Random borough (20): Time once more for me to take another random trip to one of London's 33boroughs. As I write I have no idea which one of the 14 remaining borough names will be revealed when I unfold the slip of paper I'm about to pick from my legendary (and as-yet unseen) "special jamjar". I could pick any one of the other London boroughs - inner or outer, urban or suburban, small or large, fascinating or dull. I just know it won't be Merton, Islington, Enfield, Sutton, Lewisham, Southwark, Kensington & Chelsea, Hackney, Hillingdon, the City, Bromley, Lambeth, Tower Hamlets, Haringey, Hounslow, Brent, Redbridge, Ealing or Harrow because they're the nineteen (dark grey) boroughs I've picked out already.
Blimey, I've finally reached the twenties. There's a fair chunk of East London still to visit, and a thin strip of boroughs across west London, plus Croydon, but that's all. Which of these leftovers will be my destination for the day? Will I have to filter through the bountiful cultural highlights of somewhere central and important, like Westminster or Camden? Or will I be dispatched somewhere rather more peripheral and attraction-lite, like Kingston or Havering? More to the point, can I possibly avoid the epidemic of engineering works on the tube this weekend. Fingers crossed.
Once I've researched my randomly-chosen borough online then I'll head off and visit some of its most interesting places (assuming it has any, and that they're open in the middle of January). As usual I hope to visit somewhere famous, somewhere historic, somewhere pretty, somewhere retail, somewhere sporty and somewhere random. I might even take lots of photographs while I'm at it, if the borough's photogenic enough. Then after I've made my grand tour I'll come back tomorrow and tell you all about it. Let's see where I'm going this time...
It's exactly 20 years today since I dropped the names of 33 boroughs into an empty honey jar, picked one at random and kicked off my Random Borough project. It took eight years to complete.
I was thwarted somewhat that evening by a last-minute invite to go ten pin bowling (I came last) so ended up writing less than I might. I've always thought Merton got short shrift compared to the other 32, so two decades later I'm putting that right by revisiting the borough and writing completely new vignettes in the original categories. I've made it much harder for myself by not going back to the places I went before, nor anywhere previously blogged, so it's very much a second division tour with hopefully a Premier League write-up.
Somewhere sporty: AFC Wimbledon
I can't do the tennis again so I'm doing the football, which turns out to be the tale of two teams and two housing estates. There is only one winner.
In the beginning there was only Wimbledon Football Club, who in 1912 started playing on a patch of marshland at the corner of Plough Lane and Haydons Road. After a lengthy non-league career they were promoted to the Fourth Division in 1977 and began an unprecedented race to the summit. Within ten seasons they'd topped the First Division and won the FA Cup, but this success proved Plough Lane's downfall when the Taylor Report proposed that top class teams needed all-seater stadiums. In 1991 the Dons fled the borough to groundshare at Crystal Palace, and the quest for a new ground eventually saw them (scandalously) up sticks to Milton Keynes. Here's where they used to play.
Unsurprisingly it's now a lot of flats. When the land was sold it was due to become a Safeway supermarket, but they failed to get planning permission so after demolition it was sold on to a property developer and became Reynolds Gate. Each of the six blocks is named after a former player (Cork, Lawrie, Stannard), manager (Bassett, Batsford) or chairman (Reed), interspersed with private green wedges unsuitable for a kickabout. Arguably the occupants of Stannard House have the best view across the Wandle, but given the looming presence of Wimbledon substation and its emergent pylon maybe not. Residents have a Nisa corner shop for their groceries and a Mertonesque waterwheel to assemble beside in case of fire. The chief nod to the past is a funereal monolith facing the main street corner, which it turns out has a textured backside supposedly representing the key events of the 1988 Cup Final. I couldn't work out which spiky quadrant was supposed to represent Princess Diana meeting the team.
Wimbledon FC's true fans faced up to the Milton Keynes departure by starting up a new team, AFC Wimbledon. They too started at the bottom of the heap and slowly climbed, and are currently in League Two four places below their Buckinghamshire nemesis. What's more they too play on Plough Lane, on a site two footballpitchesworth away from the old ground which narrowly squeezes inside the Merton borough boundary. For sponsorship reasons it's called the Cherry Red Records Stadium, which at least is a worthy cause rather than a bunch of gamblers, but it'll win absolutely no prizes for architecture.
The ground is built across the footprint of another sporting stalwart, Wimbledon Greyhound Stadium, which hosted dog racing, speedway and car boot sales between 1928 and 2017. You can still see the faded remains of a painted advert promising 'Greyhound Racing every THU [unreadable] SAT' on a wall leading to the away end. AFC Wimbledon pounced on the site in conjunction with Galliard Homes, recognising that 600 flats were the best option for a 21st century groundshare. Most of these line a bleak boulevard called Greyhound Parade, facing a high blue barrier that denies those on lower floors the opportunity of watching a game. You can also see bugger all by attempting to walk around the perimeter, only signs by the grey gates confirming that you can bring pocket cameras and crutches into the ground, but not a large flag or a musical instrument unless you email the club in advance.
As a child of the 70s my favourite spot was the Womble Bench where Orinoco stands at one end with his tidy bag, and a pile of cups, cans and cartons rests on the fake litter bin at the other. The other team used to have a Womble mascot called Wandle, but author Elisabeth Beresford revoked permission after they turned traitor and allowed AFC Wimbledon to have a Womble mascot called Haydon instead. I had no luck getting inside the club shop because it was closed, so also missed out on the museum exhibit "The Greatest Story" which is otherwise free to view. Apparently the infamous Womble Til I Die gates from the former stadium are in storage and due to be put on permanent display soon. It all feels more of a fortress than a cosy club to be honest, but hurrah that the battle of the Wimbledons eventually led to a home win. by train: Haydons Road; by bus: 493
Somewhere pretty: Cannizaro Park
Many of London's best parks are a former posh bloke's back garden and so it is with Cannizaro Park. The posh bloke in question is Henry Dundas, William Pitt's Secretary of State for War, who lived here for twenty years and originally oversaw the landscaping. His house is now a hotel facing the southeast corner of Wimbledon Common, but the rear is in public hands so slip along the path up the side and you'll find a fascinating place to explore. For the smaller, more formal gardens turn left across the lawn past the stares of gourmet diners grazing in the conservatory. For a more varied perimeter safari turn right at the aviary (which before the pandemic contained proper birds but currently contains... oh, two Girl Guide dummies as part of a rolling programme of community art). It gets better beyond that.
Woodland paths and avenues thread past tumbling artificial streams. A simple fountain gushes in the lower pond, watched over by a cormorant. If you know your trees you'll spot several rare ones in a state of glowing maturity. The Valley Path is a) lined by spring bulbs b) closed for resurfacing. The Italian Garden steps down between the original kitchen garden walls, though is mostly empty bar the odd urn. Lady Jane's Wood is artificially hillocky and might require sturdier shoes. Keep walking and you'll eventually reach a belvedere amid pine trees, tucked so far into a narrow corner that most never get this far. A lot of the sheer variety and well-tended husbandry is helpfully explained by the size of the gardener's enclosure. This is very much not your average park.
A fine body of volunteers help keep the place in shape too, and you can sense both their pride and their admonishment from the tone of their chalkboard ("Toilets ARE open. If they remain well kept they will remain open"). Admittedly you should really visit later in the year - the Rhododendron Dell is only budding, the Rose Garden has yet to flourish, the Maple Avenue will be an autumnal treat and the Cherry Walk has already peaked. And pick a day when it's not pissing down - not many of us were traipsing round, and I felt properly bedraggled by the time I squelched past the restaurant jury. But the green side of Wimbledon's not just about tennis courts and the common, there's this hidden treasure too. by tube: Wimbledon; by bus: 93
Random borough (14): What better way to celebrate this blog's fifth birthday than for me to take another random trip to one of London's 33boroughs. Sorry I'm a bit late with this one, but my summer's been rather busy and so I've been prioritising real life over online geographical haphazardry. As I write I have no idea which one of the 20 remaining borough names will be revealed when I unfold the slip of paper I'm about to pick from my "special jamjar". I could pick any of London's other boroughs - inner or outer, urban or suburban, small or large, fascinating or dull. I just know it won't be Merton, Islington, Enfield, Sutton, Lewisham, Southwark, Kensington & Chelsea, Hackney, Hillingdon, the City, Bromley, Lambeth or Tower Hamlets because they're the thirteen (dark grey) boroughs I've picked out already. So far my random jamjar has shown a very distinct preference for south and east London. Look, I've covered the whole of the eastern half of inner London already - what are the chances of that? Is today the day I finally head even further east, or maybe start filling in that gaping void to the west? Or will I just end up making the big grey blob even bigger?
Once I've researched my randomly-chosen borough online then I'll head off and visit some of its most interesting places (assuming it has any). As usual I hope to visit somewhere famous, somewhere historic, somewhere pretty, somewhere retail, somewhere sporty and somewhere random. I might even takelotsofphotographs while I'm at it, if the borough's photogenic enough. Then after I've made my grand tour I'll come back tomorrow and tell you all about it. Let's see where I'm going this time...
