125 years ago, on the last day of September 1888, London's autumn of terror peaked. The man we know as Jack The Ripper claimed his third and fourth victims within the space of an hour, one in Whitechapel and one in the City. This threw two separate police forces on his trail, which hindered rather helped the search. A postcard received by the press on 1st October described these killings as the "double event", a description which endures to this day. And the latter was the most brutal killing yet, despite being carried out in the most public place. So today I'm continuing my quest to visit the five confirmed murder sites as the anniversaries pass, comparing what happened then to what's there now.
The fourth of the Ripper's murders took place in Mitre Square, a gaslit quadrangle on the edge of the City. Holy Trinity Priory once covered the site, before Henry VIII closed it down, and the square today coincides approximately with the monks' cloister. Later developments hereabouts included St James's Church, after which Church Passage is named, but this was demolished in 1874. By 1888 Mitre Square was a mostly non-residential area surrounded by large warehouses and commercial buildings, with a small dingy yard in one corner. Behind one door sat a nightwatchman, but he wasn't watching the square that night, and neither was the off-duty policeman at number 3. Close by was St Botolph's Aldgate, then known as the "Church of Prostitutes" because ladies would parade their availability around its island perimeter. It's all too easy to image Jack storming off frustrated from Berner Street, selecting another victim from the carousel and leading her to her doom.
CatherineEddowes moved from Wolverhampton to London as a child, then moved back to the West Midlands to start a family. When that relationship failed she returned to Spitalfields, lodging in the same street as victim number three. By all accounts she lived an upright life, though was sometimes over-fond of alcohol which led to increasingly horizontal episodes. The City police took her in at 8pm on the evening of September 29th for being drunk, holding her in the cells at Bishopsgate Police station until she sobered up. Her release came at 1am, approximately the same time that Jack was murdering Liz half a mile away in Whitechapel. Catherine then headed back towards Aldgate High Street where she'd been picked up, only to be picked up again by a man on the other side of the law.
At 1.30am PC Edward Watkins walked through Mitre Square on his beat but saw nothing amiss. At 1.35am three witnesses saw Catherine talking to a man in a grey cloth cap at the end of Church Passage. One would later describe him as 30 years old, 5 foot 7 inches tall, of medium build with a fair complexion and moustache, although there's no reason to believe this was entirely accurate. After missing out earlier in Whitechapel, luck was now on Jack's side and he was able to practise his knife skills on Eddowes undisturbed. PC Watkins returned at 1.45am to find the mutilated body of a woman lying in the darkest corner of the square. Somehow the Ripper had murdered his victim by slashing her throat, then cut open her face, removed her intestines (and other specific organs) and escaped, all in a matter of minutes.
Mitre Square still exists, in approximately the same shape, but as a shadow of its former self. Every building that used to stand around the perimeter has been knocked down, the last major redevelopment being in 1980, and today only the cobbles remain. Even these have been moved and realigned, but it's possible that some are originals that the Ripper fled across. The site of Catherine's murder is in the southern corner, beneath the tree, on the kerb close to the flower bed. It's a half-decent bed too, raised on an island of earth along with a trio of lunchtime-convenient benches, ideal for perusing the fated spot. A few feet beyond is the playground of the City's only state primary school, Sir John Cass's Foundation, and alongside on Mitre Street stands a particularly anodyne modern office block. As for the other two sides of Mitre Square they're currently under construction, but look up and there's the Gherkin lurking over the scaffolding, approximately as far away as it is tall.
