crazy Golf course, but it failed my test of being exciting. I have one very specific criterion for Crazy Golf: it has to be as good as Pirate's Cove, which I encountered on Cape Cod, or Living Legend in Jersey. So far, I have not found one in England. True, I haven't looked specifically but I do like to keep an eye open. This one doesn't do it for me, and I think it was closed, anyway. As was Volks Electric Railway, which had closed for winter the previous week. I did take a photo, but who needs a photo of a miniature railway without a train? It reopens on 31 March

I tend to find Brighton West of the Pier to be quite commercial. Depending what mood I'm in, it's delicious decadent fun or it's way too tacky and 'let's get to Hove Actually as soon as'. East is different. East is less commercial, more genteel, but, also on this hot Monday in October, rather lacking in places to buy water or ice cream. We walked past the naturist beach but it was singularly unremarkable, hidden as it was by dunes; only the bicycles really provided a clue. 

We spent the mid-afternoon in West Quay, the Wetherspoons overlooking the Marina. We found ourselves a table on the balcony, and sat slowly sipping small quantities of delicious real ale. It was one of those experiences where everything seemed to work right: not quite too hot weather, good ale, exchanged a few pleasantries with fellow drinkers, who were mostly as laid back as us, watched the boats and the ducks. It was a superior 'Spoons but nevertheless, it amused me that  hanging around outside was a gang of ducks,and one of the ducks looked a real trouble maker, somewhat excluded from the flock and constantly picking for a fight!

We finished with a meal in Café Rouge, which seemed to have  undergone a makeover. It's a good few years since I have been to one, but on the last few occasions I had - either at someone else's behest or as the least worst option - they had been disappointing. We only actually went there by accident, as the place a few doors down had a better looking menu and seemed to have the advantage of not being Café Rouge.

However, it was also the place with hip hop booming out to a clientele aged 40+, and without any staff to notice or greet new customers. At Café Rouge we had pleasant efficient service, good wine, and a meal which would win no foodie awards but was nourishing, tasty and filling.

More pictures of this and previous Brighton visits are in my Brighton photo album

Late summer on the Southbank

Last August, Jimmy gave up working in the pub he had been managing for some years. I work weekdays, 10-6 (ish), although I don't work Mondays. Pub work doesn't fit into that. For years, we could often only manage to have Sunday evenings and most - not all - Mondays together. For several weeks, he hadn't even properly had Mondays off. When we could spend time together, there was almost a desperate need to make something of it, plan an epic adventure, fit as much into the available time.

On the first Saturday in September, we did something radical. We went out for a short time, somewhere fairly local, with no particular plan. We headed for the South Bank, and discovered a Farmers Market. There's a temptation at these things - which aren't generally cheap -to buy a variety of produce, but you don't have to. I think we bought some cheese. I know that we bought some cider, and then wandered around next to the river decadently drinking our organic cider out of plastic glasses. 

The South Bank had been running throughout the summer a commemoration of the Festival of Britain, which happned in 1951, and created a beach. It was a gloriously hot day, lots of people were dressed in bright colours, and no one seemed in any hurry to be anywhere. 

This fountain seemed particularly attractive to children. I took several photos of kids having tremendous fun, but there might be some problem with publishing photos of identifiable children in bathing costumes. I've selected some which may not be such good pictures, but won't be perceived as invading privacy. 

 

We walked up to the rooftop garden. This was created by the Eden Project, and worked on by 50 people who'd faced difficulties in life - homelessness and so on. It wasn't the most amazing garden ever, althoguh I'm sure it will be much better when the plantings have matured - but I really liked it, as a place to sit and relax with splendid views.

We really did not do anything, except look at the people, and what they were doing, and admire the views. We bought some food from a van: I had a halloumi and roast vegetable panini. That was filling, and tasty. 

We walked further along, eventually arriving at Gabriel's Wharf, where we left the river and went to a couple of pubs before heading home.

In some ways, it was not the most exciting afternoon out, but it was important for us to do this, to be relaxed doing nothing and not worrying about having to be back at a certain time, or make sure we ate properly, or conserve our energy. Just, hang out.

  

  

More photos, from this walk, and many others, in London photo album

A riverside walk

I often go out for the day, on the bike or walking. And I usually take photos. In general, I take many more photos in the summer, and I don't always get round to editing the full set until the Autumn or Winter. I am now learning at least to write about the walk, and save it as draft, until the photos are ready. But I didn't think about that back in July.

I could try and write now about a walk that happened more than six months ago, but it would just be a series of 'And then I we went there, and then we went there. And then, and then'.

We walked from Teddington to Twickenham. And, on another day, from Twickenham to Richmond.

So, instead, I give you:

Boats moored at Teddington

Lavender

Lock

Boatyard

Nymphs

 Duck on tyre

 Star and Garter

I didn't even tweet much that first day because I realised just as we were going out that my phone battery was nearly flat and I wanted to conserve it for more utilitarian purposes. On the second part of the outing, coming the weekend after the riots I only seemed to get excited by being escorted across the road by a very visible police presence!

More photos of this day out and others in the photo album London, with more detailed commentary! Also Boats and ships, Water fowl, Naked statues

Separately, I added 3 more photos to Wandle Way, one of the (many) secret treasures of wonderful South London. We cycled along it, so not really ideal for photography or tweeting! 

Wandle Way tweets:

• Cycling the Wandle Way. Coffee break at Merton Abbey Mills #lovelondon
• I suspect by the end of the day I shall be even more brown of face &arms. #easytan
• "Jimmy, my bike's broke. I need a man". Oops #gertfail
• Bike fixed now. As if by magic
• Hackbridge Station, the arse-end of the back of beyond. Only the two of us on platform but they play 'report suspicious behaviour', anyway.
• Home. The cycle ride equivalent of a ramble, a limber-up. Except for huffing and puffing up Nightingale Lane #outofcondition #wandleway

Some of my photo albums are in strict chronological order (some forward and some backward) and others reflect the order in which I uploaded the photos when I first opened this my third blog - and subsequently added to, or not. Confused? Yes, I am!

