SE13 - Protest in Lewisham

Hello people,

I recently visited the Granville Park Adult Education Centre in Lewisham. Margaret, my mother in law recommended the place to me after taking a course on stained glass craftsmanship. She has since made some very impressive stained glass artwork. 

Feeling inspired I enrolled in a stained glass window and stone carving class, so I can  one day realise my life-long ambition to build a fully to scale replica of Gaudi’s masterpiece Mi Sagrada Familia in my back garden. I got the idea when I was in church one Sunday and suddenly became hungry. ‘Why has nobody thought to build a place of worship where you can also get a sausage sandwich? You could call it a Cafe-e-dral?

After signing up to my course I headed straight to Lewisham town Hall to seek planning permission for the monument to art, religion and fatty foods I was planning to construct. Knowing the planning department staff probably lacked my artistic flair I simplified the process for them by sticking an image of Mi Sagrada Familia onto the side of Woody’s plastic toy tree house. I’m sad to say my plan to create something beautiful was met with negativity. 

“Are you planning to build it to scale?” The Lewisham Council employee asked.

“Of course.” I replied.

“Because if you do, it looks like the building will encroach onto your neighbour’s garden. Twelve of them in fact. It will also cut across the train line you back onto, twelve more people’s houses on the other side of the railway, Mottisfont road and Saint Paul’s Academy Secondary School.”

“I’m sure Saint Paul wouldn’t mind.” I said.

He sighed, “Also Mr Hannon your house resides in the borough of Greenwich, I work for Lewisham Council.”

“What’s your point?” I asked.

He lent forward slightly while messaging his temples and forehead, “The point, is that there’s very little I can do to help you.”

In fury I picked up Woody’s toy tree house and threw it at the wall.

“This is the greatest injustice in the history of town planning. I demand to speak to the Mayor of Lewisham!”

“I am the Mayor of Lewisham, and I have no idea how you got into my bathroom. Now kindly leave.” He said while gesturing to the door. I noticed for the first time that he was dressed in a pink towel, Mayors hat, chain, gown, and was holding a loofah. 

“I’m sorry I thought you were pretending to be a pirate.”

“Please leave Mr Hannon.” He said, again gesturing to the door with his free hand.

I picked up the pieces of my dreams and Woody’s toy tree house and walked out the door. In protest I have decided to take a vow of silence until the Mayor reverses his decision. It won’t be easy, but I have the motto of the silent to draw inspiration from when things get tough;
‘............’

Lewisham is of course a borough familiar with protest, and without question it’s most famous protester, is Rosa May Billinghurst, who was born on Granville Road in 1875, the same road that the adult learning centre now exists. Rosa had Polio as a child, which left her unable to walk. She could move short distances by wearing iron leg braces to strengthen her legs, and crutches to help her balance. For longer journeys her only realistic option was a modified tricycle. As a young woman Rosa became active in social work in the borough of Greenwich, the plight of the poor, and particularly women moved her greatly;

“My heart ached and I thought surely if women were consulted in the management of the state happier and better conditions must exist for hard-working sweated lives such as these.” Rosa May Billinghurst

As a young woman Rosa became a member of the Women’s Liberal Association, an offshoot of the Liberal Party who wanted to improve the welfare of women through charity and lobbying. However she soon became influenced by the Women’s Social and Political Union (WSPU) led by Emily Pankhurst, which campaigned for the right for women to vote, otherwise known as Suffrage. A cause Rosa believed was at the heart of the suffering she saw;

“It was gradually unfolded to me that the unequal laws which made women appear inferior to men were the main cause of these evils. I found that the man-made laws of marriage, parentage and divorce placed women in every way in a condition of slavery – and were as harmful to men by giving them power to be tyrants.” Rosa May Billinghurst.

In 1906, the WSPU had begun a series of demonstrations and lobbies of Parliament, leading to the arrest and imprisonment of growing numbers of their members. The then Prime Minister Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman (so good they named him twice) said that he agreed with the WSPU’s argument but was obliged to do nothing at all about it, and so urged the women to go on pestering and exercise the virtue of patience. A statement which can only really be viewed as a slap in the face. His comments strengthened the resolve of the WSPU, and the many women who supported them, including our Rosa who joined in 1907. She founded the WSPU Greenwich branch, and would attend marches using her tricycle, which she decorated with ribbons and banners. The appearance of Rosa on these demonstrations attracted curiosity, and she became known in the press as the “Cripple Suffragette.” As crass as the name was, Rosa was happy to use her disability to help promote the cause.

In January 1910 The Suffragettes appeared to have finally made a breakthrough. The new Liberal Prime Minister H.H. Asquith (so good they initialled him twice) was facing an election but was struggling to unite his party, and votes for women were his big problem. Some Liberal Democrat’s wanted women to have the vote, some didn’t. The argument for, was that it was the right thing to do, and that the definition of liberal is being willing to accept ideas different to your own. Therefore denying roughly 50% of the population a chance to express themselves would go against everything they supposedly to stood for.

