Nothing cheers the soul more on a long commute than the sight of flowers from the train. So it's great to hear that TfL employees all over the capital have been busy sprucing up their platforms with a splash of colour. But which stations have the finest displays, and which are merely also rans? I've been out searching the network to find The Top Five Tube Flowerbeds. Because beauty should be rewarded.
Pinner: This is a splendid display. A flowerbed of grand proportions behind the benches at the end of the southbound platform. Imagine waiting for your City train here as bold flowers burst out from the greenery behind. Reds and pinks and yellows dance above a carpet of leaves - even the whites seem somehow brighter here. But it's the shrubbery that truly draws the eye, bursting out in floral clouds at eye and shoulder level. So high is this botanic eruption that the ugly metal railings beyond almost disappear. You could easily lose a colony of foxes, or more likely rats, beneath the spread of broad leaf cover. It's clear that someone's keeping this border in tiptop shape, no doubt with regular watering and the occasional prune. They love their station at Pinner, and they tend it with pride.
North Acton: Two supervisors at North Acton station have created an award-winning garden that provides all-year-round colour to the delight of passengers. The man-made flower beds are the work of supervisors Terry Murrell and Bharat Vagani, built with the help from other station staff including contract cleaner Abraham Soubair. It all began in a small way back in 2005 when Bharat, a veteran of 22 years with London Underground, put up some hanging baskets on the platforms to brighten up the dingy surroundings. Months of hard work followed. Working by hand, they brought in around 15 tons of soil to create the extensive raised beds, which are edged with railway sleepers. All of the work was done in their spare time, including days off and during annual leave. It was a true labour of love as the station has no vehicle access and all the soil had to be brought down a long slope from the nearby road.
Northwood Hills: They've been busy at the quiet end of the Metropolitan, brightening up the scene. The two long raised beds, facing each other across the tracks, are currently a riot of summer colour. Each has been planted with pretty and practical bedding plants, carefully selected for overall effect. Those are poppies, those are pansies, and those are lupins unless I'm very much mistaken. But that's not all. Here at Northwood Hills they've made an effort all along the southbound platform, with manicured tubs in the shade of the canopy and small blue planters hanging from the edge of the wall. The overall effect would score more marks if some passenger hadn't chucked an economy energy drink can into the foliage, but I'm sure a member of station staff will be along shortly to collect it.
Chesham: When platform two went out of commission, the stationmaster at Chesham put it to good use. The tracks were torn out, right up to the buffers, and a low level garden went in. This is a prize-winning garden, circa 1993, with key elements still in place 20 years later. There may have been a few more flowers back then, but these days the area has been colonised by a wide range of conifers. These boast variety in shade and hue, and occasionally in height. You could even step down and explore, there's no sign or barrier to keep passengers at bay. A couple of narrow walkways allow staff to wander through with a watering can, should lack of rainfall make that necessary. The open area further along is sometimes used for the storage of timber, but elegantly stacked, solely on a temporary basis. A little extra colour wouldn't go amiss, and the grass looks like it'll never be ready for mowing, but Chesham's platform garden is a unique ecological hideaway.
Preston Road: This might not be everyone's choice for top tube flowerbed, but won't you look at that waterfall of colour? Perhaps it's the time of year, but these bushes are literally bubbling with blossom. They've planted the same at Pinner, but only here on the island platform are they given the chance to burst forth as nature intended. Whites and pinky-browns, rising higher than the lampposts, in truly dominant position. Meanwhile a splash of yellow complements the scene at lower level, without which this would be an unbalanced sprawl. The composition might look almost thrown together, but Preston Road well deserves its place in the list of Top Five Tube Flowerbeds. Stand here awhile and admire.
So go on, how far down that did you read? How far through the post did you get before you realised this wasn't an entirely kosher list? Was it Preston Road that gave the game away? No way do a couple of shrubs merit a place in a Top 5 list of prettiest flowerbeds. Indeed if you look in the background of that shot you'll see two more raised beds that are completely empty, not a leaf in sight, merely a mass of untended soil. Preston Road's not even Top 20, let alone Top 10. Or was it Chesham that somehow sounded wrong? I've only walked past Chesham's garden once in the last two years, and that briskly. I can't really remember what it's like at all, so I've had to construct my description solely by looking at photoson Flickr. Unconvincing stuff. Or was it Northwood Hills that blew the whistle? I mean, it's pretty enough, and a lot of effort's gone in, but this list is suspiciously skewed by a significant and unjustified Metropolitan line bias. Or was it North Acton that fell short of credibility. I've not visited this particular station at all, so my report on its gardens is entirely second hand. In fact I've cut and pasted all the words from the London Transport Museum blog, then tried to pass it off as my own, which is utterly lazy journalism. Or was it Pinner that missed the target? I'm no gardening expert so I have scant grasp of what any of these particular blooms are called, resorting instead to mentioning what colour they all are and little more. Vacuous waffle.
In fact it should have been the title - The Top 5 Tube Flowerbeds - that rang alarm bells. Whenever you see any blogpost entitled "The Top 5" anything you should be suspicious. The top five? Says who? On what authority? There is absolutely no justification for me picking these particular five stations, other than personal whim. These aren't "the top five", they're merely "a top five", and that distinction is important. All I did was visit a tiny stretch of the Metropolitan line and then shoehorn my blinkered view into a supposedly authoritative post, which is in fact dangerously uninformed. But it's a good title, isn't it, The Top Five Tube Flowerbeds? I mean who wouldn't be at least slightly intrigued by that? Indeed I'm hoping it's linkbait and you'll all like the concept and tweet it. No matter that what I've written underneath is mostly twaddle, or else borrowed from others, it's the title that sells.
So all I'm really saying is, think twice before you believe any post anywhere online which claims to be The Top [Insert Number Here] of anything. Unless it's been based on a survey or official judgements then it's probably hogwash. Indeed it's likely to be marketing masquerading as fact, with the client slipped into the list at number three or four to boost its search engine performance. London’s top five sushi restaurants? Like hell they are. London's best rooftop bars for sunny evening drinking? Unfounded speculation. The Top 5 shops in Newham? Only in your promotionally deluded mind.
I haven't a clue what The Top 5 Tube Flowerbeds are, I haven't done the legwork or invested time in research. I can give you My Top 5 Tube Flowerbeds, even A Top 5 Tube Flowerbeds, but absolutely not the definitive list. Watch out for weasel words, and please treat all unfounded The Top 5s and The Top 10s with the contempt they deserve.
For one weekend each June, the capital's hidden horticultural heritage is placed on show. This is Open Garden Squares Weekend, the outdoor equivalent of September's Open House, and you've just missed it. For a ten pound fee you can take a look inside various private gardens, well over a hundred in total, and enjoy the views normally only a select few see. There's a fine guidebook, which helps you to avoid visiting 'ordinary' gardens that have free daily access. It also has some excellent maps (Open House, take heed), which clearly show clusters of gardens within easy walking distance. So I paid up, picked Sunday over Saturday because far more was open, and mapped out a route from NottingHill toPimlico. It took all day, but I got inside twenty private enclaves to admire the facilities, the space and the planting. And, unashamedly, to snoop.
Garden squares are a particular feature of residential London, more inner than outer, more north and west than south and east. Where well-to-do estates were built with no back gardens, the idea was to provide a communal green space for everyone on an adjacent plot. Some have since been opened up, for example Russell Square and Finsbury Circus, but many remain gated and secure. A garden committee is usually appointed to oversee management, and the lawns and borders kept pristine. When you or I fancy a picnic or need to walk the dog we go to the park. Garden squares are parks for rich people, only with better foliage, and nicer lawns, and probably no dogs allowed.
One thing you'll find in most garden squares is a compost corner, tucked away, and maybe a shed corner too. Someone has to do the work, and it helps to have all the tools conveniently on site. Tennis courts are popular too, generally hardstanding but occasionally grass. Only keyholders are permitted access, but then only keyholders are permitted access to these squares anyway. Mini-playgrounds give very-local children somewhere exclusive to play, and Thurloe Square even has its own basketball hoop. I don't think wind quartets are normal though - Earl's Court Square had one of those, as well as a National Trust tent that few were visiting.
