Bishops, Bones & Birds
Not far from the bustle of Southwark’s Borough Market where tourists flock, traders holler and trains rumble and thump overhead into London Bridge Station, there sits a quiet backwater called Redcross Way; a little-known street, often devoid of traffic or people.
The only sign of life down here is the ‘Boot and Flogger’; a secretive, atmospheric wine bar opposite which stand these rather extraordinary gates, draped in ribbons, trinkets and hand-written messages:
These gates guard the entrance to the morbidly named ‘Crossbones Yard’; a frequently overlooked slice of London’s murkier history.
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The exact year in which Crossbones Yard was established is a mystery- even one or two Roman remains have been found here. It certainly dates back to at least medieval times and is primarily a remnant of an era in which Southwark acted as London’s ‘Sin-City’…
In those days, the City of London was confined to the north bank of the Thames, still locked in by the defensive wall which had been laid out by the Romans many generations before.
Already a city of immense wealth, the capital was governed by staunch laws which ensured everything ran like clockwork and that her God-fearing citizens knew their place and generally behaved themselves.
Every evening at 9pm, the bells of St Mary Le Bow Church would begin to ring, signalling the start of the nightly curfew. When these bells commenced their clanging, London Bridge- the famous crossing cluttered with shops and houses- would close its gates for business, keeping undesirable riff-raff at bay.
Old London Bridge… Southwark is towards the bottom of this contemporary etching
However, a few hundred feet away on the opposite bank of the Thames, things would just be starting to wake up…
Cluttered around the southern foot of London Bridge lay the settlement of Southwark which, thanks to a setup known as the “Liberty of the Clink”, was a practically lawless place where anything went and Londoners came to party…. it was rather like an extremely early, uncontrolled version of Las Vegas!
Over in the city, depraved entertainments were forbidden but here, across the Thames in sinful Southwark, there were no restrictions.
What went on in Southwark stayed in Southwark… a place where people came to frequent the many taverns, to visit the theatre (a civilised pastime today, considered a heinous pursuit back then), to bet on dice, cock-fighting and bear baiting, to have a punch up… and to pop into the ‘stews’- a slang term for brothel of which there were a great many.
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The scant authority which did exist in Southwark emanated from a surprisingly holy source; the heathen place being presided over by the Bishops of Winchester…
Founded in AD676, the Diocese of Winchester was one of the largest and most powerful in the country. Consequently, it was decided that the Diocese should establish a base within convenient reach of the capital. So, in 1109, a palace for the Bishops of Winchester was built in Southwark- the remains of which can still be seen today on Clink Street.
The Remains of Winchester Palace, Clink Street (Photo: Wikipedia)
Being such powerful landowners, the Bishops serving the Diocese of Winchester held a firm financial grip over Southwark.
Although a prison- ‘The Clink’ (today a museum)- was constructed near the palace to deal with certain troublemakers, the Bishops pretty much let Southwark’s sinners get on with it… in fact, due to their status as landlords, the Bishops of Winchester actually made a tidy profit out of the debauchary, renting out land and premises to facilitate the sordid goings on.
The brothels were no exception, thus paving the way for an extraordinary anomaly… the holy men technically became pimps…
Harvey Keitel as ‘Sport’; the sinister pimp from the 1976 film, ‘Taxi Driver’… a role somewhat emulated centuries earlier by the Bishops of Winchester!
As well as collecting rent from the working girls, the Bishops also regulated the stews as a legitimate business, controlling opening hours and enforcing certain ground rules.
Buildings that belonged to Southwark’s red light district had to be painted white and were also required to display a specific sign, similar to ones used to denote inns and taverns- the most common being the image of a cardinal’s hat.
It is estimated the Bishops controlled around 18 brothels, all of which had pub-like names- ‘The Half moon’, ‘The Cross Keyes’, ‘The Boars Head’, ‘The Gun’, ‘The Castle’ and so on.
Because of this arrangement, the working girls of Southwark became known as the ‘Winchester Geese’, and it is said that this is where the rough and ready slang term, “bird” (meaning woman) may have originated from.
Modern plaque on the gates of Crossbones Yard
Despite helping the Bishops of Winchester turn a quick buck, the prostitutes of Southwark were still considered to represent the pinnacle of sin.
Consequently, when a Winchester Goose died, it was forbidden to bury her in consecrated ground… and this is where Crossbones Yard came in.
The yard was essentially a dumping pit for the heathen, an unconsecrated patch where bodies could be cast to the worms with zero ceremony.
