SE2 - Lesnes Abbey

Hello people

Sorry there's been no new updates to the 28 Districts lately; me and Rosie have been having a bit of a nightmare. The upstairs neighbours flooded our bedroom - three times! Once from a leaky tap, once from a rotten seal around their bath, and once from a leak behind their washing machine, we’d have less trouble if our upstairs neighbour was Neptune the God of the sea. Their landlord assures me he’s doing all he can to fix the problems, but he mostly just complains how much it’s all costing him. We got some Builders round who said they couldn't do anything till we got a Plumber in. So a Plumber came, who said he needed a Tyler to help him. The Tyler came, but then the Plumber disappeared. Me and Rose are starting to think it’s all a conspiracy to stop us from being happy; and to turn our little flat into a lido.

And speaking of conspiracies, I'm still troubled by my recent visit to the SE10, when I stumbled upon a plot connecting someone, or maybe everyone, at the National Maritime Museum to the 2007 fire attack on the Cutty Sark. My head was spinning and I needed to go somewhere quiet where I could think. So I got in my canary yellow Fiat Panda Eleganza and headed to Abby Wood to take a look at Lesnes Abbey; a former monastery from the 12th century.

As I pulled up near the abbey I cursed my luck, it was pissing down, and there was no shelter to be found. Not to be beaten, I got out the panda, ran under the closest tree I could find, and I stood there for a moment, collecting my thoughts. I looked out at Lenses Abbey, the bad weather meant it was completely deserted, and clearly it had seen better days. It was nothing but a bunch of broken down walls, it could have been a B&Q in the 10th century for all I could tell. But it was peaceful, and I enjoyed watching the rain beat down on the site for a while. To my surprise the silence was broken by the sound of a voice.

"Glorious isn't it?"

I almost lept out of my skin. Standing next to me was a tall thin man in his fifties wearing a smart long black coat and black trilby hat. I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed him before.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"The abbey" he replied and gestured towards it in quite a theatrical way, "Quite glorious is it not?"

I looked out at the ruins and the rain again, "It's very nice" I said.

"Is this your first visit?" He asked. I nodded, and he continued.

“It was founded by Richard De Luci in 1178; as I'm sure you’re aware. It's suspected by many that De Luci built the Abbey as a way of Penance for his complicity in the murder of Thomas Becket, as if this one good deed could in some way cancel out the evil ones of his past. In fact all it does is stand as a monument to his guilt. Wouldn’t you agree?”

I wasn't sure how to respond to this. There was something about the guy that made me uneasy. He had a smile across his face. But he didn’t seem friendly, he gave me the impression that he was in on a joke that I didn’t understand; and maybe I was the butt of. Now that I looked at him properly I could see he was very tall, maybe 6ft 8. He was an incredibly well-spoken man, he sounded like a stage actor rehearsing a play. He went on.

“De Luci, died just a year after the Abbey was finished, and is buried here. I wonder if the Abbey ever gave him the absolution he craved?”

I think this question was to himself, but I hadn’t spoken in a while so thought I had better say something; so I said, “The walls are nice"

His smile widened, "Are you still enjoying writing your blog?"

His question stunned me, "How do you know about the 28 Districts?"

He chuckled to himself, "Simple, you've written the address of Lenses Abbey on the back of your hand to help you find it; so you’re clearly not a local man out for a walk. You're here in the rain, that shows dedication to your task; so you're not here for a leisurely visit. Also you’re holding a notepad with the words 'My Secrete Blog' written on the front."

"Wow that's amazing! What else do you know about me?"

The smile left his face and his eyes seemed to darken, "That you’re in grave danger."

A chill ran down my spine, "Who are you?" I asked.

"Think of me as a friend."

"Ok."

We stood in silence for a moment, I think he was waiting for me to say something. Eventually he said, "And what is it friends do?"

I thought for a moment, "We could go bowling?"

He seemed disappointed then added, "I was thinking of something far more intimate."

Again an awkward silence fell between us, this time it was me that broke it, "I think maybe the yellow Fiat Panda Eleganza has given you the wrong impression about me. I'm very flattered but...."

He cut me off, "Friends confide in each other. They share their troubles. So tell me, freind. What troubles you?"

"The clutch pedal on the Panda keeps squeaking. I've taken it to the garage but..."

"I don't know why your clutch pedal squeaks, what else?"

"When the engine gets hot the pedal sticks to the floor..."

"I'm not a mechanic. What else?"

"I might have uncovered a crime but I'm not sure what to do about it?"

"Aha! Why not go to the police?"

"I'm not sure they would believe me"

"So you have no proof of this crime?"

"Nothing."

"Which is probably the reason you're still alive."

Now I was frightened, “What do you mean?”

“Your adventures through these 28 Districts have caused you to wander from the safe path, to the ones less travelled. Ones filled with dark shadows and darker secretes.”

“This is so fucking weird” I said, but he didn’t seem to hear me. His manner changed, and his eyes darted around the woods, something had spooked him. Perhaps it was the noise of leaves rustling in the wind, perhaps the song of a distant badger, who knows? When he did speak again he said simply,

“We are not alone, I must go”

“Wait!” I said, “You haven’t told me anything. What do you know about the fire to the Cutty Sark?”

“Shh” he hissed, “If you want answers you shall have them but not here.”

“Where?”

“Meet me next week at 3pm, at the Birth place of the most famous South East Londoner who ever lived.”

“Jools Holland?”

“Even more famous than him. He was a man who spoke to millions; yet never said a word.”

And with that he disappeared into the woods and left me alone. As I drove home my mind raced with questions. Who was this strange man I’d met? How did he know me? Should I trust him? And who was the famous SE Londoner he spoke of, an author maybe? If you have any ideas readers, I’d be grateful to hear them.

Till next week.

