Former Underground Stations

So, we ended the challenge with me thinking that we’d see about whether it was all over – even before I’d finished drinking the champagne. If you’re old enough to have a good enough memory of Tom and Jerry cartoons, I invite you to recall that a number of times our protagonists would find themselves on the horns of a dilemma. This would be represented by a good angel version of either Tom or Jerry, and a naughty devil version appearing on either shoulder, both trying to persuade the original to decide on their preferred course of action. This is how I’d like to present the dilemma which now faced me as I was driving us home on the Sunday morning. Basically, the little devil told me that I’d done the job, and that was that. The little angel reminded me that I’d passed a number of disused station buildings – or passed under them, and I hadn’t sketched any of them, and shouldn’t I take care of this oversight? Little devil just laughed, but it was a nervous laugh, and when he was unable to come up with an argument against doing so, he promptly vanished with a puff of indignation. 

·       I will make one final trip, during which I will try to make a sketch of all the former station buildings I saw during the challenge, and as many others as is feasible.

·       Only stations which were once part of the lines as they exist now count. Stations from branches or arms which no longer exist as part of the Underground do not count.

·       Except Aldwych. (since it’s easy to get to in Central London)

·       Only stations with street level buildings remaining count.

·       I reserve the right to change, revise and cancel existing rules as I feel like it, and to create new ones on an ad hoc basis. 

One trip then, and an itinerary consisting of:-

Osterley and Spring Grove

South Harrow

Brompton Road

Knightsbridge

Hyde Park

Down Street

Aldwych

Mark Lane

York Road

Euston

South Kentish Town

Marlborough Road

 The problem with the rules was, of course, the fact that they didn’t really give me a clue about how I was going to persuade Mary to give her blessing to another trip. So far it had taken up a fair proportion of our free time for over 3 months. With the best will in the world it was going to be hard to talk her into giving her blessing for one more trip which wasn’t even part of the original challenge. By rights I ought to leave it for a good year or so before broaching it. 

I need to be careful how I phrase this next bit. I would never want to give the impression that I look on my mother in law having a bout of ill health as a slice of good fortune on my part. My in laws – Jen and Mary’s step dar John live in the Alicante area of Spain, and both have had their health issues over the last few years. When it gets particularly difficult, Mary will often fly out to help them for a week or a fortnight. Within a month of our return from the final challenge trip, Jen was hospitalised for a week, and so Mary flew out to help.  

If me not doing this additional trip could have had any bearing on Jen’s illness, or made things easier for Mary and John, then of course I wouldn’t have done it. But in all honesty it could make no difference to them at all. So. . . play ball. 

This was my planned itinerary. Having to do the two western arms of the Piccadilly is a pain, but the simplest way will be to forget about the rule, from the challenge, of not doubling back on myself in the same trip. So I start at Osterley and Spring Grove, catch the Piccadilly to Acton Town, and change for South Harrow. Then it’s back along the Piccadilly all the way to Brompton Road. In a very doable walk, I can take in Brompton Road, Knightsbridge, Hyde Park Corner and Down Street. A short walk to Green Park station, and then a ride to Holborn will put me just a few minutes’ walk from Aldwych station. Another brief walk to Temple station puts me on the District or Circle Line which will give me a ride all the way to Tower Hill, from which it’s just a sort step to Mark Lane station and back. From Tower Hill the Circle will get me to Kings Cross. It’s a round trip walk of about 25 minutes to York Road station and back, but only a short ride to Euston. Once I’ve bagged the disused Leslie Green station building there, then it’s up the Northern line to Kentish Town, and a walk to South Kentish Town and back. Then it’s back to King’s Cross, and the Metropolitan to Finchley Road. A walk to Marlborough Road, and then relax. Simples.  

It’s funny coming back to Osterley and Spring Grove having visited all of the functioning stations since. In some ways it’s slightly – only slightly, mind you, reminiscent of some of the westernmost stations on the Metropolitan, and also some of the older District Line stations. Come to think of it, that’s really what this is. If you visit when the bookshop is open, the owners are perfectly happy for you to have a bit of a nose around because it used to be a station, although don’t embarrass yourself by trying to find an accessway down to what remains of the platforms.

I do have a liking for second hand bookshops, and it’s only with reluctance that I tear myself away from the place to walk back towards Osterley station.  However, I know that I must. The longest walk today is probably only going to take me about half an hour, but there’s several walks to do, since most of our disused stations aren’t conveniently situated right next to an existing station.

Back on the train, I come up with a rather silly London Underground station trivia question. Namely – which of the cardinal compass points occurs most often in the names of tube stations. My best guess is North. When I get to Acton Town I google this, and find out that East is very much the runt of the litter with a mere 8, while West does surprisingly well with 10, just being pipped by North and South which both have 11. However, once we add South Kentish Town as a tie break, that just gives it to South for me. So South progresses to the second-round stages of my new game of Tube station name world cup.

South Harrow station’s former building still backs onto the platform, I’ve saved a list of Underground stations on my Kindle, and this means that I’m able to play some more first round matches of Tube world cup while I’m waiting for the train to take me back along the Piccadilly, and for the ride to South Kensington. The results are as follows. Road vs. any other word for a thoroughfare always looked like a hefty win for Road. There are actually 13 stations with Road in the name, albeit that two of these are Ealing and Fulham BROADways. However a strong showing from Street ably supported by Lane won the day, although Road scored more than either did on its own. Green v. Park was an intriguing match. Well, at least at the start. For the first third of the alphabet it was pretty much neck and neck, but then Park just romped away a massive score. Completing the first round we had Natural features – Hill, Brook etc. vs. Buildings/parts of buildings proved to be a real thriller, with both scoring a hatful, seeing natural features home by the odd couple of goals.

The semi-finals and the finals have to wait as we alight at South Kensington.  

Looking back at my own notes, I can see that I have at least mentioned all of the stations we’re going to visit in this walked section. I didn’t actually go so far as taking in Brompton Road station though. What remains of the station, essentially the front of the side entrance, isn’t on Brompton Road at all, but Cottage Place. Apparently, the Brompton Road entrance remained until being demolished in the early 70s. I believe that the building now adorned by remains of the station is a residential block. I certainly hope so. I’d love to live in such a place, although I can’t see it ever happening on an English teacher’s salary.

One of the reasons why Brompton Road was closed was because when elevators were installed in Knightsbridge Station, the entrance was sited closer to

Brompton Road, so that the other station became completely unnecessary. Still, at least part of the old station can be seen on Hoopers Court, where the rear exit forms part of a much larger building. On the sketch you really have to look closely to see the remnants of the rear entrance to the Leslie Green station, but they’re there. I have to say I love the idea that you can just walk around a corner and see something that was so obviously once a tube station just minding its own business as part of an office building. I remember of an archaeologist friend of mine who once paid a visit to Ephesus telling me that if you wander the streets you can still see blocks, stones, and mouldings which were once part of the famous Temple of Artemis, one of the original 7 Wonders of the World, which were reused centuries later in new buildings. This is a similar thing to me. Pretentious? Moi?

