Postcards from Wapping/Shadwell/Ratcliff/Limehouse
✉ The Prospect of Whitby, on Wapping Wall, is London's oldest riverside pub. Nobody's 100% certain when it was built but it dates from around 1520, making it exactly "around 500 years old" this year. I arrive to find a Greene King lorry has parked on the cobbles outside to unload barrels sufficient to satisfy a slimmed-down post-lockdown clientele. Staff inside are busy giving the stone floor and other surfaces an extra-good clean, perhaps cursing the unhealthy narrowness of the saloon. At least the Riverside Terrace provides additional space for covers, where a Beer Battered Fish and Triple Cooked Chips is now served with a welcome reduction of VAT.
Thepub was originally called The Pelican, but was renamed in the 19th century after a coal ship (The Prospect) (from Whitby) which used to berth here. The narrow alleyway alongside - Pelican Stairs - retains the original name. One person at a time can pass through to reach a set of steps, briefly upwards to surmount the river wall then more lengthily down on the other side. The first dozen are stone, too level to be in any way original, but many a sailor, pirate and mariner trod this way when embarking on many a historic voyage. The last ten steps are weed-encrusted wood, and if the foot of the ladder is showing then you can step out onto the 'beach'.
It's a couple of hours after low tide so a broad sandy expanse clings to the river wall. A pair of geese prowl the pebbly ridges above the waterline, happy to leave me be while they watch over their offspring. There's a great view of the pub from down here, its two much-sought-after balconies supported on slippery green pillars. An additional wooden post has been erected a couple of feet from the river wall, from which hangs a rope noose as a nod to Wapping's gruesome history. The actual Execution Dock was quarter of a mile upstream so this display is the pub's very own anachronism, but the 'Hanging Judge' George Jeffries is said to have liked a pint inside. A fascinating spot to stand between the tides, but best not hang around.
✉ Shadwell Fish Market, a failed rival to Billingsgate, is better known today as King Edward Memorial Park. The City Corporation approved the transformation in 1911 with the intent of creating a rare patch of municipal greenspace on the northern banks of the Thames, but it took until 1922 before King George V cut the opening ribbon. The park is much loved but also currently much set upon because Thames Water have nabbed the riverside for construction of their Tideway tunnel. A huge cofferdam has been extended out into the river to aid construction of a 19-storey shaft, an imposition which will eventually become an extension to the park, but it's looking unlikely these mega engineering works will be complete in time for KEMP's centenary.
The Thames Path now meanders around the back of a giant building site, including one section watched over by a traffic marshal where the service road exits across the tennis courts. Huge cranes erupt from behind the hoardings, as do loud thumping noises and a cluster of capacious black silos. Much of the specialist equipment belongs to piling engineers Bachy Soletanche (who sound continental, but are actually based in Lancashire).
The only unaffected stretch of waterfront is alongside the ornate whirl of the Rotherhithe Rotunda, where a handful of joyless benches are frequented by hardhatted sandwich eaters. I got a distinct whiff of exhaust fumes as I walked past, which is because this structure is actually a ventilation shaft for the Rotherhithe Tunnel, indeed it was originally possible for pedestrians to walk inside and descend a staircase before crossing under the river. Sticking to the landward half of King Edward Memorial Park is currently recommended.
✉ At the western end of Narrow Street, farthest from Limehouse's finest, is another spot where direct access to the Thames foreshore is readily available. An unsignposted set of blue railings leads to the top of a dozen concrete steps which end in soft sand (or in water, tide depending). These are the Ratcliffe Cross Stairs, in their time an important access point to the Thames and the embarkation point for a ferry to Rotherhithe, today a historical irrelevance. But it's still a thrill to step down the slipway onto the riverbed, if you time it right, and to watch all the Thames's comings and goings.
Tugs and Thames Clippers float past, occasionally sending a flurry of breakers towards the shore. The ground underfoot becomes muddier and pebblier the further out you walk. Broken tiles mingle underfoot with rounded pebbles and the occasional seashell (my treasure hunt alas revealed nothing especially mudlarkworthy). Damp green timbers protect much of the river wall. A large circular portal emerges from one particularly solid brick flank. Canary Wharf dominates the view to the east, while the riverfront at Rotherhithe (opposite) remains rebelliously lowrise.
I enjoy standing here more than my experience at Wapping at because it feels more private, more concealed and more like being a part of the actual river. My solitude is shaken when I spot foliage falling in a stream from the sky, which turns out to be a resident of Keepier Wharf pruning her windowbox four floors above me. A retired couple are standing on their balcony a few flats along, drinks in hand, enjoying the full blaze of the summer sun. I'm reminded that most of the Limehouse riverside is private land - wharves turned apartments - and that these occasional ungated stairs provide a rare glimpse of the Thames few regularly enjoy.
