It's a tall fountain too, which is good because it actually fills the space for once.
Fons Americanus by Kara Walker is a monument to the colonial slave trade, a memorial to the unremembered, dressed up to look like an imperialist fountain. Look closer and the sea captain on the pedestal is of African descent, sharks swim with a snorkeller in the ornamental pool and a noose hangs from the lynching tree. Look higher and the water is gushing from the breasts of a voluptuous goddess and erupting from a slit in her neck. Do Not Touch The Water, warns the Tate's Health and Safety noticeboard, before adding that the floor may be wet.
The full title of the work is painted on a side wall, in suitably florid style, and very full it is too. 'Behold! The Sworling Drama of the Merciless Seas, Routes and Rivers upon which our dark fortunes were traded' is but a small extract. Further up the Turbine Hall is a lonely white scallop shell inside which the usual Venus has made way for a Negro boy drowning in his own tears. Precisely what everything means is never stated, but half the intrigue for visitors is trying to decipher each of the sculpted components.
London's cosy place in the world owes much to barbaric practices on the high seas, so Kara's fountain is a timely nudge at our collective conscience. It's also "built from reusable or recyclable cork and metal" and covered with "a non-toxic acrylic and cement composite", which is the first time I've seen a major work of art quite so keen to claim environmentally friendly credentials. I'm putting it comfortably in the top half of the TurbineHallleaguetable, however uncomfortable it made me feel.
I am writing to tell you — the readers of this blog — that I am running to be Mayor of London as an independent candidate. And I would like your vote so that we can transform this great capital — the most intricate, diverse and astonishing city on the planet, the financial centre of the world, and the cradle of our democracy — together.
I believe have the ego to bring this city together, and so have decided to disrupt the upcoming Mayoral elections in an entirely unpredictable way by unexpectedly announcing my candidature.
We need to work together to lead London through one of the most challenging times in its history, through the uncertainty of Brexit, the dangers of international terrorism and the complete absence of printed bus maps.
So many of our problems in London are blindingly obvious. You don’t need me to tell you that our housing is unaffordable, or that muggers lurk on every street corner, or that breathing our air will kill you. Instead you need someone like me to look as if I'm sorting these crises out.
The answers are not rocket science. It's obvious to me that we need to build more flats, an idea I'll be pretending nobody else has ever had. We need more police on our streets, because every candidate always says that. Our trains and buses must run more reliably, because only a fool would argue the opposite. I also intend to be the one to cut air pollution, after my predecessor spent four years proving he could not.
I pledge to say all the right things during my campaign. I promise to have impressive aspirations and spout worthy platitudes. I intend to keep everyone on side.
HOUSING
• Building lots more houses
• Refusing permission for tall buildings
• But definitely building lots more houses
POLICING
• Cutting crime through decisive action
• Persuading individuals not to be criminals
• But definitely cutting crime through decisive action
TRANSPORT
• Funding lots of shiny new services
• Supporting Londoners by refusing to put fares up
• But definitely funding lots of shiny new services
AIR POLLUTION
• Acting swiftly to cut vehicle emissions
• Doing nothing that restricts car drivers' freedoms
• But definitely acting swiftly to cut vehicle emissions
Later I will discover that much of what I thought would be easy is actually really hard. Later I will realise that some of what I assumed would be quick to solve is not within my legal remit. Along the way I will make some utterly stupid decisions, because I'm only human. I'm hoping you'll be overlooking all of this.
I also have have some really evil policies, or at least several you won't like, but I won't be revealing these until I'm safely in power and it's too late for you to stop me. Like every politician I simply have to convince you up front that I will usher in an era of positive change, then let you down relentlessly as the years go by.
Which is why I want to start a conversation with you, in fact I already have via this blog, which is more than a former MP from Cumbria has ever managed. I will also be spending the coming weeks walking through every borough in London — not campaigning, but listening and learning — indeed I have already been doing this for the last seventeen years, so up yours Rory.
Please pledge your support for a better, brighter, bolder city.
Bus Route Of The Day
410: Crystal Palace to Wallington Location: London south Length of journey: 9 miles, 65 minutes
Because it's 4th October I've been out riding the 410, because that's the Bus Route Of The Day.
Rest assured I can't run this feature again for the remainder of the month.
Crystal Palace bus station is the starting point for several bus routes, a veritable layover hub. As well as the 4th October there's also the 12th and 20th February, the 15th and 22nd July, plus four other routes which don't translate into proper dates. The 4th October is run by short-ish single deckers, every ten minutes or so, once the drivers have completed their ablutions in the staff amenity. Our bus is the second to pull up and doesn't quite fit into the space available, so we have to nudge round the edge of the safety barrier to climb onboard. Another passenger whips a discarded copy of the Metro off my seat just before I sit down and proceeds to read the gossip pages.
We head off downhill to the station, somewhat joltily, then turn off into the outer backwaters of South Norwood. A lad of school age hops on clutching two hot coffees, and hops off two stops later outside the Harris Academy. Some awkward turns into narrow residential roads are required, forcing two white vans to manoeuvre simultaneously out of our way. I soon spot the house on Cantley Gardens where I had sex in London for the first time, because the 4th October is that bus, not that it started running until 1998. The man in the seat opposite is eating a 99p egg and cress sandwich.
