Canal Penetration

I do not appear to understand the concept of a short walk. This fact was brought home to me on Sunday. Having attended a wedding on Wednesday, I was feeling somewhat guilty at the Elvis-level calorie intake I had managed that day, and therefore had resolved to behave myself with a little more restraint. Sunday, I thought, would be an ideal day to get a little exercise. I thought it might be nice to do some more of the Regent’s Canal.

The Regent’s Canal, if you’re not familiar with it (though you may have some passing acquaintance with it if you’re a regular reader of this blog), is a waterway running from the Thames at Limehouse to the Grand Junction Canal at Paddington. The canal was opened in two sections – from Paddington to Camden in 1816 and Camden to Limehouse in 1820. In those days, before decent roads and railways, canals were the arteries of industry. The Grand Junction Canal was the quickest means of transporting goods in quantity from the industrial Midlands to London. The Regent’s Canal therefore served an important economic purpose, as it formed the final link between the Midlands and the Port of London and therefore the rest of the world. It survived the coming of the railways and the roads, but by the 1930s was largely obsolete.

Today, although there is a small amount of cargo, it’s primarily used for pleasure craft. The warehouses and factories that once lined its route have either been demolished or repurposed (most notably, one major interchange between rail and canal is now Camden Lock Market and the Stables). The towpath is a popular route with cyclists, walkers and idiots (yo).

My original intention was to only walk a short section of the canal, say Camden to King’s Cross or Islington. But I have this tendency, once I start walking, to keep on going far longer than is perhaps wise. As a result, I ended up walking all the way to Limehouse Basin. As I had previously walked from Camden to Paddington (hence the photos you have been seeing so far), I can now say that I have walked the full length of the canal.

From a psychogeographical point of view, what’s interesting about this walk is that it let me see familiar places from a different point of view. Of course, I’d seen the canal at Paddington, Regent’s Park, Camden, King’s Cross, St Pancras, Caledonian Road, Islington, Hackney and Limehouse before. Indeed, I’ve written about it in at least two of those locations in this very blog. But it had just been a landmark then, with no sort of context. I had some vague awareness that this stretch of canal was the same as that stretch of canal, but only as a theoretical thing. To experience the whole thing from a boat’s eye view, as it were, was rather novel. I think I’ve been enlightened in some way.

Anyway, I’ve waffled on for far too long already, given that this was supposed to be a photo-ey entry. I shall keep the prattle to a minimum from here on in, and instead continue to present my (usual crappy) photographs in geographical order from Paddington to Limehouse. Camden Lock is a notable omission here,  due to the fact that on neither of the walks presented here did I actually intend to document the entire canal.

One last point I would like to make is the range of contrast as you go along the river, from affluent Regent’s Park and Little Venice to the post-industrial landscape of the Docklands. I’ll shut up now. For now.

Sorry, me again. At this point on the walk, the canal cut through the hill at Islington, and I had to leave the towpath. Some explanation may be needed for the following photos.

I snapped this because I had walked along this road once before, a couple of years ago, desperately hungover. I was leaving the Barnsbury flat of a friend we shall simply call The Monster early one Sunday morning. I attracted disapproving looks from pious souls. Anyway, to end up here again was rather surprising.

I eventually reached Angel – you may recall that my first paid acting gig was near here. Despite my familiarity with the area, I wasn’t entirely sure how to get to the canal. Fortunately, this sign guided me. It may also explain some of the stranger sights coming up.

Isn’t this just the dearest little owl?

Spitalfields already? God be damned.

And Shoreditch! How we are honoured!

This is a nice thing to do with a block of council flats. Photographic portraits of local folk. It’s like Eastenders, only without the death and unimaginable horror.

Hackney. If you feel a chill down your spine, that is because we are but a stone’s throw from the Last Tuesday Society’s sinister museum.

A dilapidated narrowboat advocating the cleaning up of canals. This would be that famous bargees’ humour I’ve heard so much about.

Some sort of junction. Further investigation is required, I feel – especially as there’s something familiar about this canal here.

Lo the Isle of Dogs!

Herons are basically the easiest birds in the world to photograph. How I managed to make this one blurry enough to shame the most avid Bigfoot enthusiast is therefore beyond me.

I feel this toy boat has a story to tell.

We are so close, me hearties, I can practically taste that lime!