Hyde Park Corner’s Leslie Green Station has actually been the entrance to the Wellesley Hotel since

2012. On a whim, I checked out how much it costs for a double room for one night. Let’s just put it this way, I can’t afford it. Still, I applaud the place for preserving the station façade by building the hotel around it as much as they have, even though I can’t help wishing that the previous occupants, Pizza on the Park, were still there. I’m hungry, and it’s only mid-morning, but stuff it, I’m not going to hang about with my packed lunch today.
We've just had three disused Leslie Green stations in a row, and we're not even close to be done yet. It's only a brief walk to a disused station that I did actually visit way back on my third Piccadilly Line trip months ago.

There are websites dedicated to Former London Underground Stations, and pretty much everyone I’ve seen features our next station, Down Street. Bearing in mind its history, that’s not at all surprising. Repeating what I wrote after my previous visit - Down Street was originally a stop between Green Park and Hyde Park Corner, which opened in 1907, and closed, due to lack of use, in 1932. The Leslie Green station building still remains, but probably wouldn’t be much remembered other than for the fact that it was used by Winston Churchill as a bunker during World War II. Apparently, it is possible to access the underground levels of the station, and occasionally London Transport has allowed the privileged few to do just that. Last time I was here I bought a paper, but today I’m even more of a man on a mission, and I take the necessary photos for the sketch, and then stride onwards to Green Park station.

This gives me time to work out how the semi-finals of Tube station world cup pan out. Streets and Lanes United comfortably beat South Wanderers, while the all-conquering Natural Features All Stars trounce Park Rangers. In the final, it’s a very comfortable win for Natural Features, while Park Rangers wins the third place play off and will therefore not have to pre-qualify for the next tournament.

I walk from Holborn station to Aldwych on the Strand. In case one should forget which thoroughfare it stands on, the restored station front proudly announces that this is Strand station. Aldwych is a prime candidate for the tube station most seen in films and on TV. I think that I can understand the thinking behind creating this station on its short spur from Holborn in 1907. The Strand is still chock-a-block full of theatres, which I can only guess were expected to provide the majority of passengers from their audiences. But . . . the area isn’t exactly poorly served with other stations, and I don’t believe that having this station here ever made real sense. Throughout my time growing up in London this little spur was in blue and white stripes, showing it was only a part time station. What it did for the rest of the time I have no idea. TfL just waited until the lifts needed replacing in 1994, then closed the whole thing. Various schemes to utilise the station as part of extensions to existing line have been made since, but to be honest the cost would probably be prohibitive. Then there’s the fact that this is a listed building as well. As for the films and television, well, even before it closed the part time nature of the station made it particularly suitable for filming.

Our last five stops have all been Leslie Green stations. Now, though, after walking to Temple Station, I take the District to Tower Hill, where it’s just a short walk westwards to Mark Lane station, which was later called Tower Hill until it was replaced by the current station in 1967. There’s little to show

that the arched doorway on a Victorian block once led into a station, apart from the engraved inscription, and the fact that the archway has a raised lintel above it, which the other arches along the front of the building lack. I’ll be honest, it in no way sticks out so much as a Leslie Green remnant, but on the other hand, at least it’s better than the Tower Hill station of today. Mark Lane itself replaced a nearby station called Tower of London on the Metropolitan Railway. There’s nothing to be seen of this station today, but it closed because, when the District and Metropolitan Railways finally made the connection to complete the Circle Line, it just wasn’t big enough to handle the projected passenger numbers. There you go.

Speaking of the Circle Line, this is what takes me from the current Tower Hill station to Kings Cross. We’re back on the Piccadilly Line now, in a way. From King’s Cross it’s just over a ten minute walk to York Road station. I didn’t walk this section when I made my Piccadilly Line trips, so haven’t seen York Road before. York Road itself is now called York Way, not that this is important. It’s a large and still relatively intact and impressive Leslie Green building. It currently serves as an emergency exit from the tunnels. I hope that the building stays. There’s been periodic talk about reopening it, but somehow, I can’t see that there’s any huge likelihood of this. I’m pretty sure that the reasons why it was closed would still apply – namely that it was underused, and closing it reduced journey times on the Piccadilly. I just hope that it doesn’t end up going the way of Euston. 

Yes, Euston. Let me explain that. Leslie Green’s Euston Station building on Melton Street has been disused for, well, I don’t really know, but my guess is that it’s decades. As part of the development of Euston to accommodate HS2, this building is going to be demolished, and demolished soon. Which was probably why I was in so much of a hurry today. Chances are that by the time you actually read this, it’ll be gone.

I have mixed feelings, and I’ll try to explain. I think Leslie Green stations are beautiful, and in an ideal world, all of them would still be standing. It’s not an ideal world, though. The point of conservation and preservation is to protect the best of our shared cultural heritage, yes. However, it isn’t to preserve them in aspic. Yes, there should be debate, serious and prolonged if necessary, every time a building like this is considered for demolition. Development, and redevelopment, is a fact of life in any city, and even more so in a city like London, and if you look at the history of the city, it always has been. Otherwise there’d still be an amphitheatre where the Guildhall still stands, for example. And a gallows instead of Marble Arch. And fortified gateways blocking major roads in and out of the Square Mile. I absolutely love museums, but I’m not sure it would be a good idea to try to live in one. 

What we have to ensure, though, is that development does not impoverish the area, as happened so much from the 60s right through until the end of the 20^th century. Or to put it another way, if you’re going to take away a building like this, then make sure you put something worthwhile in its place., instead of something which a mere 20 years after its built causes those who even notice it to wonder ‘ what were they thinking?’ If nothing else, it must make each of the Leslie Green stations still standing more valuable to all of us.

You can tell we’re back on the Northern Line from that, can’t you? Our last two former stations of the trip are both stations I walked past on previous trips. The first of these is South Kentish Town. This is another entry in the ‘putting a station so close to another on the same line never really made sense’ stakes. In fact, in a very few years we will be celebrating its centenary. What’s that? No, of course it’s more than 100 years old already – it was built in 1907 during the great explosion of station building which saw the 50 Leslie Green stations raised in a few short years. No, in 2024 it will be the centenary of the closure of the station. There was a strike in the Lots Road Power Station in June 1924, and the station was closed, initially just for the day of the strike. Since it was closed anyway it made sense just not to open it again, and that’s what happened. Local residents are very fond of the building. There was quite a fuss a couple of years ago when it was proposed to build flats above the building. Hopefully this affection will continue to ensure its survival into the future.

The final leg saw me head from Camden Town station back to Euston, and then from Euston to Baker Street, and Baker Street to Swiss Cottage. I passed Marlborough Road During my Metropolitan Line odyssey. The temptation is to say that Marlborough Road was a short lived station, but it actually lasted for 71 years after it’s 1868 opening. For all that I’ve been able to find out, this may well be the original station building. In its time since it has had different occupant. It was closed as a Chinese restaurant in 2009, and I believe that it’s housed an electricity substation serving the network ever since.

