Tales from the Terminals: Paddington
Every day, I’m guaranteed at least one job to one of London’s numerous main railway terminals; those huge cathedrals devoted to train travel which suck in and belch out thousands upon thousands of commuters, tourists and casual visitors on an hourly basis.
London’s rail termini are hectic places indeed, and dropping passengers off is always a chaotic, yet strangely predictable process which can be summarized thus:
1) If heading for one of the larger, more complex stations, it is often advisable to determine which of the various entrances or drop-off points you’re going to aim the cab for. Veteran taxi-riders (generally City workers and patrons of swish Pall Mall clubs) are always in the know and will make this task a lot easier for you:
“Victoria Station please, driver… the old Gatwick Express entrance”…
or
“I need to get to Victoria, mate; just by Shakes” (‘Shakes’ is common commuter slang for The Shakespeare; a pub just across from the station’s main entrance.
Another popular Victoria drop off is the “hole in the wall.”
Heading into Paddington Station
“Paddington Station, cabbie… drop us on Spring Street, will you?”
(I’m always relieved when I meet such knowledgeable passengers- these clued up people are all too aware of the logistical nightmare that is trying to get into Paddington Station- when approaching from the south, you are not allowed to turn right into the station… you have to drive past Paddington (often through thick traffic), take the next available turn onto ‘Bishop’s Bridge’ and then spin a u-turn; all time-consuming, meter-ticking stuff. This process can be avoided with a quick, simple drop-off on nearby Spring Street).
“Waterloo Station… I don’t want the main entrance- just by the steps is fine; I don’t mind walking up”
or…
“Waterloo please; I’m in a hurry. Run it through that cut-through…umm… you know; Cornish or something…”
“Cornwall Road and Alaska Street, Sir?”
“That’s the one!”
2) Once you’ve dodged and weaved your way through the traffic, the next task is to find a place where you can pull over and let your passenger out safely.
In an ideal world, where things are smooth and geared towards actually helping people go about their daily business in an efficient manner, this should be a relatively straight-forward task.
In London, of course, it is not.
Upon reaching a station, you are guaranteed to be confronted with an anarchic tangle of taxis, buses and cars; all temporarily pulled over any which way they can in order to execute the very same task you are currently battling to complete. Usually, this vehicular mess resembles a minor pile-up, and you have no option but to slide along and nudge in wherever you can.
If the passenger has luggage, then you quickly hop out and around the cab in order to lend a hand; a risky business considering the never-ending stream of other taxis, buses and cars which are still swarming past, trying to absorb themselves into the mess which you’ve just joined.
It is amazing just how heavy some suitcases (many of which bristle with airport tags from all over the world) can be, and I’ll often worry that my sandwiches, which I carry in a small pack beside me, have been squashed during transit!
3) Once the journey is complete, the final hurdle is to actually exit the station.
Again, this sounds (and, in terms of common sense, should be) fairly easy.
However, when you have to count out change and (if required) jot down time-consuming receipts (for passengers who, only moments before were fretting that they only have a few precious minutes in which to catch their train), this is a fraught process- mainly because of the other taxis, buses and cars which continue to pour behind in a metallic, diesel-shrouded fug, all impatient, all desperate to negotiate their way through.
I’ve lost count of the times I’ve had hot-headed horns blasting at me, or the times in which I’ve been blocked in and unable to manoeuvre out. Leaving stations is often a frantic process, and involves money being stuffed into my coat pocket and pens being hastily being tucked behind my ear or chucked on the dashboard; leaving a slap-dash mess to sort out when I finally escape the station and arrive at my first red-traffic light.
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Gosh! Now that I’ve relieved that from my tightened chest, I can move on… and state something which I’ve always believed:
Mainly due to the stress-ridden environments in which they fester, London’s railway terminals are in fact truly neglected places; criminally overlooked and shockingly ignored.