Of all the five canonical murder sites, only here can the public still freely stand. As such Mitre Square is much in demand by Ripper tours, so most evenings see several parties led inside to hear grisly tales. Whichever tour arrives first gets to stand in the correct spot by the flower bed, while subsequent groups have to cluster on the other side of the cobbles and pretend. Come during the day and you'll catch office staff and construction workers milling through, and maybe hear a few hundred kids at play. Come at the weekend and it's usually very quiet indeed. But come in a couple of years time and things will be very different. The redevelopment of two flanks of the square is planned to create a 17-storey steel and glass office block with ground floor retail space, "the perfect HQ building for any progressive City business", so the brochure says. And at the same time the square will be entirely re-landscaped, with the cobbles replaced by raised lawns and pert shrubberies. Expect Mitre Square to become yet another example of a public space falling under private control - an epidemic in the modern City - and whether Ripper tours will be welcomed has yet to be seen. But with CCTV trained on every corner, and security guards ever ready to pounce, the events of 125 years ago could never be repeated.
In the early hours of the morning, 125 years ago today, London's autumn of terror continued. The man we know as Jack The Ripper claimed the third of his victims... and then, because that didn't go too well, an immediate fourth. These twin murders stirred panic in the capital - the 'double event' they called it - reigniting fear after a three week hiatus. Jack had his nickname by now too, thanks to a signed letter sent to the press a few days before, backed up almost immediately by butchery on the streets. So I'm continuing my quest to visit the five confirmed murder sites as the anniversaries pass, comparing what happened then to what's there now. Number three today, and I'll hold over number four until tomorrow.
The third of the Ripper's murders took place on Berner Street, a narrow thoroughfare on the south side of Commercial Road. Jack's previous murders had been some distance away, indeed he spaced out his five attacks with aplomb. This was a densely packed residential area, with two storey terraces crowded together in fairly grim conditions. At number 40 was the International Working Men's Educational Club, a radical venue where Social Democrats and anarchists met to debate and entertain. Beside them was a gated yard, nine feet wide, then two cottages occupied by cigarette makers and tailors, then a corner shop. A fairly anonymous spot, but not for long.
ElizabethStride was originally from Sweden, a 45 year old who'd been in London since her 20s. She and her husband had run a coffee shop in Poplar, but the marriage didn't hold together and Elizabeth ended up in the workhouse. She became a court regular, charged with being drunk and disorderly, and ended up in lodgings in the poorest part of Spitalfields. By chance Dr Barnardo popped in four days before the murder to chat about his latest philanthropic plans - he'd be one of the witnesses to identify the body later.
Elizabeth spent her final evening drinking, and being seen with an assortment of men. These included "a short man with a dark moustache", "a stout clean-shaven man in a round cap" and "a young man wearing a deerstalker". The very last sighting was by a Hungarian immigrant who spoke no English. He saw a short man about 30 years old wrestling with Elizabeth by the roadside, but assumed he was witnessing a domestic argument and fled. Discovery of Stride's body came at 1am when the steward of the International Working Men's Educational Club returned by cart to Dutfield's Yard. His pony reared up at something unusual in the darkness, which a lit match showed to be the prone body of a woman. Only when the other club members came looking did the gash across her throat become clear, and a doctor summoned to the scene a few minutes later confirmed that she'd bled to death. But that was it for injuries... no removal of bodily organs or gruesome disembowelling. Elizabeth got off relatively lightly, at least compared to the Ripper's other four victims, indeed most experts believe the steward's unexpected return cut short his dastardly plan.
The International Working Men's Educational Club became a shop a few years later, then in 1909 it and several neighbouring buildings were demolished to make way for a school. That building survives as Harry Gosling Primary, a very typical three-storey LCC school, which means (somewhat inappropriately) that the precise murder site lies somewhere in the playground. In another Edwardian building nextdoor is the Tommy Flowers Centre, now a Tower Hamlets Pupil Referral Unit but previously an ICT centre named after a Bletchley Park pioneer. And across the street is Bernhard Baron House, built by Basil Henriques (in the 1920s) as a community centre to give local Jewish children welfare work and recreation. All sorts of games, skills and arts and crafts were available in its 125 rooms, that is until the local Jewish community moved on, and the place is now, that's right, flats. Berner Street has since been renamed Henriques Street in Basil's honour.
