My final UnFlickrd zone lies to the southeast of the capital between Bromley and Petts Wood, specifically around Bickley and Southborough. Neither of these were places I was familiar with, not even through the windows of a bus, neither did their reputation precede them. But I went and had a good wander round anyway, and tried to grab you ten decent photos, even though the area was mostly a lot of houses.
New photo:Bickley station lies one stop east of Bromley South, just before the lines split for Orpington or for Sevenoaks, so is a pretty convenient place to start your daily commute. Two island platforms lead up to an ungated concourse, where the ticket office shutters come down every lunchtime and staff disperse elsewhere. The only facility is a small shop called... New photo:Bickley Express. It doesn't have to try too hard, because it's the only stockist in the immediate vicinity with newspapers, kitchen roll, greetings cards and OXO cubes. Bickley's never been well blessed with shops. It also sells coffees from a machine, but for exactly the same price as the tiny cafe outside and that looks by far your better bet. New photo:Bickley station sits at the top of Southborough Road, along the one short stretch buses don't serve. Maybe that's why the biggest unit outside is taken by a minicab company. Lesser spaces are occupied by an estate agent, a dry cleaners, a hair salon, a florist and the aforementioned cafe, because such are the basic needs of Mid-Bromley.
New photo:Bickley Park was once just that, a deer park surrounding the mansion at Bickley Hall. Its first owner was Deptford shipbuilder John Wells, whose family later sold up to international railway engineer George Wythes. He started the sale of land for houses in the 1860s, each set in several acres of land, and although garden size has reduced over the years it's still very much on the generous size. I fear it's no coincidence that the estate's new church got named St George's. Today a sparse network of private roads spreads north of the railway line, many of them potholed, which at least gives the 4×4s some challenging terrain to tackle. New photo:Pines Road is just one of the millionaire highways, named after the single original house whose conifered gardens were subdivided to create half a dozen more. Viewed through a 21st century lens, the use of space is scandalously inefficient. Homes have names like Something Court or Something Lodge. Electronic gates swing closed after the BMW with the personalised plates drives in. The contracted gardener is hard at work with his hedge clippers. And don't even think of walking your dog on the verges without due care and attention. New photo:Ladies and Gentlemen, says the sign, Will Not Allow Their Dogs To Foul These Footpaths And Areas. Others Must Not. The last sentence is underlined.
New photo:Whitehall Recreation Ground, off Southborough Road, is the prime destination for dogwalkers south of the railway line. It was put together from three fields in the 1900s, and opened by the Mayor of Bromley with musical support from the Bickley Brass band. There was an ornamental water fountain, but that's been unplumbed. There was a cricket pavilion, but that's been demolished. There was a boating pool, but that got filled in to create a small playground. And there was originally a small river, the East Ravensbourne, but that got filled in too. At least the original bowling club survives, and today a wiggly diagonal path lined with shrubbery helps provide the open space with a bit of much-needed character. New photo: I followed the East Ravensbourne from the edge of Whitehall Rec down to Southborough Lane. Maps from Victorian times show a narrow brook trickling between a large orchard and fields belonging to Turpington Farm. By the 1930s hundreds of houses had been built on either side, but the stream still ran behind fences at the bottom of their gardens. In the 1960s the whole lot was culverted and topped with a footpath, linking to the outside world at the banjo end of Brooklyn Road. Its meandering blocks line of sight, so I was unnerved when two potentially unsavoury characters appeared round one bend and walked towards me. We passed without incident. I breathed out, then breathed back in again when I heard the pair yelling after me from behind. "Hey, does this lead to the park?" they asked. As the newly-educated local expert I assured them that it was, and off they went, and I chastised myself for having assumed the worst.
New photo:The Chequers was one of the few buildings on Southborough Lane 100 years ago, back when every tiny hamlet had a pub, and is the sole local historic remnant. Its weatherboarded walls overflow with unseasonably abundant hanging baskets. I checked online and apparently it's rumoured Dick Turpin once drank here, but every pub over a certain age claims that, and I bet he never quaffed Greene King over a Lunch Club sandwich. New photo:Southborough Lane has all the shops, from a butchers called Carnivore to a Harvester once hit by a V2 rocket. The majority twist fill two L-shaped parades, hemmed in behind lush tree cover and inadequate parking, in true Thirties faux-rustic style. One's a cafe called Mustard, one's devoted to "girls and boys beauty", and one's empty in case you want to give the kitchen designers some competition. Exactly the same age as the Rosehill estate in Sutton, but an economic world away.