Croydon props up the capital from beneath, and it's also the London borough with the largest population. So big, indeed, that the council have their sights set on reinventing Croydon as London's Third City. Much of the northern part of the borough is suburban sprawl, but down south the land gets hillier, and greener, and (in places) considerably more exclusive. I spent yesterday attempting to explore some of the borough's more interesting locations, which wasn't easy because no matter where I went the transport network kept dragging me back to the centre of town. Definitely town, Croydon's no city yet.
Somewhere to begin: Museum of Croydon Beneath the Town Hall clocktower, in the very centre of Croydon, is the borough's main cultural centre. It's not particularly obvious from outside quite how many different arts-y facilities are crammed within. It's not that obvious inside either, and I got a bit lost trying to work out where to go. Ah, hang on, past the main library, up the stairs and through the door marked 'Then'. 'Then' turned out to be an empty-ish black room with some maps on the wall and a model of the Crystal Palace atmospheric railway on a table and some motley objects shut away in separate illuminated containers. And that's all I saw, because within two minutes of my arrival the building's manager walked in and closed the museum down for the day. Staff absence problems, apparently, so the young bloke supervising the museum had to be relocated to the more-important cafe-bar instead, sorry. And with that I was locked out and never got to explore the place properly. I suspect I didn't miss much. The museum's exhibits aren't labelled in the conventional sense, no printed text alongside, but instead you have to interact by touching a video screen to discover background and emotional statements attached to each. Too much effort for too little reward, I thought. Plus it really didn't help that one of the screens was displaying a Windows Outlook Express error message instead. Plus you can interrogate the entire collection online from home, so why bother turning up? I shan't be rushing back. by train: East Croydon by tram: 1, 2, 3
Somewhere retail: Whitgift Centre / Allders One thing Croydon's great for, and that's shopping. The centre of town is one big shopping island, hemmed in by a ring of dual carriageways and circling trams. Take your pick of the high street stores, they'll have a branch in here somewhere. And at the heart of things are two Croydon classics - Allders department store and the Whitgift Centre. Until recently the Whitgift was London's largest shopping mall, at least before that upstart Westfield came along. It's a revamped 60s complex, unusually airy, with labyrinthine passageways on two levels connecting three individual atria. They've seen better days, to be sure, but they still have more character than any recent artificial hellhole. The main action is downstairs, while the upper floor has slightly more of a backwater feeling. Solid, safe, comfortable, and a bit of a middle-aged family hangout. On a Saturday morning the place to be seen is Cafe Giardino (of which there are three) - the ideal spot to squeeze behind a plastic table and enjoy a frothing beverage with optional pastry while you flick slowly through your mid-market tabloid. Or ride the escalator to buy a personalised pen, somewhere halfway between the tropical fish cavern and the independent sewing shop. Probably nothing more special than where you live, just bigger.
Exit through Allders Square to Croydon's biggest department store. Allders may have retreated from the rest of the southeast, but here it's still trading as a bought-out independent behemoth. Oh my word, the ladies shoe department is enormous. Rack after rack after rack of pointy heeled must-haves, which seemed to have attracted several excitable Croydon footwear devotees. I moved on, slightly more tempted by the basement offering of Vacuum Cleaners, Domestic Appliances, Fitted Kitchens and 'Gift Food'. They do things slightly differently in department stores. In particular here, where there's a thin crescent mall curving within the store, with small concessions devoted to key-cutting, hair-dressing and cake-icing. You can easily imagine that Terry and June might walk down here at any minute. Alas, Allders's future still looks rocky, and the store may not survive repeated attempts by the council to redevelop this prime central site.
And on the corner of George Street, back to Whitgift again. This time it's the Whitgift Almshouses, a row of Elizabethan properties that have somehow survived to the present day, despite sticking out into a major crossroads. They're a rare exception round here, they're not shops. Neither are they under threat, because not even the local council would dare build a skyscraper here. You can see the projected plans in a plastic scale model just up the road in the brand new Croydon Visitor Centre. Shiny towers ahoy, that's the proposed future for the metropolis of 2020 Croydon. Personally I reckon the current handful of classic old 1960s and 1970s designs just outside the town centre are uplifting enough. by train: West Croydon by tram: 1, 2, 3 by bus: tons of them
Somewhere famous: The BRIT School If fame costs, then SE25 is where you start paying. In Selhurst to be precise, in the UK's first state school for the performing arts. The BRIT School arrived here in 1991, and since then it's pumped scores of famous names into the musical mainstream. Leona Lewis for one, and Kate Nash, and Katie Melua and Adele, and even that Dane Bowers bloke who had a hit with Victoria Beckham. Plus Amy Winehouse, which just goes to show that not every school discipline policy works long term. Various record companies sponsor the place, not surprisingly given the royalties they recoup as a result. This is the type of educational establishment that ITV had in mind when they developed Britannia High, only rather more successful and with a far better long-term future. The school's on two sites, both along The Crescent and separated by a car park. One's a typical redbrick Edwardian building with high windows, nabbed from a former girls' school. And the other's much more modern, like a white-legged glass caterpillar squatting beside the road, and considerably lighter and brighter within. On a Saturday morning there's not much going on. I spotted a few extra-curricular students carrying instruments across the playground and heard the sound of animated performance somewhere within, but it was a pale reflection of the seething creating cauldron this must be on a weekday. I wonder which well-rounded alumnus wannabe we'll all be discovering this year. by train: Selhurst by bus: 50, 75, 157, 468
Somewhere sporting: Selhurst Park To the slopes below Upper Norwood, to the home of mid-Championship Crystal Palace Football Club. SelhurstPark is a 1920s ground that's been slowly upgraded and expanded over the years and is now a hybrid architectural hotchpotch. Along Park Road the stadium looks fairly traditional, all gates and turnstiles and tiny ticket windows. From Whitehorse Lane the stadium looks suspiciously like a boxy out-of-town trading estate, with a none-too-inviting staircase leading up from Sainsbury's front entrance towards the executive boxes. Meanwhile the Holmesdale Road grandstand resembles a very tall block of boring redbrick offices with a curved black roof on top and stacks of seating behind. I took the opportunity of a home match against Ipswich to explore more closely within the gated perimeter. Three hours before kick off the stewards were all in place, even if there was nobody to steward, and the programme sellers were similarly poised but premature. A cheery bloke in a red and blue scarf trundled by in his wheelchair, while a few bullet-headed stalwarts arrived early because Saturday is football day and it'd be wrong to stay away. Low winter sun glinted on the inscribed bricks in the Centenary Wall("Palace 4 life", "Till I die", "Come on Eagles" "Glad All Over!"). Busy inside their solitary trailer, the executive chefs of the British Burgers Company readied their deep fat fryers for an expected onslaught of hot dog guzzlers. And in the official shop by the ticket office, twitchy retail staff watched an early trickle of punters buying not much, not even the 20%-off babywear. Oh yes, there was definitely a whiff of pre-match optimism in the air when I headed off to the bus stop. Alas, when I passed by later in the afternoon the floodlights were beating down on a 4-1 home defeat. Palace's intermittent glory years remain little more than memories amongst these suburban avenues. by train: Selhurst by bus: 468
Somewhere random: Purley Way It's a three mile section of the A23. It was opened in 1925 as the Croydon by-pass. It was the first road in the UK to be lit with sodium lights. Today it's a grim arterial bottleneck. Let me take you on a journey.
Purley: Welcome to Purley, a pleasant but rather ordinary suburb that looks like it'd much prefer to still be in Surrey. Purley Way starts at Purley Cross, once a focal crossroads but now a joyless concrete gyratory in need of urgent upgrade. No such luck, not until the Tesco supermarket alongside has its plans for expansion approved. Maybe they'll also give the Rotary Clock a kickstart, because it definitely wasn't half past six when I shuffled past into the underpass. No sign anywhere of a cemetery, alas, because I really wanted to take a photograph entitled Purley Gates. So onward up the hill, past Lucinda's handbag & blouse emporium, and very carefully across the treacherous one-way system. It's no fun for pedestrians round here, nor indeed up much of the rest of the road.
Croydon Airport: In the week that the Government planned to turn open fields into London's main airport, here's a location where things went the other way. Croydon Aerodrome was the departure point for airbound bright young things of the thirties, saw fighter service during World War 2 and limped to a commercial close 50 years ago. Hey presto, a runway replaced by open space - it can be achieved. I would tell you more, but I've visited this airport previously as part of my random borough trip to neighbouring Sutton. Rest assured that the Art Deco terminal building still stands, that the De Havilland Heron perched on the grass outside has seen better days, and that one day I will come back on the first Sunday of the month when the VisitorCentre is actually open.
Waddon Ponds: Off-road, surrounded by housing estate, is a thin strip of municipal parkland with a secret. That curvaceous lake surrounded by trees is all that's left of the River Wandle in Croydon. It's an impressive remnant, not just for the amount of water visible but also for the many colonies of waterfowl that make their home here. Maybe it's because it was mid-January but there were birdseverywhere, including up on the grass and footpaths (Important notice: Please do not chase the wildfowl). I'm not very good at identifying any bird more complicated than a duck, but I think there were coots aplenty and some geese-y creatures plus some red crested small things, erm, sorry, dunno. And, other than a lone couple walking an agitated dog, I had the flocking lot of them to myself.