Education aside, Henriques Street is a fairly sorry-looking road today. A hotchpotch of unloved old and unlovely new buildings lines the eastern side, while a private car park drags down the other. The short parade of shops has a Bangladeshi flavour, including a travel agents and a tailor - the latter an apt nod back to 1888. Beyond the crossroads stand stacks of flats from various council eras, as yet some distance from gentrification. At the top end, near Commercial Road, graffiti on one wall gives the street an alternate name - that's Elisabeth Stride Street (1843-1888). And in one empty plot close by, where litter-strewn earth is pecked over by crows and pigeons, you can still get a vague sense of the hemmed-in space where the Ripper's third victim breathed her last. Such was Jack's bloodlust that within the hour a fourth would join her.
Exactly 400 years ago today, on Wednesday 29th September 1613, water from the New River flowed into London's water supply for the first time. It had travelled 40 miles, ever so slowly, all the way from springs in Hertfordshire to fields near Clerkenwell. The difference in height between the start and the end of the New River was contrived to be a mere five metres, that's five inches a mile, hence the shallow gradient and the gentle flow. At New River Head a reservoir called the Round Pond was built, 200 feet in diameter and lined with oak. Water exited as required through a cistern and stopcocks, then via a series of wooden pipes to the company's subscribers in the city. Indeed the entire system worked by gravity, there were no pumping stations in those days, an astonishing technological achievement for the early 17th century.
On the prescribed day, which was Michaelmas 1613, a grand opening ceremony was held at the New River Head. The project's creator, Sir Hugh Myddleton, was present, as was his brother Thomas (who was elected Mayor of London later that afternoon). This happened...
A troupe of labourers, to the number of 60, or more, well apparelled and wearing greene Monmouth caps, all alike, carried spades, shovels, pickaxes and such instruments of laborious imployment, marching after drummes twice or thrice about the Cisterne, presented themselves before the Mount, where the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and a worthy Company beside, stood to behold them.
At the opening of the Sluice, a speech was given.
"Now for the fruits then: Flow forth precious spring
So long and dearly sought for, and now bring
Comfort to all that love thee; loudly sing
And with thy crystal murmurs strook together
Bid all thy true well wishers welcome hither."
At which words, the flood gates flew open, the stream ran gallantly into the Cisterne, drums and trumpets sounding in triumphal manner; and a brave peal of chambers gave a full issue to the intended entertainment.
As London grew, New River Head grew too to meet its need for water. The circular basin was extended and a larger outer reservoir constructed. Buildings grew up around the reservoir, including a windmill, a Pump Station and The Water House. The New River Company held its meetings in the latter, paying for an oak panelled boardroom out of their considerable profits. This was preserved when the Company was wound up in 1903 by the creation of the Metropolitan Water Board. They decided to base their HQ at New River Head, building a suite of offices and a laboratory block around the Outer Pond in the 1920s. The rest of the Water House was knocked down but the Oak Room was preserved, transferred very carefully to the first floor of the new building. No water has flowed this far since 1946 when a decision was made to terminate the New River three miles earlier at Stoke Newington reservoirs. The MWB (aka Thames Water) is no longer based here, the entire site has been converted to luxury apartments. But Thames Water are still allowed access into the Oak Room for 28 days a year, and for two of those they extend that invite to Open House visitors. So I went.
The Oak Room is a marvellous sight. You gain entrance via the seriouslygranddoors off Rosebery Avenue, which brings you to the concierge desk, then up the stairs into the former admin block. It seems strange passing people's front doors where previously there'd have been telephone receptionists and shorthand typists, but I bet each flat packs a pretty impressive price tag. Head up the stairs and round a landing to first a narrow anteroom and then the Oak Room proper. It's well named. The walls are darkly panelled, with a truly magnificent carving of a royal coat of arms in wood above the fireplace. It's thought to be the work of Grinling Gibbons - nobody's truly sure, although few would have the skill to carve so complex a design (including protruding unicorn horn) in one piece. Alongside are carvings of watery creatures such as lobsters and crabs, plus a few more than might actually have been found in or on the New River. And then there's the ceiling. A central lozenge features a portrait of King William III, who was on the throne in 1697 when the Oak Room was built, surrounded by cherubs and a ring of gilded plasterwork. Bordering that are further moulded designs depicting villages and towns to be found along the New River, plus dolphins and mermaids and swans and that sort of thing. There's big money in water supply, that fact never seems to change, although Thames Water no longer boasts a luxury HQ and now fires out bills from a trading estate in Swindon.
