For today's post I selected a six figure grid reference somewhere in London, entirely at random, and then spent an hour there. I was extremely fortunate to get a park.
Random grid reference: TQ344719 Sydenham Wells Park Lewisham SE26
I find a bench at the top of the park, conveniently empty, with my back to the council depot. Its gates are chained for the weekend, with two decaying Christmas wreaths slung over the top. The ornamental flower bed alongside is the finest in the upper half of the park because the gardeners don't need to hop into their trucks and buggies to reach it. A sign by the park entrance lists closing times month by month (for the next few days 9pm). Parkgoers wishing to avoid getting locked in at dusk are warned to "Please listen for the audible sound", because somebody at Glendale Services failed to spot how unhelpful that advice is.
The park spreads down a grassy slope towards a playground and landscaped gardens. I'm fortunate that my vantage point provides a clear view across a considerable area, not just TQ344719 but also TQ344718, TQ343718 and TQ343719 which should make today's post four times more interesting than it might have been. I can see about two dozen people altogether, mostly in and around the playground or walking the promenade circuit around the hillside. The Crystal Palace transmitter rises high above the trees, it being less than half a mile distant. A rook rattles in the centre of the lawn. The shrubbery behind me is alive with... oh, wasps.
One family with three young girls have settled at an elevated viewpoint, from which they'd be able to see Kent if only they were looking. Another family with five offspring have monopolised the swings, of which there are four, so each child is taking it in turns to be the one chatting with mum. The recreational highlight is an aerial runway, tame enough to have passed municipal risk assessment, launched from a green stepped frame. A young girl rides repeatedly, tugging the wheel back up to the top with a jarring squeak.
If you don't have children you're probably here with a dog. Two young women climb the path followed by something that's not quite a poodle, one loudly relating an anecdote about her jowls. They make the first of several upcoming deposits at the red bin for unmentionables. "Yeah I've got a floppy hat but I just assumed there'd be umbrellas," says the next dog owner into her phone, before launching into a discussion about factor 70 suncream. Her hellhound is brown and ugly as sin, and not in a cute way. Once around the edge of the park appears to be the optimal walkies.
Unexpectedly a small green van enters the park and drives across the grass to the foot of the slope, followed by a small excitable black terrier. The van is branded 'Simple Food' and has a National Trust logo on its bonnet, so looks like it'd be more at home serving Pimms at some historic gardens in Surrey. Over the space of ten minutes the crew unload four green chairs and a pair of white tables from the back, place a blackboard out front and raise a shutter to reveal a mini-kitchen inside. Nobody rushes over.
The contours of the perimeter path prove popular with trainee cyclists. One small boy in a Real Madrid top whizzes by at speed, claiming to have his hands firmly on the brakes, followed by his mother who's carrying the helmet he ought to be wearing. One smaller boy wobbles downhill more slowly then falls off, but is brave enough not to need his father's close attention. Three hoodied lads, long past the parental supervision stage, slouch out of the park and return fifteen minutes later to smoke a questionable substance on a nearby bench.
The terrier by the food van runs uphill towards the family with the three girls, who immediately stand up to play with it. I'm never able to ascertain quite who the dog belongs to, but within quarter of an hour the entire family has a) moved downhill, b) nudged ever closer to the truck to play with the dog, c) settled at the outside tables having ordered food all round. I'm too far away to see precisely what they've chosen, but the rear grill is now in operation so I suspect it's the £3 hot dog meal option.
A tennis wannabe arrives at the swings, rackets in hand, and tempts the family of five off to the courts. This allows the child dressed as Spiderman to come down off the climbing frame, where he's been patiently waiting, and take his turn on swings. Another child steps over to the dynamic water feature and deduces that water gushes out of the vertical pipe every time he stamps on a button a few feet away. But he's playing alone, so can never quite dash across to the torrent before it stops pumping... until his dad wanders over to offer a helpful foot.
George III came here once, back when mineral waters gushed from springs on Sydenham Common and physicians swore by their cathartic qualities. The King reputedly spent most of the day at Well Cottage but didn't like the taste. Inevitably the spa faltered as fashions changed, retaining a degree of popularity only as a place of entertainment, until 1865 when the wellhead was summarily replaced by StPhilip's church. Sydenham Wells Park opened alongside in 1901, providing the wealthy folk of Upper Sydenham with somewhere to promenade, and the parkkeepers' superior tree-planting choices are still evident to this day.
Two spaniels pad up the path, followed by oversized owners in matching flipflops. A grey-haired woman passes my bench carrying a water bottle whose label is so faded she must have reused it dozens of times. A bald man in a Duffer of St George t-shirt and fireman's leggings arrives with a poodle to walk. A young father in a sensible straw hat turns up next, with a tiny son kitted out in matching sunhat and trousers, and announces that they're off hunting for ladybirds. A single butterfly crosses the turf.
As my hour draws to a close the food van has become quite the social hub, especially with dog owners, but it's unclear whether anyone's actually buying anything. A cry of "LBW!" goes up from the knockabout cricket match by the toilet block. Our ladybird hunters have reached the gushing water fountain, which distracts them from their quest. The fireman's back with a dangling bag of excrement to drop in the red bin. The camera on the top of the CCTV pole swivels so that Lewisham council can check nobody's been enjoying themselves too much. There are far worse places to randomly be.