Big shops: Ah, so that explains the traffic jams. The northern end of Purley Way is a series of massive out-of-town shopping centres with giant warehouses fronted by expansive car parks. This is where South London comes to buy stuff, be it plasma TVs, cheap carpets or a month's worth of groceries. Start at one end and you could spend all day traipsing from one megastore to the next, and probably visit several big chains more than once. But only car drivers seemed welcome. There was no expectation that any pedestrian might dare walk this way, and at the top end they're banned from the flyover altogether. Instead I had to divert via a bleak alley past two foul-mouthed cherubs sitting on a wall (don't look at them, they'll lose interest if you don't look at them). For the first time in my life I was glad to reach IKEA, although I didn't risk my life further by popping in beneath the landmark power station chimneys for a 93p cooked breakfast. by train: Purley by tram: Waddon Marsh by bus: 289
So, yesterday I ended up in southwest London in the randomly selected borough of Merton. That's Wimbledon to you and me. I could have ended up somewhere a lot worse, I guess. Below are the places I decided to visit after an hour's detailed net research. And, hmm, I still have 32 folded pieces of paper sitting by my computer in a used honey jar, just in case I ever decide to turn this into a regular series...
Somewhere famous: WimbledonCommon We can thank author Elisabeth Beresford for making famous this glorious expanse of open space. Thirty-five years ago she wrote a book about some litter-tidying inhabitants, then in 1974 Bernard Cribbins provided the voices for the BBC cartoon adaptation, Mike Batt wrote one of the hookiest TV themes ever and a childhood classic was assured. No Wombles in sight today, nor any litter either, which proves how hard Orinoco and friends must still be working. The most famous spot on the Common is a restored windmill, now home to a museum, inside which Baden Powell wrote much of Scouting for Boys back in 1908. Beside the mill is a large car park to which London's upper middle classes drive their 4x4s at weekends so that they can pretend to be in the countryside and take their dogs/children for some exercise. Walk a few hundred yards away from the car park, however, and you can have the common to yourself, even on a Saturday afternoon. Uncommonly good. by bus: 93
Somewhere historic: Morden Hall Park Right at the southern tip of the Northern line lies Morden, not the most historic part of the world you might think, and you'd be right. In fact I found it really hard to find anywhere even vaguely historic in this borough at all, but I assumed that if the National Trust had a property in the area then it was worth a visit. Morden Hall was built in 1750, which makes it positively ancient for this part of London - originally a boarding school, now a posh restaurant. The National Trust own some of the outbuildings, including a waterwheel formerly used to power a snuff mill (that's a mill for making snuff, of course). The surrounding parkland by the banks of the River Wandle is an oasis of green in grey suburbia, including both woodland and wetland. There's an extensive rose garden, laid out by former owner and philanthropist Gilliat Hatfeild (sic), although the roses won't be spectacular for another couple of months. The whole place is unexpectedly pretty, so long as you don't spot the garden centre nextdoor, the giant car park and the A24 thundering by outside. And it's free. by tube: Morden; by Tramlink: Phipps Bridge
Somewhere pretty: Wimbledon Park It was a very showery day yesterday, with a number of heavy downpours between sunny intervals. I found myself walking through posh North Wimbledon, sheltering under available trees, when suddenly I spotted a rainbow curving over the Merton sky. It was a double rainbow no less, sweeping down to touch the ground just out of reach across the park. Local golfers paused awhile to point it out to one another, then continued on their rounds. Old ladies shuffled by in blissful ignorance, huddled under tartan umbrellas. From my viewpoint the rainbow had picked out its crock of gold well. As well as the golf club and a certain nearby tennis facility, the houses round these parts drip wealth. Close by is Wimbledon Village, sat atop a hill overlooking central London, and the site of the original settlement around which the local suburbs grew up. There are now designer boutiques, bakeries selling ciabattas, and that telltale sign of overaffluence - the Bang and Olufsen shop. Maybe not so pretty after all, then. by tube: Wimbledon Park
Somewhere sporty: All England Lawn Tennis Club AFCWimbledon play in the neighbouring borough of Kingston, so I headed instead to my second choice sporting venue. Opposite Wimbledon Park lies the most famous tennis club in all England, probably in the whole world. It started life as a croquet club, but diversification into racquet sport has subsequently earned the club many millions of pounds. The Lawn Tennis Championships have been held here annually since 1877, the only Grand Slam event still played on grass, and there are now 19 courts spread out over a massive 42 acres. The southern tip of the site, viewed from outside, has the austere look of a beige and green holiday camp. The main courts, however, are on a completely different scale with huge green grandstands, far bigger than I'd imagined, surrounded by imposing bars and restaurants that close for fifty weeks a year. You can of course visit the museum throughout the year, or join the massed 7-year-olds playing short tennis in the shadow of Centre Court as part of the Junior Tennis initiative. Oh, and I'm glad to report that nobody's started queueing for June just yet, but I'm sure it won't be long now. by tube: Southfields; by bus: 493
Somewhere retail: Merton Abbey Mills In search of shopping nirvana I avoided Wimbledon High Street - a mass of department stores sliced through by road traffic hell - and headed instead somewhere slightly more alternative. Merton Abbey Mills is a 'craft village' located in the former Liberty silk-printing works beside the River Wandle. William Morris, the Victorian god of wallpaper, set up a workshop here in 1881 to undertake dyeing, block printing, weaving and stained glass manufacture. His buildings are now home to about 20 shops, selling everything from lace to ceramics, and beanbags to sci-fi memorabilia. Merton Abbey Mills describes itself as 'southwest London's answer to Camden Lock', which I think is stretching the truth somewhat - not one Goth was anywhere to be seen. In fact the whole place was a bit on the quiet side, but maybe I arrived a bit early in the day. The mill at Merton Abbey houses an 1860s waterwheel, used by Morris to rinse his silks after printing. This waterwheel has since been adopted as the logo of the London Borough of Merton - presumably it symbolises continuity, community and sustainability, or whatever the important local government buzzwords are these days. by tube: Colliers Wood
Somewhere random: AbbeyParade I picked somewhere random in my random borough by looking up the first Merton road to be listed in the index of the London A-Z. And so I found myself at Abbey Parade, a shabby parade of shops just up the road from Merton Abbey Mills. Forget the five places I've visited above - this is real London. Mothers and pushchairs crowd the OK Laundrette, beside the dark mysteries of the Wizard Tattoo Shop. You can buy your perfect bathroom, call in at the Tubing Centre, or get your bike fixed at AW Cycles (a satisfied customer blogs here). It costs just £65 for diamond bleaching at the Teeth-u-like dental surgery, while Chris's Gents Haircutters displays the same six perfectly-coiffed heads as can be seen in barbers' windows across the country. And at the heart of the parade lies The Nelson Arms pub, a hint that this might not be quite such a random location as I'd first thought. Turns out that 200 years ago Lord Nelson bought a small house on this very site, where he busied himself with 'gardening, attending the House (of Lords), eating and drinking and hurra-ing'. He'd no doubt turn a blind eye to the state of the place today. by tube: South Wimbledon
It had to happen sooner or later. I spent Saturday trawling around my own backyard, in the historic borough of Tower Hamlets. This is the traditional East End of London, stretching from the City to the River Lea and from the Regent's Canal down to the Thames. It's been the slum end of town for several centuries - where the poor have always lived and where immigrants have always settled. Much of this multicultural borough remains locked in relative poverty, although there are also several pockets of great wealth, especially in the modern financial powerhouse of Docklands. Tower Hamlets may no longer be full of Cockneys, Pearly Queens and people who go round saying "cor blimey guv'nor" all the time, but at least there's still room for a diamond geezer. Ahh, there's no place like home.
Somewhere historic: The Tower of London Despite what you may have thought, the Tower of London isn't in the City of London, it's in Tower Hamlets. How else did you think the borough got its name? William the Conqueror built his great White Tower just outside the walls of the City, in a defensive position beside the Thames. This was London's first highrise building, standing nearly 30 metres tall, and dominating the medieval skyline. Over subsequent centuries the scale of the castle was enlarged, first with one high surrounding wall and then another, until eventually the structure contained a full 20 towers encircled by a deep protective moat [photo]. In Tudor times the Tower became less of a fortress and royal residence and more of a prison and armoury. But only seven prisoners were ever executed here - two of them wives of Henry VIII, and another the unfortunate nine-day queen Lady Jane Grey. Other, less high-profile, prisoners were executed in full public view up on the grassy hump of Tower Hill. And yes, that's (just) in Tower Hamlets too.