New River Head still covers a sizeable portion of Upper Clerkenwell close to Sadler's Wells Theatre. It takes at least five minutes to walk all the way around, during which time you might spot the remains of the windmill, an 18th century engine house and a John Lewis van delivering monster electricals to a resident. Thames Water still have a borehole here which draws groundwater from the aquifers, and the site has been connected to the enormous subterranean Thames Water Ring Main. Meanwhile slightly further up the hill Claremont Square still houses an underground reservoir for the storage of water, this on the site of the original Upper Pond.
But for the New River aficionado, where you need to go is Myddleton Passage, round the back of the theatre up the alley by the pub. The very last gateway is unlocked during daylight hours and allows entry to a viewing platform over the site. It's hard to make out much of the original structure, now that most of the internal space is ornamental gardens, but a plaque shows an evocative illustration of the ponds and the broader site in 1752. There's a lot of additional information on some boards down the side, with plenty of detail on the history of New River Head, the New River and the New River Path. Throw in a schematic map of the river etched into the concrete, and the whole thing is very nicely done. If you're not up for a long walk you could always come pay tribute here today, plus you might get to watch a recreation of that grand opening ceremony 400 years ago. Hugh Myddleton's Glory is being acted out on the lawns with music, food and fireworks, attended by Thames Water grandees, residents of the current building, and other invited guests. If you fancy tagging along, this looks like your ticket.
And that really is it for my month-long journey down the New River. London owes much of its prosperity to Sir Hugh's wooden channel, because without a fresh supply of drinking water there could have been no expansion. Even more impressive, then, that 8% of the capital's water supply still arrives this way, slinking gently through the fields and towns of Herts and Middlesex, 400 years on.
If you've ever fancied walking the New River, there's never been a better time. Indeed I suspect there'll be more people walking it this weekend than ever before, because it's 400 years old tomorrow, which is a damned impressive anniversary for a 17th century aqueduct that still works. Some will only walk a short part, some will walk for longer, and a few valiant souls are even planning to walk the lot. I wasn't sure if I'd enjoy walking the New River Path, I wasn't convinced a private canal would hit the spot. But I was pleasantly surprised by the diversity of the walk, from scenic Herts through built-up Middlesex backwaters to the heart of the city. And I was rewarded by a number of intriguing places I passed through along the way, many that I'd never have found myself in otherwise. You should have a go one day. Here's my advice.
Get a map: If you don't have a map of some sort, you will get lost. The route is well signposted for most of the way, but there are sufficient gremlins in certain spots to ensure you'll miss the path. You'd think following a river would be easy, but the path alongside is sometimes blocked off (especially south of the M25) and then you're diverted through residential streets instead. An Ordnance Survey map's no help. The New River Path isn't a public right of way - it's been opened permissively by Thames Water - so no useful dotted line appears on any Landranger or Explorer. But you will find the New River Path marked on the excellent OpenStreetMap, see here, all the way along (I think) the correct route. I've also had a go at mapping the path on a Google map (the management accepts no responsibility for any accident, injury or tantrums that may be caused). But what you really should do is get hold of the official New River Path booklet published by Thames Water. It's full colour, it's 28 pages long, and it shows not just where to go but also the major points of interest on the way. I eventually got hold of a copy last weekend, after I'd finished walking the whole thing, thanks to a useful table of goodies at an Open House event. You can ring (0845 9200 800) or write (PO Box 436 Swindon SN38 1TU) for a copy, so it says on the back. Or you can download it, thanks to a page that appeared on the Thames Water website less than two weeks ago. That full New River Path booklet is here. You'll want it.