When our trains are on time, we breeze through them, paying no attention to the building whatsoever.
When our trains are delayed, we sit around, stewing with hate, cursing everything we see around us; animosities focused on the nearest uniformed representative whom we perceive to be responsible for obstacles which, in reality, often lie many miles, many counties and many regional accents away down the line.
This is very sad indeed… you see, London’s main railway terminals are actually amazing, wonderful places; glorious pieces of architecture; vital components of the capital, with long histories and fascinating stories.
In this new series; ‘Tales From the Terminals’, I shall be writing all about these important buildings; discovering their backgrounds and hopefully sharing some interesting trivia….
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I’ll begin this exploration with central London’s most westerly terminal:
PADDINGTON STATION
Paddington, which serves trains heading to and from the West Country, is one of London’s most historical stations.
The name, ‘Paddington’ is believed to derive from ‘Padda’; an Anglo-Saxon chieftain who, sometime after the Romans withdrew from Britain in 410 AD, settled his clan in the vicinity of what is now the area around the junction of the Edgware and Bayswater roads.
An artist’s (or, to be more accurate, my) impression of ‘Padda’- which probably isn’t very accurate!
Paddington station was originally a wooden structure, first opened in June 1838 as the London terminal of the Great Western Railway, eventually linking the capital to the bustling port of Bristol, some 120 miles away.
The Great Western railway line was masterminded by the genius engineer, Isambard Kingdom Brunel:
Isambard’s French-born father, Marc Brunel, had also been an engineer- responsible for pioneering the very first tunnel to be burrowed beneath the River Thames (the tunnel is still in use today; now part of the London Overground network, providing a passage for trains between Wapping and Rotherhithe. Above ground, at Rotherhithe, you can visit the Brunel Museum).
In 1833, the Great Western Railway appointed Isambard Kingdom Brunel as their chief engineer, granting him the huge responsibility of creating their planned railway line…. Quite a feat, considering Isambard was only 27 years old at the time!
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Brunel was a true workaholic.
Setting to work on the task at hand and using a horse and cart as his main transportation, the young engineer surveyed the entire route on his own; a task which he completed within just 3 months.
Brunel was a keen visionary, and he regarded the London to Bristol railway route as the first section of a wider network, ultimately linking London’s Paddington to New York City- the idea being that passengers would travel to Bristol and board a transatlantic steamer (such as The SS Great Britain steam ship- also built by Brunel), which would then whisk them across the ocean.
Statue of Brunel situated at Paddington Station beside Departures Road. The great engineer also has a statue in Bristol (crafted by the same sculptor), both of which were unveiled in May 1982
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The building of the Great Western Railway was far from easy, necessitating the construction of numerous bridges, viaducts, cuttings and tunnels (including the 2-mile long ‘Box Tunnel’ near Bath; the longest railway tunnel in the world when it first opened).
However, Brunel and his huge team of tough, hard-working navvies were more than capable of the task, and they had the first section open to trains within three years.
So smooth was the route, that the Great Western Railway soon gained the nickname, ‘Brunel’s Billiard Table.’
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It was at Paddington Station, in 1842, that Queen Victoria arrived after her first ever railway journey, something which would still have been quite a novelty at the time. The Queen travelled from Slough… yep; the very same Slough which was the setting for the BBC comedy, ‘The Office’. Many forget that Slough is actually rather close to Windsor Castle…
Queen Victoria’s engine driver on that historic trip must have really put his foot down, as the trip took a mere 23 minutes at an average speed of 44mph.
The Queen’s husband, Prince Albert, wasn’t too happy with the driver’s speed-demonic ways and, after disembarking at Paddington, he scolded the driver with the words; “Not so fast next time, Mr Conductor”!
Being conveniently placed between Windsor Castle and Buckingham Palace, Paddington Station was well suited to Royal travel, and it was a role which the Great Western Railway were keen to encourage. A royal waiting room; octagonal in shape and lavishly decorated, was therefore built at Paddington Station, and was used by the Royal family right up until the outbreak of WWII.
