Even if I
hadn’t already worked along the horizontal line maps from left to right on each
trip so far, I’d still have chosen do it this way on this one, since ending at
Morden means I’m in relatively close proximity to a tram stop, and I should get
to reward myself for completing the Northern Line with a tram ride.
That’s to
come, though, as we start at London Bridge.
London Bridge station
first opened in 1836 – which is just 7 years after the world’s first inter-city
passenger railway, the Liverpool and Manchester, opened – so it’s the oldest
station still in operation in London. Not the oldest station building though.
Somehow it’s appropriate when you consider the vital role that London Bridge
has played for centuries in bringing people in and out of the capital. Alright,
I shan’t begin a lecture now, but suffice it to say that the area around the
station, in Tooley Street and especially Borough High Street absolutely reeks
with History. The famous George Tavern is just around the corner, and backing onto
it stood the Tabard inn, where Chaucer and his fellow pilgrims set out for what
would later be immortalised in his Canterbury Tales. As for London Bridge Underground,
well, as you can probably see from the sketch, it ain’t nothing to write home
about, being housed in what is, ostensibly, a railway viaduct arch.
Nonetheless, I make a snap decision that I’m going to walk from here to Borough
station since I will be able to quickly take in Borough Market, and
Shakespeare’s Globe on the way.
When I was
in my teens I decided one fine spring morning to walk over each of London’s
Bridges – those that allowed pedestrians – from Tower in the East to Richmond
in the West. Never managed it, giving up at Putney, but that’s another story
for another day. But the point is, since that day when the 70s were merging
into the 80s, things sure have changed here on Walton’s mountain. Back then I
walked through streets which maybe hadn’t seen that much change since Victorian
times. Now though everything close to the river looks new, shiny and expensive.
One thing that hasn’t changed, though, is that this part of Southwark was
traditionally dedicated to pleasure. It’s where the fancy in Tudor times would
have enjoyed the delights of bear baiting, maybe taken in a play, and sampled
the services of the Winchester Geese, that is the prostitutes licensed by local
landowner, the Bishop of Winchester.
Looking at engravings of the original City and South London Railway
station at Borough you can see that
although it has changed a lot, the basic configuration of the building hasn’t,
and the semi circular curve around the corner is pleasing. The lift shaft had
its dome removed way back in the mists of time, but the round housing is still
there. Looking at the engraving I don’t know that removing the windows at
street level did the building any favours, but the alternating bands of red and
yellow brick are far better than plain blank wall all in the same colour would
be. The dull metal structure in front of the lift shaft really does nothing to
enhance the building’s general appeal though.
I make the decision to continue walking to the next station, Elephant and Castle. I do this with a
little trepidation, bearing in mind that the traffic system around the Elephant
and Castle would need a considerable facelift to raise it to the status of an
eyesore. Still, this is the district that gave birth to both Sir Charlie
Chaplin and Sir Michael Caine, so it deserves some respect at least. And
surprisingly, it earns some from me when I see one of the most appealing Leslie
Green stations I’ve yet to encounter. In truth this owes a lot to the 3 storey
contemporary block built on top of it, but I don’t care. This is most
appealing, and I’m happy to say nothing like what I expected from this area. This
is the first Leslie Green station I’ve found south of the Thames, and can’t
help wondering whether it’s the only one. Time will tell on that. I double
check google to confirm that this is our second northern line station named
after a pub. At one time there was a very neat theory doing the rounds that the
original Elephant and Castle pub was named after the Infanta de Castile – a
Spanish princess, possibly Catherine of Aragon, or Eleanor of Castile. Who
knows?
The first
sketch is the Northern Line entrance. They don’t actually count as separate
stations, probably since you can interchange between lines inside the station,
unlike the two Hammersmith stations, by way of comparison. I’ve sketched both,
though, because there’s such a contrast between the Leslie Green station, and
this 2003 station.I quite like this one,
as an example of what can still be done, although it’s not quite of the same
level as some of the jubilee line extension stations south of the river, if my
memory serves me correctly.
I’m not going
to hang around to find out, though. I take my first tube ride of the day
between
stations as far as
Kennington,
and when I emerge I get to see a prime example of a City and South London
Railway building. The building is relatively familiar to me from university
days, when I’d cycle home from Lewisham on the odd weekend to get my washing
done. I’d go New Cross – Peckham – Camberwell – Kennington, past the Oval
cricket ground and tube station, over the river at Vauxhall Bridge, along by
the river past Chelsea and Albert Bridges, turn left at Battersea Bridge and
cycle up to Hammersmith, then take Kings Street and Chiswick High Road to the
Great West Road, left at Boston Manor home and a short cycle home. The station
is as neat and well proportioned as a Leslie Green building, and somehow the
same cream and orange brickwork as at Borough works well here. In particular I
love the dome above the lift shaft. No apologies, this is just a lovely little
station, and I’m tempted to stop and make my sketch then and there. Perhaps if
I only had a couple of stations to go I would, but it’s important to me that we
finish the Northern line today and so we press on.