Check out an old map: The original New River was 40 miles long, but has been straightened over the years to cut off several contour-hugging detours. It's informative to see where the 400-year old route deviates, indeed some of the larger loops near Enfield are walkable in their own right. A wonderful (zoomable) 1834 map can be found here.
Wear sensible shoes: The New River was never a working canal so never had a proper towpath. This means the banks are often just grass, which can get muddy and squelchy after wet weather. Perfectly fine in the summer, but best be prepared at other times.
Walk south: Obviously, because that's the direction the New River flows.
How many days does it take to walk the New River Path? That depends. It definitely takes more than one, and it probably takes more than two. I did it in three. You might feel more comfortable doing it in four. One way to find out is to start walking at the Hertford end and see how far south you get before you feel tired. Stop at Broxbourne and you're a 4-dayer. Continue to Cheshunt and you're a 3-dayer. Cross the M25 and you can do it in two.
The New River Path in two days: The halfway point is roughly Enfield. To be a little more accurate, it's approximately Turkey Street. You can catch trains fairly easily here, or from either of the two main Enfield stations. You don't need to stay overnight in the area (although that's what one dedicated group is doing this weekend, sleeping over at Theobald's Park).
The New River Path in three days: I ended my first day in Cheshunt, although be warned it's a non-trivial walk from the path (on the New River) to the station (on the Lea). Then I ended my second day at Palmer's Green, to create three roughly equal sections. Did I tell you how enjoyable it was?
The New River Path in four days: This means four sections each approximately seven miles in length. Day one ends at Broxbourne, immediately adjacent to the station, which is ideal. Day two ends in Enfield, probably Enfield Town rather than Enfield Chase. Day three ends at Alexandra Palace, or Wood Green, take your pick. And day four is urban all the way to Islington.
If you don't want to walk it all, which bit? The Hertfordshire half is definitely prettier than the London half... in which case I'd suggest the first seven miles from Ware to Broxbourne. If you want to get the full flavour of the New River, rural and urban, then Cheshunt through Enfield delivers this in only five miles. And if it's an inner London heritage stroll you're after, maybe try the five miles from Finsbury Park to Angel, which is mostly along streets but with a few good stretches of water to enjoy.
Sunday 29th September (list courtesy of the New River Action Group)
» 1.30-4.30 Sir Hugh Myddelton's Glory: New River Head. A special event, funded by Thames Water and organised by the Amwell Society. There will be a re-enactment of the opening of the New River on the very site it happened 400 years ago, with live theatre, music, food and fireworks. The event is invitation-only...
» 9.30-1.30 New River 400 Walk organised by John Polley. The walk starts in Finsbury Park and finishes at New River Head, Islington, where the main New River 400 celebration event organised by the Amwell Society will be taking place. Get yourself a free invite to the big bash here.
» 9.30-6 New River 400 Year Anniversary celebrations at Myddelton House Gardens.
» 11-4 Myddleton Road Market. A special street market in Bowes Park.
» 12-4 New River 400: Family Activity Day at Clissold Park. At The Old Bowls Green.
» 11-4 New River Walk 400 Year Celebration. Free community fun day along the New River Walk in Islington
It's not. Square, that is. The new public space in front of King's Cross station is more of a triangular wedge with curved bits. But they call it King's Cross Square, presumably for its piazza-like qualities, and it reopened yesterday. [7 photos]
I say reopened. In fact the façade at the front of King's Cross has been blocked for the best part of a century and a half, most recently by the big greenshed housing the station concourse. You remember that, it had a Smiths and a Burger King and long board with all the train departures on and a lot of people standing around wondering when they'd ever get to Newcastle. All gone, and in its place a broad paved public space open to the elements. I think it's a big improvement.
