When we get to Warwick Avenue... (we carry on to Marylebone, Bayswater and Paddington)

11 February 2020

Little Venice

It’s a chilly day in London - with a biting wind that turns a theoretical temperature of +4⁰C into a “feels like” reading of minus one. For our walk today we make sure we steer well clear of routes along the Thames, which would result in a “feels like” reading of Captain Oates’ final stroll. Far better to opt for a sheltered route in a built-up area - in this case, Stephen Millar’s Paddington & Marylebone walk in Volume Three of his excellent London’s Hidden Walks*, jam-packed as usual with numbered reference points (52 on this route alone, which zigzags its way from Little Venice in the north down to Hyde Park in the south, then northwards again to Paddington Station).

We emerge from Warwick Avenue tube station after an unusually efficient journey. Jayne is sure there's a song called Warwick Avenue - and as usual, she’s right, it was a big hit for Duffy in 2009:

When I get to Warwick Avenue

We'll spend an hour but no more than two

Our only chance to speak once more

I showed you the answers, now here's the door.

Where cabmen shelter

This doesn’t sound like the best omen for the walk ahead of us, especially so close to Valentine’s Day. Watching the video back later on Vevo, Duffy doesn’t seem too keen on taking the actual tube to her rendezvous at a tube station, as the whole song is shot in the back of a London taxi. She also can’t sing the line “You hurt me bad but I won't shed a tear” without, er, shedding a tear - which makes her eyeliner run down her face, leaving a thick black line of goo, lovely. In short, the song is good but the video's a bit rubbish. Meanwhile Duffy herself seems to have disappeared without trace, maybe still stuck in traffic in the back of her taxi. [Update 25 Feb: This didn’t age well, as Duffy has since announced the real reason, which is a sad and distressing one. Sorry, Duffy]

A des res at Little Venice

Talking of taxis, Warwick Avenue boasts one of only 13 remaining cabmen’s shelters, originally built by philanthropists in the late 19th century to provide London’s cabbies with a dedicated place to get a warm meal and drink during their shift (rather than just ending up in the nearest pub). But the station is mainly known, at least by us, as being the nearest to Little Venice. This is a very picturesque area which forms the junction of the Grand Union Canal and the entrance to the Regent’s Canal, which leads from here past Regent’s Park, through Camden Lock, behind King’s Cross and down to Limehouse (a nice towpath walk in its own right, which we will no doubt repeat soon). It’s uncertain who originally coined the name “Little Venice”, with Lord Byron, the poet Robert Browning and Browning’s wife all in with a shout due to their Italian connections. This is also the area where many of London’s houseboats are moored, including one famously owned by the Virgin entrepreneur Richard Branson. There are also floating restaurants and the colourfully decorated Puppet Theatre Barge, not forgetting a hidden gem we stumbled across on our way to the water - the stunning Clifton Nursery (garden centre) nestled between the tall houses on Clifton Villas.

A nice badge - preferable to a picture of the Westway

The route takes us downstream towards Paddington Basin, an extension of the Grand Union Canal which runs for 137 miles from Birmingham to London but originally terminated further west at Brentford. As last week, we pass - not once but twice - under the sprawling and noisy Westway, the arterial road leading from Central London towards the M40 and M25 motorways. As Millar notes, this was hugely controversial at the time (it opened in 1970), as it cut a swathe through established residential areas, resulting in the compulsory purchase of many private homes by the authorities. 50 years on, one can only imagine the upheaval and distress this must have caused - equally, it’s hard to conceive of London’s traffic system functioning without it. These days the most topical parallel is of course HS2, due to be given the green light - at least in part - during our walk today. When I was growing up, there was a similar project in our part of South East London - the Rochester Way Relief Road. One by one, all the properties on its proposed path were ruthlessly torn down - except for one lone house whose owner steadfastly refused to budge. The road was built, so I assume he lost his battle in the end. Here, Sean Henry’s life-size Walking Man and Standing Man sculptures also look distinctly unimpressed by their polluted lives below the flyover.

