"Child of the first war, forgotten by the second, we called you Metro-land.
We laid our schemes, lured by the lush brochure,
Down byways beckoned, to build at last the cottage of our dreams,
A city clerk turned countryman again, and linked to the Metropolis by train." "Metro-land", John Betjeman (BBC, 1973)
In the summer of 1972 the newly-appointed Poet Laureate, John Betjeman, took a train ride out into the London suburbs. He followed the tracks of the Metropolitan railway from Baker Street out into the northwestern suburbs, through Middlesex, Herts and Bucks, and he took a BBC camera crew with him. The resulting documentary, Metro-land, is a television classic, lovingly reflecting the quirkier side of everyday Englishness. Sir John explored the extraordinary architecture to be found in London's commuter belt and met the ordinary people who lived therein. From mock-Tudor semis to the Harrow Women's Institute, his lilting prose exalted the eccentric and the commonplace.
There was much to see. In the early 20th century Metro-land had sprawled outwards from the extending railway line, covering the countryside with faux-rural housing stock. Pavements replaced hedgerows, lawns replaced fields and half-timbered gables replaced woodland. Those who had lived in the city rushed to resettle in outskirts Arcadia. They came in search of peace, and space, and a vegetable garden of their very own - all within easy commuting distance of the urban workplace. Here and there an existing village was swallowed up, its history and customs absorbed to create a new artificial heritage. Middle England had reinvented itself, and Betjeman was on hand to celebrate the end result.
Best of all, Sir John came to my village on the day of our annual village fete. He stood on a street corner close to my house to watch the carnival floats pass by. He watched my six foot something music teacher waiting proudly on the village green with the school orchestra stacked up behind. And he smiled benignly as the Queen of the Revels tried hard not to burst in fits of giggles during her coronation ceremony. I was only seven years old at the time and I don't appear on screen, but I was there, somewhere in the background, buying ice lollies and trying to win bottles of Cresta in the tombola. In his documentary Sir John lovingly chronicled my world, my childhood and my semi-detached roots. Which makes Metro-land the perfect topic for this year's diamond geezer local history month fortnight.
To commemorate the centenary of Betjeman's birth, I'm attempting to revisit the locations that he visited in his seminal documentary all those decades ago. From the bustle of Baker Street to the forgotten fields of Quainton Road, and around ten stations inbetween. Will I rediscover early 20th century suburbia, or has life moved on? I shall be trying to follow the Neasden Nature Trail, searching for the pond in Harrow where half of Gilbert and Sullivan drowned, hunting for a giant organ in Chorleywood and, yes, returning 'home'. To Metro-land.
"Gaily into Ruislip Gardens runs the red electric train,
With a thousand Ta's and Pardon's daintily alights Elaine;
Hurries down the concrete station with a frown of concentration,
Out into the outskirt's edges, where a few surviving hedges
Keep alive our lost Elysium - rural Middlesex again." "Middlesex", John Betjeman (1954)
Metro-land
In the summer of 1972 the newly-appointed Poet Laureate, John Betjeman, took a train ride out into the London suburbs. He followed the tracks of the Metropolitan railway from Baker Street out into the northwestern suburbs, through Middlesex, Herts and Bucks, and he took a BBC camera crew with him. The resulting documentary, Metro-land, is a television classic, lovingly reflecting the quirkier side of everyday Englishness. Sir John explored the extraordinary architecture to be found in London's commuter belt and met the ordinary people who lived therein. From mock-Tudor semis to the Harrow Women's Institute, his lilting prose exalted the eccentric and the commonplace.
Best of all, Sir John came to my village on the day of our annual village fete. He stood on a street corner close to my house to watch the carnival floats pass by. He watched my six foot something music teacher waiting proudly on the village green with the school orchestra stacked up behind. And he smiled benignly as the Queen of the Revels tried hard not to burst in fits of giggles during her coronation ceremony. I was only seven years old at the time and I don't appear on screen, but I was there, somewhere in the background, buying ice lollies and trying to win bottles of Cresta in the tombola. In his documentary Sir John lovingly chronicled my world, my childhood and my semi-detached roots. Which makes Metro-land the perfect topic for this year's diamond geezer local history
Metro-land
In the summer of 1972 the newly-appointed Poet Laureate, 
Best of all, Sir John came to 