The transformation's been made possible by the opening last year of the new western concourse with its amazing latticed geyser roof. More space to wait, a better selection of shops and eateries to browse, and a full whack of awe factor for good measure. But that's just the entrance. Passengers exiting the mainline are instead directed straight ahead through the arches at the front of the station and out into the new square. They've been able to do this for a while, yesterday wasn't the first day of access. But it was the first day the majority of the square has been barrier-free, with workmen cleared off elsewhere and the public swarming willy-nilly.
There is a great deal of open space, more than I might have expected. The front of Euston is a catering zone, the front of St Pancras is a taxi drop-off, but the front of King's Cross is all yours. That space is needed for circulation, given that platforms exit almost directly onto the square. But there are also plenty of places to sit, these on blocky chunks of granite lined up near the exit and close to the Euston Road. Simple and convenient, and (I suspect) an integral part of making the station terrorist-in-a-car-proof. All too often seats around stations are restricted to those belonging to cafes and restaurants, so it's refreshing to have proper public provision here.
There are cafes and restaurants, obviously, it's just that they haven't opened yet. A Giraffe Kiosk has sprouted nearer the road inside a circular drum, but at present its windows and doors remain covered. Posters promise Hot Pots and Global Salads To Go, if that's your thing, plus Espressos and Extra Thick Shakes. It's also linked via a short covered walkway to an entrance to the tube station, but that's currently closed too. At present it's only possible to descend from the piazza to the underground via one bank of staircases, not the eventual three, which means most passengers are being sent via a more roundabout route than is necessary.
What was strange to see on day one was how many people were walking through like the square had always been here. They trooped through from traffic lights to ticket barrier. They hugged a loved one and wandered off trailing a suitcase. They slouched on the stone benches and consulted their phones. They checked departure times on screens embedded in a series of electronic monoliths. OK, so some people had a sense of occasion and were pausing to point or take a photo, but they were few in number. Overnight King's Cross Square has become part of the status quo, and hurrah for that.
Had you been outside King's Cross yesterday morning, you'd have heard Boris spouting about how marvellous it all is and setting off some fireworks from the roof. The project's been running much longer than he's been Mayor, and still has further to go before the entire frontage is pristine. But yesterday was a proper milestone in the redevelopment of this great station, finally returning almost everywhere to the surrounding community. Wait long enough, have faith, and London really does get better.
The fourth of the Ripper's murders took place in Mitre Square, a gaslit quadrangle on the edge of the City. Holy Trinity Priory once covered the site, before Henry VIII closed it down, and the square today coincides approximately with the monks' cloister. Later developments hereabouts included St James's Church, after which Church Passage is named, but this was demolished in 1874. By 1888 Mitre Square was a mostly non-residential area surrounded by large warehouses and commercial buildings, with a small dingy yard in one corner. Behind one door sat a nightwatchman, but he wasn't watching the square that night, and neither was the off-duty policeman at number 3. Close by was St Botolph's Aldgate, then known as the "Church of Prostitutes" because ladies would parade their availability around its island perimeter. It's all too easy to image Jack storming off frustrated from Berner Street, selecting another victim from the carousel and leading her to her doom.
Mitre Square still exists, in approximately the same shape, but as a shadow of its former self. Every building that used to stand around the perimeter has been knocked down, the last major redevelopment being in 1980, and today only the cobbles remain. Even these have been moved and realigned, but it's possible that some are originals that the Ripper fled across. The site of Catherine's murder is in the southern corner, beneath the tree, on the kerb close to the flower bed. It's a half-decent bed too, raised on an island of earth along with a trio of lunchtime-convenient benches, ideal for perusing the fated spot. A few feet beyond is the playground of the City's only state primary school, Sir John Cass's Foundation, and alongside on Mitre Street stands a particularly anodyne modern office block. As for the other two sides of Mitre Square they're currently under construction, but look up and there's the Gherkin lurking over the scaffolding, approximately as far away as it is tall.