Is that not the viaduct of the London and Blackwall Railway?

It is! Limehouse! We made it! Long live, long live!

I say “we” made it, but mostly you just looked at photos. I didn’t want to make a big thing of this.

The Thames as the sun begins to set.

The Docklands Light Railway at Westferry. Everyone wants to get on the seats at the front of the train, but for a novel experience I recommend the seats at the back as you enter the tunnel for Bank. It’s like disappearing down a giant oesophagus.

 

Further Reading:

http://londonparticulars.wordpress.com/2010/07/18/talk-about-burning-your-bridges/
 - An earlier entry focusing on a particular part of the Regent’s Canal.

Give me some names

It’s been a pretty eventful weekend for Yr. Humble Chronicler. Long story short, on Saturday I done some politics, on Sunday I done some research. It’s now nearly bedtime, so I’m afraid today’s entry may be rather short. Don’t worry, there is much to speak of in the near future.

So, for now, just to make sure you don’t go away disappointed (I’m sure you were just aching for an entry on an amateurish blog to make your weekend complete), I’m going to answer a question that was put to me a little over a week ago. Namely, what’s with the names of the stations on the Docklands Light Railway?

The persons asking me this question were curious as to why the stations on the DLR have such bizarre names. Mudchute, Limehouse, Island Gardens, Cutty Sark, East India, Blackwall, Pudding Mill Lane, All Saints. Some of them are fairly obvious (Cutty Sark being named after the clipper Cutty Sark which is berthed there, London City Airport being named after London City Airport). Some not so much. One of the people asking the question was not from around here (being Icelandic) and so was at a particular disadvantage.

The reality is that, actually, most of the names are not that bizarre. They make perfect sense if you know the history of the area. Unlike many place names in London (Holborn, Islington, Euston) these “weird” ones are usually in plain, modern-day English, not commemorating some obscure aristo or long-vanished place.

The key to understanding many of these names is the fact that these are the Docklands – that is to say, the 19th century Port of London. The more exotic-sounding places are often so-called because, when the Docklands were still worthy of the name, they were served by vessels from that area. This accounts of East India, West India Quay, Cyprus and Canary Wharf (the Canary Islands, you see).

Others are named after features of the docks – this accounts for Pontoon Dock (named after a bridge rather than a pontoon, “pontoon” being derived from the French pont) and Custom House. Mudchute was simply a heap of mud, a dumping ground for the muck dredged out of the docks. Westferry was a ferry in the west (relatively speaking). Heron Quays were quays where herons might be seen. If you can’t work South Quay out then you have no business here.

The more regal names come from the fact that docks were often named after royalty. This accounts for King George V, Prince Regent, Royal Albert and Royal Victoria.

Bow Church and All Saints are both churches. Shadwell has a similarly holy name, being a contraction of “Saint Chad’s Well.”

Some are named in commemoration of local industrialists. Beck, Canning and Silver gave their names to Beckton, Canning Town and Silvertown respectively.

Some are derived from industrial practices no longer carried out there. Limehouse, that well-known den of vice and subversion, was once home to a number of lime kilns. One of the strangest names on the DLR is Pudding Mill Lane. However, it becomes saner once you realise that “pudding” was a term for offal (which survives, incidentally, in the term “black pudding”). A pudding mill was simply a place where said offal was processed. Woolwich Arsenal, of course, comes from the armaments factories that don’t exist any more – at least part of them is now a rather pricey-looking residential development. Woolwich’s arsenal, of course, had a football team that went pro and is now simply known as Arsenal.

Crossharbour is a modern name for a local development, as is London City Airport.

Poplar’s origins are not known for sure, but it’s suggested that there might once have been a poplar tree here that functioned as a local landmark.

Island Gardens is a Victorian pleasure garden on the Isle of Dogs. Hence, it does exactly what it says on the tin, as the kids say.

Cutty Sark, naturally, is named after the ship. The ship itself is named after a character in Burns’ poem Tam o’ Shanter, who in turn is named after her distinctive clothing. Cutty Sark, simply translated, means “short underwear.” There’s a puerile part of me that finds it amusing that there is a station commemorating a poor choice of undies.