The argument against was that if women were given the vote, what’s to stop one becoming a member of parliament? And if a woman became an MP she could hypnotise the men MPs using her women’s intuition! Or worse, smuggle French spies into cabinet meetings under a large hat!

H.H. (The H.H. Standing for hat hater) agreed that women shouldn’t have the vote, but seeing as he was a nice guy, he’d agree to let some, not all, but some women vote. As long as his party united, and he got to become Prime minister.

This was a huge victory, if not a total one, but when H.H. was voted in it seems his hat fear got the better of him. Despite having backing from enough MPs he delayed the bill by speaking and moving extremely slowly. His inaugural speech lasted 3 weeks and it took him 4 days to walk from the podium back into 10 Downing Street. On 18 November 1910, just 10 months after being elected, Asquith dissolved parliament, and called another election. The votes for women bill, was dead.

18 November 1910, on a day which became known as Black Friday 300 women of the WSPU, including Rosa in her tricycle, marched to Westminster to protest Asquith’s betrayal. They were met outside the Houses of Parliament by lines of police and crowds of male bystanders, who reportedly attacked the women for the next six hours, punching and kicking them; many women complained about the sexual nature of the assaults.

It not clear how many of the 300 suffragettes tried to fight back. But we do know that one of the fiercest fighters, was the wheelchair bound social worker, Lewisham’s own Rosa May Billinghurst. Written accounts from suffragettes describe her running battles with the police, and how, using her crutches she propelled herself towards the aggressors at a mighty speed. When Rosa was tipped out of her trike by the police, she got back in and fought some more. Eventually they pushed her down a side street and removed the valves from her tires.

When the battle was over four men and 115 women were arrested, including Rosa. Despite the overwhelming evidence of Brutality calls for an inquiry were dropped by the then Home Secretary, Winston Churchill

The demonstrations led to a change in tactics by the WSPU, as many of their members were unwilling to expose themselves to similar violence again; the organisation moved further towards direct action, such as stone throwing and window breaking, which gave the women a chance to escape before encountering the police.

Rosa was again at the forefront of the action. Four months after Black Friday she was arrested and sentenced to one month’s hard labour in Holloway Prison for smashing windows in Westminster, she had hidden the stones under the blanket which covered her legs. In December 1912 (the same year) she was sentenced to eight months in prison for setting fire to pillar boxes in Deptford. She immediately went on hunger strike and was force fed causing damage to her teeth and overall health. The force feeding had such a dramatic impact, the authorities released her two weeks after being subjected to it. Whatever effect prison had on her physical health, it seems to have done nothing to diminish her warrior spirit. Rosa spent the next year campaigning as fiercely as ever, including chaining herself to the gates of Buckingham palace.

Rosa eventually stopped her campaign in in 1918 after the Parliament (Qualification of Women) Act gave some women the right to vote. She, along with 54 other supporters of women’s suffrage, are honoured on the plinth of the Statue of Millicent Fawcett in Parliament Square, beneath a bronze banner reading ‘Courage calls to courage everywhere.’ 

Okay so admittedly my cause is less worthy, and my resolve less strong. But I can still take inspiration from the great lady. And I like to think she’d approved my silent protest, after all the motto of the WSPU was ‘Deeds not words.’

SE28 Thamesmead

Hello people,

Today I’m in Thamesmead SE28. If you type ‘SE28 restaurants and bars’ into Google, the first result you get is the Princess Alice, a carvery restaurant with a very respectable 3 and a half stars out of five on Google reviews. The next result is a chip shop called Britania Fish Bar, with an impressive 4.7 stars (6 reviews), and then you get a Chinese take away in Woolwich. According to Wikipedia no one famous has ever come from Thamesmead. If you type SE28 into visit London the top attraction is Thamesmead Town Centre Post Office, and if you google hotels in SE28 the top search is the Travelodge in Woolwich rated at 3.8 stars, only 0.2 stars better than Belmarsh Prison, which is actually closer to Thamesmead.

The path to Thamesmead

To the untrained eye it would appear that there’s little to say about Thamesmead, but to an experianced time traveller/ SE London blogger like me, there’s a wealth of pretty interesting stuff. Like Binsy Walk, the setting for Stanley Kubrick’s film ‘A clockwork orange.’ Also the New Acre library and Tavy Bridge, great examples of Brutalist Architecture. Tragically, these buildings and more are to be demolished to make way for the new Thamesmead redevelopment. I must save Thamesmead from destruction, but I cannot do it alone, that's why I've gone back to 1960's Barnhurst, to meet the father of SE28, in the hope I can enlist his help!