Robertsons pawn brokers - oasis of calm on Edgware Road

Moving on, we reach the church of St. Mary’s Paddington and are mightily confused that our guide Mr Millar appears to mix up the old churchyard, now a large park, with Paddington Green, a smaller enclosure near the main road. We spend many happy minutes looking for landmarks in one that turn out to be in the other. For a while the spirit of Duffy threatens to disrupt our marital harmony, but we eventually break free from this vicious cycle of doom, lured by the dubious promise of the “extremely ugly” Paddington Green police station. Clearly, someone in authority had the same opinion, as it has recently been closed down and is now a building site. This prepares us well for yet another encounter with the Westway at Marylebone Flyover, followed by a trek southwards down the traffic-choked Edgware Road, home to London’s Arabic community and also known as “Little Beirut” (I’m not selling this very well, am I?).

Turbulent times in government then and now

Things take a turn for the better when we leave the main road and enter the side-streets of Marylebone, named after the parish church of St. Mary’s that stood by the Tyburn river (or bourne). Over time, St. Mary at the Bourne was progressively mangled by Londoners’ pronunciation into today’s shortened version, innit? This year is the 200th anniversary of the Cato Street Conspiracy, a plot to assassinate the whole Cabinet while they met at nearby Grosvenor Square amid rising popular discontent caused by the Napoleonic Wars and the Industrial Revolution. A blue plaque on Cato Street commemorates the house where they planned this attack, which was only foiled when the group was infiltrated by a government agent who was able to tip off the authorities just in time. Five of the gang were put to death at Newgate Prison (hanged, then decapitated just to be on the safe side) and another five were deported - presumably to Australia, where they became the forebears of the national cricket team (this last bit may not be true).

Today zumba and yoga, then a weekly bath for the poor

We pass by Seymour Leisure Centre, not a modern gym complex but one of the original public bath-houses aimed at inner city residents who didn’t have access to running water at home, and soon we are at St. Mary’s Church on Bryanston Square. I know she’s a popular saint but you’d think there might have been a bit more originality amongst church-namers back in the day. By now it’s time for a cheeky coffee and snack break at Boxcar Baker & Deli - but the filled croissant fails to arrive and the staff seem unable to work out how to refund us (top tip: just reach into the till and give us the £4.50 in cash, that would be fine). This is a shame, as it seems to be a quirky local café with a Swedish flair. This theme continues (the Swedish embassy is just around the corner) as we make the obligatory purchase of some Bilar, the popular sweets shaped like motor cars, at the neighbouring Totally Swedish shop.

Lennon's pad (and Ringo's, Jimi's, Yoko's, Paul's)

Some genuine blue plaque excitement now awaits us in Montagu Square. This isn’t for some obscure 19th century discoverer of a little known metal (sorry, thallium bloke from Notting Hill) but a musical icon - John Lennon lived at number 34 in 1968. And the Beatles legacy doesn’t end there - the leaseholder at the time was not Lennon but Ringo Starr, who also lived there from 1965, while Paul McCartney also used the house for recording purposes. Aside from the Beatles, Jimi Hendrix lived there in 1967 as did Yoko Ono with Lennon in 1968 (it was here that the couple were famously photographed naked). Yet it’s only Lennon who gets the blue plaque - a bit ironic as it was his conviction for cannabis possession following a police raid that forced Starr to give up the lease.

Served with the orange peel according to taste

Across the Edgware Road again, still lined with Arabic shops and restaurants at its very southern tip, and we’re now in the genteel splendour of Connaught Square, home to many famous residents over the years, including Tony Blair who moved here after quitting office as prime minister. We’re amused to see a very smart car with the registration “IRAO” parked close to his house at No. 29, which is either a coincidence or top trolling (yes, I know the last letter isn't actually a "Q"). The square is very close to Marble Arch and the original site of the Tyburn Tree gallows. Our route continues westwards along busy Bayswater Road, which borders Hyde Park, passing Tyburn Convent and the Oranjehaven, originally a club founded by Dutch refugees from the German occupation during World War II. A well-wisher has thoughtfully left some orange peel on the pavement outside, a silent tribute to their struggle.