SE10 - The Cutty Sark

Hello people,

Today I have come to SE10, Greenwich. It’s no exaggeration to say I’m standing in one of the most famous places in the world. Whichever country you are in, or even if you’re travelling across sea, or through space, you set your watch according to Greenwich Mean Time. Before GMT was invented, the world lived by Paris Flamboyant Time. PFT was hugely impractical, lunch breaks would last for days, and time would stop whenever somebody fell in love, this annoyed the British as this made it impossible to know when last orders at the bar was. So we invented GMT, and it was internationally adopted at the International Meridian Conference of 1884. Another reason GMT is so important is that ships traveling all over the world rely on it to calculate their longitude while out at sea; ships like the Cutty Sark.

The Cutty Sark was a British Clipper Ship built in the Clyde in 1869. In her day she was the fastest ship in the world. She used to bring tea from China back to the UK to be sold, it’s estimated that in total, the Cutty Sark sailed the same distance as travelling to the moon and back twice. The ship is a museum now, where you can learn all about how it was built, where it travelled, and the people who sailed in her.

People love the Cutty Sark, mostly because people love tea. My Nan Bet lived for 77 years on a diet of nothing but milky tea with 2 sugars, rich tea biscuits, and occasionally, a nice slice of ham. And she was not unique - we in Britain consume 65 million cups of tea each day. Which probably explains why the Cutty Sark is loved by so many people, and why there was such sadness when in 2007 the ship was damaged by fire while undergoing conservation.

The fire was explained as an accident, but I’ve always suspected foul play. It seemed to me that some very influential people stood to gain an awful lot by the disappearance of the Cutty Sark. With it gone, it would free up space to build some 1 bedroom apartments, or maybe even a Tesco Express, right in the middle of some prime real estate. My suspicions were confirmed when there was another - this time less successful - fire in 2014. I’ve gone to the police with my suspicions, but they weren’t interested. I asked all the staff at the Tesco’s Express on Trafalgar Road if they were arsonist. They either denied it or had the security guard escort me from the premises. It seemed my investigation was destined to be fruitless. That was until last Saturday, whilst walking though Hays Galleria by London Bridge, I stopped off to have a pint in the Horniman Pub, and – it being a nice day – took my pint outside to sit by the Thames, and that’s when I saw it. The thing that stood to gain the most from the Cutty Sark’s disappearance, the HMS Belfast, another museum ship in SE London. With the Cutty gone, there would be no competition left.

I now had a lead, but I needed proof. I wrote a letter to the Curator of the HMS Belfast, a Mr A Sailor, pretending to be a journalist from the Maritime Journal. I told him I wanted to interview him for the magazine and asked him to meet me in the cabin quarters on the top deck of the Cutty Sark at noon on the 22nd of November. I hoped that by tricking him into returning to the scene of the crime, and confronting him there, he may slip up and confess to arson. I sat waiting in the cabin quarters for him to arrive. Eventually a man with a peg leg joined me in the room. He wore an eye patch, had a hook for a hand, a parrot resting on his shoulder, and was sucking on a pipe. Something told me, that this was my guy. I stood up and said.

“Are you Mr Sailor?”

“Ay” he replied “I guess you be the talented young writer from the magazine?”

“You won’t find any talented writers in here Mr Sailor.” I responded, “But what you will find, is a reckoning.”

“Shiver me timbers!” He yelled, “What is this, a trick?”

“No trick, just justice.”

“Blister me barnacles!”

“I know you set fire to the Cutty Sark, you resent the fact that it gets so many visitors. You thought with it gone. All big boat loving tourist would come to the HMS Belfast instead.”

“Crucify me cabin boys!”

“You had the perfect motive. And thanks to the pipe you smoke, you had the perfect means to carry a lit flame aboard the ship without creating suspicion.”

“Dangle me dinghy’s!”

“Do you deny it?”

“Ay, I deny it” he said, “I’d never harm a steadfast boat like the Cutty Sark. I’m a lover of large vessels such as this one.”

I sniggered.

“Plus I welcome the competition from the Cutty Sark. it keeps me on my toes, smooth waters never made a skilled sailor. And as for me pipe, tis just an E-Pipe, no flames needed. Just a stylish way to ingest poison.”

I was deflated. “So it wasn’t you?”

“No laddie” he replied. “You were wrong about me. But you’re not wrong in your suspicions. I too suspect foul play.”

“But from where?” I asked.

He removed the pipe from his mouth and pointed it towards a middle aged woman in a red duffel coat taking a photo of the ships sails on her i-pad mini. I looked at her and my blood ran cold.

“You bitch” I said. She looked surprised. Then she walked over to me, and hit me round the head with her i-pad mini. As she walked off Mr Sailor said.

“No, not her, look beyond boy.”

I looked up again, and that’s when I saw it.

“The National Maritime Museum, of course! With the Cutty Sark gone, they would get all the tourists for themselves!”

“Ay, tis a bunch of scurvy dogs that run that museum for sure.”

I shook his hand, and we departed friends. As I left the cutty Sark I made a vow to find out who in the National Maritime Museum started the Cutty Sark fire in 2007. Obviously I won’t find out who did it today, I’ve already gone way over my word count. And not in the next few weeks as I’ve already planned all the places I want to visit over December. But soon, early February at the latest. But I promise dear readers, I will find justice. This ship just got real.

The Cutty Sark is 145 years old today, and she’s still looking good, so why not give her a visit http://www.rmg.co.uk/cuttysark

SE23 - The Horniman Museum

Hello people,

I’ve noticed that lots of London Bloggers write about food. More specifically, they write about food sold in nice restaurants. There are two reasons why someone would write a food blog:

1. food is their passion, and they want to help promote quality restaurants that might otherwise be overlooked; and

2. to blag free food.

I too have a passion for food - I eat it every day. I’ve probably eaten around 5,000 tuna and mayonnaise sandwiches in my lifetime. Basically, I think I have a lot to offer. Also I want free food, so I’ve decided to get in on the act.

All the best food bloggers blog anonymously so they can be really shitty about a meal they didn’t like and still face no come backs. I want to be a good food blogger, but also I want restaurateurs to know that I’m a food blogger (that way they will give me free stuff), so I write nice things about them. For that reason, I disguised myself as a deep-sea diver. This was a master stroke. Dressing as a deep-sea diver not only protects your anonymity, but it also makes everyone notice you. When you walk into a restaurant dressed as a deep-sea diver, people see you and think, ‘Why is that man dressed as a deep-sea diver? I wonder if it’s because he writes a secrete food blog?’ Genus.

