Beneath the Grave – Ghosts of the Central Line

Good evening, fright-fans, it is I, Tom, your extravagantly-cleavaged Master of the Dark [picture inadmissable]. As Halloween approaches with the inevitability of death, I thought an appropriately-themed entry might be in order. As last year’s entry on the ghosts haunting the Northern Line was so popular, I figured I might continue the theme with the hauntings on the old Central London Railway or, as the kids call it nowadays, the Central Line. Mind the gap…

Northolt

You’ve all heard of the Beast of Bodmin, but did you know there was a Beast of Northolt? In the early 1990s, there were several sightings of a big cat alongside the Central Line between Northolt and Greenford. Accounts vary as to the species of cat, although most seem to settle on “puma.” Whence it came and how it got to Northolt without being noticed remain to be explained.

Marble Arch

If you should find yourself leaving Marble Arch late at night, when the station is quiet, you may find yourself being followed up the escalator. Several people have reported a sinister man in 1940s clothing who they sense close behind them on the escalator and see out of the corner of their eye. Upon turning around completely, the man vanishes. Again, no explanation has been offered as to who this restless spirit might be.

British Museum

Perhaps the most unlikely ghost out of the many on the Underground was sighted at this now-closed station. The ghost would, so the story goes, appear at one end of the platform and walk to the other, wailing mournfully. What marked this particular spectre out, however, was the fact that he was dressed in the clobber of an Ancient Egyptian. Being the intelligent and probably very sexy reader that you are, you’ve no doubt figured out why there might be an Ancient Egyptian haunting British Museum Station. To be more specific, the Egyptian is said to have some sort of link to the so-called Unlucky Mummy (pictured right), a sarcophagus lid in the Museum that is said to be cursed. This is just one of many legends attached to it, the most interesting of which says that it was responsible for sinking the Titanic.

Even bearing in mind that I’m a sceptic, I’m inclined to take this one with a pinch of salt. The accounts are lacking in detail and only emerged shortly before the station was closed down. I’m inclined to believe it was the invention of a journalist looking for a spooky story. Nevertheless, the story persists, albeit with the ghost now haunting Holborn. Why Holborn and not the closer Russell Square or Tottenham Court Road stations? It is a mystery.

Chancery Lane

Chancery Lane has plenty of secrets of its own, but in the tunnels between here and Holborn, there’s said to be one more surprise. During the 1960s,drivers stopping at signals here would often be freaked out by the appearance of a man standing next to them in the cab. Apparently some sort of fellow crewman, he would be staring straight ahead, and would vanish as soon as the train pulled away.

Bank

I covered the manife-stations (see what I did there) at this stop in last year’s entry, but I thought I’d mention that it’s a haunted station on the Central Line for those pedants who’ll leave comments if I don’t.

Liverpool Street

This terminus is built on the site of a plague pit and one of the several incarnations of the notorious Bedlam. The building of this and neighbouring Broad Street Station involved the disturbance of many final resting places, so really it would be surprising if there were no hauntings here. Sure enough, Liverpool Street and environs are said to be haunted by the ghastly screams of a woman.

The most popular suggestion for the screamer is one Rebecca Griffiths, an inmate at Bedlam in the late 18th century whose illness included a compulsive need to hold on to a particular coin. Upon her death, one of the staff (who were not known for their selflessness) stole it from her lifeless fingers and Rebecca’s inconsolable spirit searches for it still.

More recently, in 2000, the Line Controller sighted a man in white overalls in the tunnels who should not have been there. He sent the Station Supervisor to investigate, who found nothing. What made this particularly peculiar was that the Supervisor found no man down there – even though the Controller could see the man on the CCTV screen right next to him.

Bethnal Green

I’ll finish with the Easternmost of the haunted Central Line stations that I’m aware of, and one of the most frightening hauntings. This one is traceable to a specific incident that took place on 3rd March 1943. As often happened in the East End at that time, when the air raid siren sounded, the local people made for the Tube station. Unfortunately, on this night it had been decided to carry out a test-firing of an experimental new type of rocket in nearby Victoria Park. Panicked by what sounded like a very nearby explosion, the crowds surged forward. A woman on the stairs lost her footing and fell, taking several others with her and causing further panic, which in turn worsened the stampede and the crush inside the station. 173 people were killed in the disaster, crushed or asphyxiated. For reasons of morale, the Bethnal Green incident was covered up until 1946.