The year was 1966 and a man called Anthony Walton was at his home, reading the local paper. Whether Mr Walton religiously read ‘The Barnhurst Evening News’ or if he simply happened upon a copy one dull evening while waiting for colour television to be invented, we may never know. But what we do know, is that one historic day, somewhere in between the articles announcing the coming school fate, and the disturbing news that the wet summer would cause a blight on home grown tomatoes, he saw a competition to name a new town, and the prize was £20, worth about £300 million by today’s standards. Anthony picked up his pen, scratched his chin, and made history by writing the name... Thamesmead.

Thamesmead with it's beautiful lakes and savage swans

Why Anthony chose Thamesmead, and what the name meant to him, no one knows. The inclusion of the word Thames seems sensible considering the towns location, but why mead? Thames-made would make sense, as the town would be made by the Thames. Thames-meed would also work to as meed is an old English word meaning ‘deserving of praise.’ Mead however is a medieval alcoholic beverage the masses consumed so they wouldn’t die from drinking stagnant water. Was Mr Walton, and all of the town planners judging the competition, poor at spelling? Or was it their collective hope that this new town would be awash with people sitting by the river, smashed out of their skulls from hooch derived from fermented honey and water? The question ‘Why did Anthony Walton choose the name Thamesmead?’ has been as great a mystery to mankind as the origins of the universe? Where the pyramids in Egypt were built? And the Popes religious beliefs? All I know for sure is that Anthony Walton is the only man capable of saving the town he named from extinction. I chose to go back to the week after Anthony had been told he won the competition, so I wouldn’t disrupt the history timeline, tapped the letterbox on his front door, and as he opened it, I said.

“Hello Anthony, I have come from the future, in a world where Thamesmead has been built, and you are considered a legend. I imagine there are many things you’d like to ask me, as I do you, there’s so much we can learn from each other.’ Anthony blinked, pulled on his green and grey striped cardigan.

“What’s Thamesmead like in the future?" I scratched my head, I hadn’t been prepared for such a tough question straight off the bat. Eventually I replied.

"There’s a nice post office.” Noticing my answer hadn’t fully satisfied him, I decided to get straight to point.

“Anthony, you to gotta come with me.”

“Where?” He replied.

“To the future.”

“Whoa, wait a minute. What are you talking about? What happens to Thamesmead in the future?”

“They’re planning to knock it down.” I took the magical adjustable spanner out of my man bag, and Anthony rubbed his chin nervously.

“How are we going to get there? There’s heavy road works on the A206?” I took hold of his arm and said.

“Roads? Where we're going, we don't need roads.” Turned the spanner, and to 2018 we flew. Once we arrived we took the 229 bus from Barnhurst to Thamesmead.

“I thought you said we weren’t going to need any roads?” Anthony said as he sat down next to me.

“That was just a figure of speech. Now let me fill you in on everything that’s happened...."

The lake by the Princess Alice

"The decision to build Thamesmead was taken in the early 1960’s to solve the post war housing crises. World War II had been devastating tragedy resulting in the loss of life of over 60 million people world wide, on the plus side though it did mean you could always get a seat on the train. The war ending meant that war related deaths fell dramatically, a consequence nobody could have foreseen. This meant the population rose, which put a massive strain on housing in large working class communities such as South and East London. Something needed to be done, in these enlightened days, we resolve problems like this by holding a referendum and then arguing over the result for the next 5 years. But the Londoners of the 1960’s had a different idea, to build more homes, and where better to build, then on prone to flooding overgrown marshland, with no transport links or local amenities, heavily polluted from nearby sewage and industrial works? Fortunately Thamesmead’s planners were equal to the challenge set them.

The first problem the planners saw was;

Question - ‘Why would anyone want to live in a place that floods?’

Answer - To solve this minor hiccup the new homes were designed to have garages on the ground floor, and high level walkways connecting the buildings. That way if flooding were to happen, residents homes wouldn’t be damaged, and they could still get about without getting their feet wet! Also the existing barriers along the Thames were raised and strengthened.

An example of the original buildings with garages at ground floor level - just in case you thought I was lying

The next problem was,

Question -  ‘How do you build on wet marsh land?’

Answer - “You drain it, idiot”

Next question - “what do you do with all the water you’ve drained? It’s going to be a lot of water!”

Answer - “See that big river next to you? Put it into that. Moron.”

Next, next question - “What happens when the water level in the Thames is too high?

Answer “Oh....???”

The final solution was to use the drained water to build a series of lakes, which swans and ducks live in to this day. Clever clogs.

Question - ‘Its very windy here, and what are we going to do about the noise from all the factories and sewage works near by?”

Answer - The High rise concrete towers were to surround lower rise buildings in the middle of Thamesmead, to reduce wind and noise levels from the near by industry. 

Finally the jubilee line was to be extended out to Thamesmead to provide quick access into London.
Thamesmead was billed as the town of the future, a symbol of humanities quest to thrive within its environment. So did it work? sadly, no.