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That really is that. As I drive past Boston Manor, I am absolutely certain that my challenge is at an end. I stop at Leigh Delamere and I’m still resolved to leave it there now. I know that there are still a significant number of disused station buildings that I haven’t visited which are outside the current reach of the network. Then there’s the Overground. And the DLR. And that’s absolutely fine. Maybe there’s a challenge for somebody else, maybe there’s a challenge for me to take up in a few years’ time.

I suppose it’s normal, on completion of a challenge’ to look back and reflect on what you’ve achieved. Bit difficult in my case, to be honest. What have I got out of it? Er. . . about 300 sketches and that’s about it. Well, that and the credit card bills for the fuel and topping up the nectar card. Has it increased my love for the tube? Probably not. What it has done, though, is booted it into the 21^st century. Prior to this my love of the tube was mostly fuelled by nostalgia, and memories of good times from my childhood and youth, before marriage and real adulthood. I can honesty say though that my rose tinted specs have been removed by this trip, and I have a clearer view of what the tube really is. It is dirty. It is smelly. It is crowded, and at times perplexing and frustrating. It is also utterly wonderful. The wonder of the tube isn’t that it occasionally provides a less than perfect service – the wonder of it is that it works as well as it does. When it comes to the stations, the underground network can be justifiably proud of the contribution they have made to the architectural heritage of the capital, and in the newest stations there’s evidence of this safely continuing into the future.

Victoria Line and Hamersmith and City Line

Please note that all of these London Underground sketching trips were made before any corona virus restrictions were put into place.

On paper, this task shouldn’t be so difficult. There’s seven stations between Goldhawk Road and Royal Oak, and once I’ve bagged them then the H and C line is done. However, the Victoria Line is an issue. There’s 6 stations between Walthamstow Central and Highbury and Islington, only one of which, Finsbury Park, I’ve already bagged. However there’s another 4 stations between Pimlico and Brixton, only one of which, Stockwell, I’ve already bagged. So the most time economical solution to this trip involves working the Victoria to Kings Cross, bagging stations along the way. From Kings Cross I take the H and C to Royal Oak, and bag stations from Royal Oak to Latimer Road. From there I plan to walk to Shepherd’s Bush Market station, bagging stations in between. Back on the train to bag Goldhawk Road, and then walk to Hammersmith District and Piccadilly station. By District train to Victoria, and from there to Brixton, bagging the last stations on the way. It sounds contrived, but believe it or not it is the most elegant solution I’ve come up with to complete the one day, two lines nature of today’s trip.

Now, to me, the name Walthamstow – which is Old English for Waltham Abbey, believe it or not – conjures up the looming bulk of Walthamstow Stadium, with its neon greyhound sign so clearly visible from the North Circular. It’s been gone for more than a decade now. I never actually visited the stadium, but I did spend a few memorable evenings ‘down Catford Dogs’ when I was a student living in Lewisham. When it comes to dog racing, I have maintained a proud 100% record – never made a penny out of it.

Walthamstow Central Station pulls off an unusual trick. It looks like a boring bus station, while the bus station looks like a modern interpretation of an art deco tube station.Following up from a photo on Wikipedia I take a walk around, and find the old building on the London Bound side. It’s surely Victorian or Edwardian at the latest, and quite similar to a lot of buildings I’ve sketched from the northern arms of the Bakerloo and Metropolitan. The original station built here opened in about 1870 – this may possibly be it. Like the bus station, this one also has tube signs on it, as well as mainline rail. So I set off on this final trip in a happy mood, knowing that whatever else the Victoria may present us with it has at least one striking station, even if we can’t count the bus station. Part of it.

Wikipedia tellingly observes that the Victoria Line stations built in the 60s had little money available to be spent on them, and my first thought about Blackhorse Road is that this is just what it looks like. Even donning my rose tinted spectacles to look at it more closely, it’s never going to win a place among my 135 best looking stations. But for all that the attempt to give this building some flavour or character is a half-assed one, the fact is that it is an attempt. The different levels of flat roof may give the appearance of having been designed by a child let loose with a lego set, but at least there’s something to divert the eye away from the concrete. While I’m in such a forgiving mood as well, I might as well note that I liked the tiles on the platform which feature a stylised black horse in a white cameo on a blue background. It’s probably something that regular users pay little attention to, but you just don’t get this sort of thing in most European metro stations that I’ve ever visited. The station, though, is the poor cousin of the Victoria Line. According to my research no Victoria Line station has fewer users.

A decade after I moved away from London, my Mum moved from Ealing to Tottenham. Well, to be fair, her husband, my step father lived there, so it wasn’t an unreasonable thing. Until they moved to Worthing in 2011 I visited them many times, and used the Tube, yet the closest station was actually Wood Green. So I’ve never previously visited Tottenham Hale, despite knowing the general area probably a bit better than I know many parts of London. What can I say? Well, it’s one of those stations I shouldn’t be too harsh about because it’s being remodelled and upgraded. At the moment, well, when I visited there really wasn’t much to see, which you can probably see from the sketch. All I can tell you is that if it looks like the artists impressions on the TfL website when it’s finished, then it will be a lot better and more attractive than the building it replaces. Don’t hold your breath, though, for in the artists impression the whole building seems to in rural Scandinavia, rather than the aesthetically challenged built up area of Tottenham Hale. To be honest, since I’ve know the area, Tottenham Hale has been crying out for a little bit of relief from crap buildings.

The sketch I made of Seven Sisters station isn’t really the station buildings, since it doesn’t really have any of those. The two exits just kind of vomit you out onto the street, and they’re little more than holes in walls, a la South Kenton. Near one of the exits, though is an empty retail outlet, presumably owned by TfL, since in 2017 they commissioned a pair of artists to hand craft the ceramic tiles which now cover it. Close up I like the marbled tiles very much. I’m sorry, but try to appreciate them as I might, the yellow tiles with random dark blue splodges don’t appeal to me at all.  But I like the idea. I like the sentiments behind the idea, that this was a way to enrich passengers’ journeys by doing this to a building which is part of their daily commute – although I can’t help thinking that passengers might say cheaper fares and a better service might do this rather more effectively. Cynicism – I’m sorry. Let’s lighten the mood a little with a wiki fact. The section between Seven Sisters and Finsbury Park is the longest between any two adjacent stations in deep level tunnels on the network. Woo hoo!

A really lovely section of the original station building at Highbury and Islington, next station after Finsbury Park, which looks contemporary with Leslie Green’s work, still stands. Wikipedia confirms it was opened in 1904, although it was part of the North London Railway, which was not to be part of the Underground network. Sadly, though, the station we actually emerge from is the original Victoria Line station from 1968. It isn’t ugly, it’s far too nothingy for that. Alright, to be fair the original station was highly damaged by wartime bombing, and as Wikipedia suggests, the line had to be built on the cheap, because they couldn’t afford to do it on the expensive. Highbury and Islington were of course another music hall duo, although despite the geographical connection they didn’t include a certain song not entirely unconnected with a North London football club in their repertoire.

All of which drollery completes the northern section of the Victoria line for me. From here I alight at Kings Cross, and take the Hammersmith and City Line for another trip along the oldest part of the network.