Going to the Dogs

Kill it! Kill it! Kill it! Kill it! (near London Bridge)

As anyone will tell you, an expedition requires planning – it’s all very well talking about “the great unknown,” but only a madman would set out on a voyage of discovery with anything but the most rigorous preparation for anything he or she might encounter along the way. In general, deciding what you’re looking for after you’ve got on the train, as I did yesterday, is not a good idea.

What I was specifically trying to find was the launch site of Brunel’s magnificent steamship, the Great Eastern. All I knew was that it had been launched from Millwall. Had I known that I was going to look for the site, I’d probably have done a bit more research. As it was, I was exploring the Isle of Dogs with an A-Z and a series of educated guesses. It turns out the I-Love-Dogs is a complicated place to explore on foot, and not exactly congenial to the aimless wanderer.

Canary Wharf

It doesn’t help that the area consists of large, open spaces of water and huge, square tower blocks. The Canary Wharf development is as cold and windy as an 18th century slum lord (note to self: do not hit “publish” until you’ve found a better metaphor). Plus there’s the fact that you have to keep dodging around construction work.

Remnant of the Island's industrial heritage.

Every so often you’ll come across some random reminder of the Island’s industrial heritage. I, however, could find nothing whatsoever to indicate where the launch site might be. My A-Z listed something called the “Great Eastern Enterprise Centre,” but that was no help at all. You wouldn’t think it would be that difficult, the site must be seven hundred damn feet long.

Hydraulic ram ship-launching-type thing.

Anyway, after scouting around for a good couple of hours, earning suspicious looks from residents and police alike, I thought I’d call it a day and head back along the riverside. The riverside is where Millwall gets its name. Back in the day, the bank of the Thames supported seven windmills, taking advantage of the aforementioned windsweptness of the location. A wall was built to keep the ground stable, hence “mill wall.”

These concrete blocks now hold up the mill wall, hence are known as "mill wall supporters" har har.

In the nineteenth century, the area was a perfect location for the development of massive new enclosed docks that would relieve the pressure on the massively overwhelmed Pool of London and also reduce the risk of river piracy. It was also the only place in London where a ship as massive as the Great Eastern could be launched, and even then it had to go sideways.

I totally didn't notice that this bar was called 'The Heroin' when I doctored the image.

In due course, I found myself back at the West India Dock, a short walk from my starting point at Canary Wharf. Rather than accept that I’d wasted an afternoon and just going home, I thought I’d indulge in a bit of “stitching.” This is a psychogeographical term wot I am pretty sure I have invented. Basically, it’s when you explore the space between two areas that you have previously explored.

19th-century wharf, Limehouse. This is just exactly the sort of thing I've been looking for in the Docklands.

Hence, the two patches are psychologically “stitched” together, and can be related to each other. I figured that a short walk would allow me to stitch the Isle of Dogs to Limehouse. I’ve already walked from Limehouse to Shadwell, Shadwell to the City and the City to Bermondsey and London Bridge, so that’s a pretty good patchwork quilt thing I gots going on there. I also did a bit of exploring around Limehouse, because I’d only previously really covered a small area of the place.

The Grapes, part of an 18th century terrace in Narrow Street, Limehouse. Apparently The Grapes appears in Dickens' 'Our Mutual Friend', which I have never read.

Limehouse is a place that likes to make something of its history, which is fair enough. It’s a place with an interesting history and is probably vibrant, whatever that’s supposed to mean. For this reason, there are lots of signs dotted around explaining the history of what you’re looking at – hence the caption on the right. If you duck down the back streets, you can find plenty of remnants of its history, though sadly no opium dens. Having read The Picture of Dorian Gray, I was hoping to be seduced into a life of sin and licentiousness. Particularly as I had no plans last night.

Limehouse Basin. The viaduct in the background was built by the London and Blackwall Railway and is now part of the DLR.

Ramble ramble ramble. As you can see by these photos, by the time I got to the centre of Limehouse it was starting to get dark. However, being bored off my face and in an energetic mood, I decided that I’d stroll further on – into the City itself.

The end of Cable Street.

Rather than walk down the historically-significant Cable Street (you know, where the Battle of Cable Street was held), I figured I’d go via Commercial Road, which I recall as also being significant for some reason. Turns out that it just had a railway station that isn’t there any more.

Yeah, this is probably the worst photo I've ever taken.

