SE2 - Crossness Pumping Station

Hello people,

Today I'm at Crossness Pumping Station in SE2, one of the greatest Civil Engineering achievements of the Victorian era, and a Grade 1 listed building. Along with Deptford Pumping Station, it served the whole of South London, and could hold up to 27 million gallons of sewage. Admittedly, drainage isn’t the most glamourous subject to write about, but without great infrastructure projects like Crossness, the London we know and love could never have come to be, and I think that’s worth celebrating. Besides, London’s sewers play just as big a part in its history and folklore as anything above ground...

My favourite London sewer legend involves a group of people called the Toshers. Toshers were men who used to go scavenging in the sewers for anything that might fetch a few quid, most likely scrap metal. The Toshers believed that there was a queen rat who lived in the sewer, and she would secretly listen to their conversations as they worked, and try to figure out what each ones ideal woman would look like.

'If she fancied one, she would appear in the form of his dream girl and sleep with him. If she was pleased with him, she would bestow great luck on him, and he would be particularly successful in finding things in the sewers.' Steve Roud, 2010, London Lore.

This myth, I think you will agree, is absolutely disgusting. I would need to be pretty much as down on my luck as physically possible, before I would even consider having so much as a smooch with a rat.  Also, the idea of a rat appearing before me wearing nothing but a long curly wig, a pendant necklace, and asking me to draw her like one of my French girls seems a little bit seedy.

But who are we to judge? It's very easy for us to mock, but we must remember that down in the sewers, shit literally does happen. And if this arrangement made both the Toshers and her Majesty happy, then I say good luck to them.

However, this all changed in the summer of 1858, when conditions in the sewers – as well as the world above ground - became so bad that no self-respecting rat queen would so much as let you feel her up in the dark, let alone make unholy union before pointing you in the direction of some abandoned shopping trollies, with the pound coins still in them.

The reason? A combination of overcrowding, the dumping of human waste in the Thames, open cesspits, and unusually high temperatures led to a smell throughout London, which was so overwhelming that it became known as ‘The Great Stink’. Conditions were so bad that in the House of Commons, they soaked their curtains in chloride of lime, to try to counter the smell (potpourri was still years from being invented). But despite their best efforts the smell remained, and the MP’s, and the rest of London, could do nothing but hold their noses and dream of a world where the air was clean and fresh. A PooTopia if you like.

A Cartoon from Punch describing The Great Stink 1855

The great stink was eventually ended by heavy rain fall, but the MPs in Westminster - by now probably doped up to the eyeballs from inhaling so much chloride of lime - realised that London desperately needed an efficient sewage system. The man they hired for the job was the brilliant Engineer, Sir Joseph Bazalgette.

Sir Joseph Bazalgettes, C.V. is nothing short of extraordinary. He designed the Albert Embankment, Victoria Embankment, Putney Bridge, Hammersmith Bridge, Battersea Bridge, Charing Cross Road, Shaftsbury Avenue, the list goes on. Very importantly for us SE Londoners, he was responsible for the creation of the Woolwich Ferry, and was behind the early plans for the Blackwall Tunnel.

But without question his greatest achievement (other than growing that fantastic moustache) was in designing London’s Sewage system. A design so successful, that it still serves us today. Perhaps the key to Bazalgettes success was his work ethic, and incredible attention to detail. He insisted on personally checking every connection to the new sewer system. He also designed, and drew up the plans for the huge machines at Crossness that pumped the foul water out of the sewer, and into the sea.

Personally, I find all this difficult to believe. No one man could’ve done all the things attributed to Bazalgette. I think it's more likely he either:

a) Only employed people called Sir Joseph Bazalgette, so it would appear like he was doing all the work. Or; 

b) He had an army of tiny little Engineers hidden in his moustache, who helped him, like Elves help Father Christmas.

You can still see the four engines, designed by Sir Joe and the moustache fairies at Crossness. They are thought to be the largest remaining rotative beam engines in the world. After the closure of Crossness in the 1950’s, the engines were left to rust and vandalism. In recent years the Crossness Trust has been working hard to restore them to their former glory, and you can now see one of these engines in action, if you visit on selected ‘steaming’ days.

However, I’m not here to visit the Crossness museum. I'm here because these last few months I've been on the trail of the criminals behind the 2013 fire attack on the Cutty Sark, and my journey - similar to the journey of a smelly brown Victorian sausage, has led me here. Regular readers will know that a few weeks ago, while visiting East Street Market, I received a letter warning me off my investigations. As I had no idea who the letter writer or the courier was, the trail seemed to have gone cold. That was until today, when I made a discovery that might just bust this case wide open! But more of that, next time.

http://www.crossness.org.uk/visit.html

East Street Market SE17

Hello people,

I'm writing this blog whilst standing beside a blue plaque in East Street Market SE17. In my pocket is an envelope with ‘28 Districts’ written on the front, inside the envelope, on expensive looking paper, and in long spidery writing is a message which simply says;

'Your involvement was a mistake. Forget about the fire, forget about me, forget everything.'