I headed to Forest Hill for my first attempt at food blogging, because I'd heard there was a nice chicken shop next to the train station. I very slowly walked out of Forest Hill Station, using all my effort to drag myself to Favourite Fried Chicken store, when a sign caught my eye. It read, ‘Horniman Museum up the hill.’ I wiped the steam from my goggles to make sure I’d read it correctly, but I wasn’t mistaken. I thought to myself, ‘A Horniman Museum? The dirty beggars! The people of Forest Hill should be ashamed of themselves! Still, I’d best check it out.’ So I did. 

The museum is 10 minutes walk from the  station. Two and a half hours when walking in a deep-sea divers suit. It has a beautiful clock tower, and surrounding the building is a huge garden filled with exotic plants from all around the world, and local wildlife. But what caught my eye most was the Totem Pole by the main entrance. I’m no expert, but I could see the pole was about thirty years old, and made from red cedar wood, so I assumed it was made in America. I also noticed that on the pole were carvings of a girl, and a bear. There’s a famous Alaskan legend of a girl who married a bear, so that narrows it down a bit. Finally I saw the carving of a Thunderbird at the top of the pole; which – if my memory serves me correctly - is the family symbol of the famous Alaskan artist Nathen Jackson. So he probably carved it in 1985, as part of the American Arts Festival going on at the time. But like I say, I’m no expert.

As I stood admiring his work, a lady in a white coat carrying a large black sports bag walked past me. She looked me up and down and said, “Why are you wearing a deep-sea diver’s outfit? Are you a food blogger?”

“Yes” I replied, and then I asked, “Do you know what this place is?”

“I should hope so” she said “I work here. This is the Horniman Museum, founded in 1901 by Frederick Horniman. The museum has a large collection of stuffed animals, musical instruments, an aquarium, plus many other objects of anthropological interest from around the world, including a torture chair, and some Benin Plaques from Nigeria.”

“Did you say stuffed animals?”

“That’s right, we have stuffed monkeys, birds, rodents and even a walrus. I’ve got a dead albino badger from Bromley in my sports bag right now.”

“There are albino badgers in Bromley? I asked

“Yes, lots of them,” she said. And then, looking at her bag, continued, “Well… not so many now.”

And with that I abandoned my plans to be a food blogger. I could never give up this blog, I love finding out all the crazy things out about South East London too much. 

The Horniman Museum is well worth a visit. In fact you could visit it every day for a year and still not get bored, there’s something different and exciting around every corner. So I recommend you go see for yourself. Deep-sea divers outfit, not necessary.

Imagies from

Wolves in London - http://wolvesinlondon.com/2014/08/21/trips-to-the-horniman-museum/

http://www.horniman.ac.uk/

Wikipdia

SE18 - Firepower, the Royal Arsenal

Hello people,

Last Friday was Halloween, and it’s got me in the mood for a ghost story. There’s no better place for a ghost story than Woolwich.

Recently there were a number of sightings of a lone rider-less horse galloping through Woolwich town centre. Some say the horse had simple gotten lost from its stables in Abbey Wood. But others believe it was an apparition from when Woolwich was a Roman lookout post, and that the horse was trying to get to Londinium to warn of Vikings, or British rebels, sailing up the Thames to invade the city.

Sadly we will never know which of these stories are true because the horse bolted out of the front doors of Tesco, across the main square, and over the horizon quicker than you could say ‘every little bit helps.’

I’d heard that Firepower - the Royal Artillery Museum located in the former buildings of the Royal Arsenal - was packed full of ghosts. Not surprising really, the museum has been there in one form or another since 1778, so that’s where we went in search of a fright. We were shown round by the manager of Firepower, Richard Smith-Gore. In his time working in the building he’s gotten to know all the ghosts pretty well.

Firepower - the Royal Artillery Museum

The first ghost he told us about was a young boy who’d worked in the old gun powder factory called Piggy. Children were often employed to work in the factory because their small fingers were ideal for stuffing gun-powder into shells. The downside of getting little children to do the work, is that they produce a ridiculously high amount of bogies. Some of the shells that made it to the front line were so covered with bogies; that the soldiers refused to touch them. In one of his letters back to his superiors during the boar war, 1st Earl Kitchener complained ‘our men have not returned fire for over 7 days. They refuse to touch the artillery shells, believing them to be minging, and possibly containing the lurgies.’

Piggy got his name by pulling the pig-tails of the little girls he worked with, and making them cry. One day Piggy decided to play a nasty trick on one of the boy’s in the factory. He got two pieces of flint, placed a small amount of gun powder on one of them, and banged them together next to the boy’s ear to make a loud bang. But Piggy was too young to understand, that the factory air was saturated with gun powder. So the small bang he had planned blew him and his victim to pieces. To this day Piggy haunts the factory, pulling the pig-tails of little girls visiting the museum.

The old gunpowder factory by night - haunted by Piggy

It seems a strange way to spend eternity to me. But I guess pulling pig-tails is what little boys did back then, and if it’s what he loves, then who am I to argue? When I was a little boy I desperately wanted to be a WWF wrestler. So I’d have probably haunted Firepower by drop-kicking people, shouting ‘Oh yea,’ and super-slamming them, before declaring that, ‘Hulk-a-mania will live forever.’

The second ghost was a prostitute - let’s call her Julia - who haunts the basement of the old officer’s quarters. Julia had been discovered by one of the guards, naked, in the Duke of Wellingtons bed. It’s not clear if Julia had gotten there using her own initiative, or if the Duke, who was due that day to arrive at the barracks after attending to matters in another part of the country, had arranged for her to be there waiting for him. Either way, the guard was terrified he would get in trouble. So he took her down to the basement, wrapped only in a bed-sheet, gave her two bottles of wine to keep her quiet and, after promising to return shortly, shut and locked the door. He, however, never returned again. When Julia was discovered some time later, she was dead, and half eaten by rats. 