The high level walkways didn’t lead to places people would actually want to go such as the shops, or the pub, or anywhere. So they were hardly ever used and considered unsafe places to be at night time. Primarily because abandoned walkways are unsafe places to be at night time. The concrete high rise towers which were intended to double up as noise and wind barriers for the low rise buildings weren’t completed till the early 1980’s. The jubilee line never came to Thamesmead, and the water used to fill the new lakes was somehow contaminated which mutated the swans into dragon like animals that feed on stray cats, foxes and small children.

One of the controversial walkways. In the distance are one of Thamesmead's notorious gangs of new mothers with their offspring. Had I not been wearing 'Bumps & Babies' colours, I'd probably be dead.

Thamesmead’s reputation was further tarnished when it became the setting for Stanley Kubrick’s 1971 film ‘A Clockwork Orange’ a violent distopian view of the future which frustratingly has nothing to do with clocks or oranges.

Thamesmead name as the town of the future was eventually replaced with names like concrete jungle and sink estates."

“Blimey” said Anthony. “That was incredibly detailed, you even told me about the stuff that happened back in my time. So what are the new plans for Thamesmead?”

“Well Anthony, the new Thamesmead developers are investing over one billions pounds into the area, that’s about £600 in 1966 money. They’re planning to knock down the buildings no one liked, keep the buildings and green spaces people do, re-house residence in better quality homes, whether they like it or not, and improve the transport links, we’ve got to stop it!” Anthony rubbed his chin.

“But surely that a good thing?” He replied. I slapped my forehead.

“Great Scott’s! You’re right, this new developments the best thing to happen to SE London since the Mean Time Brewery! Thanks Anthony.”

We didn’t put a halt to the Thamesmead redevelopment, instead I took him for a little tour around the canals and showed him the Post Office. When I brought him back to 1966 he thanked me for showing him the future, and we parted as friends. As always my travels through time achieved nothing. Still, it was nice to get out.

I’m off to the Princess Alice for a pint. Till next time.

The soon to be demolished Binsey Walk - The setting for Kuberik's classic film 'A clockwork orange.' Considered by most to be his finest citrus themed work.

SE3 Jack Cade's rebellion

Hello people,

Using my magic adjustable spanner, to 1450 I'll take you back,

And the story of two men, one named Henry, and the other called Jack.

Henry was born a King, the sixth Henry to take the throne,

While Jack was born a peasant, little much else of his young life is known.

Henry was not a popular King, many said he was not fit,

That his advisers were cruel and corrupt, and his military skills were... rubbish.

The one hundred year war with France, was dragging on and on,

England’s coastline was being invaded, and all their territories gone.

The tax King Henry demanded just grew and grew,

The peasants lives became worse, and they knew not what to do.

In the towns of Kent the poor suffered, and feared the French would invade,

Out of this sorrow emerged a leader, the rebel they called Jack Cade.

He said, “What we need is a monarch, one that isn’t quite as crap,

Who’ll treat the poor more fairly, and give those French a slap."
He convinced the poor of Kent to make him leader, and this promise to them he made,

"I’ll get the King to step aside, or else my name isn't Jack Cade."

“We’ll get a better King, one that’s just and true,

Who’ll sack all Henry’s advisors, maybe cut their heads off too!”
The poor finally had a leader, much to their relief,

So Jack, the new head honcho, organised a Beano to Blackheath.

The poor of Kent in their thousands, went to Blackheath, SE3,

To hear their new leader speak, and eat pastries from Gail’s bakery.
Jack told the gathering masses, King Henry deserved the sack -

he’d told him as much in a letter, and they should chill until he wrote back.

When King Henry received Jack's letter, with rage he became incited,

He was also a little bit hurt, at not having been invited
He'd loved to have gone to Blackheath, and maybe fly a kite,

Then head off to O’Neils, and down Jegga Bombs all night.

The King addressed his soldiers, and said ‘I'm really quite cross,

Put down the Blackheath uprising, that’ll show those rebels whose boss.”
King Henry’s soldiers charged, and the rebels turned and ran,

They chased them all to Sevenoaks, when things didn’t quite go to plan.

For in that dense oaked forest, where the rebels did retreat,

They surprised the King's men with an ambush, and so they suffered defeat.
Jack cried out, “All you poor of Kent, hear what I have to say,

March with me to fight in London. We’ll get ice cream along the way!”

Henry heard of the rebels' victory, and that they marched five thousand strong,

He pondered all his choices, but decided to not stick around for long.
Henry retreated to the country, and hid under his bed,

“Let me know when it’s finally over” was all that monarch said.

Henry well and truly looked beaten, it seemed he hadn’t a prayer,

When Jack marched his men into London, and declared himself Lord Mayor.
The sight of so many rebels, filled the people of London with fear,

But Jack set their minds at ease and said, “You'll hardly notice we’re here.”

London officials supported the cause, but to Jack Cade they did warn,

"Be sure to control your men, and retain order as you have sworn."
Jack now held the heart of London, and the wrongs of the day he could mend,

Sadly my dear reader, that is not the how this story does end.