A cheery volunteer greeted me at every gate. Some were rather keener to see my ticket than others, perhaps keen to keep out the riffraff, until proven otherwise. Some spoke with splendidly clipped vowels, some tried to unload unclaimed guide books, while the Notting Hill ladies at Norland Square offered me a slice of lemon drizzle cake which I gladly accepted. Most of the squares run by the GrosvenorEstate handed out a Tree Trail to follow, which was clear and informative and a particularly interesting way to look round. Hereford Square had the most interesting handouts, with a detailed four-page history as well as a complete list of everything planted in the garden. Bramham Gardens kept it briefer, but their "please return this leaflet" gave the best insight into what it's actually like to live alongside.
Usually there's a path around the edge, and then a border. What goes in the middle of the square varies, sometimes just grass, but more usually a mix of lawn and beds and amenities. Sometimes the public can look straight in and see the lot, as at Collingham Gardens in Knightsbridge. In other squares there's a ring of shrubbery, maybe two, to provide a degree of privacy for those within. Some of the squares back directly onto their adjacent houses, allowing fortunate ground floor residents immediate access. Such proximity also provided visitors with a fine view back, for example of a pair of helium "I love you" balloons in a living room off Bramham Gardens and a bloke playing his grand piano overlooking Gledhow Gardens.
In most cases, the garden's regular residents continued to use the facilities undeterred. In Edwardes Square two parents were attempting to teach their children to ride a bike, with as yet unsuccessful results. In Eccleston Square several parties braved the summer chill to dine out with a picnic, some quaffing champagne, others Capri-Sun. In Royal Crescent Gardens one small child proved that even rich toddlers pee in the flowerbed when they think nobody's looking. And in Courtfield Gardens (West) a crowd of excited children played a strange "grab the hoodie" team game, jabbering in Russian as their au pair held court. In these wealthy quarters of London, not every local resident is local.
London plane trees are much in evidence, mostly mature specimens providing broad leaf cover. Rhododendrons are common too, and bursts of purple alliums which almost every square seemed to have in bloom at the moment. Sometimes the gardener was present to answer questions, in other places a local volunteer had to respond as best they could. I particularly admired Chester Square, previously Mrs Thatcher's local, for its pristine simplicity. But I'd vote Eccleston Square the best, I think, my vote in line with the number of annual OGSW award plaques pinned up on the glasshouse. A shame they were only open for three hours yesterday, that's a mere three hours a year for the rest of us to enjoy their kaleidoscopic planting.
I did feel as if I was 20 years below the average age of an OGSW viistor, and most definitely of the minority sex. That said there were a few younger folk, generally in tow to an older relative, including one lad in a bright red baseball cap with neck tattoo. Most visitors were here to admire the planting, and to point at the borders and call out the names of plants to friends. "Fennel, petunia, and I think that's a skinnia." One retired gentleman at Edwardes Square was unimpressed, announcing "dreadful gardening" to his other half as they passed a bed of spears. I thought it looked lovely, but then what do I know.
Top of the exclusivity list, on my West London stroll at least, was Belgrave Square. This is the giant quadrangle at the heart of Belgravia, surrounded by embassy buildings and some of the most expensive real estate in the country. Normally the entire space is shielded by shrubbery, bar a few gaps over the shoulders of statues at the corners. Yesterday the place was most welcoming, complete with cakes for sale and £5 burgers being grilled beside the inner lawn. Here ticketholders mingled with those who pay a mighty annual service charge to hide here, as if this were entirely normal. Only Eaton Square provided comparable distraction, with a traditional Punch and Judy show delighting similarly mixed crowds, and a kiosk by the water fountain dispensing stir-fry.
It's a shame Sunday's weather was so relentlessly overcast, as the gardens failed to properly sparkle and all but ahandful ofmy photos came out rather flat. But I learned a lot from my day out, not necessarily plant-related, more from exploring a normally invisible side of the capital. This was a privileged insight into how the privileged live, a minor brushing of shoulders with the property-owning elite. It's clear the presence of a garden square helps communities to come together - a point of focus, a shared amenity. But when I need time to rest awhile outdoors I guess I'll have to make do with a patch of grass in my local park, and mind where I sit.
The oldest timber-framed building in London, well, Middlesex, is hidden away in North Harrow. More than that, it's not anywhere central, but up a residential street in the middle of a recreation ground. More than that, it's not the tithe barn straight ahead with Harrow Museum inside, that's only the aperitif. Try the cottagey-looking place across the moat - oh yes, it's got a moat - beyond the securely locked gate. That's Headstone Manor, parts of which date back to 1310 and haven't fallen over yet. And on weekends in spring and summer, if you turn up at 3pm, you can take a look inside.
To find your tour guide, start in the tithe barn. You can have a look at the exhibition if you like, currently a celebration of all things Harrow-on-the-Hill, although that may not take you very long. Or wander over to the cafe counter where they serve cups of tea and general sustenance to users of the surrounding football/cricket pitches. It's not the most engaging museum in London, to be fair, although there are plans to change that, of which more later. Instead just revel in the fact you're standing beneath a 500 year-old beamed roof, in a space which (following renovation in 2014) will become the council's newest event/wedding venue. £3.30, thank you, step this way.
The moat keeps most unwanted visitors out, and the padlock on the gate does the rest. They don't allow the public onto the island without supervision, let alone inside the house because it's not entirely stable. Two great jacks embedded in the lawn help to support the oldest part of the house, while the other end isn't quite as ancient as that. Headstone Manor was built as a residence for the Archbishop of Canterbury, somewhere to stay to the northwest of London when the King was holding court nearby. His lodgings were on the south lawn - ground radar has been used to trace the foundations - but are long gone now. From here you can see how the manor evolved considerably over the centuries, first an extension built after Henry VIII sold the place to a favourite, then a brick farmhouse-style end from the 1770s. Headstone Manor is a complete history lesson in one building.
Inside too, once the tour guide's unset the alarm, is just as much of a mishmash. In the heart of the building, under the stairs, is a medieval food store with a wine cellar extension. The bedrooms upstairs have peeling floral wallpaper from when this was still a private residence, right up to the 1980s. And the Great Hall isn't so great any more, after 80% was sliced off leaving only a sliver. A century ago this former ecclesiastical dining space was being used as a farmhouse kitchen, and several tweaks they made to the walls didn't really enhance the building's legacy. But the lofty beamed roof is an unlikely treat, and the room does still have a splendidly practical tiled floor.
But watch your step. Various rooms are taped off because the floor is unstable and at risk of collapse. Behind the front door all the floorboards have had to come up because English Heritage insisted on not laying an anachronistic damp course, and now the damp has proven them wrong. It's going to take another lottery grant to bring this building back to life, which could take several more years, but then the plan is to move Harrow Museum in here and use the space for displays. It'd certainly be a special place to visit, with a warren of rooms and back staircases to explore. In the meantime these weekend tours are the only way to cross to the island and take a look inside this medieval survivor, and that comes recommended.
You don't have to call in Mary Portas to rescue your High Street. Instead you can buy a few branded balloons and banners, pick a Saturday in June and bring the community together. Yesterday in HA6 was Northwood Hills Independents Day, organised by the traders of Joel Street to celebrate their local retail option. A very typical Metroland parade, this, long and broad with a tubestation partway down. It's got a plumbers merchants and various hair options, an ironing shop and a gents outfitters, with barely a chainstore in sight. And on Saturday it also had multi-coloured bunting, strumming guitarists and two stormtroopers pounding the pavements to pose for photos. All the participating shops had a poster up offering a special promotion, some better than others, from a free tea with your haircut to 20% off everything. Most had spilled out onto the pavement with a selection of their wares, which isn't something that the opticians or the funeral service are used to doing. Even the local vicar was out with a boxful of clingfilmed salads, although they didn't seem to be selling well so he was eating one himself. Free hemp shopping bags were on offer, printed with an extraordinarily attractive image of what the area used to look like before the railways came, courtesy of the London Transport Museum. And god bless them, the local population had come out in droves, helped by the good weather and the offer of face painting for the littluns. They queued for street food, they snapped up homemade cakes and they spent rather more in the high street than they usually do. Which was the idea. It'll take more than one carnival afternoon to secure Joel Street's future but, like so many suburban parades, we'll all miss them when they're gone.