The Royal Arsenal

These days men who walk into the basement, have complained about feeling their hair being touched. Or finding the buttons of their trousers have become undone. Purely for reasons of science, I walked into the basement. But felt nothing. Feeling a little rejected I asked Richard why Julia had snubbed me. His answer was brutally honest. “Because you look poor” he said.

I haven’t time to talk about all the ghosts, but this last ones worth mentioning. There’s an impressive medals gallery in the museum. The collection serves as a memorial to those who have ‘Served the Guns’ since the foundation of the Royal Artillery in 1716, and to the tens of thousands who laid down their lives.’

The coats of arms of all the division of the UK Army - on display at Firepower

In the medals room is the ghost of an old woman. She has been seen many times, by many different people, and she is always in the same spot, staring at The Memorial Plaque - otherwise known as the 'dead man’s penny', which was issued after the First World War to the next-of-kin of all British and Empire service personnel who were killed in WW1. No one knows who she is, or what the medal meant to her. Maybe it was given to her because she lost her husband, son, or father.

To be honest, I don’t really believe in ghosts. But 1,355,000 plaques were issued, that’s far too many lives lost, and far too many heartbroken people left behind. And if it takes a silly ghost story to remind us of that, then I’m all for them.

Firepower

If ghost aren’t your thing then you can still enjoy firepower by learning the story of artillery and role of the Gunners in our Nation’s history. http://firepower.org.uk/

SE3 Blackheath Fireworks Display

Hello people,

Tonight I will be heading over to Blackheath to watch the fireworks. Me and Rosie go every year. It’s always a great atmosphere, and lots of fun. Around 100,000 people are expected to attend, but then, large crowds on the heath are nothing new.

The most famous gathering on the heath happened in 1305 when Watt Tyler led a band of Kentish rebels into London to protest against the King Richard II's high taxes.

The Kings representatives arranged to meet with Watt Tyler and his men in Blackheath, hoping to settle their differences over a café latte and some gluten and diary free cake from the farmers market.

Despite enjoying their cake and the organic bread, Watt and his men were unmoved. They marched into London, and went on a murderous rampage, killing anyone associated with the royal government, and destroying the Savoy Palace. The riots were eventually put down and Watt was beheaded, but the famous meeting is still commemorated in Blackheath by Watt Tyler road - which runs alongside the green near the Hare and Billet pub.

I love everything about the Blackheath fireworks display - the colours, the noises, the crowds, the little stalls selling food, the inevitable pub crawl, the fun fair, and it’s completely free. In my opinion, it’s one of the best things about South East London.

But have you ever stopped to ask yourself why there’s a fireworks display in Blackheath every year? And why it’s always held around the 5^th of November? Well to find out I’ve come to the Houses of Parliament to ask a South-East Londoner who knows a lot about this sort of stuff, my Dad.

Dad has been working in the Palace of Westminster as an electrician for years. During that time wandering through the corridors of power with his screw driver and rawl plugs, he’s pretty much learnt everything there is to know about the history of our great country. So I asked him...

Me “Why do we celebrate the 5^th of November every year?”

Dad “Because it’s your cousins' birthday*?”

Me “Is that why Lewisham Council put on a free firework display on Blackheath Common?”

Dad “No, the fireworks in Blackheath are because of a Yorkshireman called Guy Fawkes."

Me “The actor?”

Dad “That’s Guy Pierce, Guy Fawkes was a Catholic, and an ex-soldier. He had fought in the eighty years war for Catholic Spain against the Protestant Dutch.”

Me “This is going to be long story isn’t it? More than 700 words and my readers will just switch off.”

Dad “I’ll keep it short. Basically he became involved with a small group of English plotters, who planned to assassinate the Protestant King James in 1605.”

Me “Was the plan to shoot him with a firework?”

Dad “No, they decided to kill King James by blowing up the House of Lords after he opened up Parliament. The plotters rented a house next to the House of Lords, and Guy and his mates managed to smuggle the gun powder into the cellar. Guy’s job was to guard the gun powder barrels before the big night."

Me “And did the plan work?”

Dad “No, the palace guards found him in the cellar with 36 barrels of gun powder.”

Me “Ooo, busted. How did he talk his way out of that one?”

Dad “He said he was building a music room for King James, and the barrels were for insulating the walls”

Me “Did it work?”

Dad “No, they knew he was lying. King James already used the cellar as a gym. Guy was sitting on his rowing machine when they caught him. So Guy and his friends were made to confess; and were then executed. And the British people have celebrated the foiling of the gun powder plot ever since, by having parties, making bonfires, and setting off fireworks, ever since.”

Well I can’t say I approve of executing people, or blowing things up, but I do love getting drunk on the heath and writing swear words in the air with sparklers. So I guess at least all that bloodshed wasn’t for nothing.

Blackheath Fireworks Display is tonight at 8pm. I look forward to seeing you there.

*Since writing this I’ve remembered that my cousins Kieran and Sam’s birthday is on the 4^th of November, not the 5^th. Sorry about that, I hate it when people, publish incorrect facts in their blogs.

SE6 The Corbett Estate, Catford

Hello people,

In the early part of the last century, a wealthy man – let’s call him Steve – purchased a small section of South East London from the Abbey of Ghent. The land had two distinguishing features:

1)      a shallow river ran through it, and

2)      it had a large population of wild cats.

Because of this the area became known as ‘Shallow River with lots of cats town.’ Steve loved the location, hated the name. So he paid a consultancy firm to come up with a new one that would be:

1)      shorter,

2)      edgy, and

3)      more likely to attract young professionals to the area.

The name they came up with was Catford, deriving from the Viking word 'ford' meaning shallow-river, and the English word 'cat' meaning cat. Steve loved it, and the name has stuck ever since.