Jack had the Kings allies trialed, killed, their heads were put on spikes,

They were paraded through the London streets, much to the rebels delight.
Then the rebels took to looting, drinking, causing trouble and fights,

And hanging traitors' heads from London Bridge, as if they were fairy lights.

London officials sighed, “King Henry, your leadership we do miss,

The rebels keep looting and wreaking the place, and they’re constantly on the piss."
The people of London agreed, the time had come to stand up and fight,

They got themselves ready to mount an attack while the rebels were drinking that night.

Staggering back to the city from Southwark, oh how those rebels did sway,

Led by they’re leader Jack, none envisaged the trouble on its way.
When they reached London Bridge they're path was blocked, the locals had formed a barricade,

Jack saw what was before him, and realised he had been betrayed.

Jack cried “You have wronged me my brothers, step aside at once and repent!”

The Londoners replied “We’ve had enough of you lot, now sod off back to Kent.”

The rebel leader placed his hand on his musket, and then produced his blade,

He yelled “We’ll cut through your lines like butter, or my name is not Jack Cade!”

The two sides clashed together, they fought with all their might, 

They fought through hell and fury, they fought throughout the night.

When the battle was over, and morning sun shone over London Town,

The rebels were defeated, the Londoners had held their ground.

It was at this time King Henry slowly emerged from beneath his bed,

“Is it safe for one to come out yet?” Is all the monarch said.

On hearing of the rebels' loss, Henry seemed a different man,

He issued pardons to all the rebels, said he’d help them if he can.

But once the rebels dispersed, he rescinded promises made,

He said arrest all the traitors, and bring me the head of Jack Cade.

Jack was captured and killed, his body dragged through London Town,

His limbs were sent to the cities of Kent, a warning to others who'd stand against the crown.

Henry had won the day, but his victory brought only grief,

Rebellion followed rebellion, inspired by the march from Blackheath.

Rebellion became war, led by a rival to the throne, 
Inspired by Jack's letter to the  King, the War of the Roses it's now known.

Henry fought for many years, his knee he refused to bend,

But no one can fight forever, and Henry met his end.

Next time you're in Blackheath, remember the five thousand who met there,

Who marched together to London, demanding to be treated fair.

The moral of this tale, is to honour promises you’ve made,

Or you’ll meet an end that’s wretched, like King Henry and the rebel Jack Cade.

SE3 - Jack Cades Cavern, Blackheath

Hello people,

At some point in history, somebody must have decided to name the area of land in SE3 between Greenwich and Deptford, as Blackheath. But why? Having the word heath in the title makes sense, the heath is awesome. Anywhere you can fly a kite, watch fireworks, visit the fun fair and get drunk for less the a tenner deserves all the recognition it gets. But where does the 'Black' in Blackheath come from? 

As I mentioned in my last post, since becoming a Dad I'm really struggling to find time to take photo's. So here's a couple of snaps from my family Facebook album. Above is Sophie and Jamie at the Blackheath fire works, ahh.

And here's my brother-in-law Harry. Difficult to see Blackheath as

the picture was taken at night, but doesn't he look happy?

Some believe Blackheath got its name when the common was used as a mass grave during the Black Plague in 1665. Others say the name derives from the old word Blachehefield, meaning dark coloured heathland. I have my own theory...

For there is a part of Blackheath where pitch black darknes forever resides. Where even on the most glorious summers day, not one ray of light can enter, and no, I’m not talking about Morden’s Wine Bar. I’m talking about Blackheath’s hidden caves!

There is a labyrinth of tunnels and caverns beneath Blackheath. Most people, including myself, first became aware of their existence in the summer of 2002, when the ceiling to one of the caves beneath a section of road near Blackheath Station, unexpectedly fell into itself, leaving a large void in the middle of the street. 

At the time, this sudden collapse raised some pretty serious questions. Why had this happened? What did it mean? Was it an omen from some higher power about us returning to the earth from which we came? Was it an attempt at communication from life forms on another planet? Was this a signal that dark spirits were rising? And what effect would all this have on the traffic from the A2?

This vast and ominously terrifying void or 'big hole' as the locals poetically called it, was clearly a problem. How could Blackheath's residents, and its many visitors, enjoy the basic human freedoms of sipping a Long Macchiato in the village delicatessen? Buying some organic kale from the farmers market? Or simply wheeling our travel systems along the narrow pavements, with the threat of our world literally collapsing beneath our feet at any moment?

A photo taken across Blackheath common by Rosie from the car on a rainy day (obviously, I was driving at the time). Note the traffic in the background. Now imagine this same picture, but with more traffic caused by the presence of a 'big hole' in the middle of the road at the far end of the picture. Chilling, isn't it?