Visiting the Tower used to be a one-way ticket - shipped in at high tide through Traitors Gate and locked away in a dingy castle turret to await your fate. Now they let you out again afterwards, but you have to pay £16 for the privilege. Unless you're a Tower Hamlets resident, that is. We're allowed in for a quid, but only during the winter months and only on production of a library or leisure centre card. I didn't have time to go in yesterday, but I did pay up and venture inside 18 months ago if you're interested, and I enjoyed my visit far more than I was expecting. [top tip: arrive early and go straight to the Crown Jewels display - you won't have to queue]
For the cheapskates amongst us, the only way to see the Tower is from the outside. Start on the new sloping concrete plaza leading down to the entrance, where you can watch a genial Beefeater conducting bag searches and rifling through French schoolkids' rucksacks. The souvenir shop is probably best avoided, unless you have a burning desire to own a Beefeater Toby Jug or a Crown Jewels tea towel. You can walk along the riverside cobbles right beside the Tower, peering up at the paying customers on the ramparts inside, although you do at least get to see Traitors Gate for nothing [photo]. Nip up onto Tower Bridge but don't expect a decent view from the centre, not once the riverside avenue of trees is in full leaf. Instead head away from the river and join the hordes of tourists taking photographs from the raised pavement, across the moat to the castellated rooftops beyond. And don't forget to look down into the moat itself, where you should see the Tower seesaw, the Tower roundabout, the Tower climbing frame and the Tower swings [photo]. There's even a neglected Tower tennis court down there, presumably used by the Beefeaters and their families when they think nobody's looking [photo]. Those who've paid £16 don't get to see these gems, oh no, they just get eight ravens with clipped wings, some armour and a few big diamonds.
Plan in advance and it's even possible to visit the Tower for free. There's a catch - you have to arrive at 9:30pm and you can only stay for 35 minutes. But you do get to see the famous Ceremony of the Keys, performed nightly every single day for the last 700 years, before gruff Yeoman Warders eject you from the premises. One day I really must send in my name (and a stamped addressed envelope) and see if they'll allow me to attend. After all, I am local. by train: Tower Hill by bus: 15
Somewhere famous: The Crystal Palace In the beginning this was plain old Sydenham Hill, and nobody paid it much attention. And then in 1851 the Great Exhibition in Hyde Park opened, and closed, and there was a giant iron and glass building in need of a new home. The CrystalPalace was relocated here on the ridge, high above southeast London, and a new park of entertainment and enlightenment opened up in the surrounding fields. It was a great success, attracting huge crowds by road and rail, although a gradual decline set in after a few decades. In 1936 the palace burnt to the ground in an unexpected and spectacular fire. Head to the top of Sydenham Hill today and you'll find just the artificial terraces where the Italian Gardens once stood [photo], and a few headless statues [photo], and some stone sphinxes [photo]. Be thankful that Bromley Council didn't have their way a few years ago, else there'd now be a 20-screen multiplex cinema and leisure centre on top of the hill in a building resembling an airport terminal. The only thing Londoners can see atop Sydenham Hill today is a giant 200m television mast, built on the site of John Logie Baird's TV studios. Here's hoping nothing uglier is ever slapped down beside it.
Somewhere pre-historic: Crystal Palace Dinosaur park[photo] "Please Mummy, can we go and see the dinosaurs?" "Yes certainly. They're over here in the corner of the park, down by the lake." "But Mummy, that's not a dinosaur, that's a big fibreglass mammal hanging onto a tree." "It's a Megatherium, darling, a giant sloth. And there's a family of Anoplotherium under those trees." "But Mummy, they're not dinosaurs either. Take me over the bridge past that waterfall." "Look dear, there are some artificial rock strata in that artificial cliff-face." "I'm not interested in fake geology, Mummy. I want to see the dinosaurs that Benjamin Waterhouse Hawkins built." "Heretheyare! The Iguanodon is so big that Ben held a 20-strong dinner party inside it when the park opened." "That's just an old wives tale, Mummy. Why has it got a thumb sticking out of its head?" "It's not anatomically accurate, darling. These dinosaurs were designed 150 years ago before scientists knew any better." "And the Icthyosaur has seen better days, and that Megalosaurus has pigeons sitting all down its spine, and those Labyrinthodons are just plain dull." "OK son, I know it's not Jurassic Park, but at least it's free." "They're brilliant, Mummy! Can we come again next weekend?"
Somewhere sporty: Crystal Palace Athletics Stadium[photo] In the beginning there was just a park. But no park is complete without sport, and over the years this park has seen greater sport than most. • WG Grace used to wander over from his house on Crystal Palace Road to play cricket here. • A football ground was built in the park, and all 20 FA Cup Finals from 1895 to 1914 were played right here. More than 120000 spectators watched Aston Villa beat Sunderland in 1913. • The England rugby team's first match against the All Blacks was held at Crystal Palace in 1905. Not atypically, England lost fifteen nil. • Crystal Palace FC was formed here in 1905, and remained until 1914 when the army took over the park. • A race circuit for motorcycles opened around the park in 1927, and was also used for motor racing between 1953 and 1973. Parts of the circuit are still clearly visible today. • The Crystal Palace Athletics Stadium was opened in 1964. It's capable of hosting world class events, although it doesn't get to hold many these days. You can peer down at the tracks from the grassy bank to the south. The surrounding buildings include a 10 storey accommodation block, and are a bit ugly. The sports complex houses London's only 50m swimming pool, and the whole thing will soon be utterly superseded by the new Olympic Stadium in Stratford. by train: Crystal Palace (where else?)
LONDON BOROUGH TOPS Waltham Forest: Pole Hill 91 metres (17th out of 33) [map][map]
The highest point in the borough of Waltham Forest is a proper hill, indeed one of the more special hills within the Greater London boundary. Pole Hill rises above the western end of the town of Chingford, indeed the hill is named after St Paul's Church on the village green, which is in turn named after St Paul's Cathedral. It actually feels like a proper hill when you climb it too, rising steeply from the Lea Valley alongside, indeed there's a mighty fine view across two reservoirs from the grassy slopes on the western flank. Or you can walk up via the residential avenues of Chingford Green, one of whose houses on Woodberry Way has a back garden rising almost to the summit. One particularly famous resident of Arabia Way was Lawrence of Arabia, back when he was the only person here and living (occasionally) in a hut in the woods. Or the easiest ascent is up the unmade road along the edge of the golf course, rising gently into forest to reach a beechy earthen glade. There are sufficient ways up and down Pole Hill to provide considerable variety for even the most demanding Chingford-based jogger or dog walker. [3 photos]
Step out onto the plateau at the top of Pole Hill and you'll find a pair of pillars, both of which hold significance. The smaller is the Ordnance Survey trig point, recording an elevation of one foot below three hundred. It's also on the Greenwich Meridian, which by a complete coincidence passes through the summit of the hill. This fortuitous alignment was used by the Royal Observatory's astronomers who used to line up their telescopes in Greenwich with the top of Pole Hill ten miles due north. The other obelisk was erected in 1824 when the Greenwich Meridian ran 19 feet west of where it does now, lined up on the crosshairs of James Bradley's transit telescope. It's therefore fortunate, or perhaps deliberate, that the tree cover is at its thinnest in this general direction, although copious branches have grown up far enough in the intervening years to completely obstruct views of Greenwich through the summer.
I do love sitting up here - there's one bench - although the finest panorama from the Gherkin round to the BT Tower can only be seen by standing on it. Others enjoy the peace too, evidenced by the empty can of Strongbow perched on the plinth at the foot of the obelisk. Two cyclists - I suspect they'd like to think of themselves as mountain bikers - paused by the summit before diving between the oak trees to plunge down the slopes to the west. And two joggers passed by, one sweating across his now two-tone t-shirt, the other ambling slowly in pristine vest. I eventually picked my exit route and followed one of them down, but not before enjoying my Pole position for a little while longer. by train: Chingford by bus: 313, 379, 385
LONDON BOROUGH TOPS Redbridge: Cabin Hill 90 metres (18th out of 33) [map][map]
Hainault ForestCountry Park, it seems, is a treat known only to locals from almost-Essex. They drive in, or maybe walk from the estates of Hainault if they're that way inclined, and park up in number at the end of the lane. From here a variety of activities suggest themselves. A trip to Foxburrows Farm - a petting zoo treat for the littluns - or the chance to buy something & chips at the Global Cafe (a popular choice that at the weekend, I noted). Several three-generation families had brought picnics and were sprawled out on the grass, generally not too far from the car for convenience sake, slowly bloating and reddening as the afternoon passed. What you can't currently do is walk on the site where thousands of military 'volunteers' camped out during the Olympics, because amazingly that's still sealed off even two years afterwards to give the wild flower carpet time to regroup. Or you could go for a walk - there are several trails across the site, some merely up the meadow and back but others more worthy ascents into deep forest. And one of these woodland walks, from the farthest end of the site, leads up to Redbridge's Borough Top. [3 photos]
The Greater London boundary runs in from Grange Hill and Chigwell Row, almost precisely slicing the Country Park in two. Along the way it passes through the summit of Cabin Hill, where Redbridge meets Havering meets Essex, with the London side more steeply sloping than the wooded out-of-town flanks beyond. On the gravel path ascent I passed several visitors walking slowly, pretending not to be out of breath, and a retired couple brambling for first fruits in the hedgerow and dropping their bounty into an M&S bag. And at the pinnacle itself, treats and disappointment. A treat, in that the borough of Redbridge has plonked a huge wastebin emblazoned with the name of the council on its highest point. A treat in that an information board explains what there is to see nearby, including the immediately-adjacent county through the hedge. And a disappointment in that the bench where I'd hoped to sit was already taken by a teenager checking his phone, and no way was he going anywhere while (presumably) the rest of his family explored the woodland paths beyond. Tree cover atop Cabin Hill means there's no view as such, but a definite sense of place presides. by tube: Grange Hill by bus: 247, 362
I decided on a three mile walk to the next Borough Top, rather than attempting to find a bus, instead reprising the second half of London Loop section 20. Top choice. The path tumbled down a golf course, then cut a furrow through a field of head-high corn as if this were the American midwest. Down in the Rom Valley a farmhand swept by on his combine harvester, feeding grain into a truck, waving as he passed. And on the other side a spectacular panorama of London Skyscraper Central became visible across the fields, before I climbed (via one of only two redwood plantations in Britain) through Havering Country Park. That good.