Catford is a wonderful place. The people of South East London are so proud of it, that they erected a large fiberglass statue of a cat in the shopping arcade to honour the district. It is no exaggeration to say that the Catford Cat is probably London’s best known monument, after Monument at Monument, and perhaps Nelsons Column.

Like most children, when I was a small child I believed the Catford Cat would come alive at night and have exciting adventures, but these days I’m not so sure. I’ve been sitting on top of the Catford Cat for almost 7 hours now, and the most exciting thing that’s happened so far is when a drunk man staggered out of the Weatherspoons across the road, and fell into a bush.

However, being this high up does give me a good view of the Corbett Estate; which stretches back to Hither Green. The Corbett Estate was developed by Archibald Corbett between 1885-1911. It’s a fine collection of Victorian houses, churches and parks. Archibald Corbett was a Liberal MP for Glasgow who inherited his father’s successful property development business. He bought the land after the completion of Hither Green Train Station, which meant his tenants could easily get into central London. He was able to get the train company to lower their ticket prices by loaning them £3,400 to build a more convenient entrance.

Torringdon Road SE6 in 1910

The original entrance was a thin beam you had to run across while TFL staff fired a water cannon at you. This led to a travellator you had to run up, followed by a zip wire you slid down over a lake filled with piranhas, and then finally onto your platform.

Archie was a committed temperance reformer, and so he banned the sale of alcohol on the estate.  That’s why there are so few pubs in the estate today. However, Catford has never gone in for all that prohibition nonsense. The Goose on the Green – formerly known as the Black Horse and Harrow – has been getting its punters plastered since the 1700’s. Karl Marx is said to have enjoyed a vodka and coke in their when he was living in London, and just across the road is the Catford Constitutional Club which is a great place to  get a pint of real ale, cider of craft beer.

Now I come to think of it I could really do with a pint, so I’m off.

Now how am I supposed to get down from this giant Cat?


http://catfordconstitutionalclub.com/
http://thecorbettsociety.org.uk/

Dulwich Picture Gallery SE21

Hello People,

Last Sunday I visited the Dulwich Picture Gallery SE21 with Rosie, my beautiful wife. Dulwich is also beautiful, and very wealthy. Because of this, I decided to wear a monocle and top hat so as to not stand out too much. The first thing I saw as we walked through the main gate was group of friends sitting outside the Gallery, sipping Prosecco and playing cards. I nodded to them as we walked past, and they stared at me wide eyed and open mouthed. Maybe the top hat was a bit much.

Dulwich Picture Gallery Garden

Rosie visited the Dulwich Picture Gallery when she was 8 years old, and she was so impressed with it that when she returned home, she told her parents that one day she would work in a museum herself. Rosie works for the British Museum now, keeping the mummies entertained when they come alive at night. Or something like that.

Rose told me all about how the old masters had to create their paints from scratch. Using plants and ground up insects to experiment with colours. So I said, “Why didn’t they just buy the paint from B&Q?”

“Because there was no B&Q” she replied.

“Fascinating”

We walked a little further, and I asked, “Rose, how did the Dulwich Picture Gallery come to exist?”  And this is what she told me.

“The story of Dulwich Picture Gallery is one of passion and chance. It begins with a man called Edward Alleyn – Ned to his friends – who lived from 1566-1626. Ned was one of the greatest stage actors who ever lived. He starred in three plays by Phillip Marlow – it’s believed that Marlow created the parts especially for him. When he retired from acting - at the height of his fame in 1598, Queen Elizabeth is said to have requested he return to the stage. If he was alive today he almost certainly would have had a spell as Doctor Who – he was that good. Sadly we will never get to see old Ned tread the boards, although Ben Affleck did portray him in the film ‘Shakespeare in Love.’ So until we have Red Dwarf style hologram technology, that’ll have to do.

Edward Alleyn

Ned became a rich man, and in 1617 he bought Dulwich Manor, and founded what was to become Dulwich College. When he died, he left all his art-work to the college. Over time the collection steadily grew until 1795, when our story takes a bit of a twist.

In 1790 two London Art dealers, Noel Desenfans and Sir Francis Bourgeouis were commissioned by the King of Poland to form a royal collection. Noel and Francis spent the next five years travelling around Europe buying art, and building a collection that any Polish King would be proud of. Sadly for them, before they could flog their fancy pictures, the King abdicated and left them massively out of pocket. To make things worse, Noel and Francis were very particular about who they sold the collection too. They wanted to be certain the art went to the right home, so in the end they decided to keep, and add to it. In 1807 Noel died, and left all the collection to Francis. In 1811 he died and, on the advice of his friend John Kemble (another famous actor), he left the collection to Dulwich College on the condition that the works were to be displayed in a new gallery constructed by his friend, the famous architect, John Soane .

Francis left £2,000 for the building of the gallery and his widow Margaret donated a further £4,000. Although this was a very generous amount, it was not enough for Soane to build the gallery. Soane cut costs where he could, such as making all his students work on the project for free. And what he produced is considered to be one of the finest examples of gallery architecture in Britain. And so Dulwich picture Gallery was born, and it became the first public art gallery in England.”

Dulwich Picture Gallery

When she had finished speaking, I said,

 “Wow, you know a lot about history. And you laid it all out in such a clear way. So Dulwich is the town that gave art to the masses?”

“That’s right.” she replied.

And with that I threw off my top hat. Grabbed the monocle from my eye, and smashed it on the floor*, they were symbols of an elitism in art that I now know no longer exists, and all thanks to Dulwich. With a little help from a few famous actors, architects and art lovers along the way.

“Why did you do that?” Rose asked.

“Symbolism. Come on Rose, let’s get some Prosecco.”

Come visit the Gallery, to see some masterpieces, or learn to draw for yourself.

http://www.dulwichpicturegallery.org.uk/

*I had to clean up the glass before leaving the gallery.

SE9 Eltham Palace

Hello People,

Today I have come to Eltham Palace SE9. Regular readers may have noticed this is my second palace in as many weeks, but I can’t help it, I just love palaces. In fact I recently dug a small moat and painted the fence outside the front of my flat royal blue, in homage to the palaces of south east London, but that’s enough about ‘The–Grand-Blue-Palace-in-the-Red-Valley’ Flat at number 26B’, back to Eltham.