Streatham Common

But despite the kids from hell - or rather the childminders from hell - we managed to get something out of our visit to Streatham Common.

I am still getting used to my new camera; also I knew straightaway that the light was never going to do me favours (both are just excuses!)

I love it when in the middle of somewhere built up you get a brief glimpse of something that could theoretically be somewhere completely different - this brief stretch of Streatham Common North could easily be in the country

This is me in the Rookery



This is a cherry tree (or so it said on the label!)

This is a bit of a view of the terraced garden, cunningly taken to disguise the skyscrapers of Croydon otherwise visible on the horizon through the blue haze

And this is the bottom end of a fallen tree which has been left to rot away

On Streatham Common

The plan today had been to picnic on Streatham Common. The weather was not in our favour, so instead we had a rather indifferent pub lunch. We decided to walk on the Common, anyway, even if just to avoid the horrendous traffic queues on the High Road and catch a bus home.

For those of you that don't know, Streatham Common is a fairly large piece of green space. It's not massive, but it's certainly not a pocket park. It's certainly plenty big enough for kids to run around, especially on a weekday more-or-less in school term

View Larger Map

We stopped at the café halfway up and went to drink our coffees at the outside tables. I suppose there's about a dozen tables in a fenced-in space, just enough space in between them and no space for any more.

It was fairly busy, a party of five over there, a Mum and baby there, man and dog there, Mum with two quiet sitting children, woman with a book, us, and That Lot. Specifically two women of my age and eight girls age about 7 or 8, running around, screeching, yelling at each other. Perfectly legitimate play, and of course, it's healthy for children to run around. But in totally the wrong place. I had to keep interrupting what I was saying as another brat ran past screaming down my ear-hole.

Jimmy went to the loo, as I turned round yet again to glare at the screaming kids, I realised Woman-With-A-Book was looking exasperated. She turned to me and said "Can't they shut them up, they're completely ignoring them." Emboldened I went up to the women supposedly in charge of them, and said "There's a whole great big Common, do they have run around screaming in here, when people are trying to sit down quietly?"

One of them laughed. Not quite in my face, but clearly she thought it an absolute hoot that these children she was supposedly looking after (but was in fact ignoring) were being pains. So I mimicked her laugh back in her face, and she didn't like that. However, they  decided they were going. "Than God for that!" I exclaimed in a stage whisper. "We get the message," said the other arsehole bitch. But I didn't think they had, because there was no attempt to say to the kids "This isn't the best place to be running around screaming"

In time we finished our coffees and left the café and headed for the Rookery. I love The Rookery, a delightful secret. I don't go often because it's not so close to home; sadly I didn't go often either when it was much closer.

On Been There it says:

A beautiful Victorian garden in the middle of Streatham Common. Queen Victoria visited for the now gone spa waters  Tranquil even at the height of summer, an oasis in the middle of south London.

Indeed, outside is a sign saying in big letters "This is a quiet garden" and lists the activities that aren't permitted. It doesn't actually say 'No Noisy Brats' or even 'All children should be kept on leads' but *everyone* knows that people go there to read or contemplate.

But not this lot, oh no. The ghastly women sat on a bench on the terrace and the kids ran amok screaming their heads off as they chased round, their noise echoing round the natural bowl or amphitheatre. We tried to get away from them, not entirely possible because they were so loud, and when we returned to the main drag, we saw several independent adults looking at them, in annoyance or bewilderment; something was said, and suddenly, they cleared off again. 

This makes me really angry. As I say, I do think kids should get out and run around. There's a large well-equipped children's playground, there is a large open green space, so why they hell are they doing their running around specifically in areas not designed for it.

I am sick and tired of going out to places and having what should be a relaxing walk or sit-down ruined by out-of-control, atrociously parented children. I know I am not alone in this. I only had to look at the faces of the other café customers and the body-language of the other people in the Rookery that I am very much not alone in this.

It was abundantly clear to me that the ridiculous bints supposedly in charge of these children did not have the slightest clue what the matter was. These were women who knew each other via NCT classes and were dressed very presentably in clothes from shops such as Next, M&S: almost certainly educated and seemingly fairly prosperous.

Exactly the sort of people who complain loudly at how child-unfriendly Britain is. These ghastly women have probably ended up at home moaning to their husbands (who probably don't get home until after the children have gone to bed!) at how hostile everybody is to us 'just because we've got children'.

These two women were supposed to be looking after other people's children. I am not sure whether they were doing it for pay, or as part of a reciprocal arrangement, or as a favour (perhaps the school has failed to open, unexpectedly). But they were failing in their duty. These children encouraged to behave as if the world revolves around them grow up into teenagers and then adults who retain a sense of entitlement and are utterly bewildered as the rest of the world turns against them in hostility and disgust.

I think it's extremely unfair that these people behave like this. Not surprisingly, there were several elderly people in the Rookery; don't they have as much right to their relaxation as these kids?

It's very unfair to the children whose parents do know how to parent - the two sat quietly in the  café, or the little boy walking round the gardens with his nanny. It's unfair to anybody who has gone to the Rookery specifically for its advertised 'quiet' and its reputation for tranquillity.

And, actually, it's very unfair to the children themselves. They are not being taught about boundaries, about how we co-exist in a crowded city on a small island, or about consideration for others. It's all very well being right-on and going to NCT classes, but parenting doesn't stop there. I suspect that the children get a very clear message of being marginal to the lives of the adults who couldn't care less about them, who refuse to communicate or engage with them.