These sloping streets lie out of sight from most, their flats and villas quietly desirable, their houses decoratively flourished. South Norwood Lake, a former reservoir, is briefly glimpsed through the trees. Down Auckland Road we pause to pick up a man single-handedly carrying more luggage than I thought it was possible to get onto a bus. Into the wheelchair area go one large flat canvas bag containing a bike, one large plastic Bonza Box containing another bike and one large yellow North Face holdall carrying all his kit. Richard stands beside them to make sure they don't topple over, and prays that no pushchairs subsequently appear. He is in luck.
We escape out onto South Norwood Hill, briefly shadowing the 19th June, and pause outside the front entrance to Stanley Halls. This Edwardian social hub was gifted to the people of South Norwood by scientific entrepreneur William Stanley, and in return the people gifted him the clocktower by the station to celebrate his golden wedding anniversary. The clocktower is where Richard the cyclist alights, heavily laden, to continue his journey by train. Our journey has reached the comfortable state where every passenger has their own double seat. Banners for Crystal Palace football club hang from lampposts, implicitly assuming you must know who the grinning player is.
East of Croydon the 4th October's purpose is to connect backstreets to stations and shops, which is why we soon bear off to make a giant leap over the railway line. This offers the best view of the entire journey. It's our job to serve the entire length of Davidson Road, all 600+ houses, and to negotiate the gap between the cars parked on either side. Parking is so difficult that our first bus stop is located up a short sideroad, after which our bus has to negotiate a 180° turn round a mini roundabout to return to the main drag... then at Towpath Way we have to do exactly the same 'lollipop' manoeuvre again. When a bus stop on Davidson Road is finally permitted it has an extra message underneath which says 'All bus drivers check road ahead'. I get the sense that residents were strongly resistant to TfL sending a bus down this street in the 1990s, but now couldn't live without it.
A 28th September lets us pull out into Lower Addiscombe Road, with its lowly parade of minor shops, and things immediately feel a lot more Croydony. The Addiscombe Bakery may have closed, and The Leslie Arms might be entirely boarded up, but Zenith Fried Chicken hasn't yet sunk below the retail horizon. Another roundabout doubleback sets us on course for the lofty towers around East Croydon station, but we're not the traffic lights' priority so it'll take us a while to get there. Here come the flats with gyms underneath, the repurposed office blocks and those streaking green trams. There isn't a 31st of February, so the bus we're queueing behind can only be the 3rd of December.
Reaching East Croydon has taken half an hour, with only the driver and myself travelling all the way. A wholesale change of passengers takes place between one station and the next, with the greatest turnover outside the Whitgift Centre. Wellesley Road is lined by tall buildings that were once the future, but now look tired. Two police cars and a van are waiting outside Lunar House, home to UK Visas and Immigration, with all lights flashing. At West Croydon bus station we pause for an unnecessary minute while piped music floods in through the front doors. A teenager in a designer hoodie boards clutching a dozen boxed Krispy Kremes bound for the suburbs.
The route ahead feels strangely unfamiliar, because I normally ride it by tram and only ever in the opposite direction. It's usually a lot quicker too, because clockwise the trams have no vehicular competition. We merely dribble forward to London Road, creep underneath Centrale then divert off down a backstreet with building works on both sides. At Reeves Corner every route number on the bus stop flag has been taped over except for 26th April, due to some long-forgotten diversion the Lazy Sods Who Manage Bus Stops have never bothered to update. No zigzag is too many as we attempt to weave under the flyover and then over the railway, after which our journey finally speeds up.
We only get to toy briefly with Purley Way, at its less arterial end, progressing no further than the McDonalds and Skoda showroom in Waddon. The bus is now in emptying mode, because who really wants to go to Wallington? Ahead is what looks like the sign for a garden centre, but turns out to say Welcome to Beddington, because that's the borough of Sutton's branding for you. Beyond the sign an economic transformation takes place - the houses get bigger, the cars parked in the front gardens get shinier and the official government deprivation statistics swing above midway for the first time on our journey. Welcome to Beddington indeed, where the street signs namecheck conservation areas, parkland is abundant and even the Thai takeaway has class.
It's just after 1pm and I am about to witness the full-on Wallington County Grammar School experience. A flood of grey blazers is heading out of the front entrance, it being lunchtime, with a significant stream targeting our next bus stop. Oh boy, we're about to go from almost empty to crush loading. I brace myself for high jinks, but the worst that happens is that someone outside the bus throws a scrunched up sweet wrapper through the middle doors and someone on board throws it back out again. Conversational topics on the ride ahead include coursework, amusing videos, A*s and trainers. An old lady with heavy shopping looks worried she won't be able to get off at Wallington Green, but the boys step back politely to allow her to squeeze through. House points for everyone.