Elizabeth Stride was originally from Sweden, a 45 year old who'd been in London since her 20s. She and her husband had run a coffee shop in Poplar, but the marriage didn't hold together and Elizabeth ended up in the workhouse. She became a court regular, charged with being drunk and disorderly, and ended up in lodgings in the poorest part of Spitalfields. By chance Dr Barnardo popped in four days before the murder to chat about his latest philanthropic plans - he'd be one of the witnesses to identify the body later.
Exactly 400 years ago today, on Wednesday 29th September 1613, water from the New River flowed into London's water supply for the first time. It had travelled 40 miles, ever so slowly, all the way from springs in Hertfordshire to fields near Clerkenwell. The difference in height between the start and the end of the New River was contrived to be a mere five metres, that's five inches a mile, hence the shallow gradient and the gentle flow. At New River Head a reservoir called the Round Pond was built, 200 feet in diameter and lined with oak. Water exited as required through a cistern and stopcocks, then via a series of wooden pipes to the company's subscribers in the city. Indeed the entire system worked by gravity, there were no pumping stations in those days, an astonishing technological achievement for the early 17th century.
As London grew, New River Head grew too to meet its need for water. The circular basin was extended and a larger outer reservoir constructed. Buildings grew up around the reservoir, including a windmill, a Pump Station and The Water House. The New River Company held its meetings in the latter, paying for an oak panelled boardroom out of their considerable profits. This was preserved when the Company was wound up in 1903 by the creation of the Metropolitan Water Board. They decided to base their HQ at New River Head, building a suite of offices and a laboratory block around the Outer Pond in the 1920s. The rest of the Water House was knocked down but the Oak Room was preserved, transferred very carefully to the first floor of the new building. No water has flowed this far since 1946 when a decision was made to terminate the New River three miles earlier at Stoke Newington reservoirs. The MWB (aka Thames Water) is no longer based here, the entire site has been converted to luxury apartments. But Thames Water are still allowed access into the Oak Room for 28 days a year, and for two of those they extend that invite to Open House visitors. So I went.
The Oak Room is a marvellous sight. You gain entrance via the seriously grand doors off Rosebery Avenue, which brings you to the concierge desk, then up the stairs into the former admin block. It seems strange passing people's front doors where previously there'd have been telephone receptionists and shorthand typists, but I bet each flat packs a pretty impressive price tag. Head up the stairs and round a landing to first a narrow anteroom and then the Oak Room proper. It's well named. The walls are darkly panelled, with a truly magnificent carving of a royal coat of arms in wood above the fireplace. It's thought to be the work of Grinling Gibbons - nobody's truly sure, although few would have the skill to carve so complex a design (including protruding unicorn horn) in one piece. Alongside are carvings of watery creatures such as lobsters and crabs, plus a few more than might actually have been found in or on the New River. And then there's the ceiling. A central lozenge features a portrait of King William III, who was on the throne in 1697 when the Oak Room was built, surrounded by cherubs and a ring of gilded plasterwork. Bordering that are further moulded designs depicting villages and towns to be found along the New River, plus dolphins and mermaids and swans and that sort of thing. There's big money in water supply, that fact never seems to change, although Thames Water no longer boasts a luxury HQ and now fires out bills from a trading estate in Swindon.
But for the New River aficionado, where you need to go is Myddleton Passage, round the back of the theatre up the alley by the pub. The very last gateway is unlocked during daylight hours and allows entry to a viewing platform over the site. It's hard to make out much of the original structure, now that most of the internal space is ornamental gardens, but a plaque shows an evocative illustration of the ponds and the broader site in 1752. There's a lot of additional information on some boards down the side, with plenty of detail on the history of New River Head, the New River and the New River Path. Throw in a schematic map of the river etched into the concrete, and the whole thing is very nicely done. If you're not up for a long walk you could always come pay tribute here today, plus you might get to watch a recreation of that grand opening ceremony 400 years ago. Hugh Myddleton's Glory is being acted out on the lawns with music, food and fireworks, attended by Thames Water grandees, residents of the current building, and other invited guests. If you fancy tagging along, this looks like your ticket.
NR400: 1613 - 2013