After much consultation it was agreed by the council, and all of its residents, that the road would be strengthened, rebuilt, and that once the works were finished, no one would ever mention this potentially property price reducing incident ever again, on pain of death. If the Blackheath mafia ever read this blog, unlikely as that may be, then the consequences for yours truly, are unthinkable. If these are to be my last words dear reader, then please remember me as a man who worked tirelessly to reveal the truth… mostly.

In 1780 a builder whose name I wasn't able to discover (let’s call him Dave) had the bright idea of buying a house in Blackheath and calving 40 steps down into the chalk to gain access to the caves. Doing so, he created his own tourist attraction, which he charged a very reasonable 6p to enter. We must assume Dave made most of his profit on T-shirt and souvenir photograph sales. Originally Dave's Caves were a big success, with tourist turning up in there droves to see the mysterious world beneath their feet, and leaving Dave with more 6p’s then he could have imagined in his wildest dreams. But this success, was to come at a terrible cost. The caves and tunnels were poorly ventilated and tragically, a 19 year old girl name Lucy Talbot collapsed and eventually died whilst visiting the caves, as a result of the poor air quality down there.

One would imagine this heart-breaking incident would be enough to convince Dave to block up the entrance forever, but that many 6p’s are enough to turn any man’s head. Dave installed an air vent to allow some fresh air to circulate, and then underwent a re-branding exercise, possibly with the help of his wife (if he had one), who could have been named Chardonnay. Chardonnay’s vision was to turn Dave's caves into a high class nightclub/ creative events venue, with a bar carved into the chalk walls and a chandelier suspended from the cave ceiling. I assume Chardonnay insisted Dave change the name, as she felt Dave's Caves sounded like a dogging hotspot. After undertaking a lot of market research, Chardonnay (assuming she ever existed) probably felt that the name should reflect the history of the caves to add a bit of intrigue to the decor. For this reason she likely convinced Dave to name the new bar after a man called Jack Cade, who is thought to have used one of the caverns as a base to lead a revolt against King Henry VI in 1455. 

“Jack Cade was cool, he was edgy, he fought the King, he was for the people. He was also a bit of a Pagan which is very on point right now. Babes, no A-Lister is going to cross the river and trek all the way to Blackheath to be seen in a place called 'Dave’s Caves'. It’s 1780, we don’t even have Addison Lee yet.” Chardonnay may have said. More on Jack Cade next time, but I continue…

A photo of Blackheath pond, taken some time after last orders at the Princess of Wales pub, where I had been raising a glass in celebration of my sister Louise's 30th birthday. 

The popularity of Jack Cades Cavern grew and grew until around 1850, when the bar was closed and all the entrances blocked by the local authorities after it became synonymous with rowdy nights and naked women. To this day it is impossible to get into the caves, but there is no reason to believe that Jack Cades Cavern isn’t still intact, with bar, chandelier, and possibly even a few bottles of booze lying around.

Some say that on a quiet night in Blackheath, if you put your ear to the common floor, you can still hear the sound of people talking and glasses clinking. In all likelihood, these nutters with their faces in the dirt are probably listening to the drunks in the Princess of Wales complain about how much they just paid for a gin and tonic, and two white wine spritzers. But who knows? Maybe, just maybe, beneath Blackheath common, Dave is still tending his bar, serving customers, making a roaring profit, and thinking about that terrible mistake he made. I wonder if he’s happy?

Well that’s it, sorry to end on a downer, but what happened, happened. It’s not like I make this stuff up you know.

28D

A photo of genuine drunk people taken in Princess of Wales, an above ground pub on Blackheath Common.

The Venue, New Cross SE14

Hello people,

The internets least prolific writer is back, and in this post I’ll be telling you all about a place you’ve probably visited many times, and have no interest in returning too. That’s because today, I’m writing about my recent trip to the Venue in New Cross. Most, perhaps all South East Londoners have been to ‘The Big V’ at some point in their lives. Four of my closest friends found their future spouses on those sticky dance floors. One of my mates parents even met at the Venue, back when it was known as the Harp Club. The Venue is without doubt one of the most iconic institutions in SE London. To some, its a joyous theatre of music, dance and new experiences. To others, it’s a sleazy cesspit full of drunks and letch’s, I guess it depends which night of the week you go. 

I have some fond memories of the Venue, like linking arms with my dearest friends (and some of the cheaper ones too) and stamping my feet to 'Come on Eileen'. The George Micheal tribute act who looked like David Baddiel and sounded like Frank Skinner, the snow machine they got out every December, at its time the cutting edge of the immersive club land experience. Sociopathic doormen, giant bottles of Grolsch, the night bus home that literally took all night. Okay, so they weren't all fond memories... 

Since becoming a Father I have found it impossible to find time to take photo's, so instead of a picture of the Venue, here's  an old photo from inside the Venue which I've stolen from a friend's Facebook album.