When I emerge from Oval
station I can see that the station has been refurbished since I last passed this
way. Google informs me this happened in 2007, and I’m sorry to say that I don’t
really like it. The tiled walls of the exterior are neat but bland. The
stainless steel and glass canopy is better than a generic blocky plastic affair
would have been, but it has the effect of making a 1920s building look like a
half hearted attempt at making a modern building look a bit like a 1920s
building, if you see what I mean. I mean, it still beats a 1970s hole in the
wall type station all ways till Tuesday, don’t get me wrong, but it isn’t what
I remember and it isn’t what it might have been.
The next station is Stockwell,
and this is where the tragic shooting of Jean Charles de Menenzes took place in
2005. Without going into long detail, Mr. Menenzes, a Brazilian working legally
in Britain, was mistaken by the police as a person involved with the London
tube bombings of the previous day, which resulted in him being shot by the
station by plain clothes police officers. He is remembered in the station with
a mosaic plaque. Bearing all of this in mind it seems almost fitting that the
station itself is a sombre, dark 1970s rectangular block, with one storey above
the station street level entrance level. I don’t want to dwell on the station,
but notice that adjacent to it is the entrance to the Stockwell deep level
shelter. There were 8 of these built adjacent to Underground stations during
World War II, and the striking circular structure at Stockwell has been painted
as a war memorial by children of a local primary school. Apparently it was only
used as an air raid shelter for the one year, but I can’t help wondering just
how many people’s lives were saved by it.
Clapham North allows me a useful 2
minute rant against grey bricks and grey tiles after I emerge into the daylight.
The building, I’m sorry to discover, is actually a Charles Holden. The shape is
a quite
pleasing wedge at the corner of two streets, and above the plastic
name board it is faced with cream coloured tiles. But what was Charles Holden
thinking of with the grey tiling at the street level? Couldn’t he have used
brown, if he was going for contrast? I also think that having nothing in the
way of windows or glazed panels was a mistake as well, and if it wasn’t for the
fact that Wikipedia informs me that there is another deep level shelter beneath
the station I would have taken my snaps and headed straight back down inside
it. As it is I don’t waste a lot of time.
Like Ealing Common, there is nothing Common about
Clapham Common station at all. It is
absolutely lovely, and, like Kennington, a lovely demonstration of just how
pretty these City and South London Railway stations actually were. As if to
balance this there’s a modern structure on the south side which Wikipedia
rather kindly describes as a steel and glass pavilion. Well, it’s certainly not
a monstrosity, but it’s not the sort of thing which would have me reaching for
my writing home pen. But having mentioned this, I look back at the original
station building. This one is scrupulously well kept, and let’s be honest, who
wouldn’t have a sense of pride working in a building such as this? Some
buildings don’t suit domes, but these Northern line stations really do. The
brickwork looks as if it has been cleaned recently, and all in all the station
is just a feast for the eyes.
I’m even more severely tempted to stay and sketch Clapham Common
station, but manage to drag myself away. I do this in the knowledge that the
next stop, Clapham South, was the
first station of the Morden Extension to be built, and this suggests we’ll now
be in the run of distinctive Charles Holden stations which will take us through
to Morden. This supposition proves to be absolutely correct. The shape is a
similar wedge to the Oval. However the station is faced with Portland stone, similar
to that used for Hounslow West. Above the entrance is a tall and wide Charles
Holden patented glass screen , which incorporates the roundel. I’m intrigued
with the two columns either side of the panel. It’s also interesting that the
block to which the station building is adjoined, which I’d imagine was built at
the same time, is made from the brown bricks that Holden would use extensively
on his Piccadilly Line buildings a few years later. Maybe I’m reading too much
into it, but it’s quite enticing to think of an architectural journey being
played out here in stone, glass and brick.
Here’s a
little test of your age. If I write the name of the next station as Bal – Ham,
do the words ‘Gateway to the South’ automatically come to mind? If not, then
it’s because you’re too young to
have yet encountered Peter Sellars’ joyous travelogue skit of the
same name.
Balham is a name which
tempts a stab at a Meaning of Liff definition, and I come up with Balham (noun)
An obvious lie which circumstances prevent you from calling one. For example,
any pupil’s excuse for not doing their homework is baloney (or a couple of
ruder terms which also begin with the letter B), but any teacher’s excuse for
not marking homework is balham. The most obvious difference between Balham and
the previous station is the lack of the distinctive block built onto the back of
that station. Balham stands alone, and it works well enough for me, unusual
though it seems to find two consecutive Holden stations being quite so similar
to each other.
Tooting Bec is far too
appealing a name just to leave unmolested. Playing my Meaning of Liff card I
decide that Tooting Bec, then, is obviously the archaic term for the summons
used by Henry VIII for his Groom of the Stool to wipe his royal backside with
the neck of a swan, the signal for which would be issue on a hautboy, which was
a Tudor wind instrument. Reference- Ye Swannes Nekke, by Sir Thomas Wyatt
“Fain must I
bringe ye swannes nekke,
Mine master
sounds his tooting bekke”
As for the
station, well the main entrance is pretty much a South Clapham/Balham clone,
and there’s nothing ostensibly wrong with that. What is interesting is that
there’s another entrance which is a narrower version, on the east side of the
road junction. This is particularly distinguished through having the roundel on
the side glazed panels as well as about the entrance.
