But before the planners drew their lines across the map, several small villages were scattered amongst the fields where the new city now stands. These included Broughton, Bradwell, Woughton on the Green, Little and Great Woolstone, as well as Willen where the big lake ended up. And there was also a small parish called Milton Keynes, just off the Newport Pagnell Road, whose name was borrowed to apply to the entire twenty-thousand-acre site.
In the Doomsday Book, the manor was called Middeltone. In 1166 it passed by marriage into the hands of Hugh de Kaynes, a Norman landowner, and so became known as Middelton Kaynes. Milton Keynes is a 15th century contraction. If Mabel hadn't married Hugh, the new town would have been called something completely different.
All SaintsChurch dates back to 1330, on the site of an even older building from the turn of the 13th century. I tried hunting for the medieval fishponds immediately to the west, but in this parched weather there was no obvious sign. On the village green is a village sign, still using the old name, and a small village hall housed in the old village school. The cricket pitch looked pristine.
The former heart of the village is just down the lane, outside The Swan Inn. Not only is it 13th century, it's also thatched, and requires taller clientele to duck their heads on entering. The tables out front are well frequented on sunny afternoons. Down the road is the obligatory red telephone box, and a shelter which looks like it was once a bus stop. The last surviving shop is a barbers. The Post Office may be long closed, but now comprises half of a very pretty thatched cottage.
The rural illusion is convincing, but you only have to drive a short distance down the road to reach modern Leys, Closes, Crofts and Drives. Connection to the wider world is via the Griffith Gate roundabout. Indeed the village has been entirely absorbed into the Middleton neighbourhood, whose name harks back to the original name of the village, before it was Milton Keynes.
On the other side of the parish is Oakgrove, one of the new town's newest neighbourhoods, and where Waitrose have chosen to site their out-of-town megastore. The developers named it after a clump of trees on an 17th century map, rather than adopting the perhaps more honest option of Formerquarry. Street names include Pixel Avenue, Cyber Avenuue, Abacus Drive and Wizard Way.
A Show Home and Sales Centre await potential buyers, with prices on the 4 bedroom detacheds starting at £675,000. The family homes already built along the edge of the reedy flood relief channel look less Milton Keynes and more Barking Riverside. But there are tunnels for the newts, so that's good, and the peace of Ouzel Valley Park is only a short distance away. The driving forces behind housing growth change, but never disappear.
I'm extending midsummer by one day to complete my walk along MIDSUMMER BOULEVARD, the solstice-aligned spine road at the heart of Milton Keynes. Yesterday I walked from the station up to the shopping centre at the city's highest point, and today I'm continuing towards Campbell Park. [map][aerial shots]
Milton Keynes Shopping Centre
The largest building in town, and undoubtedly the longest, the Shopping Centre opened for business in 1979. Officially it's now called thecentre:mk, but let's pretend it isn't. It comprises two half-mile-long parallel arcades, intermittently linked, with M&S as the anchor tenant at one end and John Lewis at the other. House of Fraser will be moving out early next year. The centre's big strength is that everything's at ground floor level, larger department stores notwithstanding, with delivery access hidden away on the first floor. I used to come here in the 1990s to do my Christmas shopping - two circuits and I'd hopefully be done. The light and airy arcades still look much the same, although some of the tropical planting and bench seating has been whipped out to be replaced by stalls selling mobile phone cases and churros.
My favourite spot was Queen's Court, the outdoor enclave officially opened by Her Majesty, as an inscribed plaque near the sliding doors attests. It also shows the direction of sunrise and sunset at the two solstices, confirming the solar backstory of the fledgling city, as well as aspects of public realm since deleted to create a food court in the space instead. The original pergola, podium and lawn are now empty space, the enormous fountainpool has been reduced to a thin water feature, and the Vox Pop statue has been shunted into a corner where Carluccio's and Cafe Rouge don't need seating. The whole place smells of bratwurst. But the centre's still a popular destination, kept fresh by incremental reinvention, and I did a full circuit for old times' sake.
The Point
Before 1985 the UK had no multiplex cinemas, this being the first, the brainchild of US entertainment magnate Stanley Durwood. It looked amazing too, a red steel ziggurat in a prime location mid-Midsummer Boulevard, and it thrived. But then the Xscape entertainment complex opened up a block behind, with a wider choice of films (as well as the country's largest ski slope). The Point attempted to reinvent itself, including a brief period as the UK's only Easycinema, but the final curtain fell in 2015. A developer has long had plans for demolition, but coming up with a replacement scheme the council approves of is proving tricky, their last attempt being described as "garish retail shed". In the meantime a few stalwarts still disappear underneath for bingo, and the shiny pinnacle slowly decays.