For such a seemly ordinary town, Eltham has had some real stars; Boy George, Bob Hope, Frankie Howerd, Christian from EastEnders  - all the greats grew up in Eltham. Kate Bush even lived here for a while too. Legend has it that Kate’s classic song, ‘Running up that Hill’ was written about a Friday night in Eltham. One night she was so hungry, she ran from the Tudor Barn Pub all the way up to the McDonalds on the corner of the hill for a Fillet O’ Fish and a Fanta. The rest was music history.

Eltham Palace was given to King Edward II by the Bishop of Durham in 1305 and it remained a royal residence for the next two centuries. One of its most famous royal residents was Henry VIII who grew up in the palace. I can just imagine a young Henry queuing up to buy his pick ‘n’ mix in the Woolworths halfway up the high street on a Saturday afternoon before heading to the old Well Hall Coronet. It must have been an idyllic childhood.

By all accounts Henry was a dashing young prince in his day, but as we all know, he died a hairy fat bloke with syphilis. Sadly Eltham Palace didn’t age much better.  After the 16^th century it slowly fell into decline and then ruin. It remained that way until the 1930s when the new building was constructed on the existing site, incorporating the Great Hall. It was then that the Courtauld family moved in, and everything changed, for the better,

Stephen Courtauld had cleverly made his fortune at a young age by being born into a wealthy family. After serving in WWI and winning a Military Cross, Stephen –  an enthusiastic mountaineer – decided to climb Mont Blanc in the French Alps. It was there that he met Virginia Nee Peirano, the woman he was to marry.

The Courtaulds

On their return from their honeymoon Clubbing in Faliraki, Stephen and Virginia leased Eltham Palace from the crown commissioners in 1936. They gutted it and filled it with the kind of 1930’s glamour that would have made the Great Gatsby’s house look like a Butlin’s chalet.  

The happy couple shared their new home with Jongy – their pet Lemur. Jongy was loved by Stephen and Virginia so much they installed a pole from his Madagascar-themed bedroom down into the kitchen, and they allowed him to roam the house as he pleased. However, Jongy didn’t get on with everyone that visited the palace. In fact he took such a dislike to one guest he caused the delay of the 1930s British Arctic Expedition (which the Courtaulds had sponsored) by severing the wireless operator’s artery.  When he wasn’t trying to kill arctic explorers he was a good pet, and the three of them seemed to have been a very happy family.

Jongy

The 1930s décor and Jongy’s bedroom are still there for you see, as is the beautiful garden and moat. It’s a great way to spend an afternoon and I recommend you go see it while the sun is still shinning.

SE1 The Lambeth Palace

Hello people,

Today I have come to SE1 to visit Lambeth Palace, the London residency of the Archbishop of Canterbury.  I had always assumed that the Archbishop of Canterbury lived in Lambeth because the further he got from Canterbury the stronger his religious powers became, similar to Superman and his home planet Krypton. Now I know that is not the case.

Lambeth Palace

The very first Archbishop of Canterbury was a Roman Catholic called St Augustine. He was sent here by Pope Gregory the Great to Christianise Britain in 595. After successfully converting south east England, he struggled with the people of London. His reasons for this can be found in his letters to the Pope, in which he complained about London’s ‘ridiculous house prices’, and that he and his men found ‘commuting in to be real a pain in the arse.’ He ended his correspondence to P Grego the G (which was St Augustine’s pet nickname for Pope Gregory the Great) by stating that although he was, and always would be the Pope's and Rome’s faithful servant, he found the whole conversion of the Britons to be ‘a bit of a faff.’

Pope Gregory was furious. He hated being called P Grego the G, and really wanted to expand his franchise into the UK. But Pope Gregory was also mindful of the fact the St Augustine was already a Saint, and he was just a Pope, so he decided not to rock the boat.  So Canterbury in Kent is where St Augustine stayed, and we’ve had an Archbishop of Canterbury, be he Roman Catholic or Anglican, ever since.

One of the interesting things about Lambeth Palace, and there are many, is that there is no one Lambeth Palace - it’s made up of a number of buildings. The first was built in the 13th century for Archbishop Stephen Langton. Langton needed a London base as he was helping draw up a contract of peace between King John of England and some powerful Land Barons he’d wound up. That contract by the way was the Magna Carter - the first ever document designed to protect the rights of the people against the English Monarchy - so well done Stephen.

Lambeth Palace

All of the Archbishops of Canterbury that have followed Stephen Langton have resided in his London house, adding buildings, extensions, and making alterations. The last major work to the Palace was the addition of a residential wing in 1833, after which the reigning monarch Queen Victoria must have decided that enough of her and her ancestors' dough had been spent pimping the place up. These days the best house warming gift a new Archbishop of Canterbury can hope for is a pot plant, some IKEA vouchers, and a welcome mat if his King or Queen is feeling particular flush.

The thing I like best about the Lambeth Palace is that it’s more than a monument to the institutions of the past. It was, and still is, a home. And there are little stories of the past archbishops who lived there everywhere. Take for example the last Catholic Archbishop Cardinal Pole. He had been in exile from England after speaking out against King Henry VIII for divorcing Catherine of Aragon. After Henry’s death he returned, and bought a fig tree back with him, which he planted in the courtyard, and remains there to this day. 

Cardinal Pole's Fig Tree

Or the story of Matthew Parker, Archbishop of Canterbury 1559-1575, he earned the nick name 'Nosey' from his endless curiosity about church affairs, and his love of religious literature, and that's where the phrase 'Nosey Parker' comes from. Nosey was the first Archbishop to marry. According to Wikipedia (best History book ever by the way) Queen Elizabeth did not approve of Nosey's wife and was openly rude to her, but in a really posh and snooty way. After one visit to Lambeth, the Queen is said to have asked how she should address her, "Madam I may not call you; mistress I am ashamed to call you; and so I know not what to call you." What a bitch.