Albion Close - home to epic parties and warm clothes

Turning off the main road we find ourselves in Albion Street, with its plethora of blue plaques and attractive residential mews. This takes us down memory lane as our friends Jean and Rich used to host some epic parties during the mid-nineties at their house on Albion Close. That's not to mention the time they saved us from hypothermia when far too skimpily dressed for a September evening attending Proms in the Park. Happy memories, guys, when are you moving back to London? Some extra security has been added in the meantime, so today we can’t do more than peek through the railings at the entrance to the mews. Around the next corner, we are promised one of the oldest and most regal tailors’ shops in London, Kashket & Partners, which traces its origins back to 1655, but sadly it has disappeared since Millar’s guide was published in 2014 (not terminally though, it has just relocated out to Tottenham). But we are fascinated by Millar’s histories of the Bayswater area, formerly known as Tyburnia, especially the extraordinary rate of house-building between 1800 and 1850 which transformed this part of Paddington from a small hamlet to the attractive residential area it still is today.

End of the canal at Paddington Basin

From here, it’s only a short distance to Paddington station, but the walk still bobs here and there to show us yet more noteworthy sights, including St. John’s Church. This is not only a welcome break from St. Mary but also where Richard Branson lived in the crypt while running the magazine Student. In a close parallel to last week’s tale of Oz in Notting Hill, Branson was convicted and fined in 1969 for having the audacity to publish advertisements for venereal disease treatments. This was clearly a difficult time to be a progressive publisher, although Branson did later receive an apology when the law was changed. Today the church is only visible behind the massed ranks of white builders’ vans using its car park, turning the otherwise genteel Hyde Park Crescent into a bit of an eyesore. Our final port of call is the new development at Paddington Basin, end-point of the Grand Union Canal and now home to a blend of modern office blocks and restaurants. It looks a bit soulless at the back end of a winter lunch-hour, but we are desperate by now after the earlier croissant disaster, so make an immediate beeline for the Lockhouse. This week we strike lucky as they offer an innovative selection of mains and sourdough sandwiches. We opt to share a jerk chicken flatbread (with jalapeno, £11.50) and a lock club melt (chicken, bacon, egg, mayonnaise, £10), washed down with one of our lunchtime favourites, Beavertown Neck Oil (come to think of it, I'm not averse to it in the evenings either). The food is tasty and plentiful, a marked contrast to last week's experience - highly recommended!

Clifton Nursery - a hidden gem

Summary: We deliberately chose a longer walk today, chiefly to ward off the cold - this one was around six and a half miles, so good for three hours walking, excluding breaks, and around 18,000 steps. As mentioned, there are a few main roads and busy crossings involved, but the more residential parts more than made up for this as they were packed solid with history and other points of interest (I haven’t even covered the half of it, which is probably just as well as we'd be here all night). I wouldn't say it was the most picturesque walk ever in parts, but it certainly lived up to author Stephen Millar’s “hidden walks” billing as there was so much we didn’t know about - or simply didn’t know was even there, lurking just off the beaten track. That, for us, continues to be the beauty of walking in central London, whatever the weather.

*Acknowledgements: Richard and Jayne were following Stephen Millar’s “London’s Hidden Walks: Walk, Explore. Discover…”, Volume 3 - Paddington & Marylebone Walk, pp 96-127, 2014 edition published by Metro Publications Ltd. Photography by Jayne Burton (thanks!)

Notting Hill - the fame thing isn't real, you know, but the vibe certainly is

6 February 2020

Portobello Road - centrepiece of Notting Hill

Till today, I have somehow muddled through life without once visiting Notting Hill. I have seen the film though - many times - and it looks really cool, especially the house with the blue front door.

The journey to the start-point of our walk, Westbourne Park, involves three different trains and hence is fraught with risk. Despite waiting for the morning rush hour to subside, it hasn’t noticeably done so. After advancing through suburbia at a snail’s pace, it’s already 9.40 by the time we reach London Bridge tube, but we need to let a couple of Jubilee Line trains go as they’re absolutely rammed. Why are there so many working people cluttering up the trains at this hour? It’s so inconsiderate. In all, it takes us an hour and a half door-to-door before we breathe the not particularly clean air of the Great Western Road.