Milton Keynes Market
Some councils like their markets, whereas Milton Keynes shoves its into a grubby space beneath a concrete overpass. A cluster of brightly spangled stalls clings on, selling the usual fruit and veg, foam cushions and rolls of binbags. You won't get your phone unlocked in the main shopping centre, nor is there a wool trader selling Wendy, Robin and Sirdar, but it's hard to avoid the feeling you're walking round an afterthought undercroft and the unwanted corner of a car park.
The Food Centre
It seemed like a good idea at the time, to place Central Milton Keynes supermarket offering into a separate building on the opposite side of Midsummer Boulevard. I remember how sparkling it was when it opened, and how vastly amazing the Waitrose was, and my word how things change. Sainsbury's vacated in 2010, with Waitrose shifting in 2013 to a much bigger site in the suburbs, where it was easier to drive and park. Both units are still empty, the Food Centre now little more than a cheap multi-storey flanked by two overblown arcades, whose few occupied units are 'specialist stores' catering for immigrant communities. 25 years from boom to bust, that's all it takes.
MK Gallery and Theatre
It was 1999 before large-scale culture arrived in Milton Keynes, on the final block before Midsummer Boulevard's roadway gives out. The theatre's big enough to cope with West End transfers, whereas the art gallery dumped out front was always on the small side, and looked more like a box dropped underneath a monorail. That'll be why it's currently closed for a doubling in size, and the addition of "a welcoming new café bar", which means full-on building site ambience at present.
Campbell Park
Midsummer Boulevard ends very differently for vehicles and pedestrians. Cars and buses get to drive up to a roundabout on Marlborough Gate, then weave off to join the main city network, whereas the pavement dips down between the carriageways to duck underneath. This, if it needs restating, is another reason why coming to watch the solstice sunrise from anywhere along Midsummer Boulevard is intrinsically pointless. But pass beyond the concrete pillars, and the sheltered row of tents for the homeless, and the path suddenly filters out across the dual carriageway via a long footbridge and whoosh, you're in Campbell Park.
Campbell Park is brilliant, as if the city's founding fathers picked a block on the map and said we will never build here, we'll plant trees and wild flowers and create an undulating landscape to be proud of. The park's now under the control of The Parks Trust, an independent body spun out of the original corporation when it was wound down, and they have over 5000 verdant acres elsewhere to keep an eye on too. Campbell Park's probably the centrepiece, and the 'ley line' of Midsummer Boulevard continues straight on as a central path, first hitting this impressive circular bowl.
This is the Milton Keynes Rose, a cluster of 106 granite pillars of varying heights, positioned at intersections on a grid of overlapping circles. Created just three years ago, the pillars feature inscriptions marking an eclectic selection of locally important dates. One is 21 June, the Summer Solstice, obviously, but the others include 7 March (World Maths Day), 23 April 1969 (the day the Open University gained its Royal Charter) and 3 September 1978 (the day the concrete cows were unveiled). My personal favourite is 5 July 1953 (First Tea Bag Day), a manufacturing claim to fame from Bletchley, closely followed by an unnamed date in June (Knit In Public Day). You can see the full list here, and 42 pillars remain blank awaiting future dedications.
If you continue past the cattle grid, the path eventually peters out on an artificial peak called The Belvedere. This used to be empty, with only the panoramic view to sustain interest, but in 2012 a 'Light Pyramid' was added, comprising five white triangles rising to a central peak. It's occasionally illuminated at times of special celebration, and its pure colour allows local art critics to graffiti the flanks with expletive reviews. This, officially, is where Midsummer Boulevard terminates, but a desire line path slips down the mound for those who wish to continue through the meadow.
Tree Cathedral
I continued. It's hard to follow the alignment from this point onwards, as it crosses a stream, a fenced-off cricket pitch, the Grand Union Canal and the mini-roundabout at the heart of the David Lloyd Health Club car park. But there is one last symbolic spot, the Milton Keynes Tree Cathedral, whose nave follows precisely the same line we've been traversing since the station. It was planted in 1986, using hornbeam and lime for the nave, cherry for the side chapels and evergreens for the central tower, and is laid out as an exact copy of Norwich Cathedral. You can have your ashes scattered here, if mystic symbolism is your thing, in the peace and quiet of a highly imaginative city.
When MiltonKeynes was on the drawing board, its planners famously nudged the city grid so that its main street aligned with the summer solstice sunrise. They called it MIDSUMMER BOULEVARD, and compounded the prehistoric illusion by naming the parallel boulevards Avebury and Silbury. I didn't visit at quarter to five on Thursday morning, because there'd have been nothing to see, but I did take a walk down the full length of Midsummer Boulevard in broad daylight. All in all about a mile, starting at the station. [map][aerial photo]
Milton Keynes Central station
Wedged between the A5 and the city centre, this busy station was only added to the West Coast Main Line in 1982. More functional than inspirational, it only springs to life as you step out from the ticket hall into Station Square, which is where the low-density skyline of Milton Keynes first hits. Three sides are bounded by a huge C-shaped office block, and the other is wide open, with Midsummer Boulevard stretching off beyond. The office blocks appear to be fully constructed from oblongs of glass, so reflect the clouds dazzlingly on a fluffy cumulus day.