Appearing now on the South Bank, the Festival of Neighbourhood. That sounds like the sort of title an agency would come up with at an early stage of planning, a safe umbrella title for showcasing almost anything, and so it proves. All sorts of bits and stuff and things have landed around the Royal Festival Hall and its concrete environs, for your general amusement and erudition. Giant topiary twosomes of gardening figures. A lengthy sandy beach for children to dig in. Poems pinned up relating to each of London's boroughs. An inert rollercoaster made up of harvestable wheelbarrows. A wooden house full of herbs in sacks. A forest glade atop the Queen Elizabeth Hall. A maze of riverside windowframes, complete with rhubarb growing upsidedown hanging from pots on a trellis. You could have called it the Festival of Outdoors, the Festival of Growing, or even the Festival of Mastercard, the latter of which would no doubt have delighted the sponsor. It's sort of fun, in a "far better than there being nothing here" kind of way, not that you could ever accuse the South Bank Centre of having nothing on.
And then there's Beanotown. "Seriously?" I thought, when I spotted it on the map. I wasn't quite sure what to expect when I ventured to the concrete alleyway between the QEH and the RFH. A fewcartoons on the wall, a pair of doors painted red and black, and a washing line of dangling letters pronouncing this to be Bash Street. It could have been nothing much more than a titled space. But there was an opening into the undercroft, which looked like it might contain more. My first thought was a creche, or at least an indoor playground for kids, and not necessarily somewhere I should be entering. I gave it a try anyway, and thankfully my first impressions were wrong.
Beanotown turns out to be an indoor exhibition celebrating 75 years of Britain's favourite comic. It's actually a genuine exhibition, put together by Wayne Hemingway and his design team in combination with DC Thomson. Umpteen pages and stories have been enlarged to display size and pasted round the walls, so you can follow the evolution of the Beano (and the Dandy) from the 1930s to the present day. A copy of the very first Beano front page features an adventure with Big Eggo the ostrich, plus a poltically very-incorrect negro biting into a watermelon on the header strip. Free gift number one was a so-called Whoopee mask, which appears to have been an eye mask with the word whoopee in front. As the exhibition goes on to show, future free gifts were sometimes fractionally more exciting. Here's what noted comic aficionado Martin thought.
One wall contains some lifesize characters like Minnie the Minx and Dennis the Menace, while another features the front cover over every Beano Annual, sorry, Beano Book. You can even sit down and read most of them, and a whole libraryful of comic-related volumes, if you go searching through the wonderfully curated Beano Bookshelf. Budding strip artists can try their hand at drawing a few panels on a table nearby, or play a game of Table Dennis, as part of the "just enough interactive retro stuff for kids" aspect of the exhibition. Or if you're a mum with two keen Beano readers in the family, you can drag them along in red and black striped jumpers and force them to pose on top of some giant letters for posterity.
There is of course a shop, not quite bursting with Beano-related goodies, but with enough to perhaps part you from some pounds. And there's a cafe. Someone thought it was a good idea to base this on toasted sandwiches, hence it's called the Breville Bar. For £3.45 the cook will bung two ingredients between some bread and heat it up, be that cheese and jam or Branston pickle and Marmite. The menu goes considerably further than toasties if you look, and you should, because this four-pager is annotated Beano-style throughout. The custard is shark-infested, the rice crispy cake has snap, crackle and poop, and even the footnote contains a smirk. But while I was there not a single soul ventured anywhere near the counter, nor the tables, which didn't seem good for mid-Saturday afternoon. Perhaps the mock menu put them off (not everybody enjoys orange juice laced with blue food colouring), or maybe it was too nice a day to eat inside.
I moaned last week that my local pedestrian crossing had slowed down. Pressing the button used to stop the traffic in an acceptable time, but then overnight suddenly switched to take an age. A minute and twenty, a minute and a half, often pushing two minutes before the green man showed. An unfortunate malfunction or contempt for pedestrians, one or the other.
This week, something's changed. I noticed it on Wednesday morning, the time taken ticking over seemed somehow considerably quicker. On the way home I timed it, and blimey, it only took twenty seconds until the lights changed. On Thursday I checked again, twenty-five in the morning, twenty-two on the way home. An entire minute lopped off, at least. And I smiled.
It seems that someone's tweaked my local crossing again, this time right back in favour of those it's meant to serve. No longer do we have to stand there like lemons wondering if the lights will ever change, or else dash across during a gap when the flow off the Bow Flyover relents. An intriguing side-effect is that now when the main lights turn red, it's far more likely that someone will still be standing there waiting to cross, rather than the traffic pausing for someone long departed.
If anything, the timing of the lights is now considerably better than it's been for years. Ever since our pelican was replaced by a puffin we residents of Bow have had to wait noticeably longer to cross the A11. We thought a technologically superior crossing might mean more efficient scheduling, smarter interaction and less unnecessary hanging around for pedestrians and traffic. Evidence, alas, suggested the reverse had happened. Until, hurrah, this week.
I couldn't say why and how the timing of these lights has been changed. It might well be that an employee noticed the asymmetrical timings and sought to put them right. It might be that somebody put in an official complaint or contacted TfL fault control to file a report. Or it might be that someone influential somewhere read this blog and set in motion the wheels of change. I'm not really bothered which of those it was, I'm just delighted at no longer having to wait around forever to cross Bow Road.
Two minutes saved each day, that's ten minutes a week, or eight hours a year. Whoever you are, or were, thank you.
Back in the 1930s London Underground published a booklet entitled 'Chiltern Strolls and Rambles'. It was full of walks to be taken at the far end of the Metropolitan line, ideal for boosting Londoners' fitness and for filling off-peak trains. The cover price was threepence, although to source a copy on eBay today will cost you rather more. I don't know whether the Chess Valley Walk appeared, but it jolly well should have done. Yesterday I started at Chesham, and today I'm walking on from Latimer to Rickmansworth. [map][leaflet]
After the delights of the hillside walk below Latimer, the path heads back down to valley level. I say path, but the going gets a little harder beyond the scary sign. "Dogs seen worrying livestock are likely to be shot without warning" screams the local farmer in big red letters on the fence. You can tell he hates having to open up his land to public access because the gate into the next field is firmly locked while the stile alongside leads walkers directly into a quagmire. If it's like this in early summer, best come prepared with resilient footwear after damp weather.
Somewhere off to the right of the track are the remains of Old Flaunden church, abandoned two centuries back when the entire village moved a mile up the hill to avoid flooding. I missed that. I also missed Chenies, the ridgetop village on the other side of the river, where the manor house and gardens look to be well worth a visit. In Frogmore Meadow I passed a group of very tired looking five year olds, and their parents who'd taken them out on a perhaps over-ambitious country trek. I'm not sure they made it as far as the bluebell wood, nor the nature reserve where the water vole allegedly still thrives. I stared awhile into the waterside undergrowth from the observation platform, but saw nothing small and furry.
The Chess Valley has long been famed for its watercress. I say this as a local lad, it's part of the mythology of the area, handed down to me from my grandparents. But this is the first time I've ever seen a watercress bed in the flesh, with long parallel flooded channels covered by a carpet of leaves. Even better they've got a tiny shop for the benefit of passing ramblers, where you can buy a bag of fresh watercress for £1.50 (or an ice cream, I bought a tub). I'd also never before been to Sarratt Bottom, despite it being part of the village nextdoor to where I grew up, although many's the time I'd sniggered at its name. It turns out almost nobody lives here, apart from a scattering of wisteria covered cottages at the foot of a lonely lane.