From 1981 onwards, however, there were reports of an extremely unnerving nature from the station. Staff working late at night spoke of hearing screams – at first one or two, then more and more, clearly identifiable as women and children. These screams would go on for up to fifteen minutes before dying down.

There you have it, readers. I hope you enjoy your Halloween this year and whatever you do, don’t have nightmares…

Fully Booked

Right, chums, I think I’ve finally got the last of my Christmas shopping done. Hmm, that’s odd, I seem to recall having more money than that. Oh well.

I realise that many people here are not so fortunate – indeed, I myself have only got mine complete now as a result of a short-term change in my working hours. I feel I ought to do something to help. Here, therefore, are six of my favourite specialist bookshops for those obscure volumes that you can’t find anywhere else that make awesome presents if you know people of a literary bent and that.

I’m going to steer clear of second-hand and bargain bookshops, and also chains. So much as I’d love to, I can’t talk about Forbidden Planet or The Lamb, although both are excellent in their own way. I am also steering clear of those bookshops attached to museums, though these too are fine places for that specialist tome (The Cartoon Museum and the London Transport Museum both have excellent selections on their respective subjects) for the simple reason that they’d likely end up dominating the list. But do bear them in mind.

Anyway, without further ado…

1. Gosh! Comics

Specialises in: Graphic novels

Where is it? 39 Great Russell Street, WC1B

Nearest Tube: Tottenham Court Road or Holborn

There’s no shortage of comics shops in London, but to my mind Gosh! is the best. Comic shops have a tendency to be slightly grotty and a little intimidating to the novice. Gosh! is far more user-friendly, with less emphasis on mouldering racks of old Marvels and more on indie graphic novels, the kind of hip things that get reviewed in The Guardian. There’s also a superb selection of classic illustrated children’s books if you want something for the kids. An occasional treat for comic geeks like me is the signings they had – Hurricane Jack and I were once privileged to attend a signing by the great and hirstute Alan Moore. He’s really very friendly in real life.

http://www.goshlondon.com/

2. Motor Books

Specialises in: Car and other transport books

Where is it? 13-15 Cecil Court, WC2N

Nearest Tube: Leicester Square

Motor Books describes itself as “the world’s oldest motoring bookshop,” and it’s situated on the eminently bumble-able street of Cecil Court. It has a fantastic selection of books on all transport subjects, but as the name suggests, particularly specialises in those related to automobilia, arranged by category and marque. I’m no petrol-head, but even I was able to almost instantly find one of the books I was searching for. The staff are marvellous, and were able to pinpoint the second book right away. Given that both titles were fairly obscure, I must say I was most impressed.

http://www.motorbooks.co.uk/

3. Persephone

Specialises in: Obscure 20th century books by female novelists

Where is it? 59 Lambs Conduit Street

Nearest Tube: Russell Square or Holborn

Persephone is both bookshop and small-press publisher, publishing mainly female-authored books of the twentieth century that have been allowed to go out of print. Famed authors in their day now unjustly forgotten, lesser-known works by well-known writers and even cookbooks and diaries from bygone eras, all are liable to appear in the distinctive grey covers of Persephone. The bookshop has a real intimacy about it, and not just because it’s small. The staff are extremely knowledgeable and ready to provide advice (Yr. Humble Chronicler being less than familiar with between-the-wars women’s fiction). There’s a regular newsletter, too, and you get the feeling that Persephone is the sort of place that likes to nurture a regular customer base. Which is super.