John Fowler, original Chief engineer of the Metropolitan Railway, was nothing if not ingenious. His original thoughts about the smoke produced by the locomotives were that since they were only being required to haul short distances, they could get away without using much coal to heat the boilers to make the steam. He designed an engine whose boilers would be brought to temperature through a normal firebox, but whose boiler was full of heat retaining firebricks. Steam was to be captured and condensed and the water thus used again. It’s a potentially brilliant solution which suffered from one main drawback. It didn’t really work. The condensing system leaked, the boiler ran dry and came close to exploding. Fowler’s prototype, nicknamed his ‘ghost’ years later, was ruled a failure before the railway ever opened, and was never used by the railway again after the trials. Let’s not be too harsh on Fowler. When it comes to innovative engineering the line between success and failure could be a very narrow one, and Fowler himself is one of the engineers we have to thank for one of the great wonders of the industrial age, the Forth Bridge. (NB – as Billy Connolly once pointed out, the bridge with the roadway is the Forth Road Bridge, the bridge with the railway is The Bridge.)  

We now zip through 5 stops, most of which are beginning to feel like old friends. Finally I alight at Royal Oak, incidentally the last station I visit which is named after a pub. Now, although I have never previously walked upon the station’s platforms, I have often observed them, since the mainline into Paddington passes underneath the same bridge on which the station is situated. In my early days of living in Wales, I would sometimes come back to London on the train. These were the days when I still qualified for a Young Person’s Railcard. If I may be permitted to get on my soap box for a moment or two, one of the great scandals of this country is the way that people are priced out of using public transport. What first brought it home to me was the first trip back to London after I passed my driving test in 1991. My Father in Law had gifted us his Ford Fiesta when he bought a new Escort, and I made that first trip to London with my wife, and the two children who were the extent of my family back then. It cost us about a tank and half of petrol – and I could fill that Fiesta for £10 back in 1991. Even with a family railcard, travelling at whichever ungodly hour would entitle us to the cheapest fair, we’d still have been paying several times that to use the train. Sadly the situation hasn’t improved the slightest since. In fact, the last time that I took a train to London was in the mid noughties to appear on a quiz show, and the only reason I did it was because the Beeb were footing the bill.

The exterior of Royal Oak is a nice old building, which must be a centenarian, but the details are difficult to photograph or sketch because of being obscured by the superstructure of the railway bridge. This gives it something of the feel of an old remnant from times gone by that everyone has forgotten about, and I quite like that.

To show you how out of touch I am, I’ll let you know that I thought that mainline services into Paddington still stopped at Westbourne Park. No, I’m only about 30 years too late for the last one to stop there, apparently. I used to take the local British Rail trains – sludgepots as we far from affectionately called them – from Ealing Broadway to Paddington for a bit of trainspotting, and Westbourne Park was always the last stop. Now it’s Acton Mainline. As for Westbourne Park, I believe the station building dates from 1871, and while I’m no expert I’d say that the style is more Great Western than Metropolitan Railway. It’s really rather grand, although the boarded up windows by the main entrance make it look slightly sad, like a dowager duchess who’s fallen on hard times. Wikipedia tells of industrial archaeology around the station which has revealed evidence of some of Brunel’s original Great Western Railway buildings in the area, but there’s nothing obvious revealed by my quick glance around outside. Time’s getting on.

Ladbroke Grove is a funny little place. I’ll admit that I couldn’t find out that much about it from Wikipedia. Yes, okay, it was originally named Notting Hill, but was renamed to avoid confusion with another station – Hammersmith, Paddington and Edgware Road take note, please. Renaming a station to avoid confusion, even on the London Underground it can be done! I mean, I’m guessing that the brickwork around the entrance way has some age to it. However the grey glazed section above it is more modern, and less interesting. Then there’s that canopy above the entrance – giving it that pointed gable is just a little half hearted in my opinion. Still, let’s stop moaning shall we, it’s perfectly inoffensive, which is at least something.

Latimer Road is where I’m going to begin my last walked section. My original thought was to get back on the train at Shepherd’s Bush Market, but considering that Goldhawk Road is at the other end of the market it didn’t make sense, and so I decided to bite the bullet and go the whole hog, walking past all my remaining H and C line stations, to the District Line at Hammersmith. Latimer Road, then, reminds me a little bit of Parson’s Green. There’s certainly a bit of age to it, but it’s swallowed by the viaduct that it’s built into. You can’t help noticing the fact that the Grenfell Tower is behind the station. I have nothing I can say about this other than to express my sincere sympathy for the victims before moving on towards Wood Lane.

If you're of a similar age to myself, then the street name Wood Lane is indelibly linked in your mind with BBC Television Centre. Before the BBC shut up shop and moved on, I had the experience of working in TVC, as we called it then, being an audience member, and appearing on a live show, although not at the same time. Wood Lane today, though, is almost all about the Westfield Centre. At the time of writing this, the Westfield is the largest shopping centre in Europe. Now, I may well be in a minority in my view, but my view is that shopping centres are a necessary evil, while shopping centres this size veer more towards the unnecessary. I’m sorry, but to me shopping is not a source of pleasure, either as a participant or a spectator. Wood Lane station itself, then, is a modern, stainless steel and glass confection. In layout the exterior is a little reminiscent of Farringdon, I suppose. It does lack the imagination of the best of the Jubilee line extension stations which we saw on our last trip, and that’s a shame considering the opportunity that was there. I don’t know if this is a coincidence but this station was designed by Ian Ritchie Architects, who designed probably the least interesting Jubilee extension station at Bermondsey. I can’t help wondering why this is, since their work in Europe often ticks all my boxes. Mind you, I don’t know what stipulations were made by TfL which had to be adhered to.

I decide not to pop into the Westfield, but continue walking to Shepherd’s Bush Market station. Mind you, if I were offered to choose an hour in the Westfield or half an hour sitting with a pencil in my eye I’d probably have opted for my 30 minutes with a Staedtler HB so that’s not saying a great deal. Shepherd’s Bush Market is what seems to be a solitary example of TfL renaming a station which has the confusing same name as a totally different station. Prior to 2008, although not connected to the Central Line station of the same name, this was called just Shepherd’s Bush. Of the two Shepherd’s Bush stations, this has the oldest building, but basically the entrance is just a covered over staircase leading up to the platforms on the viaduct. It's something of a nostalgic pleasure to walk through Shepherd’s Bush Market. It was here that I bought my second hand copy of Frank Herbert’s “Dune” from a bookstall when I was 16, and a fine 50p’s worth that proved to be. I don’t waste time looking for the stall, but power on, with the scent of victory in my nostrils, knowing that my last unbagged H and C line station is just outside the opposite end of the market.

Goldhawk Road, from which the station takes its name, played a small cameo role in my family’s history, when it was where my great grandparents were married in 1905. There’s a rather dog eaten family photo which shows the pair of them, my great grandmother resplendent in full Edwardian finery, even including a parasol – a little incongruous since it was the end of December when they were married. My great grandfather, seated, wears a formal suit, although rather incongruously he also has a flat cap on his head.