There is a reason why this isn't called the River Chess Walk, and that's because sightings of the river can be few and far between. The valley floor is fairly flat, so the meandering river is easily screened by a wood, a fence or even a hedge. You take your opportunities when you can, for example where a teensy-narrow footbridge carries a footpath from Church End across the water. The field ahead has very distinct terraces, called lynchets, believed to date back to the 9th century. These days the buttercup slopes are grazed by cattle and picnicking locals - I took a deep breath and walked straight past, and they chewed obliviously on.
Beyond Sarrattmill Bridge the path enters the Chorleywood House Estate. Its 160 acres of meadows and parkland were once the grounds of a Regency mansion, but were later sold off to the council when nobody wanted to buy it as a golf course. You don't see much of the estate on the walk through, unless you decide that this is the point to end the walk and head up the hill to Chorleywood station... but be warned that's well over a mile away. The river wiggles through woodland, past a dilapidated wheelhouse, before slinking in culvert beneath the M25. Meanwhile the Chess Valley Walk follows Solesbridge Lane over the top, then hairpins back along the foot of the motorway embankment along a very narrow passage. On and on it goes, with no means of stepping aside, so best pray it's not been raining.
Horses are the next wildlife on view, with the local stud most keen on shielding their prize mares' faces behind masks. And then we enter Loudwater, quite the poshest place to live, with secluded houses up private roads all around Troutstream Way. Secluded that is apart from those whose gardens back onto this public right of way, which is how I got to peer through the hedge at a family dining al fresco and scraping their plates clean under the gazebo. Tracking this gloomy alleyway always makes me feel like an unwanted interloper, and the occasional barking guard dog agrees.
It's a relief to emerge alongside the water meadow at Loudwater Farm, and even more of a relief when the river finally makes a reappearance after a couple of absent miles. We're in the lower reaches of the Chess now, in the valley below Croxley Green, which makes this the closest bit of river to where I grew up. Many's the time I've fished for tiddlers from the riverbank, or sat dangling my legs from the footbridge, or at least stood frozen in terror as some yappy dog ran shaking from the water. This is still a favoured spot for canine exercise, and easily the best place along the entire walk to get up close and personal with the natural river. Lucky me when I was young, I say.
The path bears off before the River Chess reaches its end. It's destined to run alongside the sports ground and past the restaurant in a former watermill, to enter the River Colne beyond the railway viaduct. Instead we're heading for Rickmansworth town centre, because that's where the station is, which means a diversion around the edge of the Royal Masonic School grounds. The last patch of green is the elevated plateau of Rickmansworth Park, which I've always found oddly artificial, before returning to civilisation with a bump beside a mega-Waitrose. Ten miles all told, from station to station, with the river probably visible for less than half that distance. But this has been the Chess Valley Walk, remember, and the valley is a proper unspoiled treat.
How long does it take to walk three stations down a tube line? When you're following the Metropolitan it can take four and a half hours. That's via the Chess Valley Walk, a ten mile stroll from Chesham to Rickmansworth following a shallow chalk stream. I've walked the eastern end of this particular route many times, ever since I was a small child, but I've never tracked any of the western half before. And it's lovely, not least because the railway stayed beyond the ridgetop, so almost all of the Chess Valley has survived without major residential development. An ideal summer day out. [map]
The Chess Valley Walk leaflet describes the journey heading west from Rickmansworth to Chesham. I planned to head in the opposite direction, which is always a bit dangerous, but I assumed you couldn't get too lost following a river. I got lost straight away trying to work out where the path went after leaving the station. I wandered the pedestrianised High Street for a bit before working out I was meant to be on the other side of the main road in Lowndes Park. Cheshamites were lounging on the grass in the sun, or hunting for the pike in Skottowe's Pond, or being loudly hissed at by broody geese. Step back. Church Street in the old town is lined by a characterful collection of houses, which is a bonus because it's almost the only street I'll be walking down. Cue the river.
The RiverChess begins in a pool half a mile up the road, but we're not going there, so it's fortunate I've been before. Instead we follow a quiet path round the back of a car park to the least ostentatious 'Town Bridge' in any town in the country. All chalk streams are shallow, so the bridge barely needs to lift off the ground. Chalk streams also always run clear, so the gravel on the bed is clearly seen, along with any weeds and tiddlers flapping thereon. Ahead is Meades Water Gardens, where the river's recently been allowed to spread out on the site of a former millpond. The remains of the sluice gate can be seen beyond the wetland in a pleasantly shady spot. Bring your pushchair, rest awhile.
Onward beneath the railway, where trains rumble infrequently overhead, to the playing field on Chesham Moor. The floor of the valley opens out a little here, and stays that way, creating a zone where housing would be inadvisable. But some of the cottages backing down onto the Chess are a delight, especially during wisteria season. In the woodland ahead are the remains of a larger mill, or at least its gushing weir, where children can dangle their legs in the water while their parents wait patiently for them to tire. I got lost again ahead, following the path halfway round a large lake before I realised there was no way on. At least that meant I got to encounter several more broods of flapping waterfowl - it's duckling season in the pools of Bucks.
It's not all Elysium, however pretty the valley looks from the railway line above. The path slinks on through the midst of an industrial estate, a very minor one, before emerging onto a ratrun lane. Chesham Council have built their Household Waste Centre out here, not that it smells or anything, but mind the traffic. In the stream nearby is one of those boards used for checking the water level, invariably barely a few inches, but the scale rises ominously to "now try your brakes" height. But that's the only tedious bit. The next field is a buttercup meadow full of horses, entered through a gate in loving memory of Evelyn Stevens. If you lost your mp3 player here the weekend after Easter, they're keeping it safe for you in the farmhouse.
At last we're out in open country, striding along the edge of a gently sloping field. There are lush hedgerows and verges of cow parsley, proof positive that the Green Belt works wonders. The path then climbs along the edge of some woodland, the only substantial effort on the walk, with the last of the spring bluebells as payback. That and the view from the top, which is panoramic. It seems impossible that any valley this close to London could be so green and unspoilt but, like I said, the railway never came this way. There's clear sight down to the largest lake on the Chess, Great Water, which spreads out like a blue finger courtesy of Capability Brown's landscaping. Somewhere on the far side is the site of a 1st century Roman Villa, but you'll have to take that on trust, there's zero evidence from here.
The big Tudor-style mansion above the path is Latimer House, in its previous incarnation briefly a prison for King Charles I. During WW2 the house and grounds were used to hold captured German pilots and U-boat crews - now it's a conference centre where delegates sit out on the terrace with drinks and stare back bemusedly at ramblers. So large is the temporary population of part-time students that the neighbouring hamlet of Latimer is completely outnumbered. A triangle of 17th/18th century cottages nestle round a miniature villagegreen, most with dazzling gardens (and a lot of parked cars)... and that's all there is. Latimer must be the tiniest settlement to be namechecked on the London Underground map, which is only fair because the nearest station is a good fifteen minutes' walk down and over the valley.
You can break thewalk here and head back to the Metropolitan at Chalfont & Latimer. But we're not even halfway yet. The remainder tomorrow.
A report by the Conservative Party on the London Assembly has suggested introducing sponsorship deals to rename London Underground lines and stations as a way to fund a freeze in fares. You probablysaw thestory yesterday. You might have nodded and said "yes, anything that gets my fares down is a good thing." Or you might have spluttered in horror at this erosion of long cherished values. I'm in the latter camp.
There's a lot of fun to be had in thinking up possible sponsored tube station names. We had a go on this blog back in in 2006, oh how we laughed, and Paul later knocked up a sponsored tube map that's been doing the rounds ever since. Imagine the delights of NatWestminster, Pimmslico, Aldigate, Knorrthwood and Burger King's Cross St Pancras. And now stop laughing. In a London where the name of the nearest tube station defines the locality, do we really want to offer up this privilege to the highest bidder?