Our mood is not improved by the first section of the walk, which takes us under the Westway fly-over, past Westbourne Park bus station (which would have been of great interest to me at the age of 12, but not especially now) then along a road which offers us sweeping views of a furniture superstore, the main railway line to the West and a 30-storey apartment block. To cap it all, someone hasn’t yet taken down their Christmas decorations. We tut loudly, but nobody cares.

The Spanish influence looms large here

As we reach Golborne Road, things start to become more interesting. On Saturdays this street would be buzzing with market stalls and even today the local shops are offering up multinational cultural delights - Portugal and Morocco are both well represented here. Turning left, we already find ourselves on the famous Portobello Road, the centrepiece of today’s walk. As if to ward off further disillusionment at this early stage, Andrew Duncan’s guide* cautions that we are still at the “less affluent end of both the market and the Notting Hill district”. He’s not wrong. But it’s interesting enough, the walls decorated with colourful street art as we pass alongside the Spanish language school, an indication of the substantial Iberian influence on the Notting Hall area. Indeed Portobello Road is named after a farm that originally took its name from a famous 18th century naval battle at Puerto Bello; further on, we come across a mural dedicated to the residents of the area who took part in the fight against fascism in the Spanish Civil War.

Portobello Road street art

As we pass under the Westway for a second time, the road takes on more of its distinctive character. On Saturdays, when all the market stalls are open, this place is packed with visitors but now - mid-morning in mid-week - we enjoy the freedom of strolling as we please, basking in some unaccustomed winter sunshine. At the moment it’s hard to imagine a million people packing these narrow streets for the annual Notting Hill Carnival, originally conceived fifty years ago as a celebration of the Caribbean culture brought to this country - and particularly this area - by the Windrush generation. From coffee shops to quirky fashion stores, bric-à-bric merchants to street food stalls, bustling cobbled streets to colourfully decorated mews houses, this part of the Portobello Road epitomises laid-back cool. I love it. For a moment I’m Hugh Grant - though better-looking obviously - walking down this very road to the accompaniment of Bill Withers’ “Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone”, as the seasons turn from summer through winter and back again.

The Travel Book Shop (or not)

Why do I like the film Notting Hill so much? Well, for one, the screenplay was written by Richard Curtis, who is such a comedy genius that you can somehow forgive him even the cheesiest plot twists (think Love Actually). Oh, you need a second reason? THE. BEST. LOVE. SCENE. EVER. The one that turns even the coldest heart to mush. Even after seeing it a hundred times. And all of a sudden here we are - stood outside what purports to be “The Travel Book Shop”, the name of the scarcely viable bookstore owned by Grant’s character, William Thacker - and where this iconic scene takes place. But reality strikes and it turns out it isn’t a travel book shop at all, just a tacky gift shop with a poster of Julia Roberts in the window. I’m devastated of course, but still peer inside in the hope of seeing Julia looking up at Hugh and saying:

“The fame thing isn’t real, you know.

Don’t forget -

I’m also just a girl,

Standing in front of a boy,

Asking him to love her.”

(Actually I’m hoping - in an ideal world - to see her looking up at me, not Hugh, though “up” may be stretching it a bit in my case).

You can't get anything gin-related past us

I snap out of my romantic rêverie just in time to admire the Ginstitute on the corner of Talbot Road, home of Portobello Road London Dry Gin. Otherwise there seems to have been a surprise Viking invasion, with the ubiquitous Joe and the Juice from Denmark facing off against the very wonderful Happy Socks of Sweden. A little further on, there’s a café called Eggslut, which seems a bit harsh on egg-lovers but is, in fact, the first UK outlet of an innovative new egg-based restaurant business founded in Los Angeles. Feeling peckish after all this excitement, we head into Gail’s Bakery for elevenses (very naughty). My gruyère and chive drop scone is to die for, possibly the best £2.30 anyone has ever spent in the entire history of cheesy scones. We wonder, not for the first time, why there isn’t a branch of Gail’s in Chislehurst High Street - surely one of the ten estate agents could make way if push came to shove?