http://www.persephonebooks.co.uk/index.asp

4. Housman’s

Specialises in: Radical literature

Where is it? 5 Caledonian Road, King’s Cross

Nearest Tube: King’s Cross St Pancras

I suspect this is a shop whose time has definitely come, what with the Coalition working hard to piss everyone off simultaneously. Therefore, you may find this place just the ticket if you’re looking for an alternative. Opened in 1945 as an offshoot of the pacifist movement, it offers a massive selection of political literature, including books, pamphlets and zines. However, if you’re not a very political person, but you are a regular on this blog, you may also wish to examine their massive wall of London-based books. Up the workers, and so forth.

http://www.housmans.com/index.php

5. Gay’s The Word

Specialises in: LGBT books

Where is it? 66 Marchmont Street

Nearest Tube: Russell Square

Gay’s The Word proudly advertises itself as the only specialist gay and lesbian bookshop in London, and its selection is very impressive indeed – they cover the whole spectrum from light-hearted fiction to in-depth political tomes, not to mention a fine range of cards and magazines on queer topics. I was rather taken by Sodomy and the Pirate Tradition, as well as a couple of books on the history of gay London. Recommended to anyone with an interest in gender politics, regardless of orientation.

http://freespace.virgin.net/gays.theword/

6. The School of Life

Specialising in: Philosophy, life improvement, self-help… I’ll get back to you on that one.

Where is it? 70 Marchmont Street

Nearest Tube: Russell Square

The School of Life was founded by Alain de Botton. Not strictly a bookshop, it nevertheless does sell an excellent range of books on topics that are related to improving your life. How to enjoy work, how to be ethical, how to take advantage of the simple pleasures of life, how to make relationships work, how to be happy – anything relating to life that’s not easily categorised. The chances are that you’ll find three or four different books you’ll want yourself, along with a bunch for your friends. Bring money, is what I’m saying.

http://www.theschooloflife.com/

Going Postal

I’ve written about abandoned Underground stations before, and even entire abandoned lines beneath London’s streets. This one, however, is a real one-off. Whereas most of the abandoned spurs of the Tube were closed due to lack of passengers, this one never had any passengers at all. Despite this, it lasted seventy-six years. It ran through Central London and had eight stations. And it was never actually owned by London Transport.

Give up? Actually, some of you have probably already worked it out, and may allow yourselves a smug grin. I’m talking about the London Post Office Railway.

The London Post Office Railway was opened in 1927. It carried letters and parcels from Paddington in the west to the Whitechapel in the east. Its “stations” were sorting offices. At its peak, it was carrying over four million letters per day. Its trains were automatically controlled and electrically driven, operating for nineteen hours a day and 256 days a year.

It wasn’t the first such railway – it wasn’t even the first such railway in London, in fact. Inspiration came from the Chicago Tunnel Company’s freight-only subway system. Like the Post Office Railway, this was narrow gauge and electrically powered, opening in 1906. Yet while this was the most obvious source of inspiration, even this was a whippersnapper compared to London’s first post office Tubes.

The very, very first experimental postal railway was a short line in Battersea, built in 1861 and shown right. It was air-powered, built by the Pneumatic Despatch Company. The experiment was a success. The Post Office, fearing competition from the increasingly popular telegraph service, expressed a strong interest, as did the London and North Western Railway. The first ”proper” line was opened on 15th January 1863 – just five days after the Metropolitan Railway, the first underground passenger line – and ran from the LNWR’s Euston Station to the North West District Sorting Office. This was later extended to Holborn and later Cheapside and Gresham Street. The company had grand plans for an entire network of lines under the city, but as it happened, despite very favourable rates, the Post Office weren’t all that interested after all. The system went bust in 1875. At least one of the knee-high carriages survives in the Museum of London’s collection and the tunnels are now used for cables.

I’ve mentioned before that gridlock in the city is nothing new, and in the early years of the twentieth century this prompted the Post Office to take another look at the underground railway idea. Approval was given in 1911, construction began in 1915 and the system was open in time for Christmas 1927. As well as Paddington and the Eastern District Post Office in Whitechapel, the six-and-a-half-mile-long line called at six intermediate stops, including Liverpool Street station and the main sorting office at Mount Pleasant in Clerkenwell. The trains, if you can call them that, were stored and maintained at a depot under Mount Pleasant.