What we'd likely see, if the recommendations of this report were accepted, is a flurry of naming rights dished out in sponsorship deals with large companies with international reputations. Banks, airlines, that sort of thing... indeed precisely the kind of businesses who've already signed up to sponsor the bike hire scheme and the cablecar. The report suggests something like this...
I shudder to look at that mock-up, even with only two stations tweaked. Burberry by Bond Street is a ghastly mouthful of a name, although rest assured that's currently only an Assembly Member's suggestion. Imagine someone announcing that over the loudspeakers every time you ride through on the train, or seeing that emblazoned along every platform. Plus Bond Street isn't even the nearest station to Burberry's Mayfair store, that'd be Green Park, but in this new world geography is no longer important. Forget using the tube map to guide you efficiently round London, instead its purpose would be to encourage you into a shop selling posh plaid handbags. And as for Virgin Euston, what an appalling concept. It's the mainline station, if any, that ought to rebranded after Sir Richard Branson's empire, not the tube station alongside. Plus he's only got his West Coast franchise for a few more years, and then there'd be the expense of rebranding or unbranding all over again. Only a politician with no sense of irony could consider prostituting the tube map under the Virgin name.
And the report doesn't want to stop there. We should rebrand tube lines it says, because not to do so is throwing money away. They do it in Spain, it says, with Line 2 in Madrid currently rebranded as Line 2 Vodafone. I'm sure an airline would snap up the Piccadilly line, and any big financial company would love to rename the Waterloo and City. But I suspect the strongest business case would be for the creation of the Westfield Central line, conveniently joining new stations at Westfield Shepherd's Bush and Westfield Stratford City. Imagine the clout of running rebranded trains beneath Oxford Street to lure customers away to rival retail premises, it's PR perfection. And yet stop to think of the communities such a change might disempower. There's far more to Stratford than the megamall by the Olympics, and yet such sponsorship would hijack the neighbourhood for corporate greed.
How about sponsoring London buses instead? In a survey carried out for the report more than 40% of respondents were in favour. But I can't imagine quite how this would work, at least in any practical way. Painting all the buses on some route red and emblazoning them with Coke bubbles perhaps, rather than renumbering the route to Wormwood Scrubs as 7-Up. Or how about sponsoring stations in situ rather than on the map, in much the same way that various suburban National Rail stations are already "Earlsfield, home of Greens the Letting Specialists". The report is aiming higher, perhaps "Knightsbridge for Harrods" or "Green Park for Fortnum and Mason", more with an eye for funnelling tourists than informing Londoners.
So come on, asks the report, what's the problem? TfL has already slapped Emirates all over the tube map, so why hesitate at more? And they nearly, oh so nearly, sold the naming rights to Oxford Circus to a wine brand a few years back, so how about actually going through with it next time? Surely the Underground has a history of rebranded station names anyway, like Surrey Docks becoming Surrey Quays or Gillespie Road becoming Arsenal. Let's build on that foundation, they argue, and flog off more for cash. Apparently all these changes are necessary "if London’s transport network is to remain one of the best in the world", but that's only if you're thinking funding and not reputation.
Thankfully TfL are standing firm in the face of commercial pressure, with no plans to change their policy on station rebranding. Even the boss they currently have in charge of making money out of the network says so.
Don't underestimate how much it would cost to properly rename a station. Every roundel and nameplate on the station itself. Every enamel line diagram on every station down the line, on every line. Every line map on every train running through the renamed station. And every other relevant sign tucked away in any corner of any station anywhere. For example Shepherds Bush Market was renamed five years ago, but that name change is still heralded by manky labels in the wrong sized font slapped over the original station name on line diagrams around the network. A crappy little sticker won't do for a commercial contract, this change would have to be done properly... and then probably undone later when the company might not be around to pay for it.
TfL may be outspokenly reticent to rebrand existing stations, which is to their credit, but there is one area where they have no such qualms. That's new infrastructure with no heritage, and nothing for the public to get upset about changing. The Cycle Hire scheme launched fully branded, likewise the cablecar, and there's nothing to suggest future new schemes won't be the same. The next places we should be worried about are on the Northern line extension down to Battersea, or Prada Battersea as it could become, with an intermediate stop at Sainsbury's Nine Elms. Crossrail could become a string of marketing pearls, to great horror, if this policy were left unchecked. The report also suggests funding future extensions via big business, for example "the DLR extension to Dagenham Dock, perhaps sponsored by Ford, or the Tram extension to seek sponsorship from a business based in South London." No, I can't think of a likely candidate either.
Essentially the argument comes down to money versus heritage. To many Londoners, it doesn't matter what you call the Underground so long as they get to pay less for their tickets. Indeed the entire premise of the report is a perceived need to "bear down on fares", as if increasing fare rises in line with inflation is somehow an abdication of responsibility. Hell, if that's the main issue why don't we sell off everything? The Amazon British Library. The Mastercard Houses of Parliament. Sky Broadband Queen Elizabeth II. Imagine how much public service value you could get for flogging off those. Indeed, as the report says, "if this finance can be used for a purpose that is clearly in the public interest, then significant advantages for Londoners exist". Buckingham Disney Palace it is, then.
Call me stupid, but I value heritage and clarity over money. I'd rather pay the same or a bit more to travel on an untarnished network, rather than flogging the family silver in a one-off deal to save a few pence per journey. For now, thankfully, TfL agrees. The next station is not yet Virgin Euston.
It's time to take an end-to-end journey on the Metropolitan line. From Aldgate as far as you can go, which is currently Chesham, a journey of just under 30 miles in just under 100 minutes.
Aldgate station just about fits within the eastern edge of the City of London, isolated along with St Botolph's church in the centre of a gyratory. It still says Metropolitan Railway in the tiling above the main entrance, or at least it says M.R. which was good enough at the time. The station lies in cutting beneath a vaulted glass roof, with a series of open staircases leading down to platform level. Best check the ancient Next Train Indicator before you descend, because there's bugger all down there to indicate when the next service is due and where it's going. That's not too much trouble on the two Metropolitan line platforms because all the trains are travelling to at least Harrow and most passengers aren't going that far. But for the suited City gent returning to Bucks after a hard day's high finance, grabbing one of the limited number of seats on the correct train is crucially important.
The lights go off beside the door and we depart, with another train already queueing to slip into our vacated platform. Around the curve is Liverpool Street, where the rear of the train comes to a halt just off the end of the platform. "The rear doors will not open here", announces the disembodied voice, while the red 'Door not in use' sign lights up above the offending portal. And, I notice, also above the opposite door which was never going to open anyway, which is typically inconsistent. Few enter the train at the rear end here, but rather more do at Moorgate, including a gaggle of foreign tourists and a bloke immersed in a book. Barbican still has platform numbers from the Network South East era, and a disused signal box at the Smithfield end of the station.
Farringdon's a mass of scaffolding at the moment in preparation for Crossrail, which at one time was due to take over the line to Chesham but that never materialised. Instead we plod on, still over an hour to go, and plenty of time to complete the Evening Standard crossword. At King's Cross St Pancras several passengers stand back and let us pass because they want Paddington, they don't want to go our way. The same at Euston Square and Great Portland Street, two more stations that are too short for these long trains. We queue erratically to proceed, as the line attempts to keep to its strict published timetable. And finally we curve off beneath Chiltern Court onto the Met proper.
Ah, Baker Street, gateway to the northwest. You don't sense the grandeur of the surrounding buildings from within, not even from the far end of the platforms where the sun streams in. City trains roll in along the central tracks, while lesser services to Herts and Hillingdon wait patiently to one side. The tunnels ahead dip for a couple of miles beneath St John's Wood, rising only to slink over the Regent's Canal and back down again. There used to be three additional stations along here, including one at Swiss Cottage that was once the terminus of the line. The most obvious of these is Marlborough Road, where the cut and cover opens out and gaps alongside for platforms are clearly seen. Modern safety signs have been affixed to the walls, and a metal staircase runs down for staff access, or in case an emergency evacuation is ever needed.