I could tell you a hundred stories like this but I recommend you hear them from the professionals, like I did. We got our tour from Beryl*,and she has spent years studying the Lambeth Palace, and is a master story teller. Tours of the Lambeth Palace are given every Thursday and Friday, which you can book online.
http://www.archbishopofcanterbury.org/pages/visit-lambeth-palace.html

But that's enough from me, so till next week, ta la.

Beryl - a great tour guide

*Beyrl's facts on Lambeth Palace may differ from mine slightly, especially the whole P Greggo the G bit.

SE18 Fairly Tall Ships

Hello People

A few weeks ago I headed to the Woolwich Arsenal to see the Tall Ships festival, a celebration of the largest fleet of tall ships to visit the Thames in 25 years, it sounded amazing and I couldn't wait to see it. However I was a little concerned that having so many tall ships in one small area of the Thames would cause the waters to rise, and the Woolwich Arsenal would be flooded, creating panic, devastation, and totally ruining my new boat shoes. So I popped into the Thames Barrier Museum, a little way down the road before hand, just to put my mind at ease. Once there, for the reasonable price of £3.50, I was able to learn all about how the Thames Barrier works. At the end of the tour there was a noticeboard stating that the Barrier will be able to protect London from flooding till 2070, when Global Warming will have raised the sea levels by 12mm, and attacks from alien battleships will be a daily occurrence. I took out my note pad and pencil to perform a few calculations; just to put my mind at ease that Charles Draper, the Engineer who devised the design of the Thames Barrier, had done his sums properly. Once satisfied I continued on towards Royal Woolwich Arsenal and the tall ships.

Along the way I walked through Woolwich Dockyard, an area less wealthy then the Woolwich Arsenal, but no less rich in history. For example, everybody knows that King Henry the VIII had six wives, he killed the first two, divorced the third, snogged the fourth, married the fifth, and avoided the last one, and that’s where we get the game from. But less people know that it was Henry who founded the Woolwich Dockyard in 1512. After pissing off France, Spain, Italy and the Pope by inventing his own religion, Henry became concerned that it all might kick off, so he thought it wise to build a dockyard close to the Tower of London where all his ships could be quickly equipped with cannons and artillery should the need arise. The dockyard is the second oldest in Britain (Plymouth being the oldest).

Woolwich Dockyard by George Milton

There are no ships being built in the Woolwich Dockyard anymore, but there is the beautiful Grade II listed Woolwich Clockhouse built between 1870-1879 to accommodate the Admiralty Superintendents offices, nowadays the Clockhouse is a community centre.

Woolwich Clockhouse

As I continued towards the Thames Path I came upon what appeared to be an episode of Holby City, a man was lying unconscious on the steps to the Thames, a woman was standing next to him, and about ten to fifteen children were circling them on their bikes. I found out from the woman, whose name was Haley by the way, that she had already called an ambulance, and was waiting with him till it came. We stared at the poor guy for a while, his chest was moving up and down so he was clearly breathing ok.

Me “We should put him in the recovery position.”

Haley “Good idea”

Me “Do you know it”

Haley “No, I’m afraid I don’t”

Me “Neither do I”

Haley “Probably best we leave it then”

I liked Haley, she was clearly good people, as were the kids, they were just as keen to help out in their own way, they tried to wake the unconscious man, let’s call him Trevor, by occasionally shouting things at him, like “Wake up! You’re sleeping on the steps bruv!” or “Are you dead mate?” One boy tried to stir Trevor into consciousness by playing Justin Beiber to him from his phone, as I sat on those steps having to listen to Justin Bieber, I must admit a became a little envious of Trevor. One girl told Haley and me that she wanted to be a nurse when she was older; when the Paramedic arrived she asked him a thousand and one questions, “What does that do?” What are you testing for?” My favourite though was

Girl “Are you going to put a plaster on him”

Paramedic “No because I can’t see any bleeding”

Girl “He may be bleeding internally”

No one is born with knowledge, it’s acquired through passion and being lucky enough to have a good teacher. I have no doubt, if that young girl gets a good teacher; she will go on to do great things. The Paramedic took great care of Trevor, and answered all of our questions with good humour. He assured us that Trevor would be ok, and with that we took our leave. I said good bye to my new friends, and moved on feeling lucky to have been able to get to know them.

When I finally arrived at the Woolwich Arsenal fun was to be had everywhere, people sat outside the Dial Arch pub enjoying a drink in the sunshine, the Dial Arch is my favourite pub, and I could tell you some great facts about it, as I could the rest of the Royal Arsenal, but that will have to be another story for another time. Because as I walked through the Arsenal with its beautiful and expensive flats, and as I passed through the revellers and the performers and the musicians, and as I looked out at those magnificent tall ships on the Thames, all I could think about was the people I had met in the Woolwich Dockyard. Haley, the Paramedic, the girl with dreams of becoming a nurse, the boy with Justin Bieber on his phone. And that’s why today’s story is not about Grand ships, but about quiet heroes. And the quiet hero I have chosen this week is… the Woolwich Ferry.

Tall Ships

The Woolwich Ferry carries one million vehicles and two and a half million passengers a year, it was officially opened in 1889 but a ferry service has operated across the river at Woolwich since at least the 14^th century. There are three ferries in the fleet, each named after prominent local politicians who did much to improve the conditions of the working class, John Burns, James Newman, and Ernest Bevin, and it’s free. There may be nothing grand about the Woolwich Ferry, but we’d miss it if it went.

Quite Tall Ship - The Woolwich Ferry 

I’m writing this blog sitting on the lower deck of the Woolwich Ferry, eating a tuna and mayonnaise sandwich I bought from the Thames Barrier Café, wearing a sailor’s hat I made at home, and gently humming Land of hope and Glory to myself. I do not feel any shame in saying that adrenaline surges through my body as this mighty vessel cuts through the water, making the long 0.4km journey from Woolwich South to Woolwich North. This must be how Shakleton felt as he sailed the Endurance towards the Artic, the only difference being that I’ll be home in time for dinner, and I might get a few episode of the walking dead in before bed.