Market stalls in the sunshine

From here on, it’s antiques all the way - after all, it’s what Portobello Road Market is most famous for. Mr Duncan informs us that it’s been this way since 1948 when the former Caledonian antiques market in Islington closed down and a new home had to be found. To my untrained eye, it’s amazing the sort of tat that can pass for saleable goods, but of course there are some fascinating pieces too. In a remarkable show of self-restraint, we turn down the purchase of any one of a hundred different designs of ancient doorknob and turn right into Chepstow Villas, which leads in turn to Kensington Park Gardens. As instructed, we note the blue plaque in memory of the bloke who discovered the metal thallium - such has been the impact of thallium on my everyday life that I was unaware of its existence until now. More interesting are the spacious communal gardens hidden behind the imposing residences, but unfortunately are strictly for residents’ use only. Not wishing to overdo the mentions of “that film”, I decide not to emulate the floppy-haired one by attempting to scale the gates, as those metal spikes (thallium?) look decidedly dangerous.

History lesson at the kiln

Reaching St John’s Church, it’s only now that I have an epiphany and realise that Notting Hill is, er, actually on a hill. I’d not imagined anything like that. In my vast experience of London hills (having grown up on one), this specimen hardly seems worthy of the name, yet our guide insists that the next turn “plunges down the western slope of Notting Hill” (it’s a gentle incline at best). This area was once the site of a local racecourse, the only legacy of which is the wonderfully named Hippodrome Mews. From here, we catch sight of the ill-fated Grenfell Tower, which has left behind its own legacy - one of shame, neglect, prejudice, incompetence, cover-up, delay. The graffito “Justice 4 Grenfell” has been crudely daubed on an otherwise splendid old pottery kiln opposite Avondale Park, yet no-one will come to wash this away until that goal is achieved. Ironically, this area of former potteries and piggeries was - according to Duncan - one of the worst of all Victorian slums, a squalid cesspit, yet one that was located just down the hill from the opulence of the grand residences built to attract the middle-classes out of an increasingly crowded West End. Contrasts then, contrasts now - plus ça change in the Royal Borough of Kensington & Chelsea.

We like a nice mews

We continue past surprisingly spacious avenues and squares - St. James’s Gardens (with its spireless church - ran out of money apparently), Queensdale Road, Norland Square. We’re instructed to turn right at the Prince of Wales pub, but no such pub seems to exist - maybe a sign of the times. We're now on Princedale Road - as Duncan informs us, this was the home of Oz magazine when it was raided by the police following its notorious “schoolkids” issue. This means nothing to us at all, so I have to google it .. and it’s an interesting story of how the mood of the swinging sixties had captured a nation, but the nation’s laws had not yet caught up. So it was that the editors of the progressive Oz magazine, originally from Australia and whose writers included Germaine Greer, were convicted under the Obscene Publications Act. This resulted in a public outcry, with support from celebrities such as John Lennon and Yoko Ono, and the conviction was subsequently quashed on appeal. This all happened 50 years ago, but there's no sign of a blue plaque. (I tell this story purely to use the word "quashed", which has been a lifelong ambition.)

St. Volodymyr - a thousand years on

Crossing Holland Park Avenue, we admire the statue of St Volodymyr, who ruled Ukraine from 980 to 1015, introducing Christianity in the process. He must have done an awesome job to warrant the erection of a statue in a different country a thousand years later. We’re now back in Campden Hill, a much more substantial hill than its Notting counterpart and one we touched on in our earlier Kensington walk. It’s all very pleasant, especially another residents’ garden in Campden Hill Square where Turner used to paint his sunsets. Among various famous residents of nearby Aubrey House was Lady Mary Coke, an eccentric 18th century diarist who kept a cow (called Miss Pelham) that escaped one day and was eventually found in the company of a larger herd. Fascinating stuff - if that was the highlight of her diaries, I can’t wait to read the rest.