I noticed a statue of Edward VII outside
Tooting Broadway station, and it’s probably sited there since he
was a great fan of 1970s sitcom Citizen Smith, the opening title scene of which
featured the eponymous citizen emerging from the station. Here I’m delighted to
see that although the station stands on another corner site, here Holden uses a
sweeping curved frontage. This gives the station a little more grandeur than
the previous. It has the same columns separating the glazed panels as the previous
stations, but it’s only here that it strikes me firstly that the capitals of
the columns look like the globe on top of Clark Kent’s Daily Planet building,
and secondly, that they’re probably meant to be a 3D representation of the
roundel. Now I get it.
God bless dear
old Stanley Heaps, but it really isn’t difficult to see why Frank Pick was so
taken with Holden over the former.
After the exuberance of Tooting Broadway I find myself just slightly
disappointed to see we’re back to the familiar corner wedge. But it’s hard to
stay disappointed. If I recall correctly, The last few stations all lay along
the same roadway – is it the A24? It’s the road I used to take when I was
driving to my brother in laws Wimbledon home from Tottenham anyway. Colliers Wood is the last of this
stretch. Interestingly the station is almost in the shadow of the Colliers Wood
Tower, once voted by far the ugliest building in London. It’s had a makeover
since being turned into homes, but hey, there are somethings you can’t polish,
no matter how much glitter you roll them in. Like other Charles Holden stations
on this southern section of the Northern line, Colliers Wood is a listed
building, and rightly so. Of course, using Portland stone as a building
material does have its drawbacks. To use the vernacular, it can be a bugger to
keep clean, especially when exposed to the great British weather, and with the
sun sullenly hidden behind a duvet of grey clouds the station looks as if it
could do with a good sprucing up.
As I mentioned earlier, my brother in law lives in walking distance
from both Collier Wood and South
Wimbledon tube stations, and since the day is yet middle aged I decide that
I can spare the time to walk between the two stations. South Wimbledon is similar
in shape and style to Tooting Broadway. It’s interesting to compare my
impression of the station to the District Line Wimbledon station. They’re both
worth looking at, but when it’s all weighed up I rather prefer Holden’s
station. I’d like to tell you that South Wimbledon Station is home to a
lifesize statue of Orinoco, the laziest of Elizabeth Beresford’s Wombles of
Wimbledon Common. I’d like to tell you that, but since I’ve just made it up it
would be an utter lie. All of which serves to highlight the dearth of
interesting facts that my meagre research into the station has found. Still, if
nothing else it does at least suggest to me a new tube mind game – statues I’d
like to see at particular stations. I’ve already got a candidate for Lambeth
North, but since that’s on the Bakerloo we’ll wait until we get there for that
one.
I get back
on the train for the last leg to Morden, and though this isn’t very funny, I
can’t stop thinking the thought that there really should be a statue of Peter
Sellars outside Balham station, for reasons I’ve already mentioned. And
Humphrey Lyttleton outside Mornington Crescent.
I can’t think of anyone whose statue should be situated outside
Morden tube, but if there was a statue
of the wazzock who designed the 60s block built on top of the Charles Holden
station at least we could throw rotten fruit at it. The only good thing I can
think of to say about it is that it’s only another 3 storeys high. The block
exudes the 60’s ‘build ‘em quick, build ‘em cheap and build ‘em crappy’ ethos.
It can’t quite ruin the impressive effect of Holden’s original building,
although it has a bloody good try. It’s the squarest of these Holden Northern
line stations, which maybe is a clue to the direction he would later take with
his designs for a significant number of his Piccadilly line stations.
Well, that’s
it for the Northern line, and I’m completely satisfied with my day’s trip – if
anything I’ve been overfed with fine station buildings. All that remains to
make the day a perfect one, is a ten minute walk to the tram stop, and ride on
the London Tramlink service back to Wimbledon.
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Now that
I’ve completed the Northern line I take a few minutes to sit back and take
stock. The 4 lines I’ve now completed make up almost 200 out of the 270
stations on the network. Even though there’s still 5 lines to go, there’s less
than a third of the challenge to be completed. I make the observation that I
can do the 24 Metropolitan stations I haven’t yet visited in a comfortable two
trips, the Bakerloo and the Jubilee should be done in one trip each, and one
final trip could even see me do the Hammersmith and City and Victoria in one
marathon trip. Completing the Circle Line into the bargain. It’s worth noting
that none of these planned trips would actually take in as many stations as,
for example, my second Northern line trip. Not only that, but so far I have
made 13 trips, and this means I can wrap it all up with another 5.
In terms of
statistics, I notice that I’ve now visited 21 out of 29 stations which are
south of the river. That’s 72%, whereas 179 out of 241 stations north of the
Thames is actually 74%. Not really sure what this goes to show, although when
you compare the numbers it does who just how poorly South London is served by
the Underground. Overground, DLR and local National rail services take up the
slack a bit, but even so it’s still a pretty uneven picture.
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