Outbound trains emerge into daylight at Finchley Road, alongside a switch on the wall marked 'Tunnel lighting'. Change here for the Jubilee line, calling at intermediate Brent stations, or stay aboard for the seven minute dash to Wembley. We run alongside a giant shopping centre on one side and fading blossom on the other. Here the Chiltern lines join us, creating a six-lane superhighway to the suburbs. The viaduct at Kilburn offers a brief glimpse across the rooftops towards distant Ealing and the heights of Hampstead. When I was little, riding the train up to town, this was always the special moment where it seemed the whole of London was laid out below, impossibly large, undeniably alluring. It still sets me slightly aquiver. And then back to tree level and the backs of houses, from Zone 2 to Zone 4 in a single leap.
Past the depot at Neasden comes Wembley Park, close but not that close to the looming white arch at the national stadium. Here many of the passengers alight, with rather fewer staying on board for the trek further out. Preston Road and Northwick Park are quieter stations with island platforms, as we start to pass those Metroland staples of pebbledash and cricket. Northwick Park has semi-overgrown raised beds, suggesting that staff here once used to enter the Underground in Bloom competition but no longer bother. Then at Harrow-on-the-Hill the in-car announcement states categorically that the back doors will not open, except they do. Thankfully that's the last we'll hear of this sub-optimal system as the journey progresses.
The Uxbridge branch veers off past a sign announcing 'Morrisons Harrow Now Open'. We've entered a world of allotments and avenues, and weatherboarded platforms above century-old shopping parades. North Harrow has nice tubs while Pinner boasts well-kept borders, plus a newsagent on the down platform sponsored by The Times. Backing onto the line are a succession of semis and bungalows and graffitied flats, most with gardens offering zero privacy from passing trains. The northbound platform at Northwood Hills is mostly advert-free, while at Northwood a suspicious number of the southbound posters are for local public schools. It feels like a real railway out here, running between woods and golf courses, but then we are in Hertfordshire now.
Moor Park serves a community of three-car households, hence the station is lightly used. It's also no longer the key spot for Watford branchers to switch onto a fast train, what with fast trains being an endangered species in the latest timetable. Across the Common Moor and the Grand Union we go, another favourite view, dropping down from four tracks to two as we approach Rickmansworth. With a signalbox and sidings one can well imagine Betjeman pausing here, although his 1972 documentary skipped right over. It's less glamorous up ahead where the M25 rides roughshod over the wooded cutting on concrete stilts, before the Common restores rurality. And someone's recorded "The next station is Chorleywood" with completely the wrong emphasis, which annoyed me, twice.
Only on the next stretch does the countryside finally open out to rolling fields, becoming more built-up again on the approach to Chalfont & Latimer. This used to be where you changed for the Chesham shuttle, but no longer, and mini-platform three is now out of service. Ahead is the longest gap between stations on the entire network, that's 3.89 miles, or twenty times the distance from Leicester Square to Covent Garden. The single-track branch line veers off before an industrial estate, past, hang on, isn't that a field of alpacas? The view down across the Chess Valley should be one of the finest on the Underground except, oh, TfL are currently erecting a silver metal fence along the perimeter of the track despoiling any attempt to enjoy the panorama unobstructed.
There follows a gentle descent into Chesham at rooftop level, crossing the fledgling river and pulling into the town centre at the foot of a hill. The station's charming, with a long sinuous platform one, and platform two long ago converted into a prize-winninggarden. Locals know not to travel in the rear carriage because that means a longer walk at the end of the journey, probably passing the driver walking back up the platform to change ends. Exit is through a tiny lobby, formerly the ticket hall, now well stocked with local leaflets. We're as far away from London as the London Underground ever gets, in a pleasant Buckinghamshire town (walk straight ahead, turn left). No other line can boast so great a contrast at its extremities, but that's why I love it so.
The Olympic Park is finally reopening next month. Not all of it, only the northern bit for the time being, but that was the prettiest part anyway. A year after the Games began we're being allowed back in to wander freely amongst the riverside meadows... or at least we sort of are. The opening weekend will be a special event, the Open East Festival, for which tickets must be purchased in advance. This is to be a family-friendly festival organised in conjunction with the Barbican, and will feature musical acts, pop-up theatre, a real food festival and a "sustainable, up-cycled, vintage and contemporary" urban bazaar. Tickets cost £9.50 plus £2 processing fee, and are currently only available to residents of neighbouring boroughs and Barbican members, but go on general sale tomorrow. I'm going to give it a miss. I'd prefer to reacquaint myself with Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park in a more peaceful manner, without bumping into slam poets and drumming workshops, which hopefully we'll be allowed to do freely on subsequent days.
There are a surprising number of other ways to get into the Olympic Park over the next eight weeks, which I've attempted to list below. Credit cards at the ready...
2 June Park In Progress: Today's the last day for taking a trip up the Orbit in a hard hat. Tickets still available. [£15] 6-9 June Global Champions Tour: This international showjumping shindig couldn't get its usual spot in Kensington Gardens so instead they're pitching up next to Westfield, where the security tents used to be. Arena and grandstands currently under construction. [weekday tickets from £10, weekend tickets from £60] 29-30 June Hard Rock Calling: Kasabian, Bruce Springsteen, The Black Crowes and Paul Weller are amongst those headlining. [£51.75 Saturday, £69.75 Sunday] 6 July The Summer Stampede: Next on the big stage are Mumford & Sons, backed by Vampire Weekend and Ben Howard. [£57.50] 12-14 July Wireless Festival: That'll be Justin Timberlake, Jay-Z and a host of hip Radio-1-type acts hitting E20. Hyde Park residents must be delighted to be getting rid of this one. [1 day £83.50, 3 days £209.95] 20 July Electric Daisy Carnival: Dance the day away with AVICII and Tiësto, until the curfew chucks you out at 11pm. [£72.50] 26-28 July Anniversary Games: Back in the stadium again, one year on! A well known supermarket sponsors three days of IAAF Diamond League action and Paralympic echoes. [£12-£50] 27-28 July Open East Festival: A packed weekend of entertainment and activity, art and food. [£11.50] 29 July onwards Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park: Open to the public at last, from 2pm. Come anytime, bring a picnic. [free]
Meanwhile, if you go down to the perimeter of the Olympic Park today...
• View from the Greenway: They still come to the sewertop overlooking the stadium to stand and stare. Not in such large numbers as before, indeed not in large numbers at all, but still they come. Foreign tourists and curious provincial visitors, plus Londoners strolling or biking through on the way to Hackney Wick. The stadium's still very visible across an increasingly empty void, with a run of lush green foliage marking the tree-lined banks of the City Mill River. Above all this rises the Orbit, imminently dormant, still some way off from being the international attraction planners hoped. And beyond that is the Aquatic Centre, finally shorn of its wings to reveal the sleek sinuous lines that Zaha Hadid planned all along. Still out of reach, the lot of them. Instead you'll have to make do with a coffee from the View Tube, or maybe buy some leftover 2012 souvenirs from the shop in the lime green containers outside. Or trek up the stairs to the viewing platform, which was the whole point of the View Tube in the first place, although I rarely see anyone else up there these days.
• Pudding Mill Lane station: Once a runty halt in the middle of nowhere much, this DLR station is changing fast. A brand new station is under construction to the south of the existing platforms, has been for a while, but construction is now speeding up. New PML's long concrete shell is nearly complete, with workmen adding final touches using big orange JCBs. Triple-width staircases run up to either platform, ideal for coping with the post-match exodus when West Ham move in nextdoor. The walls and canopies have yet to go in, and the lift towers are merely vacant shafts, but expect to be catching trains here some time next year. That'll allow the old station to be demolished to make way for Crossrail, which is due to rise up out of the ground nearby on its way to Stratford and Shenfield. There'll be no more fine views from the platforms, the new lot look rather more enclosed, but at least it'll be dry when the weather's blasting horizontal.