Today, the waiting room once patronised by Kings and Queens, now serves as the first class waiting lounge.
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Paddington Station, as we see and use it today, was another Isambard Kingdom Brunel creation, built between 1850 and 1854.
For the beautiful glass roof, Brunel took inspiration from the mighty ‘Crystal Palace’ display venue, which was a contemporary piece of architecture at the time, having opened for the ‘Great Exhibition’ in 1851.
Brunel’s new station was faithfully captured in the 1862 painting, ‘The Railway Station’ by Yorkshire born artist, William Powell Frith.
In his day, Frith was incredibly popular, and large crowds flocked to see his works; The Railway Station being one of his most celebrated.
It was displayed at a gallery on the Haymarket (very close to Trafalgar Square); an exhibition which attracted 21,150 eager visitors; all of whom paid a shilling to study the painting’s many quirks and characters. Contemporary sources reported that Frith was paid somewhere between £8700 and £9000 to create the piece; a fee almost unheard of at the time. Today, the painting is owned by the University of London’s Royal Holloway College.
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Paddington Station is notable for playing a key role in the creation of the Metropolitan Railway; the great-grandfather of the London Underground (and the world’s very first subway system).
By the 1850s, London’s roads were choked with traffic (sound familiar?!) and, as a result, plan were drawn up to run a railway line beneath the city streets; primarily in order to link London’s major railway termini.
Although many in Victorian society regarded such plans as being rather eccentric and unorthodox, the Great Western Railway agreed to help fund the project and, in return, Paddington Station was made the western terminus of the new-fangled subway.
The world’s first underground railway, linking Paddington in the west to Farringdon in the east, opened in January 1863.
The early London Underground lines were a lot shallower than the later deep-level ‘tubes’ (such as the Bakerloo, Piccadilly and Northern lines), and were built just below street-level using a construction method known as ‘cut and cover.’
In those early days, the trains used on the London Underground were good old fashioned steam engines; noisy, clunking mechanical beasts with a furnace blazing in their guts.
Because they ran underground through confined spaces, the clamour and choking smoke from these engines was intense to say the least. As The Times noted in 1864, a year after the Metropolitan Railway opened;
“it is an insult to common sense to suppose that people would ever prefer to be driven amid palpable darkness through the foul subsoil of London.”
An early, steam-driven, London Underground Train (which can be seen at the London Transport Museum in Covent Garden)
Despite early concerns, the world’s first underground line proved to be a roaring success.
Steam engines were used in the underground tunnels right up until the early 20th century (and were still in service on the Metropolitan line’s outer branches- such as Amersham- right up until 1961).
Today, the historic, trailblazing tunnels which emanate out of Paddington still carry 1,000s upon 1,000s of passengers every day; albeit in cleaner, quieter electric trains!
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With such a long history, it is perhaps inevitable that Paddington has had to suffer some tragedy during its lifetime.
During WWII, railway lines (which were strategically important in carrying troops and vital supplies) were a key target for Nazi bombers. In 1941, Paddington Station was hit by a particularly powerful parachute-deployed bomb.
The resulting explosion led to a large section of Paddington’s offices being destroyed- leaving a broad gap which is still clearly visible between the buildings today:
More recently, early on 5th October 1999, The Paddington Train Crash occurred a short distance outside the station, in the vicinity of Ladbroke Grove. The accident involved an intercity train, heading from Cheltenham into Paddington, colliding with a smaller, local train, which had mistakenly passed through a red signal.
The resulting crash resulted in a huge fireball in which 31 people lost their lives and some 250 were seriously injured.
Much of the blame for the tragedy lay with ‘Signal SN109’; a set of lights which perched on a particularly high gantry and was notoriously difficult for train drivers to see, especially in the bright sunlight of a crisp, autumn morning.