[PARENTHESIS: Mount Pleasant actually sounds like a rather pleasant place. In reality, the name derives from heaps of industrial waste on the banks of the River Fleet. This is the famous British sense of irony at work]

1930-built train, preserved at the National Railway Museum in York.

The railway, as I said earlier, was a great success, reaching its peak after the Second World War. Extensions serving Euston, King’s Cross, Camden, Islington, Waterloo, Southwark, Cannon Street and latterly Willesden were proposed but never constructed. It kept going through the War, despite one direct hit at Mount Pleasant in 1943, and like so many other Tube lines, served as an air raid shelter (albeit one used only by staff).

"What'll I tell the wife, Jess?"

The post office, ‘lack the day, isn’t exactly the most hip and with-it service, and with the coming of the Information Age had to make a few changes. This included cutting many post offices, several sorting offices and Postman Pat. I’m not joking about that last one, by the way. The Post Office used to sponsor Postman Pat, it doesn’t any more and in the most recent series he no longer works for them. As you can see in the above picture, he is a victim of red tape.

As a result of the cuts, by the late 1990s there were only four stations left on the Post Office Railway. The Post Office dynamically responded by renaming the system “Mail Rail” in 1997. In 2003, when it was decided that the Paddington sorting office would be moved, Royal Mail threw up their hands and decided to close the damn railway once and for all. There were protests of mismanagement from the Communication Workers’ Union, who argued that the line wouldn’t be so expensive to run if it was properly maintained and used to its full capacity. Nevertheless, it was decided that the post would go by road, which was cheaper. So on 30th May, it rattled off into the history books. It may be relevant to note that this was also the year when post trains disappeared from national rail.

Although the line was never as well-known or glamorous as its passenger-carrying chums, it’s had a couple of moments in the sun. In 1997, it was used in the BBC fantasy series Neverwhere (along with various other nooks and crannies of subterrainean London) and in 1990 it posed as a Vatican line in the flop movie Hudson Hawk, making Bruce Willis one of its fewpassengers. I’m told the latter film is alright if you suspend your disbelief, lower your expectations and have a sense of humour about it – beer helps.

A few of the trains have been preserved. The tunnels have been mothballed. Every so often someone suggests a use for them – while they’re very unlikely to ever see use for post again, they could conceivably be used for goods traffic. One idea is that they might be used for valuable or perishable items. I’ve even heard it suggested that it might be used for passengers, but this idea is frankly barmy – the trains were barely wide enough for one person, let alone enough for the line to pay its way, and rebuilding seems a little pointless given the extent of work needed. I fear that the London Post Office Railway is destined to remain one of those abandoned curiosities beneath our feet. Still, we can hope…

Further Reading

http://www.mailrail.co.uk/
 - Excellent fan site from which I got much of the information in this entry. Not updated since the line’s closure, sadly, but otherwise very comprehensive.

A Socialistic Enterprise

Life in London is expensive, I won’t deny that. You’ve either got to spend a fortune to live reasonably near the centre, or you’ve got to spend a fortune on travel. That’s before the other costs of living are factored in. And this is why I was intrigued to see this shop appearing.

This site on Lamb’s Conduit Street in Bloomsbury was previously occupied by one of those slightly dodgy convenience stores – one of those ones that’s a bit crappy and looks like it might be the front for some sort of criminal enterprise. I must admit that when it closed, I thought it would become a Tesco Metro or Sainsbury’s Local for sure. Fortunately, it was not to be (probably because there’s one of each within five minutes’ walk).

What we’re getting instead is an interesting little experiment. It calls itself “The People’s Supermarket,” run by locals for locals on a not-for-profit basis. The idea is that it can cut its overheads by using a membership system. The way this works is that if you are a member of the co-operative, you volunteer your time in staffing the shop. In lieu of pay, you get a discount on goods sold there. You also get some say in policy and, says founder Arthur Potts-Dawson, the shop aims in this way to serve the unique needs of the local community. One in Bloomsbury may not operate in the same fashion as one in Bermondsey, one in Fulwell may not operate the same as one in Fulham.