In 1598, John Stow- in his fascinating book, ‘A Survey of London’ (essentially the very first guide-book ever written about the capital) recalled Crossbones Yard and its sad purpose:
“…these single women were forbidden the rites of the church so long as they continued in that sinful life, and were excluded from Christian burial if they were not reconciled before their death. And therefore there was a plot of ground called the Single Women’s Churcyard appointed for them far from the parish church.”
John Stow who described the burial ground in his early guide book
The Bishops’ lucrative pimping side-line was abruptly ended (“put down by the King’s commandment… proclaimed by sound of trumpet” as John Stow described it) in 1546 by Henry VIII- rather ironic considering that tyrannical monarch’s track record!
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Despite being taken out of the the Bishops of Winchester’s hands, the brothels gradually began to creep back over the following decades and were once again in full swing by Shakespeare’s time, jostling for space with the Bard’s equally naughty Globe Theatre. This second wave of debauchery was later halted by the ultra-puritan, Oliver Cromwell.
Throughout this turmoil, Crossbones Yard continued to accept burials- there were plenty of crooks and poverty-stricken paupers to go around and many of these unfortunate souls found their final resting places here
When Guys Hospital was founded nearby in 1721, Crossbones Graveyard became a popular target for the ‘resurrectionists’ -aka body-snatchers for whom the large, disease ridden pit provided a regular bounty of fresh corpses, ripe for dissection and the attention of curious, scientific minds.
Body-snatching…
Crossbones Yard continued to accept the dead well into the 19th century.
Excavations from the 1990s revealed that between 1800-1853, 66% of the souls dumped here were under the age of 5, the main causes of death being smallpox, tuberculosis and cholera; a tragic sign of the desperate levels of poverty which haunted London at the time.
During this era, it is most likely that the great Victorian writer, Charles Dickens would have been familiar with the packed graveyard. In 1824, whilst his father was incarcerated in the nearby Marshalsea debtors’ prison, the young 12 year old Dickens lived on Lant Street, a stone’s throw from Redcross Way.
The area around Southwark would later go onto play an important role in his 1855 masterpiece, Little Dorrit.
Map showing Lant Street, where Dickens lived as a youngster, in relation to Redcross Way
Towards the end its life, Crossbones Yard was quite literally full- “overcharged with dead”- with bones and body parts lurking unsettlingly close beneath the topsoil- even poking out in some cases.
Considered a public health hazard, the dejected graveyard was finally closed in 1853, the land was sold and a warehouse built on top.
Overall, it has been estimated that some 5,000 souls were buried here over the years.
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Crossbones Yard was rediscovered in the 1990s when work was being carried out on the Jubilee line extension.
Today, it lies beneath a sorry patch of concrete and the former unconsecrated burial ground has become an unofficial shrine to the ‘outcast dead’.
As these pictures show, people come here to write messages and dedicate objects to those who are seen as having passed away whilst living on the edge of society. Many of the melancholy dedications on display are in memory of homeless people, alcoholics and prostitutes.
At 7pm on the 23rd day of every month, a vigil often involving poetry recitals, singing and dancing is held at the gates. All are welcome.
Depressingly, the site has been under the threat of redevelopment for some years now. Thankfully, a committed group of people have been campaigning to save this important area; the ultimate wish being that a peaceful garden of remembrance will eventually be created- a fitting tribute to the 1,000s of dead who were cast aside here so unceremoniously.
For more information, please follow this link to the excellent Crossbones website, where you can find out more and sign a petition to preserve the site.
A sad teddy, lying in tribute within Crossbones Yard
Tales From the Terminals: Broad Street Station (1865-1986)
This edition of Tales from the Terminals is slightly unusual in that it deals with a station that no longer exists…
Broad Street
Broad Street Station in 1898
For many years, Broad Street was a vital cog in the capital’s transport infrastructure.
Situated in the heart of The City, the station sat right next door to Liverpool Street station–in fact, Broad Street was on the scene first, opening as a terminal for the Great Northern Railway in 1865, 9 years before its larger neighbour moved in.
The map below depicts the location (coloured in blue) of this now long-gone terminal:
Location of Broad Street in relation to Liverpool Street
Broad Street was originally envisioned as a goods depot; a hub designed to link rail freight travelling between Birmingham and London’s sprawling docks; both key players in Britain’s then vast empire.
However, some bright spark suggested that, being in the heart of the financial district, it would be a good idea to encourage passenger use too.