The Canal and River Trust are ensconced on one side of the entrance, with Santander a little further down, while other doors around the perimeter lead to echoing foyers below acres of empty desk space. Look more closely and all the usual little shops are here, from a Greggs to a bookies, while the homeless appear to have moved in beneath one convenient overhang. Station Square itself is vast, its piazza sliced by drop-off zones, bike racks and taxi ranks. It once doubled up as the front of the UN in the film Superman IV, and a certain sense of spectacle still pervades.
The Old Bus Station
The town's original bus station was built on the far side of Station Square, a distance which proved a little too far to be practical. Buses now pull into generic stands either side of the main station entrance, and the old freestanding concrete pavilion stands empty. It still looks amazing, with its deep-slung canopy and exposed steel girders, hence the Grade II listing, but that's made the interior hard to let. They've tried using it as a nightclub and cultural centre, but today only the skateboarders cavorting outside bring the place to life, and the surrounding tarmac (ironically) has become just another MK car park.
Redways
Milton's Keynes' famous network of segregated shared-use paths covers the city. One dips beneath the start of Midsummer Boulevard, just past Elder Gate, accessed via the briefest of subways. The idea is that you can walk or cycle anywhere in consummate safety, although the distances involved make cycling the more sensible option. Santander Cycles are in town, with a less chunky bike than that used in London, and docking stations somewhat irregularly scattered. That said, the prime rule of Redway etiquette is that users must always give way to road users, because in Milton Keynes the car remains very much king.
Midsummer Boulevard
You can tell cars rule because pedestrians aren't supposed to walk up Midsummer Boulevard, only to follow the pavements some distance to each side. The dual carriageway does have a central reservation, shielded between two lines of lush identikit trees, but it's not for walking up, only across. The official crossing points are marked by large black canopies - officially porte-cochères - with just enough low metal barriers elsewhere to prevent joyriders driving up onto the grass. I walked up the middle, obviously.
To either side is MK's CBD - a motley assortment of office blocks, some rebuilt taller than was originally permitted. Staff pop out for a smoke, or to collect their lunch from the M&S sandwich van, then wave their lanyards before disappearing back inside. And parking is easy, indeed a lot of central Milton Keynes looks like a car park, because that's how the place was designed. Parking costs 50p an hour (or £2 an hour if you slip into one of the premium zones to keep the walk to the shops down).
Midsummer Walk
Beneath one of the newer blocks, looking more Minecraft than most, lies a shopping arcade called Midsummer Walk. It's in the heart of the hotel zone, so was established with a leisure and lifestyle vibe in mind. The odd posh nailbar survives, and the Chinese restaurant out front looks like it still pulls them in. But the interior mall is essentially dead, like some ghostly walkway on the wrong side of a Middle Eastern airport, fronted by shops to let, a lonely dentist, and one of those studios waiting for anybody to pop in for a Group Photo Experience.
MK Menhir
Milton Keynes isn't averse to a bit of public art, and here's a piece making a particularly relevant nod to Midsummer. Sam Jacob has created a full-size foam replica of a sarsen stone from Avebury, painted it in iridescent purple and plonked it on top of one of the porte-cochères. "Both ancient in its references and modern in its appearance", he says, before waffling on about sculpture as a fragment of the landscape and losing it somewhat. Millennial MK-ers probably prefer the selfie-friendly hall of mirrors in the subway under Saxon Gate instead.
Church of Christ the Cornerstone
Modern housing developments don't usually bother with churches any more. Milton Keynes waited until 1991 before completing this, the UK's first city centre ecumenical church. Christ the Cornerstone is shared between Church of England, Roman Catholic, Baptist, Methodist and United Reformed, which helps avoid redundant usage. I turned up during Prayers for Peace, so went and sat in Fred Roche Gardens instead, and mused over quite what the spiky red sculpture was intended to represent.
Midsummer Place
And then Midsummer Boulevard suddenly stops. It used to carry on, across the city's highest point, but in 2000 the famous shopping centre was extended to the south, blocking the street with a lofty enclosed plaza, part-filled with inconsequential kiosks. All the extra shops are off to one side round a bland loop, and the open circus where the concrete cows used to graze around an ancient oak tree has become depressingly wildlifeless. These days they call the place intu Milton Keynes, which is just as out of character as the building itself.
And this intrusive shopping centre is just one of the reasons why standing on Midsummer Boulevard to watch the solstice sunrise would have been entirely pointless. That and the multitude of trees down the central reservation, not to mention the porte-cochères, and the fact that a road pointing uphill affords no view whatsoever of the key point on the horizon. Perhaps there'll be more luck on the other side of intu Milton Keynes, as Midsummer Boulevard continues... in what'll be Part Two tomorrow.