As for the tube station, well it’s another one built into the side of the viaduct carrying the railway overhead before its final descent into Hammersmith. The curved canopy imbues it with a modicum of visual appeal, but there really isn’t that much to work with, I’m afraid.

Back on the train then, only allowing myself a small celebration for completing the Hammersmith and City. Then I allow myself an even smaller one as I realise that I’ve also completed the Circle Line too – all of its stations being shared with other lines. All we have left to do is the southernmost section of the Victoria Line.

As I walk between Hammersmith and City Hammersmith station, and Piccadilly and District Hammersmith station, it seems like an awfully long time ago that I last passed this way on my third Piccadilly Line trip. Purely in terms of time it’s just been a few weeks, but in terms of experience it seems far greater than that. I tell myself that with three stations still to go this is no time to start reflecting on the whole experience. I concentrate on the route I’m going to take – which is not a difficult one, since it just involves changing from the District Line to the Victoria at Victoria. Now that sets me off on a train of thought, and not the most pleasant one either. Bearing in mind the other stations I visited at the start of the day, and other Victoria Line stations I’ve visited in previous trips, I have to say that unless the last three stations pull something pretty spectacular out of the bag, then the Victoria Line will be the most likely winner of the award from the least architecturally interesting line. And I don’t actually want to be horrible about the Victoria. Bearing in mind the state of the country at the time, it’s something of a miracle that a new line was built in the mid to late 60s in the first place, and bearing in mind the quick , cheap and crap building ethic of the time, the fact that it hasn’t all fallen to bits since is even more of a miracle.

Well, Pimlico does nothing to raise the standards, I’m afraid. It’s just a hole in the wall of a contemporary office or residential block. I don’t really know much more to say about it. Pimlico (noun - generic) Artificial flavouring used which, when applied to foodstuffs, makes them taste unlike whatever flavour they are supposed to simulate. UK crisp manufacturers are believed to currently use as many as fifty different varieties of Pimlico. Actually, the name Pimlico is redolent of the wonderful Ealing Comedy film “Passport to Pimlico”, which was mostly filmed across the river in Lambeth. As an Ealing boy myself, I feel very protective of the output of our eponymous studios. To a modern audience I wouldn't exactly describe them as laugh a minute, but they're totally engaging, and give a real flavour of what life was like in parts of Britain, and in particular, London in which my parents grew up. Coming back to Pimlico station, it is the handiest station for the original Tate Gallery, now called Tate Britain to distinguish it from all of the sequels which have spring up since. 

Across the river for the last time in our challenge, we now reach the station after which all stations on the Moscow metro are partly named, Vauxhall. Like Walthamstow Central at the other end of the line, Vauxhall tube station is just one part of a public transport interchange, and the bus station is particularly impressive. The ticket hall of the tube is Underground, but as you can see, at least one of the entrances is through a really interesting slice of modern architecture. Things sure have changed around Vauxhall Cross since it Used to cycle past on my way home from University. Which leads me to make an observation, while I think about it. I stayed in Lewisham, while attending Goldsmith’s College in New Cross. Even leaving out the section from Lewisham to the college, if I came straight home from the college for a weekend, the fastest way on public transport was to walk to New Cross or New Cross Gate station, take British Rail to Charing Cross, which was much quicker than taking what was then the East London Line. From there the tube to Hammersmith, where I’d change to the Piccadilly, and from there to Northfields, and then walk the rest of the way home. The fastest I ever did the journey was about 45 minutes. By the end of my first year, once I was fairly fit, on a Friday lunchtime I could do the same journey on my bike in 35 minutes. Mind you I did get knocked off twice, which didn’t tend to happen on the tube.

These times, mind you, pale into insignificance when compared with my first journey through Brixton. This would have been in the early 70s, when my mum and dad took me and my two brothers on a day out to Crystal Palace Park in Sydenham. This was a journey accomplished through the use of Red Bus Rover tickets – remember them? Didn’t think so, and at a conservative estimate it took about 3 weeks. Or that’s how I remember it.

I have to be honest, I was very pleasantly surprised when I emerged from Brixton station. To those of us of a certain age, I guess that the name Brixton carries some negative associations. There’s Brixton prison, for example. Then there’s the riots of the early 80s. But I have to say, this station really surprised me when I read that it was opened in 1971. Then I read that it was redesigned in the noughties, which made a lot more sense. This is a bright and fairly impressive modern station. I like the huge glazed frontage, prominently featuring the roundel – a nod to Charles Holden’s work on the South London stations of the Northern Line, albeit possibly a subconscious one. It ends the Victoria Line for us on a surprisingly upbeat note, and indeed that’s the challenge. Done.

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Jubilee Line

Please note: All of these sketching trips on the London Underground were made well before any Corona virus restrictions were introduced.

When it first opened in 1979, I think that the full extent of new tunnels for the line totalled something in the area of two and a half miles. Which makes it a little surprising that the line took 8 years to build. There was some extensive remodelling to combine the old Strand and Trafalgar Stations into Charing Cross station, which also meant that the existing Charing Cross Station was renamed Embankment. In terms of length, though, by far the majority of the original Jubilee Line ran on existing tracks, which had previously served the Bakerloo line, and before that, the Metropolitan. So it’s little surprise when I arrive at Stanmore station early doors to see that this 1930s Charles Clark station resembles his stations on the Watford branch of the Met. 7 Years after the station opened this part of the Metropolitan was transferred to the Bakerloo. I don’t really know what prompts me to say this, but I can’t help seeing being transferred to the Bakerloo line as something of a demotion in terms of importance.

I’m determined to get my walking in early while I’m still fresh, or at least less stale than I might be later on. It’s an almost straight walk of about 20 minutes to Canons Park, and since it’s not raining this time and I don’t therefore have to control an umbrella, I take the opportunity to google this next station. Apparently it’s the least used station on the Jubilee Line, which isn’t bad going since at this point I can’t help thinking it’s probably up against some pretty stiff competition. The station itself looks old and tired enough to be the original, and I’m afraid it’s a bit of a sad brick box, which is not enhanced by the concrete panels above the entrance. Nor is it really helped by being built onto the side of a viaduct either. Due to the small number of people ever buying tickets from the station, the ticket office has been closed for over a decade.

A glance at the Jubilee Line Map brings the thought that this stretch of the Jubilee Line lends itself peculiarly well to a mental diversion which I like to think of as the Personfication Game ™. Basically you have to take a station’s name, and then describe the imaginary person who the station might have been named after.  So Stan Moore (Stanmore) turns out to have been named after the first used car salesman in Greater London. He is also credited with having been the first to affect the sheepskin coat/trilby hat/fake cockney patter combination.  Canon Spark, on the other hand, is named after a 19^th century cleric found in the pages of novels of Anthony Trollope’s lesser known novel “Can You Believe it’s Not Butter?”, a well meaning soul who falls into all manner of scrapes from agreeing to be the guarantor of a loan made to one of his less trustworthy parishioners.