Meanwhile, in line with the “shop local” philosophy, the produce on sale is to be sourced locally. Or at least, as locally as you can get when you’re in the middle of the city. Apparently one by-product of this is that they will focus on “seasonality,” which could be a good thing or a bad thing.

There is a precedent for this sort of thing. The promotional leaflet (from which most of the info in this entry is culled) talks about Park Slope in Brooklyn, which has been doing this sort of thing for the better part of four decades.

Will the idea work over here? Hard to say, I’ve never come across anything like it in London. However, Bloomsbury is a (relatively) residential area, and Lamb’s Conduit Street and nearby Marchmont Street have no shortage of independent shops, so maybe it has a shot here. I definitely think it’s an idea worthy of support in this day and age, and I’ll be keeping an eye on it (I’m sure they’ll be glad to hear that).

Workers of the world unite!

Further Reading

http://www.peoplessupermarket.org/
 The website.

http://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/food-and-drink/features/arthur-potts-dawson-lets-take-on-tesco-with-a-peoples-supermarket-1648257.html
 - Article from March explaining the concept.

www.foodcoop.com The American original.

Fly me to the Moon

George Orwell is, of course, best known for his political writings – Nineteen Eighty Four, Animal Farm, Down and Out in Paris and London and, of course, his Cerys Matthews biography, Homage to Catatonia. When he wasn’t busy being political, satirising the BBC or annoying T. S. Eliot, he was a man who enjoyed a good pint.

Unlike his contemporaries Dylan Thomas and Nina Hamnett, Orwell wasn’t an excessive drinker (although he was an excessive smoker, as alluded to by his essay Books vs. Cigarettes). He favoured the simple pint of beer, though never lager.

I have mentioned his once-favoured watering hole, the Fitzroy Tavern, in these pages a number of times before. However, this was not his perfect London pub. His perfect London pub was a little place called The Moon Under Water.

The Moon Under Water, despite what the photograph on the right may imply, was entirely fictional. It formed the title of a 1946 essay for the Evening Standard in which he set out his description of what he considered to be the perfect London pub.

He describes it as being two minutes from the bus stop and on a side street – this would more-or-less fit the Fitzroy, the Wheatsheaf and the dearly departed Beer House, Orwell’s three favourite hostelries. He says that despite this, the Moon is entirely free from drunks and rowdies, “even on a Saturday night.” Yr. Humble Chronicler does know of such a bar in Soho, but I’m afraid I’m keeping it to myself.

The Princess Louise

He says that the whole place should be “uncompromisingly Victorian,” but not in a fake way. I’m with him on this, partly because I hate the sleek, modern West End bars where the staff are very pretty but can’t pour a decent pint to save their lives (if you can even get a pint, that is). I know of several London pubs that are broadly Victorian in decor, including several in the West End. To my mind, the most uncompromisingly Victorian pub in London is the utterly beautiful Princess Louise in Holborn, which for many years boasted that it had last been redecorated in 1890. Then a few years ago they redecorated it again, but fortunately kept the old fixtures and fittings.

The clientele, Orwell suggested, should largely be regulars who are there for the conversation. This is interesting, as Orwell was not a naturally gregarious fellow, and often found it difficult to talk to people about anything other than politics.

The range of food he suggests should be readily available would not, I suspect, be found in any non-gastro-pub in London. Cheese, pickles, caraway seed biscuits and liver sausage sandwiches are unusual bar snacks today, and as for his suggestion of mussels, given that most pubs can’t even microwave properly, I certainly wouldn’t trust them with shellfish. A hearty lunch is a possibility, though rare due to the aforementioned dependence on the microwave (here, even the Fitzroy falls down).

Some of his criteria are simply unknown today – he considers the serving of beer in a handleless glass to be a “mistake.” Strawberry-pink china mugs, his favoured drinking vessel, are entirely alien to the modern drinker (though Orwell admits that even then they were a rarity in London).