LONDON BOROUGH TOPS Havering: Havering-atte-Bower 105 metres (14th out of 33) [map][map]
This triple-barrelled village probably shouldn't be part of London, and only scrapes inside by half a mile. Havering-atte-Bower is a proper hilltop settlement with a green and a twisty main street, plus royal connections to Edward the Confessor established a timber lodge here. This became the centre of hunting grounds known as The Royal Liberty of Havering, and later a proper palace grew up (to which the 'atte-Bower' suffix relates). Nothing remains, although the parish church is built on the highest point which is the site of the old palace chapel. St James and St John lost its parish priest two years back and now shares a vicar with a much more modern building down the hill in Collier Row. The churchyard slopes upwards, which makes the village green fractionally higher, possibly sloping upwards to the stocks by the T-Junction. By London standards buses are infrequent, but those who live in the adjacent cottages mostly drive or, as seems very typical round here, ride a horse. [3 photos]
Or maybe the other half of the village is higher - whoever compiled the list of London Borough Tops isn't certain. Broxhill Road dips slightly down and then back up again towards the cricket club, and it's very hard to judge which end is higher purely by eye. Hence Havering has an alternative secondary peak barely quarter of a mile east of the first, also at 105 metres, in the vicinity of Round House Farm. A bright white water tower rises here, perhaps evidence that engineers thought this was the highest point hereabouts. The cricket ground must have a good claim too. Within its chalk-lined boundary all is flat, but immediately beyond the land tumbles away to reveal Romford, intermediate suburbia, Dartford and the heights of Kent in the far distance. The Thames really does carve a valley through the heart of London, even in its more estuarine reaches, and the elevated residents of Havering-atte-Bower see this more clearly than most. by bus: 375 (not Sunday)
LONDON BOROUGH TOPS Barking & Dagenham: Marks Gate 43 metres (28th out of 33) [map][map]
Sorry, but after those three elevated treats, this is potentially more of a letdown. Barking and Dagenham is another flattish borough, rising gently as it tapers north along Whalebone Lane but without ever breaking into a proper climb. The top end of the borough features broad arable fields, broken by a curry-based Rollerbowl experience and the housing estates of Marks Gate. The main road's a bit grim, lined on one side by a McDonalds, various lowbrow farm shops and a huge quarry ("Danger Quicksand"). Somewhere in the scrubby verge is the Mark's Stone, a stumpy boundary marker with the dubious honour of being the final place I ever visited on my Random Borough tour. And just south of Kingston Hill Avenue is a landscaped hump planted with trees, adjacent to a fenced-off lawn where brave residents sunbathe amidst potential dogpoo. [3 photos]
But the highest point in B&D, it's thought, lies within the perimeter of Chadwell Heath Cemetery. This is far more interesting than its situation suggests, laid out in the early 1930s by Dagenham Borough Council (look out for their insignia on the entrance gates) and is unexpectedly Grade II listed. At the cemetery's heart is a slim Art Deco chapel, designed by the borough surveyor, surrounded by an orbital pathway through the gravestones aligned to resemble an astronomical diagram. I would have explored more deeply had not the official closing time just passed, afraid the gates might be locked upon me if I ventured too far within. But the ground to the north rose sharply up a steep grassy bank to an 8-acre cemetery extension, currently under development now that the lower site is full up. Those eventually interred within this flat turfed platform will sit at the very pinnacle of Barking and Dagenham, a concept I'm reassured to have discovered actually exists. by train: Chadwell Heath by bus: 62, 296, 362
Somewhere sporty: Barnet FC It's been a rags to not-quite riches story for the lads of Barnet FC. Once non-league stalwarts, the Bees managed to climb into the 'proper' divisions 20 years ago, and have mostly stayed there ever since. But they've never climbed higher than Division Three, back when there was a Division Three, and are currently languishing a few places above non-league oblivion. The club's based at Underhill, which (not surprisingly) is at the bottom of a hill south of Barnet town centre. Surrounded on three sides by an estate and the fourth by a park, the pitch slopes noticeably from one goal to the other (which is what you get when you build a ground in a river valley). There are immediate plans to move elsewhere, exacerbated by the ground's freehold having been sold by the council in 2002 for a knock-down price. One possible escape would be to Copthall Stadium, an athletics track in far flung Mill Hill, but that's also being eyed up by rugby giants Saracens. Alternatively the club could redevelop its training ground in Canons Park, called "The Hive", but building league-worthy facilities there won't happen any time soon. With the council being typically obstructive and the club keen to escape, this season could be Barnet's Underhillswansong.
Normally when I visit a football stadium for my random borough visit, it being a Saturday, there is at least some activity going on. Not so at Underhill. With the team off thrashing far-flung Accrington Stanley, there was absolutely nothing doing, not even action from Barnet's high-flying ladies. The roadside end of the stadium is for away supporters, and that was gated and shuttered. Access for everything else is down Priory Grove (still flyposted for "Christopher & Cassandra's 21st"), past a pitch-long corrugated iron wall (and the local Scout HQ). All was dead here too, every last gate, window and door. No service at The Bacon Butty, which I assume does good porcine business on match days [photo]. And not a soul in the locked shop, which is a portakabin in the corner of the car park, filled with such goodies as Bee Army flags, "Mister Bumble" t-shirts and a variety of tangerine clothing. There's a fair amount of orange paint across the main building, and the abbreviation B.F.C. built into the brickwork near the main entrances. Stand beside the main gate and you can see past the fire escape to the pitch - a far better view than most clubs allow you to get for free [photo]. But, emotion aside, there's little here of architectural worth were the whole place to be bulldozed and replaced with flats, which I fear is what thecouncil ultimately have in mind. by tube: High Barnet by bus: 34, 84, 107, 234, 263, 307, 326, 384, 389
Somewhere random: Spike Milligan's house Should you ever attempt a pilgrimage to the many homes of Spike Milligan you'll have to start in India. Then it'll be off to Honor Oak, which is where the Milligan family moved in the 1930s after Spike's Dad's discharge from the army. And thence to Finchley in 1955. Spike had already found fame in the Goon Show, and this move would have been a financial step up in the world. He took up residence at 127 Holden Road, a double-fronted Edwardian house with garden stretching down to the Dollis Brook, and here he wrote more Goon Shows, his 'Q' comedy series and books of children's poetry. He stayed for nearly twenty years, long enough to bring up a family, and a blue plaque on the wall records his presence.
An intriguing place to visit, I thought, as I stepped off the tube at Woodside Park station. And there were indeed a few Milliganesque Edwardian villas on the even numbered side of the road, but none on the odd. That was lined with flats, in a variety of styles, and there was nothing I could possibly imagine Spike having lived in. I tried to locate 127, only to find the blue plaque on the end wall of a not terribly inspiring row of white-boarded houses [photo]. Surely Spike hadn't lived in one of these regular suburban residences... and by their age I realised not. 127 and its neighbours are long gone, long replaced, with several new homes crammed in where the Milligans' back garden would once have been. In the words of youngest daughter Jane, "Somewhere in the soil under these flats are the bones of our family hamsters, rabbits, fish, air rifle pellets and unread letters to the pixies and fairies." I walked down the frosty passageway past their front doors, to a large car parking area beside a steaming litter bin, and then to the banks of the Dollis Brook. I'd never have got this far while Spike was here, and by the overgrown look of the shallow channel I wouldn't have missed much.