They were right and, during the first half of its life, Broad Street, along with Liverpool Street and Victoria, was one of London’s top three busiest stations, pouring 1,000s of commuters into the City every day from areas such as Camden, Stratford, Watford and Richmond.
In 1902 alone, it was recorded that 27 million people passed through Broad Street.
However, as the 20th century progressed, passenger numbers began to decline; primarily due to the increased development of the tube and tram networks which were able to ferry commuters around with greater flexibility.
Bombs over Broad Street
Broad Street’s effectiveness as a major rail terminal was also hindered during the two World Wars.
In WWI, the station suffered at the hands of Germany’s fearsome new weapon- the Zeppelin.
On the night of the 8th September 1915, an enemy airship, piloted by Heinrich Mathy- notorious as being the most brazen of the Zeppelin pilots and who had carried out the most bombing raids on the UK- unleashed the Great War’s most destructive attack on the capital.
Heinrich Mathy, the Zeppelin captain who unleashed a devastating attack on London, including Broad Street station
Approaching the UK via Cambridge, arcing around Hertfordshire and North London, Mathy navigated his hulking craft high over Golders Green, following the Finchley Road before taking a detour towards the centre of the capital where the assault commenced.
Russell Square, Theobalds Road (where the Dolphin Tavern was hit- a clock which was damaged in the attack can still be seen behind the bar), Hatton Garden, Farringdon Road (where a plaque commemorates the event) and Bartholomew Close in Clerkenwell were all pounded.
A Zeppelin caught in searchlights over london
Heading further east, the Zeppelin then approached the capital’s financial heart where it released further vengeance.
One bomb exploded directly outside Broad Street station, striking a bus; killing the conductor and several passengers.
More bombs were unleashed over nearby Norton Folgate, causing considerable damage to the tracks leading into the station.
The raid that night claimed the lives of 22 Londoners, with 87 more seriously injured.
Heinrich Mathy himself was killed a year later when the Zeppelin he was captaining was shot down over Potters Bar by the renowned flying ace, Leefe Robinson.
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During the Blitz of WWII, Broad Street escaped being hit directly.
However, a number of East-End stations serving the terminal were so badly damaged during the nightly raids that they were forced to close for good. These included stations at Haggerston, Shoreditch, Victoria Park and an entire line which branched out to Poplar.
Such closures only served to add to Broad Street’s passenger drain.
Parade of shops at the bottom of Kingsland High Street where the old Shoreditch station once stood… a metal door which led up to the station can be seen around the corner on Old Street…
Struggling on
As passenger numbers dwindled, so too did the building itself and, by the late 20th Century, Broad Street station was in a very poor state of repair.
Broad Street, March 1985 (photo: Geograph)
Writing about the station in 1973, Sir John Betjeman lamented at the removal of a large portion of the station’s roof before going on to say;
“Standing on the empty concourse at Broad Street today, one has a feeling of its former greatness.
Incongruous and ridiculous, in red brick with pavement-light windows is a streamlined booking office for the few passengers who use this potentially popular line. May God save the Old North London!”
The following, short Cine-film clip (part of a collection from Southern Railway Films) shows Broad Street station as it appeared in 1969:
In 1984 Broad Street station was granted one final gasp of recognition; lending its name to Paul McCartney’s album and film of the same title; Give My Regards to Broad Street.
In the film, the former Beatle has 24 hours to track down the master tape for his latest album which has gone missing. The recording is discovered towards midnight, in a forgotten cupboard at Broad Street station itself, rather appropriate considering how decayed and overlooked the once grand station now was.
Sadly, the movie was a commercial and critical failure, its reviews almost as depressing as the state of the station itself.
A scene featuring Paul McCartney pacing around Broad Street station appears towards the end of the film, illustrating just how desolate and dilapidated it had become by this point.
By 1985, only 6,000 people per week were using the station’s limited service- miniscule by London standards and a colossal downfall when compared to the station’s late 19th century heyday.
Towards the end of its life, only two of Broad Street’s nine platforms were in use; the other seven being left to crumble and succumb to weeds.
Broad Street, 1983 (Photo: Wikipedia)
In June 1986, the station was finally wound down and closed for good.
After the tracks have gone…
Today, Broad Street has all but vanished.
The station’s closure coincided with the massive 1980s financial boom, when office space was in particularly high demand- planning permission for such space tripled between 1985-1986.
Consequently, before the dust from Broad Street’s demolition had even settled, developers stormed in, hard-hats on, tape measures in hand, quickly forging the 32 acre ‘Broadgate’ complex; a large area consisting of squares, offices, shops and restaurants.