He says that perhaps the most desirable quality of such a pub is that it should have a decent garden, although he admits that he knows of only three such pubs (none of which he names). I myself have encountered none in the City or West End. The King’s Head in Islington has a small garden, not accessible to the public, and the Dolphin in Hackney has a patio out back (at least, I think it does, I was drunk at the time). There are many more out in the suburbs.

Although Orwell’s pub was never real, the Wetherspoon’s chain of pubs was set up with his essay in mind – hence the large number of such pubs with the word “Moon” in the title, including several Moons-Under-Water. I suspect Wetherspoon’s was not what Orwell had in mind, given its straight glasses, young bar staff, lagers, fake-Victorian decor and heinous numbers of chavs. They did boast (possibly they still do, it’s a while since I’ve been in one) of having no music to allow conversation, as Orwell stipulated, but I suspect this was also to keep overheads down – no music, no royalties.

So, Orwell’s pub remains but a dream, and with pubs closing at an alarming rate, I suspect it will some day become entirely irrelevant. Which is a shame. I’d like a strawberry-pink china mug one of these days.

Further Reading

http://www.whitebeertravels.co.uk/orwell.html#moon
 - The full essay.

http://londonparticulars.wordpress.com/2009/08/09/puttin-on-the-fitz/
 - In which the Fitzroy is discussed.

http://londonparticulars.wordpress.com/2009/08/16/a-bright-cold-day-in-april/
 - George Orwell, the West End and Nineteen Eighty-Four.

Duck and cover

Yr. Humble Chronicler must confess a morbid fascination with the nuclear paranoia of the Cold War era. I have both Threads and The War Game on DVD and, in the event of an atomic strike on London, I know exactly where to place my fallout shelter for maximum safety (Antarctica).

So I was intrigued to learn that there’s a nuclear bunker directly under the streets of London. Of course, Kelvedon Hatch out in Essex is more well-known (and, if certain conspiracy theorists are to be believed, it was the main reason for the Ongar branch of the Central Line being kept open for as long as it was). But there was, and still is, one rather closer to the action – right beneath High Holborn.

I have spoken previously about the deep-level shelters constructed during World War II as a joint venture between the Home Office and London Transport. To briefly sum up, this was a series of air raid shelters built next to existing Underground stations with the intention, post-war, of turning them into the basis of an express line. These were mostly on the Northern Line, but one was built at Chancery Lane and turned into a bomb-proof communications centre. It briefly served as a billet for troops awaiting D-Day, but in 1949 was handed over to the Post Office and became known as the Kingsway Telephone Exchange.

Goods entrance, Furnival Street

Work was carried out to expand and improve the site with the intention of making it atomic blast-proof. The idea was that, in the event of nuclear war, it would be possible to maintain communications between London, Birmingham and Manchester even after a strike. I’m not sure what conversations would consist of. “How’s things over there?” “Oh, you know, same old, same old. My teeth fell out today.” “Oh, what a drag. It’s the vomiting I can’t stand.”

To this end, the tunnels were turned into, effectively, an underground village. They featured accommodation for staff, an artesian well, rations for up to five weeks, a cinema screen, a billiard room and even a bar. This latter was reputed to be the deepest bar in Britain, bringing a whole new meaning to the term “dive bar.” It’s fair to say that if I was a telephone engineer stuck down there while my family and friends burned up above, the first thing I’d want to do is get blind drunk, so that was most prescient of the builders.

The nearly-200 staff down there didn’t just sit around waiting patiently for the world to end, of course. The site saw plenty of other use, most of it to do with telecommunications and probably not of interest to you. Apologies to the three people reading this who actually are interested in telecommunications. However, one very notable cable that passed through was that of the famous “Red Phone,” the hotline between the Premier of the USSR and the President of the USA following the colossal foul-up that was the Cuban Missile Crisis. Is it ironic that a bomb shelter should help to prevent war?

Vents for the shelter. These were demolished in 2001.