I’ll spare you the endless psychogeographical-type photos that I took along the way. It was dark when most of them were taken anyway, so there’s not a huge amount to see. I quite like the art deco club on the right, though. It looks like it was once a cinema. Cinemas these days are just rubbish, I long for the days when cinemas actually looked a bit glamorous, like maybe you’d have an exciting night out just by stepping through the door. Hey ho.

Classic bus, Whitechapel.

In due course I arrived at what was either Whitechapel (according to the signs) or Aldgate East (according to the District Line). I suspect the station was named in the hope of filching some of the Metropolitan Railway’s traffic from a couple of hundred yards up the road, where Aldgate station is located. By the way, those of you who read this thing regularly may recall a previous expedition that took me from Embankment to Aldgate, so that’s some more stitching done. Aldgate is pretty well opposite Minories, so again, more stitching.

Leadenhall Market

Then it was a fairly short but meandering walk into the City. Well, technically anything past the site of Aldgate is the City, but I decided to make Bank my endpoint, because 1) it’s the station at the centre of the ancient city and 2) I could get a Tube straight home. I passed many interesting sights – the Lloyd’s building, Simpson’s eating house, the Jamaica Winehouse and Leadenhall Market among them. Unfortunately, most were too dark for me to take a decent photo, so sorry about that.

One last bit of stitching occurred when I reached Bank. The road you see on your right is the one I came down when I walked from Bethnal Green.

What did I learn from my walk? What pieces of enlightenment did I attain? Actually, I learnt lots of things and am a substantially better person as a result. Unfortunately, like many psychogeographers, I’m going to be all like “Oh you wouldn’t understand.” Sorry. Just what I do, dude.

(note to self: better come up with some fake wisdom or they’ll totally realise that psychogeographers are all making it up as they go along)

Five beasties to ruin your commute

Hurrah! Another Tube strike! I’m not entirely clear what this one is about, so I’ll just assume it’s because the Tube workers feel that Underground Ernie is demeaning to their profession until I hear otherwise.

This guy...

As usual, it’s something to do with Bob Crow, head of RMT, getting his knickers in a twist. I hesitate to use the words “Bob Crow” and “dinosaur” in the same sentence, but… well, everyone else does and I’m not established enough to buck the trend.

STOP PRESS: Apparently it’s something to do with pay. It’s not clear what involvement Underground Ernie has, if any.

So it looks like we’re all going to have to do that Blitz spirit thing for the next couple of days. Still, things could be worse, which is why I present to you…

FIVE BEASTIES TO RUIN YOUR COMMUTE

1. Werewolves

Seen in: An American Werewolf in London

 

Causing delays on: Northern Line, Central Line, local bus routes

Description: Of all the supernatural creatures to become, a werewolf seems to be pretty much the worst. Vampires have that whole Rule of Cool thing going on, ghosts get to perv on everyone and possess Whoopi Goldberg and zombies don’t give a damn as long as they get their brains. Werewolves, on the other hand, are the supernatural equivalent of an aggressive drunk – go out, get in some fights, wake up the next day with no memory and chunks of unidentified flesh in their teeth. In the case of this one, he’s doomed to have his victims haunt him like the world’s worst hangover.

On the plus side, he does get it on with Jenny Agutter, so it’s not all bad.

Commuting scene: Two. First, our man takes down a commuter in Tottenham Court Road Underground station late at night – another good reason why you shouldn’t leave it to the last train before going home. Then, later on, in a scene that could definitely not be filmed today, he goes completely apeshit in Piccadilly Circus and causes a massive pile-up.

How do we stop him? Unlike most werewolves, these ones seem able to be killed by regular bullets. If you can convince the wolf to chase you into Tooting, you’re home safe.

2. Rats

Seen in: James Herbert’s The Rats, Lair and Domain.

Causing delays on: The East London Line (so nothing to worry about for the time being).

Description: Radiation is a bugger, isn’t it? One minute it’s helping to treat cancer, the next it’s causing rats to become really big somehow. These ones are approximately dog-sized and have a ferocious appetite for, yes, human flesh. Actually, most mutations that don’t actively result in superpowers seem to cause a ferocious appetite for human flesh. I suppose that’s why the area around Chernobyl is so deserted.

Commuting scene: You know when the train stops in the middle of the tunnel for no apparent reason? Well, imagine how much worse it would be if the reason was huge bastarding rats swarming through the window. Suddenly signal failure doesn’t seem so bad.