But for good or bad I'm back, however I'm not here as a desperate attempt to relive my youth, these days my ideal night is a mixture of Tea, Toblarone and Strictly Come Dancing. I'm here because legend has it Oasis played the Venue before they were famous in 1994! It seems that in the days after the Harp Club, and before the Venue became synonymous with bad DJ’s and Baddiel and Skinner tribute acts, it was a champion for indy music and unsigned bands. I've always been a big Oasis fan, so this discovery coupled with the fact that I own a magical adjustable spanner which allows me to travel through time, was too good an opportunity to resist. 

Not knowing how easy it would be to get into the gig I decided to enter the Venue present day first, and work back from there. I had to wait a while to get in as the doors didn't open till 10pm, and I’d arrived just after 4pm to allow for traffic. Eventually the doors opened and after a very thorough body search, I was in. I took my magical spanner out my man-bag, took a moment to ponder why the doorman who searched me hadn't checked my man-bag? Took another moment to ponder whether the man who searched me really was a Venue employee? Then I turned the spanner, and the years fell away. 

Not sure what's going on here? But take my word for it, this photo was definitely taken inside the Venue.

When I arrived, to my surprise, instead of finding myself amidst a throng of mad for it, manc loving mayhem, I was sat on the lap of an extremely well dressed woman, and where the Gallagher brothers should have been, was a giant screen showing Charlie Chaplin sitting in an old cabin eating his shoe with a knife and fork. 

I had once again misused the spanner, and accidentally arrived in the 1920's, when the Venue was a beautiful old fashioned cinema, known then as 'The New Cross Super Kinema.'

Copyrite issues prevent me from showing a photo of the Kinema here, which is a shame. 

I leapt up and apologised to the mortified woman whose lap I had landed on, in a manner fitting of a 1920's gentleman

"My sincerest apologies madam" I said.

"Pervert!" She screamed. 

"Shh" said the man next to her. Horrified to have made such an impression I implored her. 

"Madam, I meant no offence. Perhaps I should explain, I have a magical spanner, and when you fiddle with it, something incredible happens...."  but she never let me finish, instead she struck me with her hand bag. She hit me so hard that most of the pearls on her necklace came off of their string.  

"I'm sorry!" I painfully yelped.  

 "Pervert!" She screamed 

"Shh" said the man next to her. I left the cinema quickly, stopping for a moment in between the blows to admire the beautiful decor. The New Cross Kinema was built in 1925 it survived the Great Depression, the bombs of WWII, and numerous social changes only to be forgotten about and left to turn derelict in the 1960's. Oh well, that's life I guess.

The Kinama possibly looked like this but with less drink and more films.

As I was already here it felt rude not to stick around, so I went upstairs to the New Cross Palais, a dance hall with a live brass band and Warlitzer Organ. This gave me the perfect opportunity to use some of the dance moves I'd learnt watching Strictly Come Dancing. I began with a quick step, which went down well with the watching crowed, who were themselves taking a short break from the dancing. I followed with the Jive, which received a standing ovation and comments like "Fabulous darling." “Saints alive, what a Jive!" “Those hips are thriving, when he gets Jiving!" And so on.

Sadly my Cha Cha Cha was more of a nah, nah, nah. I was told my timing was off, my kicks lacked retraction, and that I’d best Cha Cha chuck it in before I embarrass myself any further. In the end I decided to head home, it was nearly 11 and I was tired. Besides, I had a long bus journey ahead of me. Maybe next time I'll have more luck. So till we meet again readers, keep exploring.

28 Districts.

SE5 Camberwell continued

Hello People,

Apologies for the long gap between posts, but since we last spoke I’ve been kidnapped, escaped, and have been on the run ever since to ensure my magical adjustable spanner doesn’t fall into the hands of those who would use it for evil. Let me start at the beginning… 

You may remember I ended my last blog hot on the trail of my nemesis 'the tall man.' I'd spotted him in Ruskin Park, Camberwell carrying a large net, and I signed off my blog as I was following him into a secluded walkway. It doesn't take a huge leap of imagination to guess what happened next. Once away from the public view, he cast his net and snared me like Captain Birdseye would a fish finger. Then with the help of his evil side kick (who must have been hiding in the walkway the whole time) dragged me somewhere secluded. 

The Walkway at Ruskin Park

I must be honest readers I was a little hurt that no one enquired after my welfare when I've been missing for more than 4 months, but to avoid an argument I'm willing believe that you all assumed I had the whole thing under control, and have been waiting patiently by your screens for this installment. Now let me try to remember what happened next. I think I spoke, oh no wait, the tall man spoke first. Yes that's right, I remember he shouted. "Hand over the device!"

"Is that prison slang?” I asked “I'm not handing you anything, let me go you perverts!" His evil side kick, kicked me in the side. The irony was not lost on me. 

He went on... "The device, the special contraption, I demand you give it to me." 

It took me a moment to speak as her kick had knocked the wind out of me. "What device? Who are you both?" I asked.