Thankfully this problem has now been rectified, and such incidents are exceptionally rare on the British railway network.
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Of course, no account of Paddington Station is complete without mentioning its most famous namesake; the loveable character, Paddington Bear who was first created by author, Michael Bond in 1958.
As the story goes, the little bear, who hails from deepest, darkest Peru, has been sent to England by his Great Aunt Lucy, who is rather elderly and has been forced to enter a home for retired bears, thus making her unable to care for her nephew any longer.
Upon his arrival in England, the refugee bear finds himself at Paddington Station, where he is discovered by the kindly Mr and Mrs Brown.
Upon spotting a tag around the bear’s neck, which pleads, “Please look after his bear…”, the Browns decide to adopt the stray, naming him ‘Paddington’ after the very station in which he was found.
Paddington moves into the Browns’ home; at ’32 Windsor Gardens’ (Windsor Gardens is indeed a real road, and is situated quite close to Paddington Station, just off of the Harrow Road. However, it is little more than a short, stubby dead-end, and there is nothing much to see) and all manner of adventures ensue.
Today, a bronze sculpture of Paddington Bear (based upon the original 1950s drawings) sits within the station. Being life-sized, it is naturally quite small and tricky to find! If you wish to share a seat with the little bear, head for the area towards the rear of the station; you’ll find him hiding amongst the shops, not far from a set of escalators.
Over the years, there have been many Paddington Bear stories, and the furry, railway-station foundling has also starred in a number of TV spin offs; the most well-known being the distinctive BBC adaptation which aired in the 1970s and 1980s.
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Here, in all its glory, is the very first episode of the BBC series, which dates from 1975.
This is where we first meet the little bear, and much of the action is set within Paddington Station (keep an eye out for the grumpy London cabbie towards the end of the cartoon who appears to be the first ever person in the UK to receive Paddington Bear’s infamous ‘hard stare’! Just for the record, I personally would never dream of charging “sixpence extra” for a bear… let alone an extra nine pence for “sticky bears”!)
Next time on Tales From the Terminals, I will be taking a look at Marylebone Station.
Death & Loathing in Shad Thames
Running along the southern shore of the Thames, just past the iconic Tower Bridge, is an area known as Shad Thames.
Shad Thames is characterized by expensive apartments and boutique shops, all converted from old warehouses which once served London in the days when the city was the largest port in the world.
Various metal walkways, which once clattered with burly dockers lugging cargo between warehouses, stretch between these luxury buildings, lending the area a very unique character.
Thanks to its amazing views of Tower Bridge, the area is also very popular with tourists and, consequently, a number of cafes and restaurants have sprung up in order to serve this influx. One of the most notable of these eateries is ‘Le Pont de La Tour’ ; a restaurant where former Prime Minister, Tony Blair, decided to take U.S President, Bill Clinton for a meal back in 1997 (I wonder if they argued over who was going to pick up the tab?!)
The beautification of this area is a relatively recent phenomenon.
Right up until the late 1980s, this area was derelict and desolate; its dystopian appearance making it the ideal choice for a chilling opening scene in the BBC’s sci-fi serial, ‘Dr Who.’
The story, entitled ‘Resurrection of the Daleks’, was broadcast in 1984, and thus shows the area of Shad Thames as it appeared back then.
(In case you were wondering, the murderous policemen are in fact disguised mercenaries from the distant future, transported to early 1980s London by a ‘time corridor.’ The futuristic killers are involved in a plot to help liberate the Daleks’ leader, ‘Davros’ who is serving time in suspended animation onboard a prison ship, somewhere deep in space… all very plausible stuff I’m sure you’ll agree!)
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Right next to Shad Thames, set around Mill Street, is an area which was once known as Jacob’s Island. This too is now also a locality defined by swish apartments and restaurants.
You wouldn’t realize it seeing it today, but Jacob’s Island was once one of London’s most notorious slums.