This letter was given to me just moments ago by a lady, maybe in her 30's, on a bike. I only got the briefest glance of her. She wore pink trainers, black leggings and a pink high-viz, over a running top. She pulled up right in front of me, pushed the envelope into my hand, and then shot off at great speed darting her way through the market with impressive skill.

As many of you know, I’ve recently become entangled in a conspiracy involving the 2007 arson attack on the Cutty Sark. And during my visit to Lesnes Abbey in Abbey Wood, things became even stranger, when a mysterious man, who described himself as 'a friend,' told me I was in 'grave danger', and that if I wanted his help, I should meet him at the birthplace of the most famous SE Londoner who ever lived.

This proved to be a problem, as I hadn't the faintest idea who he was on about. So I spent the last few weeks trying to find the birthplace of every famous SE Londoner I could think of; Daniel Day Lewis in Greenwich, the famous Scientist Michael Faraday in Southwark, Louise Redknapp in Eltham, but to no avail. The only clue the stranger gave me was;

"He was a man who spoke to millions, yet never said a word" but this was no help.

The answer finally came to me this Friday, when I was at work sitting by my computer. I was swivelling on my chair, staring at the 'to do’ pile on my desk. My firm has been busy lately and I've become so preoccupied with the Cutty Sark mystery, that the pile has grown so big it's taller than I am. Whenever a breeze blows through the office, it sways liked a tall tree in the wind. I find staring at it very therapeutic...

My peace was broken by a work mate of mine who asked me a question about reinforced concrete. I didn't know answer, so I did what I always do, I leant back in my chair, stroked my chin, and nodded my head knowingly while I tried to come up with something to fob him off with. Unfortunately I miscalculated how far I could safely lean back in my chair without toppling over, and I ended up crashing to the floor. To make matters worse one of my shoe laces had come undone, and as I kicked out at nothing to stop my fall, my left shoe flew off and lodged itself into the ceiling above me. It hung there for a moment, then fell to earth, and hit me straight in my old chopper. I let out a high pitched yelp in pain, and it was at that exact moment that a gentle breeze - perhaps caused by the beating wings of a nearby bird who had mistaken my shrill scream to be the noise of a mate - that caused my ‘to do’ pile to collapse on top of me. For a moment there was only silence, then a low chuckle, and finally roars of laughter from all my work mates. And it was then, that I finally figured out who the most famous SE Londoner who ever lived was.

I pushed the paper away, got to my feet, and told my boss I was leaving early, as I had go to Walworth, and solve one of the greatest crimes of our time. He was too busy laughing to respond, but I think he was cool with it. I ran out the door, and was in Walworth quicker than you can say ‘silent comedy,’ and from there I headed towards the market.

East Street Market Entrance

East Street Market appears in the title sequence of 'Only fools and horses, and I always get the song stuck in my head when I'm here. A market has been here since the 16th century, and it's still going strong.

But East Streets main claim to fame has got to be that it was the birthplace of Charlie Chaplin. At the height of his fame Charlie was one of the most famous people on Earth, and you would still struggle to find someone who'd never heard of him today. No official records exist, but the little fellow believed he was born in East Street, and there's a blue plaque next to the East Street market entrance to commemorate his birth.

Charlie's life in SE London was difficult, he was two years old when his father abandoned him, his brother Sydney, and his mother Hannah. Just like her son, Hannah had dreams of making it big on the stage, but her career never really took off. Unable to support her family, Hannah had to send Charlie and Sydney to the work house, which he later described as "a forlorn existence." Hannah struggled with her mental health, and was committed to Cain Mental Asylum twice during his childhood. She was permanently committed when he was 16 years old.

"There was nothing we could do but accept poor mother's fate." Charlie Chaplin.

But what Hannah was able to give her children was a passion for performing, and a belief they had talent. Charlie spent his childhood working hard, entertaining audiences in the music halls, and theatres. So that by the time he arrived in Hollywood in 1913 at the age of 24, he was already a master of his trade. The silent films he made during the first half of the 20th century made people laugh, and for a moment forget their troubles, in a world that must have been a very frightening place.

I waited by the blue plaque commemorating Charlie's life till the market closed. I did the same thing the next day, and the next. I got my letter at 3pm today, and to be honest, I'm cold, tired, my old chopper still hurts, and feel like giving up. But I won't, Charlie never did, and as Del Boy always said, you should never stop believing. Don't worry readers, it may seem like the trail has gone cold, but I have a very cunning plan!

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.