Regaining his composure, he raised himself to full height and gestured like a prince announcing himself at court "I am Ptolomy Tobias Archimedes Octavian Montague-Fitzwilliam, and this is Vanessa.” The petit blond next to him growled at me. I twisted and turned to get free from his net, but the more I struggled the tighter it became. 

"What do you want with me?" I yelled.

The tall man removed a silver cigarette case from his coat pocket and placed one of the long thin cigarettes to his lips, out of his other pocket he removed an old fashioned lighter which produced a flame almost as long as his head. With one graceful movement he parted his knee length Mac and lowered his face towards mine, his words hung in the air as long as the cloud of smoke that accompanied them. "We want your time machine." 

I gasped, "You mean my magical adjustable time travelling spanner? What do you want with it?"

His eyes darkened in the fog. "That you need to ask proves why you don’t deserve to be custodian of such an object. You hold all the power in the world and all you can think to do with it is make your pathetic field trips through time and write your ridiculous stories." Vanessa growled again.

Secluded Area in Ruskin Park (Ooh spooky)

I spoke "But it's a magical time travelling spanner, what would you use it for except to learn about history?" 

He took another pull of his cigarette. "To change history. To make history. Remove certain people from time. Acquire their works for myself.”

I spoke again "Remove? Acquire? Change history? But that would break Doc Browns time travel law that you should never do anything that alters the future, it’s a code every good time traveller adheres to!" Suddenly a truly terrible thought occurred to me "Great Scotts! You're planning on stealing other writer’s works and passing them off as your own in order to create a super blog! One that no other blogger could compete with! The best blog in south east London!” 

An evil grin crossed his face which made him look like the Grinch moments before he stole Christmas, and he said "Not just south east London; the world.”

"But I thought you wanted to help me with my investigation into the Cutty Sark fire?" 

The tall man’s temper rose again and he said "You fool, the fire was clearly an accident, I've been tracking down the device for years. I needed to be sure you had the time machine before making my move. The mysterious meetings, having you chase Vanessa around south east London, the whole thing was an elaborate rue so we could keep an eye on you and make certain you were the time machines guardian." 

I gasped "You mean you were secretly spying on me while I was secretly spying on you?" 

He took another pull on his cigarette and let the smoke drift into my face. "In a word; yes" he said.

"You fiend!" I yelled and desperately struggled to get free. Finally the tall man turned to his accomplice and said "Beat him up Vanessa and find out what he knows." 

By now Vanessa was nothing more than a snarling beast, she approached me like a rabid dog that had just caught a cat he already disliked in bed with his wife. My only chance to get away was to try to reach inside my back pack for my magic spanner. Luckily the tall man and Vanessa hadn't thought to search me. I reached inside, fumbled around, and with seconds to spare before her fist connected with my nose, I grabbed the spanner and twisted the screw. I was instantly free from the net, and although still in Ruskin park, in a different time altogether. After a quick look around to get my bearings I saw building work going on at the site where Kings Hospital stands, so I must have been in 1913 when the hospital was first built.

The Park in 2016

Kings Hospital originally opened in 1840 in Holborn, central London. It was used as a training facility for the medical students of Kings College London. 1840's Holborn was one of London's most overcrowded slums, with most of its residents far too poor to afford medical care, so this new free hospital proved to be very popular. In fact it was so popular that within two years of opening it was treating 1290 patents in 120 beds, with patients often having to share!

This arrangement seemed to suit everyone until sometime in the early 1900's when one day, patients simply stopped coming to Kings Hospital. Student doctors were suddenly left with nothing to do, so for a while they examined and when necessary, operated on each other. Once they'd exhausted that avenue they walked around Holborn, stopping passers by and asking them if they'd like any medical care? Pretty soon it became impossible to walk down the streets of Holborn without 6 or 7 junior doctors trying to take your pulse and a urine sample from you. But why? Where had all the poor sick people gone? The tabloid press claimed that poor people were too lazy to go to hospital and get treated, and would rather slowly die then get better and get a job. The Government of the time said foreigners where definitely to blame, but weren't sure how or why.

What had actually happened was far more straightforward. As London expanded, the areas around its centre such as Holborn, became more desirable. With that came the inevitable rises in rent, overcrowding in schools, and irritating new parents with ridiculously over complicated push chairs moving in. When this happened, the poor simply moved away.

To combat this Kings was relocated to Camberwell in 1909 where a dense population, coupled with a high volume of Morley’s Chicken shops selling tasty nutrition light, saturated fat heavy food, ensured the hospital would have plenty of patients for years to come. Today Kings serves a population 700,000, and in certain areas that they specialise in, millions of people in southern England.

So there you have it, that’s my story, and I’ve spent the last few months travelling through time to avoid the tall man and Vanessa. I must do all I can to stop the spanner falling into their evil hands. But don’t worry loyal readers (all three of you) I’ll still post my adventures, assuming I’m not killed in the meantime.