During the Cold War, it goes without saying that the whole thing was top secret – legend has it that foreign labour was used to prevent anyone communicating its whereabouts, and even now its exact location is supposed to be top secret. Having said that, the Daily Express went and revealed the whole thing in 1951, and in 1979 a detailed plan was published and may be viewed online.

Shelter entrance at 32 High Holborn. Sadly blocked by scaffolding when I took this.

As you might imagine, the shelter lost its function with the end of the Cold War. Quite apart from anything else, the equipment therein was by now largely obsolete. Therefore, in 2008, the whole lot was put up for sale. There’s not a whole lot you can do with an old air raid shelter, described by its workers as being like “living in a submarine.” It’s unsuitable as living, working or leisure space, and its best bet would probably be as storage space.

These days, there’s even less to show that the Kingsway Telephone Exchange was ever there. If you know what you’re looking for, you can find entrances on High Holborn and Furnival Street. There are those who proclaim that this was part of an even vaster network of underground tunnels stretching as far as Whitehall, Waterloo and Bethnal Green, though I remain sceptical. What is true is that there was an entrance from the main Chancery Lane Underground Station.

So, you knew about the Tube shelters in the Second World War. Now you know about one for the Third. Sleep well.

Further Reading

http://londonparticulars.wordpress.com/2010/04/21/underground-cinema/
 - A bit about the Aldwych branch of the Piccadilly Line, yet another weird abandoned thing under Holborn.

Tramorama

Some of you South London folk might be familiar with the Tramlink, the (relatively) new service that links Wimbledon with Croydon for some reason. It appears to have been a success, and a number of other tram and light rail schemes have been proposed for the 21st century. Some are more realistic than others, and my proposal for a tram running from my front door to the Tube station has sadly been shot down, despite the obvious benefits to the local community.

At this point, I usually like to go all wise and mysterious, tapping my nose. So if you could imagine that I’m doing that, that would help me a lot.

Anyway. Ah, but did you know that this is far from the first tram in London? The first trams were horse-drawn and appeared in 1860, introduced by George Francis Train, an American eccentric and the possible inspiration for Jules Verne’s Phileas Fogg character. Experiments in steam, cable haulage and battery power all made their appearance, but gradually electricity from overhead wires or a conduit between the rails became the norm. By the First World War, there was an extensive network of trams serving the suburbs of London.

Alas, the heyday of the trams was to be short-lived. By the 1930s, it was clear that motor buses were the way forward. They cost less to maintain, they didn’t need a complicated infrastructure and they were far more flexible than the trams. Admittedly they could carry fewer passengers, but this was seen as a small price to pay. There was also, it’s fair to say, a certain amount of politics involved. In 1933, trams were taken over by London Transport, who ploughed the profits they made into repaying debt rather than investing in improvements in the network. They favoured Underground trains and the not-much-more-flexible trolleybus. From the 1930s onwards, the system was run down and closed and on 6th July 1952, the last tram for forty-eight years ran in London.

London trams preserved at Acton. The one in the foreground is known as the Feltham type. Next to it is an E/3.

And that was it for the old tramways. Such tramlines as remained were removed, to the delight of cyclists across the city. Some bits lingered longer than others – Fulwell Bus Garage had a number of surviving tracks until a few years ago. A number of tram buildings survive, some as bus depots and others put to other uses. I recommend Tooting Tram and Social, a pub, to all tram fans. As its name implies, it used to be a tram shed. It retains a number of the old London Transport fittings and, since being refurbished, you have almost zero chance of getting stabbed in there. A great improvement on the old days.

There is one virtually unchanged reminder of the old days in Holborn. I speak, of course, of the Kingsway subway.

Kingsway Subway, Saturday 12th December 2009, 5.30am. Yes, it was a good party now you come to mention it.

This opened in February 1906 and ran from Holborn to the Embankment, designed to link the Northern and Southern parts of the London County Council’s tramway system together. Putting it underground would, of course, minimise disruption to traffic. What’s less well known is that there were a number of other proposals for tram subways at the time. One would run from Victoria to Marble Arch, another from Aldgate to Knightsbridge and one from St Paul’s to Aldersgate. These would have linked up, and the Kingsway subway would not have reached the Embankment but rather would have taken a sharp right along the Strand. Sadly (depending on your point of view), none of these plans were implemented.