Plans are afoot to remember Spike's stay in Finchley with a statue, if funds can be raised. The Finchley Society are on the case, with a bronze Spike sitting on a bench and turning as if to speak to an imaginary person beside him. It's already designed, and now awaits family approval, and casting, and final installation in the grounds of Avenue House, Church End. You can contribute here, should you so desire. And as for where Spike moved next, that was Monken Hadley, but I hadn't properly researched this before setting out so never found it. Here he lived in a rambling Victorian pile called 'Monkenhurst' overlooking the common, with a Gothic tower, and stained glass staircase window. That sounds much more Spike, and resold ten years ago for £1¾m. But by that time he'd already moved on from his beloved Barnet, to the village of Udimore near Winchelsea, where his body was later buried. If you're attempting a Milligan pilgrimage, expect a long journey. by tube: Woodside Park by bus: 326, 383
Somewhere pretty: Mill Hill How have I never been up here before? A road along a ridge, once plied by coaching traffic leaving London, now an affluent residential location blessed by a jumbled collection of great buildings. It's called Mill Hill for fairly obvious reasons, although there's no sign today of any mill except for the twee iron signs at either end of the village. Mill Hill's heritage has survived by the fortunate chance of its elevation. When the railways passed through they took the valleys, hence the urban sprawl round Mill Hill Broadway and central Finchley. But up here wasn't so commuter friendly, unless you count the spur line to Mill Hill East at the foot of Bittacy Hill, so remained mostly untouched. I nipped off the bus at the top of Highwood Hill, then walked down the edge of rolling fields to the Folly Brook valley and immediately back up twisting Holcombe Hill. I'm not used to such compact contours in north London, but Barnet's an atypically hilly borough.
The Ridgeway, as Mill Hill's main road is named, is broad and grassy. You can never quite be sure what structure will be up next, but "private school" is a pretty good bet. I passed through at Saturday kicking-out time, which seemed to be 1pm). Girls from The Mount waited for parents and boyfriends to drive them home, while non-boarder boys from esteemed Mill Hill School waited patiently for a bus. Even the playgroup at St Paul's Church was emptying into 4×4s, from a building far less impressive than William Wilberforce's 4×spired church up the road. Every religious denomination appears to have been catered for in Mill Hill, including an African church by the pond on the village green [photo]. Close by is a Quaker meeting house, and a closed-down convent whose grounds are being swallowed by a gated residential development. Best not mention the National Institute for Medical Research, an X-shaped brick fortress which you might recognise from Batman Begins. But the village also boasts its own farm, several quaint almshouses and a variety of higgledy cottages [photo]. There is a High Street (at 100m, the shortest in London) but there are no shops anywhere (although there is a huge Waitrose a mile down the hill, so that's OK). If you live up on Mill Hill, lucky you. And if you don't, I wonder if you know what you're missing. by bus: 240, 251
Random borough (20): Time once more for me to take another random trip to one of London's 33 boroughs. As I write I have no idea which one of the 14 remaining borough names will be revealed when I unfold the slip of paper I'm about to pick from my legendary (and as-yet unseen) "special jamjar". I could pick any one of the other London boroughs - inner or outer, urban or suburban, small or large, fascinating or dull. I just know it won't be Merton, Islington, Enfield, Sutton, Lewisham, Southwark, Kensington & Chelsea, Hackney, Hillingdon, the City, Bromley, Lambeth, Tower Hamlets, Haringey, Hounslow, Brent, Redbridge, Ealing or Harrow because they're the nineteen (dark grey) boroughs I've picked out already.
Random borough (14): What better way to celebrate this blog's fifth birthday than for me to take another random trip to one of London's 33 boroughs. Sorry I'm a bit late with this one, but my summer's been rather busy and so I've been prioritising real life over online geographical haphazardry. As I write I have no idea which one of the 20 remaining borough names will be revealed when I unfold the slip of paper I'm about to pick from my "special jamjar". I could pick any of London's other boroughs - inner or outer, urban or suburban, small or large, fascinating or dull. I just know it won't be Merton, Islington, Enfield, Sutton, Lewisham, Southwark, Kensington & Chelsea, Hackney, Hillingdon, the City, Bromley, Lambeth or Tower Hamlets because they're the thirteen (dark grey) boroughs I've picked out already. So far my random jamjar has shown a very distinct preference for south and east London. Look, I've covered the whole of the eastern half of inner London already - what are the chances of that? Is today the day I finally head even further east, or maybe start filling in that gaping void to the west? Or will I just end up making the big grey blob even bigger?
Beneath the Town Hall clocktower, in the very centre of Croydon, is the borough's main cultural centre. It's not particularly obvious from outside quite how many different arts-y facilities are crammed within. It's not that obvious inside either, and I got a bit lost trying to work out where to go. Ah, hang on, past the main library, up the stairs and through the door marked 'Then'. 'Then' turned out to be an empty-ish black room with some maps on the wall and a model of the Crystal Palace atmospheric railway on a table and some motley objects shut away in separate illuminated containers. And that's all I saw, because within two minutes of my arrival the building's manager walked in and closed the museum down for the day. Staff absence problems, apparently, so the young bloke supervising the museum had to be relocated to the more-important cafe-bar instead, sorry. And with that I was locked out and never got to explore the place properly. I suspect I didn't miss much. The museum's exhibits aren't labelled in the conventional sense, no printed text alongside, but instead you have to interact by touching a video screen to discover background and emotional statements attached to each. Too much effort for too little reward, I thought. Plus it really didn't help that one of the screens was displaying a Windows Outlook Express error message instead. Plus you can interrogate the entire collection online from home, so why bother turning up? I shan't be rushing back.
One thing Croydon's great for, and that's shopping. The centre of town is one big shopping island, hemmed in by a ring of dual carriageways and circling trams. Take your pick of the high street stores, they'll have a branch in here somewhere. And at the heart of things are two Croydon classics - Allders department store and the Whitgift Centre. Until recently the Whitgift was London's largest shopping mall, at least before that upstart Westfield came along. It's a revamped 60s complex, unusually airy, with labyrinthine passageways on two levels connecting three individual atria. They've seen better days, to be sure, but they still have more character than any recent artificial hellhole. The main action is downstairs, while the upper floor has slightly more of a backwater feeling. Solid, safe, comfortable, and a bit of a middle-aged family hangout. On a Saturday morning the place to be seen is Cafe Giardino (of which there are three) - the ideal spot to squeeze behind a plastic table and enjoy a frothing beverage with optional pastry while you flick slowly through your mid-market tabloid. Or ride the escalator to buy a personalised pen, somewhere halfway between the tropical fish cavern and the independent sewing shop. Probably nothing more special than where you live, just bigger.
Exit through Allders Square to Croydon's biggest department store. Allders may have retreated from the rest of the southeast, but here it's still trading as a bought-out independent behemoth. Oh my word, the ladies shoe department is enormous. Rack after rack after rack of pointy heeled must-haves, which seemed to have attracted several excitable Croydon footwear devotees. I moved on, slightly more tempted by the basement offering of Vacuum Cleaners, Domestic Appliances, Fitted Kitchens and 'Gift Food'. They do things slightly differently in department stores. In particular here, where there's a thin crescent mall curving within the store, with small concessions devoted to key-cutting, hair-dressing and cake-icing. You can easily imagine that Terry and June might walk down here at any minute. Alas, Allders's future still looks rocky, and the store may not survive repeated attempts by the council to redevelop this prime central site.
If fame costs, then SE25 is where you start paying. In Selhurst to be precise, in the UK's first state school for the performing arts. The BRIT School arrived here in 1991, and since then it's pumped scores of famous names into the musical mainstream. Leona Lewis for one, and Kate Nash, and Katie Melua and Adele, and even that Dane Bowers bloke who had a hit with Victoria Beckham. Plus Amy Winehouse, which just goes to show that not every school discipline policy works long term. Various record companies sponsor the place, not surprisingly given the royalties they recoup as a result. This is the type of educational establishment that ITV had in mind when they developed Britannia High, only rather more successful and with a far better long-term future. The school's on two sites, both along The Crescent and separated by a car park. One's a typical redbrick Edwardian building with high windows, nabbed from a former girls' school. And the other's much more modern, like a white-legged glass caterpillar squatting beside the road, and considerably lighter and brighter within. On a Saturday morning there's not much going on. I spotted a few extra-curricular students carrying instruments across the playground and heard the sound of animated performance somewhere within, but it was a pale reflection of the seething creating cauldron this must be on a weekday. I wonder which well-rounded alumnus wannabe we'll all be discovering this year.
To the slopes below Upper Norwood, to the home of mid-Championship Crystal Palace Football Club. Selhurst Park is a 1920s ground that's been slowly upgraded and expanded over the years and is now a hybrid architectural hotchpotch. Along Park Road the stadium looks fairly traditional, all gates and turnstiles and tiny ticket windows. From Whitehorse Lane the stadium looks suspiciously like a boxy out-of-town trading estate, with a none-too-inviting staircase leading up from Sainsbury's front entrance towards the executive boxes. Meanwhile the Holmesdale Road grandstand resembles a very tall block of boring redbrick offices with a curved black roof on top and stacks of seating behind. I took the opportunity of a home match against Ipswich to explore more closely within the gated perimeter. Three hours before kick off the stewards were all in place, even if there was nobody to steward, and the programme sellers were similarly poised but premature. A cheery bloke in a red and blue scarf trundled by in his wheelchair, while a few bullet-headed stalwarts arrived early because Saturday is football day and it'd be wrong to stay away. Low winter sun glinted on the inscribed bricks in the Centenary Wall ("Palace 4 life", "Till I die", "Come on Eagles" "Glad All Over!"). Busy inside their solitary trailer, the executive chefs of the British Burgers Company readied their deep fat fryers for an expected onslaught of hot dog guzzlers. And in the official shop by the ticket office, twitchy retail staff watched an early trickle of punters buying not much, not even the 20%-off babywear. Oh yes, there was definitely a whiff of pre-match optimism in the air when I headed off to the bus stop. Alas, when I passed by later in the afternoon the floodlights were beating down on a 4-1 home defeat. Palace's intermittent glory years remain little more than memories amongst these suburban avenues.