Our heavily laden bus turns left up Manor Road into the busy heart of Wallington. I expect everyone to pour off at the station, but instead they hang on under the railway to the last stop in Beddington Gardens. Whoosh, the entire blazered complement are off... to Lidl (!?!) or the Tesco Express in the high street. It seems the £2.30 Roast Beef Dinner on today's school canteen menu couldn't compete with a supermarket meal deal. Meanwhile the 4th October has one more corner to turn, up Shotfield, on a brief hop to the bus stand behind Wallington Library. It's not officially a bus stop but the driver'll dispense you here anyway, just as the 15th January terminates here too. Pray I don't come back in three months time.
The village of Havering-atte-Bower, to the north of the borough, is the site of a long-lost royal manor house dating back before the Norman Conquest. Havering Palace was sited at what's now the highest point in East London, so had strategic importance, and was substantially upgraded in the 12th century. William the Conqueror, King John, Henry VIII and Charles I are amongst the monarchs who've lived or stayed here. If you've walked section 20 of the London Loop to the hilltop church at Havering-atte-Bower, you'll have passed through where it used to be. The borough of Havering isn't directly named after the palace itself, but after the privileged area that surrounded it.
The Royal Liberty of Havering was formed in 1465 on the orders of Edward IV, freeing the area from taxation and giving it independence in legal matters. It was originally equivalent to the parish of Hornchurch, which then stretcheddown through Romford and, narrowly, to the Thames. Magistrates convened at a court in Romford, while condemned criminals were hanged at what's now Gallows Corner. The manor house was in ruins by the 18th century, and sold off by the crown in 1828, but it wasn't until 1892 that the Liberty was formally absorbed back into Essex. The name 'Havering' was thus thought ideal when a new borough was proposed in the 1960s, as it covered much the same area, but with the addition of an extra strip east of the River Ingrebourne (including Rainham, Upminster and North Ockendon).
Newham
Out of all London's modern borough names, only Newham is a new word. The borough was formed by bolting together the County Borough of West Ham and the County Borough of East Ham, two of Essex's most heavily populated districts, formerly the Parish of West Ham and the Parish of East Ham. Both parishes were based around a 12th century church, namely All Saints in West Ham and St Mary Magdalene's in East Ham. Before the churches were built, and ecclesiastical division took place, these Thameside marshes were known only as Ham, an old English term for 'low-lying pasture'. What we now know as Newham, formed from West Ham and East Ham, was thus originally simply Ham (so could be deemed Oldham, but probably best not go there).
Redbridge
The borough of Wanstead and Woodford would much rather have amalgamated with Walthamstow and/or Leyton, but was eventually forced to join up with the borough of Ilford (because population totals added up better). To keep these new bedfellows sweet it was thought political to name the new borough after a feature on the boundary between them, even though that feature had been demolished forty years earlier. The Red Bridge was the sole crossing of the River Roding between Ilford Bridge and Woodford Bridge, a span supported on red bricks which carried a minorcountry lane deep into rural Essex. Along Redbridge Lane were Red Bridge House and The Old Red House pub. Then in 1922 along came Eastern Avenue, now the A12, and the old Red Bridge was swept away in favour of something majorly arterial.
The A12 thunders over the Roding fractionally to the north of the original bridge. The new crossing is not red, more concrete-edged, but retained the name Red Bridge on some old maps. When the Central line was dug in the late 1930s a new station was built close by, the original intention being to call it West Ilford. Planners then toyed with Red House, after the pub, then considered Red Bridge, but when the station finally opened after the war its given name was the single word Redbridge. And that's the name that's stuck, being awarded to the new borough in the early 60s (and the neighbouring Redbridge roundabout in 1977). No other London borough's name is so mired in etymological shadow.
Tower Hamlets
Like Havering, Tower Hamlets was another Liberty, but this time carved from Middlesex not Essex. It covered the area under the immediate influence of the Tower of London, a zone with military obligations to the Constable of the Tower (who had official powers to raise local forces to supplement his garrison). The Constable took the title Lord Lieutenant of the Tower Hamlets in 1660, with the surrounding 'county within a county' also known as the Tower Division. Amongst the incorporated hamlets were Whitechapel, Bethnal Green, Stepney, Bow and Poplar, as you'd expect, but also Shoreditch and Hackney. The original Tower Division was therefore rather larger than the borough of Tower Hamlets today, and included most of the current borough of Hackney (excluding Stoke Newington). It was officially dissolved in 1889 and absorbed into the County of London, but sort-of got its name back in 1965.
Waltham Forest
Waltham Forest was a royal hunting ground to the northeast of London, a particular favourite of Henry VIII, and was first named in the 13th century. It was one of four forests created when the larger Forestof Essex was disestablished, along with Hatfield Forest, Writtle Forest and Kingswood Forest (near Colchester). Waltham Forest was immense, incorporating both Epping Forest and Hainault Forest, and stretched all the way from Harlow-ish to Bow Bridge. The Waltham in question wasn't Walthamstow but Waltham Abbey, a Saxon settlement which doesn't fall within the modern borough. Walthamstow actually derives its name from the Old English word for welcome, not the forest, but those who named the boroughs must have appreciated the coincidence. Of all the names of all the London boroughs, Waltham Forest is historically the most diffuse.