The decrepit area was built around St Saviour’s Dock; the point where a short river, known as the Neckinger enters the Thames.
At one time, St Saviour’s Dock boasted a gibbet, from which convicted pirates were hung and their condemned bodies left to rot. Because of this, St Saviour’s Dock gained the gruesome nickname; The Devil’s Neck cloth, and it is believed that this is where the term ‘Neckinger’ originates from.
Today, the River Neckinger is one of London’s ‘lost’ rivers; flowing underground towards the Elephant and Castle area. However, a small section can still be glimpsed at St Saviour’s Dock today; sandwiched between Shad Thames and Mill Street.
When the tide is out, this stretch of the Neckinger is transformed into a sludgy, sticky length of mud:
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Going back to Jacob’s Island itself, the area was once so poverty-ridden that, in the mid-19th Century, it was labelled as “the very capital of Cholera” (Cholera being a vicious, lethal disease which is typically contracted by drinking water infested with human waste).
In the early 1850s, Henry Mayhew (author of the ground breaking journalistic work, ‘London Labour and the London Poor’) described Jacob’s Island as having;
“Literally the smell of a graveyard… a feeling of nausea and heaviness came over anyone unaccustomed to imbibe the moist atmosphere. Not only the nose, but the stomach told how heavily the air was loaded with sulphureted hydrogen…
The water was covered with scum almost like a cobweb…in it floated large masses of rotting weed and, against the posts of the bridges, were swollen carcases of dead animals, ready to burst with the gases of putrefaction.”
It is shocking to think that a large number of unfortunate souls dwelled within such conditions, but they did (and it’s perhaps even more surprising how the area has been transformed from a place of utter desperation into a place of pricey riverside apartments. How times change…)
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Another Victorian writer who was well accustomed with the area was none other than Charles Dickens.
In his 1838 novel, Oliver Twist, the celebrated author chose the menacing setting of Jacob’s Island as the location in which to kill off one of his most terrifying characters- the prolific burglar, murderer and all round thug, Bill Sikes.
In Chapter 50 of the novel, Sikes comes to Jacob’s Island as a fugitive on the run, having recently killed his lover, Nancy.
Seeking refuge in an abandoned warehouse, he is quickly tracked down by a large, angry mob. As the crowd of vigilantes begin to break down the door, Sikes decides to escape via the roof and, with the aid of a rope, plans to lower himself down into the relative safety of the Neckinger’s muddy ditch:
“Of all the terrific yells that ever fell on mortal ears, none could exceed the cry of the infuriated throng. Some shouted to those who were nearest to set the house on fire; others roared to the officers to shoot him dead…
The murderer emerged at last on the house-top by the door in the roof, a loud shout proclaimed the fact to those in front, who immediately began to pour round, pressing upon each other in an unbroken stream…
Roused into new strength and energy, and stimulated by the noise within the house which announced that an entrance had really been effected, he set his foot against the stack of chimneys, fastened one end of the rope tightly and firmly around it, and with the other made a strong running noose by the air of his hands and teeth in almost a second. He could let himself down by the cord to within a less distance of the ground than his own height, and had his knife ready in hand to cut it then and drop.”
This desperate plan is doomed to fail. As he stands on the roof, Bill Sikes is suddenly terrified by a disturbing flashback of the moment he murdered Nancy:
“The eyes again!” he cried in an unearthly screech.
Staggering as if struck by lightning, he lost his balance and tumbled over the parapet. The noose was on his neck. It ran up with his weight, tight as a bow-string, and swift as the arrow it speeds. He fell for five and thirty feet. There was a sudden jerk, a terrific convulsion of the limbs; and there he hung, with the open knife clenched in his stiffening hands…”
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In 1968, the Oscar-winning film, ‘Oliver!’ was released; an all singing, all dancing musical adaptation of Dickens’ grim tale. Bill Sikes was played with terrific menace by notorious hell-raiser, Oliver Reed and, despite a few changes to Sikes’ death scene (in the movie version, Sikes has Oliver with him, and his death comes via a well-aimed bullet), the film’s climax does an excellent job of evoking the brooding intimidation of the Jacob’s Island environ.