Purley: Welcome to Purley, a pleasant but rather ordinary suburb that looks like it'd much prefer to still be in Surrey. Purley Way starts at Purley Cross, once a focal crossroads but now a joyless concrete gyratory in need of urgent upgrade. No such luck, not until the Tesco supermarket alongside has its plans for expansion approved. Maybe they'll also give the Rotary Clock a kickstart, because it definitely wasn't half past six when I shuffled past into the underpass. No sign anywhere of a cemetery, alas, because I really wanted to take a photograph entitled Purley Gates. So onward up the hill, past Lucinda's handbag & blouse emporium, and very carefully across the treacherous one-way system. It's no fun for pedestrians round here, nor indeed up much of the rest of the road.
Croydon Airport: In the week that the Government planned to turn open fields into London's main airport, here's a location where things went the other way. Croydon Aerodrome was the departure point for airbound bright young things of the thirties, saw fighter service during World War 2 and limped to a commercial close 50 years ago. Hey presto, a runway replaced by open space - it can be achieved. I would tell you more, but I've visited this airport previously as part of my random borough trip to neighbouring Sutton. Rest assured that the Art Deco terminal building still stands, that the De Havilland Heron perched on the grass outside has seen better days, and that one day I will come back on the first Sunday of the month when the Visitor Centre is actually open.
Waddon Ponds: Off-road, surrounded by housing estate, is a thin strip of municipal parkland with a secret. That curvaceous lake surrounded by trees is all that's left of the River Wandle in Croydon. It's an impressive remnant, not just for the amount of water visible but also for the many colonies of waterfowl that make their home here. Maybe it's because it was mid-January but there were birds everywhere, including up on the grass and footpaths (Important notice: Please do not chase the wildfowl). I'm not very good at identifying any bird more complicated than a duck, but I think there were coots aplenty and some geese-y creatures plus some red crested small things, erm, sorry, dunno. And, other than a lone couple walking an agitated dog, I had the flocking lot of them to myself.
Big shops: Ah, so that explains the traffic jams. The northern end of Purley Way is a series of massive out-of-town shopping centres with giant warehouses fronted by expansive car parks. This is where South London comes to buy stuff, be it plasma TVs, cheap carpets or a month's worth of groceries. Start at one end and you could spend all day traipsing from one megastore to the next, and probably visit several big chains more than once. But only car drivers seemed welcome. There was no expectation that any pedestrian might dare walk this way, and at the top end they're banned from the flyover altogether. Instead I had to divert via a bleak alley past two foul-mouthed cherubs sitting on a wall (don't look at them, they'll lose interest if you don't look at them). For the first time in my life I was glad to reach IKEA, although I didn't risk my life further by popping in beneath the landmark power station chimneys for a 93p cooked breakfast.
We can thank author Elisabeth Beresford for making famous this glorious expanse of open space. Thirty-five years ago she wrote a book about some litter-tidying inhabitants, then in 1974 Bernard Cribbins provided the voices for the BBC cartoon adaptation, Mike Batt wrote one of the hookiest TV themes ever and a childhood classic was assured. No Wombles in sight today, nor any litter either, which proves how hard Orinoco and friends must still be working. The most famous spot on the Common is a restored windmill, now home to a museum, inside which Baden Powell wrote much of Scouting for Boys back in 1908. Beside the mill is a large car park to which London's upper middle classes drive their 4x4s at weekends so that they can pretend to be in the countryside and take their dogs/children for some exercise. Walk a few hundred yards away from the car park, however, and you can have the common to yourself, even on a Saturday afternoon. Uncommonly good.
Right at the southern tip of the Northern line lies Morden, not the most historic part of the world you might think, and you'd be right. In fact I found it really hard to find anywhere even vaguely historic in this borough at all, but I assumed that if the National Trust had a property in the area then it was worth a visit. Morden Hall was built in 1750, which makes it positively ancient for this part of London - originally a boarding school, now a posh restaurant. The National Trust own some of the outbuildings, including a waterwheel formerly used to power a snuff mill (that's a mill for making snuff, of course). The surrounding parkland by the banks of the River Wandle is an oasis of green in grey suburbia, including both woodland and wetland. There's an extensive rose garden, laid out by former owner and philanthropist Gilliat Hatfeild (sic), although the roses won't be spectacular for another couple of months. The whole place is unexpectedly pretty, so long as you don't spot the garden centre nextdoor, the giant car park and the A24 thundering by outside. And it's free.
It was a very showery day yesterday, with a number of heavy downpours between sunny intervals. I found myself walking through posh North Wimbledon, sheltering under available trees, when suddenly I spotted a rainbow curving over the Merton sky. It was a double rainbow no less, sweeping down to touch the ground just out of reach across the park. Local golfers paused awhile to point it out to one another, then continued on their rounds. Old ladies shuffled by in blissful ignorance, huddled under tartan umbrellas. From my viewpoint the rainbow had picked out its crock of gold well. As well as the golf club and a certain nearby tennis facility, the houses round these parts drip wealth. Close by is Wimbledon Village, sat atop a hill overlooking central London, and the site of the original settlement around which the local suburbs grew up. There are now designer boutiques, bakeries selling ciabattas, and that telltale sign of overaffluence - the Bang and Olufsen shop. Maybe not so pretty after all, then.
AFC Wimbledon play in the neighbouring borough of Kingston, so I headed instead to my second choice sporting venue. Opposite Wimbledon Park lies the most famous tennis club in all England, probably in the whole world. It started life as a croquet club, but diversification into racquet sport has subsequently earned the club many millions of pounds. The Lawn Tennis Championships have been held here annually since 1877, the only Grand Slam event still played on grass, and there are now 19 courts spread out over a massive 42 acres. The southern tip of the site, viewed from outside, has the austere look of a beige and green holiday camp. The main courts, however, are on a completely different scale with huge green grandstands, far bigger than I'd imagined, surrounded by imposing bars and restaurants that close for fifty weeks a year. You can of course visit the museum throughout the year, or join the massed 7-year-olds playing short tennis in the shadow of Centre Court as part of the Junior Tennis initiative. Oh, and I'm glad to report that nobody's started queueing for June just yet, but I'm sure it won't be long now.
In search of shopping nirvana I avoided Wimbledon High Street - a mass of department stores sliced through by road traffic hell - and headed instead somewhere slightly more alternative. Merton Abbey Mills is a 'craft village' located in the former Liberty silk-printing works beside the River Wandle. William Morris, the Victorian god of wallpaper, set up a workshop here in 1881 to undertake dyeing, block printing, weaving and stained glass manufacture. His buildings are now home to about 20 shops, selling everything from lace to ceramics, and beanbags to sci-fi memorabilia. Merton Abbey Mills describes itself as 'southwest London's answer to Camden Lock', which I think is stretching the truth somewhat - not one Goth was anywhere to be seen. In fact the whole place was a bit on the quiet side, but maybe I arrived a bit early in the day. The mill at Merton Abbey houses an 1860s waterwheel, used by Morris to rinse his silks after printing. This waterwheel has since been adopted as the logo of the London Borough of Merton - presumably it symbolises continuity, community and sustainability, or whatever the important local government buzzwords are these days.
I picked somewhere random in my random borough by looking up the first Merton road to be listed in the index of the London A-Z. And so I found myself at Abbey Parade, a shabby parade of shops just up the road from Merton Abbey Mills. Forget the five places I've visited above - this is real London. Mothers and pushchairs crowd the OK Laundrette, beside the dark mysteries of the Wizard Tattoo Shop. You can buy your perfect bathroom, call in at the Tubing Centre, or get your bike fixed at AW Cycles (a satisfied customer blogs here). It costs just £65 for diamond bleaching at the Teeth-u-like dental surgery, while Chris's Gents Haircutters displays the same six perfectly-coiffed heads as can be seen in barbers' windows across the country. And at the heart of the parade lies The Nelson Arms pub, a hint that this might not be quite such a random location as I'd first thought. Turns out that 200 years ago Lord Nelson bought a small house on this very site, where he busied himself with 'gardening, attending the House (of Lords), eating and drinking and hurra-ing'. He'd no doubt turn a blind eye to the state of the place today.