The Sun in Splendour - maybe everyone was in the Secret Garden

Unable to top that cliff-hanger, we emerge at Notting Hill Gate, the end point of our walk. All that remains is to find a suitable watering hole for lunch and the Sun in Splendour, housed in a yellow building which curves round the southern-most corner of Portobello Road, will have to do. It’s a rather odd affair, worryingly empty for 1pm on a Wednesday, but the barman directs us to a narrow choice between two window tables as all the others are reserved. We await with anticipation the enormous influx of guests, a delayed Christmas party maybe, but it transpires that the reserved signs are already in place for a pub quiz this evening. The selection of beers looks enticing though - I plump for a pint of Gipsy Hill Ranger (£6.15, gulp - but it’s a light refreshing pale ale that is perfect for lunchtime or maybe a leisurely summer picnic) and Jayne plays safe with a half of Camden Pale Ale (a slightly less unreasonable £2.95). The food menu looks excellent too, but regrettably we are again tempted by the Calabrian Meat Board (£15), accompanied by Pan-Fried King Prawns & Chorizo (£6.50), both with toasted sourdough. And once again we find ourselves at best “whelmed” by the experience. The Calabrian epithet can only refer to the person who collected the pre-packed meats from the supermarket, while those prawns must only have been king of a very small land (and I didn’t actually notice the chorizo). Hey ho. At least the sourdough is decent - and comes with an intense olive oil and balsamic vinegar dressing (as we both discover by trial, error and coughing fit).

The Sally Army conquers Portobello Road

Summary: At three and a half miles, this walk should take around two and a half hours, a nice length for a morning stroll but nothing more strenuous. We thought Notting Hill was fascinating and are determined to return when Portobello Market is a bit busier (maybe on a once in a blue moon Saturday when nobody in the family is playing or watching sport, dream on). Our step count is around 13,000, give or take, but we later improve this to 23,000 by walking home from Grove Park as the trains are messed up on our line. There is nothing remotely interesting about that, so we won’t be doing it again if we can help it.

*Acknowledgements: Richard and Jayne were following Andrew Duncan’s “Walking London: Thirty Original Walks in and around London” - Notting Hill, pp 20-26, 2010 edition published by New Holland Publishers (UK) Ltd. Photography by Jayne Burton (thanks!).

Where pirates and bankers tread ... and that Dickens bloke of course

3 January 2020

Optical illusion at Wapping, where Canary Wharf appears to have migrated south of the Thames

Today the scene is set for our first walk of the new decade. If nothing else it will give us a chance to ponder the era's really big questions so far:

• Has Donald Trump just started World War III?

• Are Charlton now as rich as Manchester City?

• Is Greta Thunberg’s name actually "Sharon”?

For Christmas Jayne has gifted me a new book, Nicola Perry’s 33 Walks In London That You Shouldn’t Miss, so we decide we really shouldn’t miss her “Wharves Walk” from Tower Hill to Canary Wharf. The recommended weather conditions are “a clear day, for the best views” but this morning is the polar opposite of that - gloomy, squally, almost too cold to hold Nicola’s book open for long with bare hands. Now it’s too late, Jayne comes up with some things we could have done to mitigate this - photocopy the relevant pages, perhaps even laminate them, wear more clothes, postpone till Spring…

"Ferrier Estate on Sea" or the back of the Tower Hotel?

Our walk starts at beautiful St Katharine Dock. At least it would be beautiful if you could magically blot out the back of the Tower Hotel, the concrete monstrosity on the banks of the Thames beside Tower Bridge. Architecturally it reminds me a bit too much of the old Ferrier Estate, the notorious late 60s social housing estate in Kidbrooke, South East London, which was demolished ten years ago to make way for the gentrified Kidbrooke Village development.

Everything else about St Katharine Dock is very tastefully done though and it feels like an oasis of calm so close to the bustling city. There’s even a moment of nostalgia as we pass the Dickens Inn, the venue for my 21st birthday dinner back in the day. I expect I enjoyed a prawn cocktail for my starter, the height of English culinary sophistication in the early 80s. I also realise I haven’t set foot in the building since, which seems a shame but won’t change today as it’s not yet 11 o’clock - and this walk promises plenty of other hostelries en route.

Wapping Old Stairs - where pirates met a watery end

Along Wapping High Street we soon come across the Town of Ramsgate pub, another watering hole with a long and rich history. So far we’re impressed with the density of pubs on this particular walk, but find Nicola Perry’s guide a bit light on historical trivia compared to the Andrew Duncan book we used extensively last year. Maybe this is not surprising as Duncan is an historian, whereas Perry admits in her foreword to being someone - like us - who lives in London and likes walking socially. Nonetheless she directs us down a historically significant snicket that runs beside the pub towards Wapping Old Stairs, from where we can view the old post and chain where condemned pirates were left to drown as the tide rose. Nice.