God Bless Woolwich Dockyard and God bless the Woolwich Ferry, and all who sail in her. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to book some First Aid lessons.

SE16 Dr Salters Memorial

Hello People

Today I’m outside the Angel in Rotherhithe, the Angel is one of my favourite pubs, they serve a nice stout, it has a long history dating back to the 19th century, and is a great stopping point for a pub crawl along the Thames. However I won’t be learning about the Angel today; I only popped in there for a pint.

Next to the Angel are the ruins of a Manor House built for King Henry III in 1350, its unclear what the house was used for, but one popular theory, is that it was a great location for King Henry III to practise Falconry. Falconry is much less popular around South East London now then it was in King Henry III's day, I guess people got fed up with falcons swooping down on them as they sat in traffic on Jamaica Road, and lifting small children off their bikes as they cycle around Southwark Park.

But I’m not here to learn about that Henry III house, don’t get me wrong I love falconry as much as the next man, but the ruin is a little bit boring, it’s just a wall with some grass growing over it.

Unlike Henry III I never had a pet Falcon, but I did have lots of pet goldfish when I was a child, which my Uncle Ned won for me at the Southwark Park Fun Fair, in a game where you throw darts at playing cards scattered along the floor. If you successfully hit one of the cards, you won a goldfish; it was the Darts World Championship of its day.  Ned was great at darts, and I was so grateful to him for winning me my first pet, I named the Gold-fish Cathy, after his girlfriend. Ned married Cathy the girlfriend, sadly Cathy the gold-fish didn’t last as long, she died a few days later. Ned went back to the fair and won me many a Cathy the goldfish that summer,  and I looked after the Cathy’s well, I fed them, cleaned their tank, but sadly they never survived long in that little goldfish bowl in our flat in Bermondsey. I of course will never know why they all died, but I suspect it was suicide, I guess they just missed the bright lights of the fair.

Southwark park is well worth a visit, opened in 1869 and covering 25 hectares, it has an art gallery, a sports centre, a lake, football pitches, a bowling green and some beautiful gardens, not least the Ada Salter rose garden, built in 1936 by her husband Alfred Salter and attributed to her after she died. It also boasts London's first public memorial to honour a working class man; a drinking fountain to commemorate Mr Jabez West, a member of a local Temperance Society.

Ada Salter's Rose Garden

Drinking fountain to commemorate Mr Jabez West

But I’m not here to talk to you about the Southwark Park Fun Fair either, although we are getting close with talk of the Salters and public memorials.

No I’m here to find a statue of an old man sitting on a park bench. I remember it from when I was a child. I’ve always wondered why it was there, and who the old man was. People don’t tend to get statues for sitting on benches and waving, statues are for soldiers, politicians and old Arsenal football players. People who did great things and committed brave acts, the bravest thing you can do on bench is feed some ducks.

After 31 years now I finally know why someone made a statue of an old man sitting on a bench, and it’s one of the most inspiring and heart-breaking stories I've ever heard. The statue commemorates a man called Dr Alfred Salter, he and his family lived and worked in the area during the first half of the 1900's, when the Rotherhithe was a very different, and much more dangerous place.

Dr Salter's Statue

To say that Dr Alfred Salter deserves to have a statue is something of an understatement, to list just a few of his achievements:

He gave his poorest patients free healthcare, something they weren't entitled to in the back then.

He helped pioneer the NHS (which went on to do rather well).

He was MP for Bermondsey West from 1922 to 1945 (and he never got done for fiddling his expenses).

And if Dr Alfred was impressive, his wife Ada sounds like she was formidable:

She set up social clubs for working class girls in the slums of London.

She set up a beatification committee to improve Bermondsey promoting the planting of trees and flowers and the creation of playgrounds.

Her environmental work helped create the London Green Belt.

She became the first female Mayor in London (she swore Alfred in as MP)

She became president of the women’s National League, which helped progress the rights of workingwomen.

She was basically a cross between Ghandi and Kristy Allsopp

All this must make poor old King Henry III feel very inadequate, but if it's any consolation to him, I couldn't find any evidence of either Alfred or Ada knowing the first thing about Falconry.

In 1902 Ada and Alfred had a little girl, Joyce, and despite them being well off enough to go elsewhere, they thought it right she be educated in Bermondsey with the people they were trying to save. But disease was rife in the area, she developed a very malignant form of scarlet fever, and she died age 8.

Dr Salter and Joyce

The statue of the old man sitting on a bench I remember from my youth was made by Diane Galvin and is called Dr Salter’s daydream. It shows an elderly Dr Salter waving at his daughter Joyce, in Diane's words 'it represents a daydream of an old man remembering happier times when his sunshine was still alive.' Better writers than me have written about Alfred and Ada Salter, and I recommend you give them a read. I've attached a few links below.

Alfred and Joyce Statues

I like Alfred and Ada, and not just because they were good people, great even, but because they sound like they were real characters, people not afraid to stand up for what they believed in. I would have loved to have met them, but sadly, I didn’t even get to see Alfred and Joyce's statues because in 2011 they were stolen, most likely melted down, and all of the efforts of the Salter’s who gave so much to improve Rotherhithe and Bermondsey are commemorated by nothing but a small notice board, a cut up bench and an open can of Strongbow left on its side.

But this is not the end of the story, the Salter spirit lives on, a campaign to reinstate the statues has been running since the theft, and last month, they reached their target of £50,000! And this time there will be a statue of Ada too, so the three of them will be reunited in Rotherhithe again. When it’s completed Ada's statue will be the only public statue of a female politician in London, which sounds like a crazy thing to say in 2014.

Now if you'll excuse me, all this talk of the Salter’s and Cathy the goldfishes have left me feeling emotional, so I’m off to the Angel for a pint of stout. 

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Dr-Alfred-Salter/172662216090405

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Ada-Salter/184825278285812

http://www.salterstatues.co.uk/

http://www.southwark.gov.uk/info/461/a_to_z_of_parks/665/southwark_park/1