The project commenced with a ceremony in which then Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, fired up the site’s first crane.
Part of today’s Broadgate complex… this office block stands on the former site of Broad Street’s main building. Part of Liverpool Street station can be seen to the right of the photograph.
At its full capacity, Broadgate is capable of serving some 30,000 workers.
The ‘ampitheatre’ at the centre of the Broadgate complex
The Broadgate site also contains a wide collection of specially commissioned public sculptures, one of which is ‘Fulcrum’, towering over the junction of Liverpool Street and Eldon Street, roughly marking the point where Broad Street’s forecourt once stood.
‘Fulcrum’ sculpture
Sculpted in 1987 by Californian artist, Richard Serra, Fulcrum is crafted from several huge planks of steel (rumour has it that the slabs are old girders from the former station, although as yet I’ve been unable to confirm this).
The trick of this artwork is that the plates are not welded together or joined in any firm way; relying upon the law of physics alone to keep them in place… if you dare to walk beneath them, you can find a small, but well sheltered oasis from the surrounding crowds!
Inside Fulcrum…
Old sections of the mouldy, brick viaduct, which once carried trains over the rooftops and into Broad Street, can still be seen hiding north of Liverpool Street, around the Shoreditch area.
Part of the old viaduct which once led into Broad Street, located on Fairchild Place (off of Great Eastern Street)
Broad Street viaduct, sliced off at the junction of Great Eastern Street and Fairchild Place
One section of the viaduct has been cleverly recycled and is now home to the quirky ‘Village Underground’; a unique collection of artists’ studios.
What makes Village Underground so wonderfully distinctive is that the creative spaces are housed within old tube carriages!
Village Underground, Shoreditch
These particular models of tube car (of which only 30 were built) ran on the Jubilee line between 1983 and 1998.
Growing up during this period, I personally remember them well, with their slattted wooden floors and orange, chequered seats. As I drive past in my cab below, I often find myself wondering how many times I travelled on the Village Underground carriages when they carrying out their original purpose down in the Jubilee tunnels!
Village Underground.. former Jubilee line carriages
Elsewhere in London, another ex-1983 stock tube carriage has been put to a similar eccentric use- you’ll find it in the grounds of Great Ormond Street Children’s Hospital, where it acts a studio for ‘Radio Lollipop’!
Back in Business
A little further up, in the vicinity of New Inn Yard (now fittingly renamed New Bridge Yard), the old arches are once again back in use; linking up with a spanking new viaduct which, since 2010, has carried the new London Overground line; an extensive route which has merged existing lines and reactivated dormant ones- including a section of tracks which once ran into Broad Street.
The brand new London Overground viaduct, linking up with the original, brick arches, half a mile away from where Broad Street station once stood…
One of the stations on the new Overground is Hoxton… where you can discover a special artefact from the old Broad Street station …
Hoxton Station
Take a walk along Geffrye Street-a tranquil road which runs alongside Hoxton station’s viaduct- and you’ll see a rare survivor from Broad Street… the terminal’s old war memorial:
Unveiled at Broad Street in February 1921 and dedicated to the 69 men of the Great Northern Railway who lost their lives during WWI, this memorial- which resembles Whitehall’s solemn Cenotaph in miniature form- was carefully removed during the levelling of Broad Street in 1986.
The memorial in its original, Broad Street location (image from London Reconnections website)
After being kept in storage for three years, it was then moved south to Richmond, one of the more far-flung stations which had been connected to Broad Street, where it remained until 2011.
With the opening of the London Overground and the reinstatement of routes which had once served Broad Street, it was decided to move the war memorial closer to its original home.
On 7th June 2011, the little cenotaph arrived in Hoxton and was rededicated by the Reverend James Westcott (of St Chad’s Church, Haggerston) in a respectful, low-key ceremony.
The newly re-located memorial, along with the new London Overground route (the popularity of which was correctly predicted by Sir John Betjeman) have ensured that the spirit of Broad Street can quietly live on within the capital it once so effectively served.
Metro Blog: London’s First Mascots
In my second guest blog for Metro, I’ve been taking a look at Wenlock’ and ‘Mandeville’; the official mascots for the 2012 Olympics. Writing about the two characters led me to consider London’s very first mascots; two ferocious giants known as ‘Gog’ and Magog’.
Gog and Magog
To read the full article, please click the Metro logo below.
View from the Mirror 