The Town of Ramsgate - nowhere near Ramsgate

Jayne looks up the history of the Town of Ramsgate, which is fascinating (though it's still a bit early to justify a longer pit-stop). The pub is named after the fishermen from the eponymous Kent coastal town who chose to land their catch here rather than further upstream near Billingsgate market. Here, or hereabouts, was also where the infamous Judge Jeffrys, known as the “Hanging Judge”, was captured by an angry mob in 1688 and taken to the nearby Tower of London. Here he evaded the poetic justice of being hanged himself, succumbing instead to alcohol-induced kidney disease. The same inn is also reputed to be the location of a last drink between Captain Bligh and Fletcher Christian before their epic voyage on The Bounty a century later. And guess what happened next? There was a mutiny! Christian, the leader of said mutiny, later met a sticky end (apparently exclaiming “oh dear” with typically English understatement as he was slaughtered by some Tahitians he thought were his mates), but Bligh somehow defied the odds to reach home and wreak his revenge on some of the surviving mutineers. These days the Town of Ramsgate looks like a very nice pub indeed as it nestles somewhat incongruously amongst the ultra-modern apartments of Wapping.

No sign of any escaped tigers today at Tobacco Dock

Soon after, we turn inland and reach Tobacco Dock, bringing back foggy memories of the Gin Festival we attended there a few years ago. Two replica ships stand by the canal but we fail to locate the promised seven-foot bronze sculpture of a child and a tiger. Jayne resorts to a Google search - apparently the sculpture stands inside the main building, which appears to be closed today. Never mind, the back-story turns out to be entertaining in its own right, relating to a scary incident in the late 19th century when a Bengal tiger escaped from a local pet shop that specialised in exotic animals, “Jamrach’s Animal Emporium”, to wreak its own brand of havoc in the 'hood. With the natural curiosity of the young and foolish, a boy approached the animal and tried to touch it. Unsurprisingly the tiger took exception to this and carried the boy off in its jaws, only for Jamrach’s men to rescue the child by slapping the tiger several times with a crowbar (this normally does the trick, in my experience). Although stunned, the tiger survived unharmed - and so did the child.

But in no way did the story end there, as a number of financial transactions ensued:

• Jamrach offered the boy’s father £50 for the distress caused, but was rebuffed;

• Instead, the father sued for damages which eventually cost Jamrach £300;

• Bizarrely, this was split £240 for the lawyers and £60 for the father (you can just imagine the lawyer’s sales pitch: “I’ve received information that you’ve been involved in a Bengal tiger accident that wasn’t your fault? Is that correct?”)

• Jamrach recouped the entire £300 by selling the tiger to a businessman …

• ... who made a fortune from exhibiting “the tiger that swallowed a child”.

Ghost town at Shadwell Basin

After all this excitement we continue along the canal path and through Wapping Woods (which were maybe more impressive in former times) to Shadwell Basin. On this strange day between New Year and the mass return to work on Monday 6th, Shadwell Basin estate is like a ghost town on sea. There’s no-one around apart from the occasional intrepid jogger. There aren’t even any boats on the marina - maybe they all migrate to the Southern Hemisphere for the winter. All a bit spooky.

The Prospect of Whitby - carrying coals from Newcastle

Meanwhile our guide Nicola waxes lyrical about the view of the “shimmering towers of Citibank and HSBC standing head, shoulders and knees above their neighbours”. I’m slowly beginning to suspect Nicola is an investment banker (or is married to one, or met one once), as surely nobody else would be quite so enthused by some modern bank offices. Or possibly an architect, giving her the benefit of the doubt. We, on the other hand, are very enthused by the sight of the next historic pub landmark, the Prospect of Whitby, on a corner of Wapping Wall. It seems unlikely that the fishermen of Whitby would have landed their catch here rather than on the coast of Yorkshire, indeed it turns out the pub is named after a boat from Whitby that was moored nearby. Apparently it sounded more inviting than its previous nickname, the “Devil’s Tavern”, which denoted its original attraction to pirates, cut-throats and other hoodlums such as premature Millwall fans.