The single-decker tramcar in the middle is an F class, designed for use in the subway.

It was originally only able to take single-deck tramcars, as pictured left, of the F and G class. By the 1920s it was becoming clear that this was a bit stupid, as double-decker cars were the norm. Between 1930 and 1931, the subway was enlarged to allow the new E/3 double decker cars (one of which may be seen above) to work through.

Its fortunes faded with those of the rest of the network, and the last regular service took place on 5th April 1952, just after midnight. This wasn’t quite the end, however. Part of the tunnel was converted for motor use and opened in 1964 as the Strand Underpass. Another part was used to house London’s flood control HQ prior to the opening of the Thames Barrier. The southern end, which came out beneath Waterloo Bridge, is now a bar.

Sticker on the pavement on Kingsway.

The northern end, however, is very much intact. It has been used as a store in its time, but is now grade-II listed. The tram station is still in place and, as you can see in the night time photo above, the tracks are still in situ. It underwent some refurbishment this year, and hosted an art installation called ‘Chord’ by Conrad Shaw. It remains innocuous and obscure, but it’s good to see that it’s been saved for the foreseeable future. It’s partly protected by the fact that it’s virtually useless as anything but an abandoned tunnel. A fine venue for filming or exhibitions, but no use as a transport link or for conversion into anything else. Excellent.

Further reading

http://www.measure.org.uk/show11/ex_11_open.html
 - Chord

http://underground-history.co.uk/kwupass.php
 - A walk through the underpass.

Snow Days Don’t Count

The British Museum. Just near here I met a bunch of New Yorkers who were quite surprised that this was all it took to bring the city to a halt.

This was the sight that greeted me when I woke up.  I mean seriously dude.

Shin-deep snow. The only time I can recall encountering deeper snow in London was back in the 1980s, when it came up to my knees. Mind you, I was three at the time.

While attempting to take this Highly Symbolic Picture of an Underground sign covered in snow, I failed to notice the office block sneaking up on me from round the corner. In the ensuing battle I lost three teeth and a leg.

The junction at Tottenham Court Road.

Looking towards High Holborn. This junction is normally so jammed that it’s impossible to cross. In fact, it’s so crowded with traffic that I once saw a policeman do three drivers for obstruction in one go. Ha ha ha that was funny.

Bloomsbury Square. No humorous caption I’m afraid.

Charles James Fox had himself cryogenically frozen at the moment of his death, along with his entire garden. It is now all he is remembered for. Memento mori.

Looking towards Great Ormond Street. As a meta thing, the guy right in front was just taking a photo himself.

Harry was staying at Hogwarts for another Christmas.

London Lies – Part 1 of a Series

The above photo depicts the old Colonnade factory near Russell Square.  Colonnade was a drink manufactured by Holborn pharmacist G. R. Ferdinand following a trip to the United States in the 1890s. While there, he was intrigued by drinks such as Coca-Cola and Pepsi-Cola, marketed both for their thirst-quenching ability and their supposed medicinal properties. Ferdinand believed he could produce and market a similarly successful product in Britain, and set to work on his return. He claimed to have discovered the secret flavour in Coca-Cola (fear, according to his notes), but this was later dismissed as a publicity stunt.

Colonnade went on sale in 1893, originally under the name Colon-Lemonade. The snappier name came the following year, and in 1900 he built his factory. Unfortunately, the increased manufacturing base brought with it an increase in scrutiny, and a health and safety inspection found that many of the ingredients in Colonnade were in fact far from healthful – the corrosive effects of the fumes may be seen on the underside of the factory entrance in the photograph.

It was a disaster. The drink was taken off the market immediately. An attempt to relaunch in 1902 with the reformulated “New Colonnade” was unsuccessful, and the factory shut its gates for good on 23rd July that year. Remaining stocks were sold to the Metropolitan Water Works Board, who used it to unblock sewers and kill rats.