How do we stop them? Well, luckily for us, it seems that in addition to becoming huge, these creatures also have a hive society. Kill the Queen and the rest will follow. Alternatively, I heard that what you need to do is get two dishes, right, and you fill one with a mix of flour and cement powder and the other with water. The rats go for the flour and scoff it down, then they get thirsty and drink the water. A few hours later, bam! Concrete rats!

3. The Infected

Seen in: 28 Days Later, 28 Weeks Later, ripped off by most subsequent zombie fiction.

Causing delays on: Piccadilly Line, Jubilee Line, Docklands Light Railway.

Description: The horror movie genre would be so much poorer if only people would just pay attention to the regulations. If the scientist says “Don’t let the chimp out because it’s infected with a disease that’s gonna hella kill everyone,” then assume he knows what he’s talking about. If your infected wife’s in quarantine, don’t go in for a snog. See, people joke about the fact that so many action films involve climactic fights in industrial locations with seemingly no safety precautions (The Terminator, Batman, The Fellowship of the Ring). But having seen the way people in movies behave, you can guarantee that if you did put a handrail up, someone would decide to jump over it anyway.

As a result, London is full of incredibly angry zombies. And I know, plenty of geeks will point out that they’re not technically zombies, but I’m too busy running to argue.

Commuting scene: In 28 Days Later, our heroes make their way along the Docklands Light Railway elevated track into the East End. In a deleted scene, they come across a DLR train that has been converted into a makeshift hospital. I don’t know why you’d think a DLR train would make a suitable hospital. By the way, am I the only person who still thinks it’s fun to sit at the front and pretend to be the driver?

In 28 Weeks Later, our heroes decide to venture into the Underground, because the best place to be when there are zombies running around is in a cramped and pitch-black tunnel. Filmed, like many movies set on the Underground, at the abandoned Aldwych station and the old Jubilee Line platforms at Charing Cross.

If zombies are too much for you, you could always take a taxi…

How do we stop them? Well, as noted above, these zombies aren’t technically undead. They’re just really, really pissed off. Regular bullets will do for them. Fire looks pretty cool, but ultimately you end up with a dude running around on fire and making a nuisance of himself.

4. Martians

Seen in: Quatermass and the Pit (TV and movie version)

Causing delays on: Construction work on the Victoria Line, possibly the Piccadilly Line. Listen out for announcements.

Description: There’s always some excuse with TfL, isn’t there? “Signal failures.” “Defective trains.” “During construction work we came across an ancient alien spaceship and now it’s causing everyone in London to start bashing one another’s heads in.” The Quatermass BBC TV serials and subsequent film adaptations are an obvious influence on the later Doctor Who, and Quatermass and the Pit, in which occult shenanigans turn out to be a malign ancient alien influence, is the obvious precursor to the stories The Daemons and The Impossible Planet/The Satan Pit. That tells you most of what you need to know – these aliens came to Earth, did some genetic nastiness and live on in our collective memories as the Devil.

Commuting scene: It’s mentioned in the original serial that they caused trouble when the fictional Hobb’s Lane Underground station was opened in 1927. I’d suggest, given the date and the fact that Hobb’s Lane is somewhere in Knightsbridge, that this was the Piccadilly Line.

In the Hammer remake, the spaceship is unearthed during construction work on the Victoria Line at Hobb’s End. This was the second worst discovery during construction, the worst of all being when they realised they’d be going through Stockwell.

How do we stop them? Well, the bad news is that they’re already dead. However, given that they form the basis of our belief in demons, poltergeists and all that jazz, a little study of the occult may come in handy.

5. Mutant tube workers

Seen in: Death Line (released in the US as Raw Meat)

Causing delays on: Piccadilly Line

Description: Yet another good reason not to leave it until the last train before going home. Death Line concerns a family of mutant cannibal wossnames that have descended fromVictorian underground workers and now dwell in the incomplete Museum station. They lead a carefree existence, picking off and eating commuters from Russell Square and Holborn. Yr. Humble Chronicler, who works in Bloomsbury, now prefers to walk the extra distance to St Pancras.

Commuting scene: Pretty much the whole thing.

A still from the film. Can you spot the mistake, Tubeheads?

How do we stop them? Send Bob Crow down there and wait for them to go on strike.