I continue walking for another half hour or so, until I reach Queensbury Station. Queen Sperri, I decide, was the titular head of the tiny Pillock Islands protectorate, who would have made almost no impact whatsoever when she appeared in the procession of foreign monarchs and heads of state  for the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II, were it not for the fact that she fell out of her carriage due to over indulging on fermented coconut milk, her islands’ chief, indeed, only export. I can’t imagine that the Metropolitan’s chief architect, Charles Clark, wasted much midnight oil on this design, if indeed it is one of his, which I haven’t been able to find either confirmation or denial of in my research. It’s an original 30s station, but it’s little more than a hole in the wall. It’s like the street level of, say, Northfields or Acton Town, but just one small part of it, with no tower rising above it, just an uninspired commercial or residential block which I’m guessing was built at the same time.That’s enough walking for now. Back to the platform, and a ten minute wait for the next train.

King Sperri (Kingsbury) after whom our next station was named, was the previous title of Queen Sperri before the gender realignment procedures. Sorry, that one was too easy. My faithful phone connects me to Wikipedia, which doesn’t actually reveal whether this is a Charles Clark original, but if it isn’t, it’s very much in his suburban vernacular, as I hope you can see from the sketch. You could plonk this station between Watford and Croxey, and it would fit in perfectly, if there were any need of such a station, which there isn’t. Wikipedia does say that this station is actually further away from the Kingsbury district proper than Neasden station. Well, there’s a lot to say about Neasden when we get there, so I think I’ll leave that for later. As for our trip, well, the next station after Kingsbury is Wembley Park, and the first station of today’s trip that we’ve already bagged on a previous one. Don’t worry, there will be a few more of them before the day is out.

Neasden is an inversion of Den Knees, of course. He was a fourth rate stand up comedian from Bootle, who disgraced himself during his one and only appearance on the bill at the Royal Variety Performance by singing the ribald song “If you pay me fare you can take me . . . “ Sorry, I think I’ve flogged that particular old grey mare enough now. Speaking of which, apparently the Jubilee line was always planned to be grey on the map. Its proposed original name was the Fleet Line, and it was going to be a darker, battleship grey – sort of a pun on the word Fleet, which as we all know is also the name of one of London’s lost rivers. When the decision was made to go with the name the Jubilee Line, after the Queen’s 1977 silver jubilee, the decision was made to go with a lighter grey. ‘It represents silver’ spokespeople explained, thus giving us all a foretaste of the moment in Blackadder II when Percy invents green gold, only to be told “That’s the thing about Gold, Percy. It’s gold. What you have invented, if indeed it has a name, is some green.” They may have intended the line to be silver, but what they gave us was grey. Now, I don’t remember a grey jubilee. I do remember the silver one.

Thinking back, maybe it was because I was 13 at the time, but the Silver Jubilee seemed like a much bigger thing to me than the Golden Jubilee of 2002, or even the Diamond Jubilee of ten years later. Perhaps it was because even in 1977 people were a lot less cynical or critical about the Royals. Perhaps it was because it had been 42 years since the previous one, a period which encompassed a World War , and the prolonged economic aftermath. Whatever the case, I remember doing my paper round and milk round in the mean streets of Hanwell and West Ealing, and for months it seemed a lot of houses were decked out with red, white and blue bunting. By way of contrast, in 2002 I was living in Port Talbot, on the main road from the station to local publicly owned stately home Margam Park. As part of the Queen’s Golden Jubilee visit to the provinces, she was to be driven from the station to the Park in the late afternoon. When I left for work that morning, there was not a single piece of bunting or union flag to be seen in the street or on the houses. When I returned from school that day, the Council had been up and down the street, which was now festooned with bunting and flags. I think the one they put in my front garden is still in my garage. If they want it back they only have to ask. I’ve heard it said that the Queen thinks that the world smells of fresh paint, and I can understand why. About 50 yards after she drove past our house, her motorcade was brought to an unexpected stop when Port Talbot’s most famous prostitute jumped out in front of her car, and removed her coat to flash Her Majesty and His Royal Highness the Duke of Edinburgh.

This display of lese-majeste wouldn’t have happened in 1977. Back then, the occupants of a house in Leighton Road had tastefully cut out letters of red, white and blue, with which they tastefully spelled out the message ‘Sod the Jubilee’ in  their front window. My Nan, by no means an ardent royalist, knocked on the door and calmly informed the residents that they deserved a brick through their window, merely expressing to their faces what most residents of the street were saying behind their backs.

Back in the present day, I’m tempted to take a wander, since Neasden is home to an absolutely wonderful Hindu Temple. London has been a truly multicultural city since well before my birth, and the Hindu community can be justifiably proud to have contributed such a building to our shared architectural heritage.

Less impressively, Neasden is also home to Private Eye’s fictional Neasden F.C. and their two biggest (for which read only) fans, Sid and Doris Bonkers. 

Dollis Hill takes its name from another performer, a contemporary of young, working class actors like Michael Caine and Terence Stamp (only nowhere near as good). He made his only film appearance in “Hey, Pretty Baby” in 1965, a half soaked story about a young fashion photographer’s adventures and misadventures in and around Swinging London, ending with his character, Mik, committing suicide by jumping to his death from the revolving restaurant at the top of the Post Office Tower. The station named after him, then, is our first example of a Jubilee Line subterranean station, and the two entrances really are nothing worthy of note. It strikes me that if the majority of tube stations were subterranean like this, then there’s no likelihood that I would ever have embarked on this challenge, yet my experience of European underground railways is that this is the norm, rather than the exception that it is in London.

When Willesden Green station was first built in the late 1870s, named after a well known late Victorian thriller writer, it was part of the Metropolitan railway. Willesden Green was the pseudonym of Hilda Gusset, who is widely seen as an influence on the early works of Agatha Christie. Green’s most famous novels, “The Music Hall Murders”, “More Music Hall Murders”, and “Why Do These Idiots Keep Coming to the Music Hall when People Keep Getting Murdered There?” were later made into early British silent movies, which many believe were responsible for the start of the demise of the British film industry.

Okay, so back to reality. The current station was built in 1925, and its one of Charles Clark’s Edwardian throwback stations. If that comes across as an insult, it’s really not meant to be, bearing in mind that this period of his work also encompasses Paddington Praed Street and Great Portland Street stations. According to my research this one is a listed building not so much for the exterior, impressive though this is, as for the original green tiling inside. Personally I think the very art deco diamond shaped station clock on the exterior is worth the price of admission by itself, but then considering the fact that you don’t have to pay to walk through the entrance the station, then that’s maybe not so much of a boast.

Kilburn was named after ‘Mad Billy Kilburn’ a semi mythological highwayman who plied the roads leading to the capital from the North in the early 18^th century. A one time colleague of the more famous and successful Dick Turpin, Kilburn perished from exhaustion after making a drunken bet that he could run from London to York faster than Turpin could ride there on horseback. The station itself is a bit of a strange looking beast. Most of it seems to be from the 30s, but I’ve never yet seen a canopy which slants across the entrance like the one here, between the two bridges carrying the lines over the road in front. The canopy, and the two bridges, give the station a gloomy, wedged in feel, and it looks most uncomfortable. However I can forgive the station a lot because it has those art deco shelters on the platform, with large thin canopies and rounded, streamlined ends.