Bill Sikes is not the only fictional character to have met a grisly end via a Shad Thames warehouse. Returning to the 1984 Doctor Who story, ‘Resurrection of the Daleks’, it seems that the BBC decided to spend a sizable amount of their budget on staging the spectacular death of one of the Doctor’s most fearsome foe! :
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Today, Shad Thames and Jacob’s Island are tranquil, picturesque places- a far cry from the death and squalor of years gone by. If you enjoy London history (and good restaurants), the area is a must see.
Just be sure to keep an eye out for falling Daleks!
Basing Street Studios
It’s that time of year again when it becomes impossible to avoid hearing playlists of nostalgic Christmas hits, which seem to boom from every single supermarket and shopping centre across the land.
One of the most famous festive songs of course is, ‘Do They Know it’s Christmas’; written in 1984 by Bob Geldof and Midge Ure as an urgent charity single to raise money for those suffering from the appalling famine in Ethiopia; a human disaster which was brought to light in late October of that year by Michael Buerk’s shocking and deeply upsetting BBC report, in which he candidly described “the closest thing to hell on Earth…”
‘Do They Know it’s Christmas’ was put together rapidly, and recorded less than a month later, on 25th November 1984. The recording took place in London’s Notting Hill, at Sarm West Studios:
The charity single was notable for the sheer number of 1980s pop stars who participated. Phil Collins, Paul Weller, George Michael, Boy George and the groups Duran Duran, Status Quo, Spandau Ballet and Bananarama to name but a few, all descended on the West London studio, which is located on the junction of Lancaster Road and Basing Street; a quiet backwater, yet still only a 30 second walk from the trendy Portobello Road.
The song’s famous video; a kind of short documentary showing the record being put together, was shot on location at the studio.
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The studio in which the creation of ‘Do They Know it’s Christmas’ took place has a long and interesting history.
Originally built as a church, it was later deconsecrated and used as a store room and workshop for one of London’s most famous attractions; ‘Madame Tussauds.’ With many wax-figures kept here, the building must have been a pretty creepy place late at night!
The old church then began its life as a studio in 1969 and, over the years, has been known as Basing Street Studios, Island Records Studios and (at the time ‘Do They Know it’s Christmas’ was recorded), Sarm West Studios.
A huge number of artists have recorded some of the best-known pop songs at this Notting Hill hideaway, the roster boasting names such as The Rolling Stones, Genesis, The Who, Roxy Music, John Martyn, Alicia Keys, The Pet Shop Boys, Jethro Tull, Squeeze and Madonna.
George Michael’s ‘Careless Whisper’ was cut here, as was ‘Stairway to Heaven’ by Led Zeppelin and Queen’s ‘We Are the Champions.’ In 1977, Bob Marley came here, and carried out work on his celebrated album, ‘Exodus.’
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Since 1980, the studio has been the property of Trevor Horn who, although a prolific and much respected music producer, is perhaps best known for being the singer in New Wave group, The Buggles.
In 1979, The Buggles released the memorable single ‘Video Killed the Radio Star’ which, in August 1981, became the first song to be played on a fledgling American TV network called ‘MTV.’ The tune then featured on the group’s 1980 album, ‘The Age of Plastic’, recorded at Sarm and featuring the studio’s new owner on the cover:
Today, Sarm remains a busy recording studio popular with all manner of acts. In 2012, the premises are going to be given a comprehensive makeover, where they will be kitted out with a further two, sparkling new recording studios.
In October 2011, BBC Radio 4 broadcast a 30 minute documentary all about Sarm Studios and its influence over the years. You can listen to the programme here:
View from the Mirror 