• Stratford International: It can't be long now before the barriers out the back of the station are whisked away and the East Village is opened up. This used to be the Athletes Village, but they've been busy adding proper kitchens over the last nine months and this could soon be your home. A whole network of roads lies ready for use, big and broad in a future-proofed way, with what looks like too many sets of traffic lights for the early years. Direct bus services are imminent too, indeed they were due to have started already, but for the time being the bus stops stand empty... and will likely remain so for some time.
• John Lewis Olympic Shop: Every time I venture to Westfield to see if the Olympic Shop has closed down yet, I'm surprised to see it hasn't. John Lewis must still deem it worthwhile to lure punters into their top floor viewing gallery, or else there's still money to be made out of the last of the merchandise. But the choice is thinning fast. If you want a rucksack you're in luck, because they appear to be the hardest-to-shift item. Black ones, blue ones, especially kid-friendly Wenlock-shaped ones, cover a couple of walls. £2 gets you a 2012 logo badge, now only available in white, while it's £4.49 for a blue and pink Union Jack "folding sit mat". A lot of branded umbrellas remain up for grabs, it's £7.50 for those, while it's no surprise to see the last of the wallet-sized fish and chip forks still going strong for £2.50. A few pricing decisions baffle, like selling off Time Out mini-guides to London 2012 for £5.62, but if your kids want togging up in Team GB clothing, best get here fast. Or any time, because there appears to be no rush.
• Waterden Road: It's now possible to drive a car through the northern Olympic Park, because Waterden Road has recently reopened especially for those who want to drive from the A12 to Westfield. Alas they're not allowing anyone on foot through yet, nor cyclists, but once QEOP opens we'll all be allowed back down again. Having visited the junction where Waterden Road links to the Eastway and the A12, all I can say is that it's currently horrifically pedestrian-unfriendly, and I wouldn't want to ride a bike here either. Here's hoping the final plans allow for a more accessible approach to the north of the park, rather than creating a swirling funnel aimed at prioritising traffic.
As a child of Metroland, I've ridden the purple line hundreds of times before. I've also blogged about it in depth, back on the centenary of Sir John Betjeman's birth. But is that going to stop me from going back and spending another month on the Metropolitan line? Hell no, there's nothing quite like going home.
Steam trains ran on the Metropolitan line last weekend as part of the Underground's 150th birthday celebrations. Four journeys between Harrow-on-the-Hill and Amersham, some single, some return, with those in the outward direction hauled by steam. Tickets cost up to £45, which seems a princely sum for the opportunity to end up precisely back where you started, and all without being able to see the locomotive on the front. A cheaper option was to stand on a platform as the train went by, so long as you were in the right place at the right time, and so long as no bloke with a camera stepped out in front of you as she passed. The far end of the Met was crawling with enthusiasts soaking up the sunshine and taking the opportunity to snap history. At Chorleywood and Chalfont they waited, one eye on their watch, the other on the distant tracks. At Moor Park the thundering approach of a diesel caught some out, but they rallied in time to capture the steam loco bringing up the rear. Some may even have stared at the train without attempting to recordits passingin some way, but they were in the minority.
At Amersham, shiny old and shiny new coexisted in a peculiar way. In pulled the steam train to disgorge its complement of heritage riders, while a toot from the siding signalled that the next S Stock was preparing to enter the platform alongside. On platform 3, there was stuff for sale. A table was laid out with copious Tube 150 goodies, of the sort you can normally buy miles away in the London Transport Museum. A smaller table was laid out with leaflets from the Epping Ongar railway, reminding their target audience to come to Essex later this month to ride the same train considerably more cheaply. Meanwhile the Buckinghamshire Railway Centre had a stall in the Waiting Room, hoping to entice enthusiasts to a Tube 150 event in August. They're responsible for restoring Met Loco No. 1, which puffed through central London tunnels in January, and which appeared on several semi-reasonably-priced souvenirs.
For those who could tear themselves away from the station, there was a treat at the top of Hill Avenue. An old toyshop has been taken over, for just three weeks, by a special pop-up museum. The protagonists are the local experts at Amersham Museum, and the theme is the birth of Amersham-on-the-Hill. The town has an entirely split personality, both in age and in character, entirely due to the coming of the Metropolitan Railway. The old market town in the valley appears in the Domesday Book and is proper Buckinghamshire lovely. Local landowners at the end of the 19th century were intent on keeping it that way, and campaigned successfully to keep the new-fangled railway out of the town. Instead the tracks were built across the common on the hill, where a halt was opened to little effect.
It took a decade or two for the Met to realise the potential of the surrounding farmland for housing, at which point suburban avenues curled inexorably across the landscape. A new sub-town was created, this being Amersham On The Hill, luring in city workers in search of a better class of home. Hundreds of aspirational houses and bungalows were built by the Metropolitan Railway Country Estates Company, none of them cheap, but still wilfully affordable by modern standards. To the south of the station was the Weller Estate, with its grand oversized cottages set in spacious gardens, much of which is now a conservation area. Lower down the hill is High Over Park, the location of various Mediterranean-white SunHouses and the Y-shaped High and Over. The latter is a modernist home in ocean-liner style, much drooled over by Betjeman in his Metroland documentary. A lot of Amersham-on-the Hill has been somewhat downgraded by residential infill, with all sorts of lesser homes built in what used to be the MRCE's gardens. But it's still a green and very pleasant place to live, and entirely worthy of a special exhibition.
The commuter town's history is duly aired in a series of display boards around the perimeter, augmented by railway mementoes and a model station. Above a 1930s sitting room is a row of Metroland brochure covers sewn, yes sewn, by an enterprising and creative local. In the other half of the shop is a collection of Bayko, the plastic construction toy that allowed interwar children to play at architects, and a model railway layout lined by tin houses. Those last two might only have been present last weekend, I'm not sure, but the curators won't have left the room empty. It's the pop up exhibition's last day today, not that it's big enough to merit rushing, you understand, but I'm glad I was around to pop in.
At all other times, Amersham Museum opens every Saturday, Sunday & Bank Holiday Monday (2.00 – 4.30pm) from March to October, and additionally on Wednesdays and Thursdays from May to September. Admission £2. Hunt down the Tudor house in Old Amersham High Street, and enjoy. Talk: The Development of Amersham-on-the-Hill - Wednesday 5th June (Julian Hunt will explain the development of shops and housing in Amersham-on-the-Hill since the station’s opening in 1892) Talk: Metroland - Wednesday 3rd July (Oliver Green will talk about ‘Metroland’ and compare Amersham’s Metroland housing with other developments along the line)
Pinner: This is a splendid display. A flowerbed of grand proportions behind the benches at the end of the southbound platform. Imagine waiting for your City train here as bold flowers burst out from the greenery behind. Reds and pinks and yellows dance above a carpet of leaves - even the whites seem somehow brighter here. But it's the shrubbery that truly draws the eye, bursting out in floral clouds at eye and shoulder level. So high is this botanic eruption that the ugly metal railings beyond almost disappear. You could easily lose a colony of foxes, or more likely rats, beneath the spread of broad leaf cover. It's clear that someone's keeping this border in tiptop shape, no doubt with regular watering and the occasional prune. They love their station at Pinner, and they tend it with pride.
Northwood Hills: They've been busy at the quiet end of the Metropolitan, brightening up the scene. The two long raised beds, facing each other across the tracks, are currently a riot of summer colour. Each has been planted with pretty and practical bedding plants, carefully selected for overall effect. Those are poppies, those are pansies, and those are lupins unless I'm very much mistaken. But that's not all. Here at Northwood Hills they've made an effort all along the southbound platform, with manicured tubs in the shade of the canopy and small blue planters hanging from the edge of the wall. The overall effect would score more marks if some passenger hadn't chucked an economy energy drink can into the foliage, but I'm sure a member of station staff will be along shortly to collect it.