While I’m waiting on the platform I toy with reversing the name of the next station, West Hampstead, to give me Hampstead West, an 18^th century industrialist and philanthropist, but this is all becoming too contrived now, and so I give it up as a bad job.

When I alight at the station I notice that it too has the platform buildings that I like so much. However there is no similarity between Kilburn’s exterior, and this station’s. Wikipedia isn’t exactly clear, but it does say that when the platforms were rebuilt in 1939, the original station building was retained. Well, the original building dates from 1879. This could well be it, the whole thing has a kind of Arts and Crafts feel to it, which stylistically would be about right for it. Confusingly, there is also a West Hampstead Overground station, which, although stylistically quite distinct from the Underground one, appears to be of a similar age. Apparently there have been plans to link both stations for decades, but when I visited I couldn’t find any link between the stations which didn’t involve physically leaving one and walking to the other.

Between West Hampstead, and the next station I need to bag, there are no fewer than 8 other stops. This is not so much a trip through hyperspace, as a voyage through a wormhole now. Not only will we cross Central London from north to south, we will also cross the river again. I pick up my paper, and pretend to read the TV listings, which allows me to indulge in one of my favourite tube pastimes, earwigging other people’s conversations. This is not something you get to enjoy very often on the Tube. There’s an unwritten etiquette which I think all regular tube users pick up via osmosis at an early age, which can be boiled down to a few simple rules:-

*You do not talk about tube etiquette

*In fact, you don’t talk about anything on the tube

*You do not stare at your fellow passengers

*In fact you try to look at them as little as possible

*You should in no way, no matter how crowded, let any part of your body impinge on any body part belonging to anybody else

*Should anyone else around you break said rules, you must in no way acknowledge their transgression. Doing so only encourages them.

Alright, I’m maybe exaggerating a little, but not by much, I’d say. How this came to be, I don’t know, but it’s so engrained in me that when I moved to Wales, sitting on a bus where it was quite normal for complete strangers to try to strike up a conversation with you was quite a disconcerting experience.

I read in 2016 of an American chap called Jonathan Dunne. In 2016, after several years working in London, he still hadn’t really come to terms with the tight lipped nature of tube travel. He printed up leaflets, and created badges, with the roundel and the words ‘Tube chat?’ the point being to signal to other passengers that the wearer was open to having a conversation. The upshot? Well, this may come as a surprise, bearing in mind the usual calm and reasonable views regularly expressed by Twitter users, but there was some thing of a storm of negativity unleashed, and photos of various mock ups of similar badges saying “Wake me up if a dog gets on” and the like. I don’t know how Mr. Dunne fared in the long term, but I have to say that I haven’t yet seen a single one of these badges on any of my trips, which doesn’t suggest an overwhelming success rate.

But the two ladies of indeterminate age in front of me don’t seem to know any of this. Or they don’t care. They’re already in the middle of a conversation as I sit down, and I soon find myself engrossed in the darker one’s narrative, which seems to centre on her father’s recent funeral.

“Would’ve been alright,” she announces to the carriage,” if the wheel hadn’t come off the undertaker’s trolley getting the coffin out of the back of the hearse. “

“Oh no!” gasps her friend, “that must’ve been awful for you!”

“S’alright,” she sniffs, “Dad wouldn’t’ve minded. He always loved it when things went wrong. He told me that he spent two of the happiest hours of his life when he got stuck in a lift which broke down in John Lewis’s once.”

I’m all ears, but she doesn’t elaborate on exactly what made the time stuck in the lift so memorable for her father. However her friend comes out with a comment which I in no way pretend to understand the connotations of. “Well, he would, I suppose, what with him being in the Masons.”

Not being a member of the most templaresque of charitable organisations, I cannot even begin to explain why it is that she believes that a Freemason should derive more pleasure from being trapped in a lift than the rest of us hoi-polloi, but the dark haired lady seems to know what she means, as she nods in agreement. I wonder what conversational gems the rest of the journey to Southwark will yield, but am quite disappointed when the pair of them alight at Swiss Cottage.

From Green Park onwards we’re on the late 90s Jubilee Line extension. The former terminus, Charing Cross, is now completely bypassed. I remember watching a contemporary TV documentary at the time when the extension was being tunnelled, which expressed what was, at the time, a very genuine concern that the line passing through Westminster could undermine the Houses of Parliament. The extension line was created through a modern tunnelling technique which, if I understood it correctly, involved spraying the concrete lining of the tunnels as they went, made possible by freezing the tunnel walls during construction. Officially named the New Austrian Tunnelling Method, this was a controversial choice for the extension because critics believed it significantly increased the risks of collapse during construction. If I remember correctly the Elizabeth Tower, known as Big Ben after the clock bell, did develop a tiny lean during the construction.

If I’m correct, every station we pass through from Waterloo to West Ham, with the exception of London Bridge, is a new build specifically for the extension. This surprised me when I was doing my pre-research, since I thought I remembered passing a Southwark station once or twice when trying a different cycling route home to Ealing from New Cross in the mid 80s, but my 1985 tube map confirms that no such beast existed at the time. Heaven alone knows which station I’m thinking of.

Southwark turns out to be a very good place to start our contemplation of the new stations of the extension, though. When Frank Pick initiated the Northern Line extension in the 20s, and then the Piccadilly Line extension in the 30s, we’ve seen that he was inspired by following the most modern trends in architecture, principally by engaging the services of Charles Holden, and at the time these stations might well have appeared as something out of the future. Maybe they don’t appear to us in this way now, but to my eyes they have stood the test of time. Well, I can’t predict how we’ll view the Jubilee Line extension stations in 70 years time, but I can certainly say that although totally different in style to Holden’s work, the best of them too have an ultra modern appearance, and even though they’re already over 20 years old, most of them still appear fresh, and like something out of the future.

I’m not familiar with Sir Richard McCormack, the architect who designed Southwark station, but I like what he’s done here in a rather cramped site. As you’ve probably already figured out, I like curves, and this design uses them rather well to my opinion. If you must use concrete, then this is a pretty good way of doing it, and the light blue tiles of the canopy, curving gently upwards to the dark blue strip with the station name work very nicely in my opinion.

I wish I could feel as positive about Bermondsey station. This one was designed by Ian Ritchie Architects, and they can point to a very prestigious prize winning body of work throughout Europe. In fact when you look at the work they have produced in Europe, you can’t help wondering why they designed Bermondsey station in such a conventional, nondescript way. It’s a big, low, square shed basically, and it wouldn’t look out of place in any out of town retail park across the UK. It’s such a shame considering that I had high hopes for it after Southwark. The architects, to be fair, have done a good job of bringing natural light into the main building, but once you step outside it’s a real case of – oh, is that it, then? Its lack of imagination is highlighted by its proximity to St. James’ Church. I used to see this from the raised section of track outside London Bridge on my way back to New Cross, and it always struck me as a good thing that such a fine church could be standing in an area which was undergoing radical transformation at the time. It was built in 1829, but looks much older, a cousin of the sort of thing that Christopher Wren was churning out just over 100 years earlier.