Despite what you may have thought, the Tower of London isn't in the City of London, it's in Tower Hamlets. How else did you think the borough got its name? William the Conqueror built his great White Tower just outside the walls of the City, in a defensive position beside the Thames. This was London's first highrise building, standing nearly 30 metres tall, and dominating the medieval skyline. Over subsequent centuries the scale of the castle was enlarged, first with one high surrounding wall and then another, until eventually the structure contained a full 20 towers encircled by a deep protective moat [photo]. In Tudor times the Tower became less of a fortress and royal residence and more of a prison and armoury. But only seven prisoners were ever executed here - two of them wives of Henry VIII, and another the unfortunate nine-day queen Lady Jane Grey. Other, less high-profile, prisoners were executed in full public view up on the grassy hump of Tower Hill. And yes, that's (just) in Tower Hamlets too.
For the cheapskates amongst us, the only way to see the Tower is from the outside. Start on the new sloping concrete plaza leading down to the entrance, where you can watch a genial Beefeater conducting bag searches and rifling through French schoolkids' rucksacks. The souvenir shop is probably best avoided, unless you have a burning desire to own a Beefeater Toby Jug or a Crown Jewels tea towel. You can walk along the riverside cobbles right beside the Tower, peering up at the paying customers on the ramparts inside, although you do at least get to see Traitors Gate for nothing [photo]. Nip up onto Tower Bridge but don't expect a decent view from the centre, not once the riverside avenue of trees is in full leaf. Instead head away from the river and join the hordes of tourists taking photographs from the raised pavement, across the moat to the castellated rooftops beyond. And don't forget to look down into the moat itself, where you should see the Tower seesaw, the Tower roundabout, the Tower climbing frame and the Tower swings [photo]. There's even a neglected Tower tennis court down there, presumably used by the Beefeaters and their families when they think nobody's looking [photo]. Those who've paid £16 don't get to see these gems, oh no, they just get eight ravens with clipped wings, some armour and a few big diamonds.
In the beginning this was plain old Sydenham Hill, and nobody paid it much attention. And then in 1851 the Great Exhibition in Hyde Park opened, and closed, and there was a giant iron and glass building in need of a new home. The Crystal Palace was relocated here on the ridge, high above southeast London, and a new park of entertainment and enlightenment opened up in the surrounding fields. It was a great success, attracting huge crowds by road and rail, although a gradual decline set in after a few decades. In 1936 the palace burnt to the ground in an unexpected and spectacular fire. Head to the top of Sydenham Hill today and you'll find just the artificial terraces where the Italian Gardens once stood [photo], and a few headless statues [photo], and some stone sphinxes [photo]. Be thankful that Bromley Council didn't have their way a few years ago, else there'd now be a 20-screen multiplex cinema and leisure centre on top of the hill in a building resembling an airport terminal. The only thing Londoners can see atop Sydenham Hill today is a giant 200m television mast, built on the site of John Logie Baird's TV studios. Here's hoping nothing uglier is ever slapped down beside it.
"Please Mummy, can we go and see the dinosaurs?"
In the beginning there was just a park. But no park is complete without sport, and over the years this park has seen greater sport than most.
The highest point in the borough of Waltham Forest is a proper hill, indeed one of the more special hills within the Greater London boundary. Pole Hill rises above the western end of the town of Chingford, indeed the hill is named after St Paul's Church on the village green, which is in turn named after St Paul's Cathedral. It actually feels like a proper hill when you climb it too, rising steeply from the Lea Valley alongside, indeed there's a mighty fine view across two reservoirs from the grassy slopes on the western flank. Or you can walk up via the residential avenues of Chingford Green, one of whose houses on Woodberry Way has a back garden rising almost to the summit. One particularly famous resident of Arabia Way was Lawrence of Arabia, back when he was the only person here and living (occasionally) in a hut in the woods. Or the easiest ascent is up the unmade road along the edge of the golf course, rising gently into forest to reach a beechy earthen glade. There are sufficient ways up and down Pole Hill to provide considerable variety for even the most demanding Chingford-based jogger or dog walker. [3 photos]
Hainault Forest Country Park, it seems, is a treat known only to locals from almost-Essex. They drive in, or maybe walk from the estates of Hainault if they're that way inclined, and park up in number at the end of the lane. From here a variety of activities suggest themselves. A trip to Foxburrows Farm - a petting zoo treat for the littluns - or the chance to buy something & chips at the Global Cafe (a popular choice that at the weekend, I noted). Several three-generation families had brought picnics and were sprawled out on the grass, generally not too far from the car for convenience sake, slowly bloating and reddening as the afternoon passed. What you can't currently do is walk on the site where thousands of military 'volunteers' camped out during the Olympics, because amazingly that's still sealed off even two years afterwards to give the wild flower carpet time to regroup. Or you could go for a walk - there are several trails across the site, some merely up the meadow and back but others more worthy ascents into deep forest. And one of these woodland walks, from the farthest end of the site, leads up to Redbridge's Borough Top. [3 photos]
This triple-barrelled village probably shouldn't be part of London, and only scrapes inside by half a mile. Havering-atte-Bower is a proper hilltop settlement with a green and a twisty main street, plus royal connections to Edward the Confessor established a timber lodge here. This became the centre of hunting grounds known as The Royal Liberty of Havering, and later a proper palace grew up (to which the 'atte-Bower' suffix relates). Nothing remains, although the parish church is built on the highest point which is the site of the old palace chapel. St James and St John lost its parish priest two years back and now shares a vicar with a much more modern building down the hill in Collier Row. The churchyard slopes upwards, which makes the village green fractionally higher, possibly sloping upwards to the stocks by the T-Junction. By London standards buses are infrequent, but those who live in the adjacent cottages mostly drive or, as seems very typical round here, ride a horse. [3 photos]
Sorry, but after those three elevated treats, this is potentially more of a letdown. Barking and Dagenham is another flattish borough, rising gently as it tapers north along Whalebone Lane but without ever breaking into a proper climb. The top end of the borough features broad arable fields, broken by a curry-based Rollerbowl experience and the housing estates of Marks Gate. The main road's a bit grim, lined on one side by a McDonalds, various lowbrow farm shops and a huge quarry ("Danger Quicksand"). Somewhere in the scrubby verge is the Mark's Stone, a stumpy boundary marker with the dubious honour of being the final place I ever visited on my Random Borough tour. And just south of Kingston Hill Avenue is a landscaped hump planted with trees, adjacent to a fenced-off lawn where brave residents sunbathe amidst potential dogpoo. [3 photos]
Normally when I visit a football stadium for my random borough visit, it being a Saturday, there is at least some activity going on. Not so at Underhill. With the team off thrashing far-flung Accrington Stanley, there was absolutely nothing doing, not even action from Barnet's high-flying ladies. The roadside end of the stadium is for away supporters, and that was gated and shuttered. Access for everything else is down Priory Grove (still flyposted for "Christopher & Cassandra's 21st"), past a pitch-long corrugated iron wall (and the local Scout HQ). All was dead here too, every last gate, window and door. No service at The Bacon Butty, which I assume does good porcine business on match days [photo]. And not a soul in the locked shop, which is a portakabin in the corner of the car park, filled with such goodies as Bee Army flags, "Mister Bumble" t-shirts and a variety of tangerine clothing. There's a fair amount of orange paint across the main building, and the abbreviation B.F.C. built into the brickwork near the main entrances. Stand beside the main gate and you can see past the fire escape to the pitch - a far better view than most clubs allow you to get for free [photo]. But, emotion aside, there's little here of architectural worth were the whole place to be bulldozed and replaced with flats, which I fear is what the council ultimately have in mind.
An intriguing place to visit, I thought, as I stepped off the tube at Woodside Park station. And there were indeed a few Milliganesque Edwardian villas on the even numbered side of the road, but none on the odd. That was lined with flats, in a variety of styles, and there was nothing I could possibly imagine Spike having lived in. I tried to locate 127, only to find the blue plaque on the end wall of a not terribly inspiring row of white-boarded houses [photo]. Surely Spike hadn't lived in one of these regular suburban residences... and by their age I realised not. 127 and its neighbours are long gone, long replaced, with several new homes crammed in where the Milligans' back garden would once have been. In the words of youngest daughter Jane, "Somewhere in the soil under these flats are the bones of our family hamsters, rabbits, fish, air rifle pellets and unread letters to the pixies and fairies." I walked down the frosty passageway past their front doors, to a large car parking area beside a steaming litter bin, and then to the banks of the Dollis Brook. I'd never have got this far while Spike was here, and by the overgrown look of the shallow channel I wouldn't have missed much.
How have I never been up here before? A road along a ridge, once plied by coaching traffic leaving London, now an affluent residential location blessed by a jumbled collection of great buildings. It's called Mill Hill for fairly obvious reasons, although there's no sign today of any mill except for the twee iron signs at either end of the village. Mill Hill's heritage has survived by the fortunate chance of its elevation. When the railways passed through they took the valleys, hence the urban sprawl round Mill Hill Broadway and central Finchley. But up here wasn't so commuter friendly, unless you count the spur line to Mill Hill East at the foot of Bittacy Hill, so remained mostly untouched. I nipped off the bus at the top of Highwood Hill, then walked down the edge of rolling fields to the Folly Brook valley and immediately back up twisting Holcombe Hill. I'm not used to such compact contours in north London, but Barnet's an atypically hilly borough.