Preston Road: This might not be everyone's choice for top tube flowerbed, but won't you look at that waterfall of colour? Perhaps it's the time of year, but these bushes are literally bubbling with blossom. They've planted the same at Pinner, but only here on the island platform are they given the chance to burst forth as nature intended. Whites and pinky-browns, rising higher than the lampposts, in truly dominant position. Meanwhile a splash of yellow complements the scene at lower level, without which this would be an unbalanced sprawl. The composition might look almost thrown together, but Preston Road well deserves its place in the list of Top Five Tube Flowerbeds. Stand here awhile and admire.
The oldest timber-framed building in London, well, Middlesex, is hidden away in North Harrow. More than that, it's not anywhere central, but up a residential street in the middle of a recreation ground. More than that, it's not the tithe barn straight ahead with Harrow Museum inside, that's only the aperitif. Try the cottagey-looking place across the moat - oh yes, it's got a moat - beyond the securely locked gate. That's Headstone Manor, parts of which date back to 1310 and haven't fallen over yet. And on weekends in spring and summer, if you turn up at 3pm, you can take a look inside.
You don't have to call in Mary Portas to rescue your High Street. Instead you can buy a few branded balloons and banners, pick a Saturday in June and bring the community together. Yesterday in HA6 was Northwood Hills Independents Day, organised by the traders of Joel Street to celebrate their local retail option. A very typical Metroland parade, this, long and broad with a tube station partway down. It's got a plumbers merchants and various hair options, an ironing shop and a gents outfitters, with barely a chainstore in sight. And on Saturday it also had multi-coloured bunting, strumming guitarists and two stormtroopers pounding the pavements to pose for photos. All the participating shops had a poster up offering a special promotion, some better than others, from a free tea with your haircut to 20% off everything. Most had spilled out onto the pavement with a selection of their wares, which isn't something that the opticians or the funeral service are used to doing. Even the local vicar was out with a boxful of clingfilmed salads, although they didn't seem to be selling well so he was eating one himself. Free hemp shopping bags were on offer, printed with an extraordinarily attractive image of what the area used to look like before the railways came, courtesy of the London Transport Museum. And god bless them, the local population had come out in droves, helped by the good weather and the offer of face painting for the littluns. They queued for street food, they snapped up homemade cakes and they spent rather more in the high street than they usually do. Which was the idea. It'll take more than one carnival afternoon to secure Joel Street's future but, like so many suburban parades, we'll all miss them when they're gone.
And then there's Beanotown. "Seriously?" I thought, when I spotted it on the map. I wasn't quite sure what to expect when I ventured to the concrete alleyway between the QEH and the RFH. A few cartoons on the wall, a pair of doors painted red and black, and a washing line of dangling letters pronouncing this to be Bash Street. It could have been nothing much more than a titled space. But there was an opening into the undercroft, which looked like it might contain more. My first thought was a creche, or at least an indoor playground for kids, and not necessarily somewhere I should be entering. I gave it a try anyway, and thankfully my first impressions were wrong.
METROPOLITAN: The Chess Valley Walk
METROPOLITAN: The Chess Valley Walk
Don't underestimate how much it would cost to properly rename a station. Every roundel and nameplate on the station itself. Every enamel line diagram on every station down the line, on every line. Every line map on every train running through the renamed station. And every other relevant sign tucked away in any corner of any station anywhere. For example Shepherds Bush Market was renamed five years ago, but that name change is still heralded by manky labels in the wrong sized font slapped over the original station name on line diagrams around the network. A crappy little sticker won't do for a commercial contract, this change would have to be done properly... and then probably undone later when the company might not be around to pay for it.
Aldgate station just about fits within the eastern edge of the City of London, isolated along with St Botolph's church in the centre of a gyratory. It still says Metropolitan Railway in the tiling above the main entrance, or at least it says M.R. which was good enough at the time. The station lies in cutting beneath a vaulted glass roof, with a series of open staircases leading down to platform level. Best check the ancient Next Train Indicator before you descend, because there's bugger all down there to indicate when the next service is due and where it's going. That's not too much trouble on the two Metropolitan line platforms because all the trains are travelling to at least Harrow and most passengers aren't going that far. But for the suited City gent returning to Bucks after a hard day's high finance, grabbing one of the limited number of seats on the correct train is crucially important.
Outbound trains emerge into daylight at Finchley Road, alongside a switch on the wall marked 'Tunnel lighting'. Change here for the Jubilee line, calling at intermediate Brent stations, or stay aboard for the seven minute dash to Wembley. We run alongside a giant shopping centre on one side and fading blossom on the other. Here the Chiltern lines join us, creating a six-lane superhighway to the suburbs. The viaduct at Kilburn offers a brief glimpse across the rooftops towards distant Ealing and the heights of Hampstead. When I was little, riding the train up to town, this was always the special moment where it seemed the whole of London was laid out below, impossibly large, undeniably alluring. It still sets me slightly aquiver. And then back to tree level and the backs of houses, from Zone 2 to Zone 4 in a single leap.
Only on the next stretch does the countryside finally open out to rolling fields, becoming more built-up again on the approach to Chalfont & Latimer. This used to be where you changed for the Chesham shuttle, but no longer, and mini-platform three is now out of service. Ahead is the longest gap between stations on the entire network, that's 3.89 miles, or twenty times the distance from Leicester Square to Covent Garden. The single-track branch line veers off before an industrial estate, past, hang on, isn't that a field of alpacas? The view down across the Chess Valley should be one of the finest on the Underground except, oh, TfL are currently erecting a silver metal fence along the perimeter of the track despoiling any attempt to enjoy the panorama unobstructed.
post-Olympic update
The Olympic Park is finally reopening next month. Not all of it, only the northern bit for the time being, but that was the prettiest part anyway. A year after the Games began we're being allowed back in to wander freely amongst the riverside meadows... or at least we sort of are. The opening weekend will be a special event, the Open East Festival, for which tickets must be purchased in advance. This is to be a family-friendly festival organised in conjunction with the Barbican, and will feature musical acts, pop-up theatre, a real food festival and a "sustainable, up-cycled, vintage and contemporary" urban bazaar. Tickets cost £9.50 plus £2 processing fee, and are currently only available to residents of neighbouring boroughs and Barbican members, but go on general sale tomorrow. I'm going to give it a miss. I'd prefer to reacquaint myself with Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park in a more peaceful manner, without bumping into slam poets and drumming workshops, which hopefully we'll be allowed to do freely on subsequent days.
• John Lewis Olympic Shop: Every time I venture to Westfield to see if the Olympic Shop has closed down yet, I'm surprised to see it hasn't. John Lewis must still deem it worthwhile to lure punters into their top floor viewing gallery, or else there's still money to be made out of the last of the merchandise. But the choice is thinning fast. If you want a rucksack you're in luck, because they appear to be the hardest-to-shift item. Black ones, blue ones, especially kid-friendly Wenlock-shaped ones, cover a couple of walls. £2 gets you a 2012 logo badge, now only available in white, while it's £4.49 for a blue and pink Union Jack "folding sit mat". A lot of branded umbrellas remain up for grabs, it's £7.50 for those, while it's no surprise to see the last of the wallet-sized fish and chip forks still going strong for £2.50. A few pricing decisions baffle, like selling off Time Out mini-guides to London 2012 for £5.62, but if your kids want togging up in Team GB clothing, best get here fast. Or any time, because there appears to be no rush.
For those who could tear themselves away from the station, there was a treat at the top of Hill Avenue. An old toyshop has been taken over, for just three weeks, by a special pop-up museum. The protagonists are the local experts at Amersham Museum, and the theme is the birth of Amersham-on-the-Hill. The town has an entirely split personality, both in age and in character, entirely due to the coming of the Metropolitan Railway. The old market town in the valley appears in the Domesday Book and is proper Buckinghamshire lovely. Local landowners at the end of the 19th century were intent on keeping it that way, and campaigned successfully to keep the new-fangled railway out of the town. Instead the tracks were built across the common on the hill, where a halt was opened to little effect.