Thankfully my sense of disappointment is completely dispelled by Canada Water Station. If I’m looking for a station which, in 80 years time, another sketcher might approach with the same sense of admiration with which I approached, for example, Holden’s Arnos Grove station, then I’ve found it. The comparison with Arnos Grove is deliberate. Now, I don’t know if Buro Happold, who designed it, were specifically inspired by Arnos Grove, or any other existing tube station, but the construction of the drum which forms the main part of the station buildings is inspired. Of course, Arnos Grove’s drum is brick, with glass panels, while Canada Water is completely glazed. This makes it a wonderfully light and airy construction, as impressive inside as it is outside. Arnos Grove’s entrance block is above ground, while Canada Water’s is below, and constructed with the strength to bear the building of a 9 storey block above it. I kind of hope this never happens. No building is perfect, but Canada Water comes pretty close as it is.

Waiting for the next train, I play the meaning of Liff game, and define Canada Water thus: ‘Canada Water (n. colloquial) Canada Water is a term used within the brewing industry to refer to any terrible beer which sells in inexplicable quantities, despite the fact that nobody actually seems to like it. Famous Canada Waters of the second half of the 20^th century include Kestrel Lager, Watneys Red Barrel and Ind Coope Double Diamond. ‘

I visited Canary Wharf Station a couple of years ago, when playing in the Brain of Mensa Final in the London Hilton. The best way to get there, I’d found, was tube to Canary Wharf, then ferry across to the hotel. Now, if Canada Water looks like the futuristic child of Arnos Grove, then it’s fair to say that Canary Wharf station looks like the futuristic child of Newbury Park. The gracefully arched entranceway isn’t on the same scale as the earlier Central Line Station, but it is reminiscent of it. I’m not all that surprised to read that Canary Wharf is the busiest station outside Travelcard Zone1. I’m rather more surprised to find that the station was actually built with this in mind, and that it usually copes admirably with the peak flow of passengers each day. Where the design aesthetic wins over Newbury Park is that there are actually two of these canopies, with a very agreeable green space in between them. The views across the river are great, and I have to say that this is one part of my home town which makes me feel more like a tourist than any other. Docklands was being developed in the mid 80s on the occasions I passed through on my way back to uni, but all of this was still in the future.

I’m tempted to try to walk as close to the Thames as I can on the way to North Greenwich, but it’s mid afternoon, and I’d like to finish with the Jubilee Line now while I’m feeling comfortably tired, before it develops into uncomfortable fatigue.

I did visit North Greenwich station some years back, when taking my youngest two daughters to the Treasures of Tutankhamen exhibition in the Dome, which would have been about 2007. Back in 1972 I was really disappointed not to be taken to the Tutankhamen exhibition at the British Museum, so there was no way I was going to miss this one. Very good it was too, apart from the absence of the famous death mask, and the incredibly expensive prices in the gift shop.

The Dome, or the O2 Arena, or whatever you wish to call it, is of course the main reason for the existence of North Greenwich station, indeed for the fact that the Jubilee line extension did actually get built. You see, the thing about Greenwich, especially the part where the Dome is, is that until the tube reached here, it was a bit of a bugger to get to. Not exactly difficult, but it could take ages. There was no way that the Dome could ever expect to attract the 12 million visitors it projected in 2000 without the Jubilee line. In the end, only about 6 million people visited the Dome. So this was either a crushing failure, or, considering the fact that this made it by far and away the UK’s most popular attraction in 2000, a huge success. I tend to recall that the Dome itself was originally given a shelf life of 10 years, after which it would need extensive work, or being pulled down. Fact is that it now looks to be as permanent an attraction as any other London landmark. I was intrigued to notice that it takes up almost exactly as much ground area as its Victorian predecessor, the Crystal Palace. We can only hope that it never suffers the same eventual fate.

With the nearby Dome to content with, North Greenwich station is always in danger of being overlooked in architectural terms. The station is another gleaming metal and glass job. I really like the canopy which curves around the back of the station, then undulates across the front in a series of graceful waves. This station was designed by Alsop, Lyall and Störmer, and I have to say that they have designed a modern station which sits comfortably alongside Southwark, Canada Water and Canary Wharf. As with those stations, it’s 20 years old but the design still seems fresh and inspiring.

The Jubilee line carries on all the way to Stratford, but my last unbagged station on the line is Canning Town, and so it’s where this trip officially ends. I have to say that the Northern entrance, which is the main entrance to the station, looks tired and uninspiring. Concrete panels rarely look inspiring, and once they’d had a few years to get dirty, as these have, they look even less appealing. Even the parts which make less conspicuous use of concrete and more use of glass and metal are flat and rectangular, and speak more of dull bus station than imaginative tube station design. Thankfully, though, the station also has a southern entrance, and this is the one I’ve sketched. Okay, this is little more than a lift entrance, but blimey, it displays more imagination than the rest of the station put together. Curves always play well with me, and circular structures even more so. The glazed panels around the top of the drum below the canopy are a lovely touch, and the sort of thing which lifts this little part of the station  and allows it into the ranks of those which have gone before.

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So ends my penultimate trip, and the last trip which involves concentrating on one specific line. Looking back, I’m agreeably surprised to find that the trip has given me a new found respect for the Jubilee which I didn’t have before. When it was originally opened, I felt that it was a little bit of a cheat, considering that it didn’t have one new station, and those which now belonged solely to the Jubilee had been taken without so much as a by your leave from the Bakerloo. Mind you, for many of those, they had originally been taken by the Bakerloo from the long suffering Metropolitan, so I suppose turn about is fair play. However with the extension to the line, the Jubilee seems to have come into its own, with a run of quite distinctive stations which approaches the Holden stations on the southern end of the northern line for impact. Indeed, I think it’s fair to say that generally the south of the river punches far above its weight in terms of station quality. Granted, I have yet to bag the Victoria Line duo of Vauxhall and Brixton, but out of the 27 stations south of the river that I’ve already visited, I’d say that Kew Gardens, Richmond, Wimbledon Park, Southfields, East Putney, Elephant and Castle, Kennington, Clapham Common, Clapham South, Balham, Tooting Bec, Tooting Broadway, Colliers Wood, South Wimbledon, Southwark, Canary Wharf, North Greenwich and the southern entrance of Canning Town are all attractive stations which are worth going out of your way to see. That’s 18 a whopping 70%. Even if Vauxhall and Brixton turn out to be complete duds, that will still leave us in the high 60s. A less impressive fact, although no less significant, is that of the  other stations – London Bridge, Borough, Oval, Stockwell, Clapham North, Borough, Morden, the worst that you can say about them is that they’re a bit boring or nondescript.

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One more trip to do then, and I have half an idea that it may actually prove to be the trickiest of all. It isn’t the number of stations, although 8 Victoria Line stations and 7 Hammersmith and City Line Stations make a significant total of 15 to do in one day. No, it’s the logistical nightmare of not using the same stretch of line twice in the same day. This will require some thought.