One of the few things Henry VIII didn't abolish

Claiming to be London’s oldest riverside inn, the Prospect of Whitby dates back to the 16th century and is thought to have been established in 1520 during the reign of Henry VIII. A sign outside charts its progress through the reigns of all subsequent monarchs. Past patrons include the aforementioned “Hanging” Judge Jeffrys (probably accounting for his kidney problems), Charles Dickens (for whom a better question would be “where didn’t he drink?”) and various celebrities including my actor namesake Richard Burton (about whom the exact same question could validly be asked). At 11.45am it’s already open for business and we’re the first customers of the day alongside a hardy group of walkers. Rather embarrassingly, this also happened to us earlier this week at the Hare and Billet in Blackheath. It’s almost as if one of our New Year’s resolutions is to knock on pub doors at opening time, rather than spend more time at the gym. Taking my cue from the walking group, I opt for a pint of Sambrooks Junction (sublime) and Jayne enjoys a refreshing half of Beavertown Neck Oil (an IPA, not the black viscous lubricant). The lunch menu looks very tempting too, but we make do with some chunky pork scratchings for now.

West India Quay - life and soul of Canary Wharf

Back out in the fresh air, we soon find ourselves on Narrow Street, where we admire one of Gordon Ramsay’s restaurants on the banks of the Thames and also pass another famous pub of the area, The Grapes, which is now part-owned by the actor Sir Ian McKellen (and Evening Standard proprietor, Evgeny Lebedev, according to a sign next to the door - unlikely bedfellows on the face of it). The main challenge now is to avoid being mowed down by the constant stream of runners heading from the offices of Canary Wharf. This is your genuine “work hard, play hard” crowd - not only have they already returned to work while most sane people are still on holiday, but are (loudly) discussing future marathon or triathlon opportunities of 2020 while pounding the streets in search of a new "PB". Fist pumps all round. At least this signals we’re just a short walk along the Thames Path from the heart of Canary Wharf - or “This silver city. This Oz”, as Nicola prefers to call it. Turning left at Credit Suisse, we cross the footbridge - which resembles a mini-version of the Millennium Bridge further upstream - into West India Quay, which used to be one of the busiest docks in the world and now acts as the fulcrum of the local restaurant and pub scene.

Not in Munich and definitely not a cricket club

A surprise - and brand new - offering here is the Munich Cricket Club. This is not, in fact, an actual cricket club but, more usefully in mid-winter, a Bavarian-styled beer and food hall. Not so useful - for me, at least - is that it’s not showing the cricket on TV, which would have been nice. I guess that would be a step too far for an authentic German Bierkeller. We later read that this is the second London location of the “other MCC” - the first opened in Victoria back in 2016, but this has been a well-kept secret - from us at least. From the extensive menu, we choose a lunch of Currywurst mit Pommes (a curious but popular German delicacy, best described as sausage coated in tomato ketchup and sprinkled with curry powder, with chips) and Obatzda mit Brezel, a Bavarian cream cheese and brie dip accompanied by the pretzel-style bread popular at Munich’s Oktoberfest (and also with our kids, at any opportunity). It would be rude not to wash these down with a Paulaner Hefeweizen (wheat beer) for me and a Pils for Jayne. Fantastisch!

Old blends with new in Wapping

Summary: A gentle and enjoyable way to kick-start our walking adventures for 2020. This is not a part of town with which we are familiar but it’s easy to see why it’s popular with so many friends and colleagues, combining as it does attractive modern living spaces in walking or jogging distance of work (in either direction) with a lively pub, restaurant and cultural scene. I’m not the greatest fan of Canary Wharf itself, which always strikes me as a bit soulless - even on a busy day - but there’s no denying it’s a clever and well executed concept and economically very important to London. Wapping and Limehouse, on the other hand, seem to offer up a persuasive fusion of the modern and the historical, which I liked a lot. All in, this walk covers around four miles and was good for around 14,000 steps, a mere bagatelle compared to some of our walks last year but a good way to clear any lingering cobwebs from the Christmas holidays.

Acknowledgements:

Jayne and Richard were following The Wharves Walk (St. Katherine's Dock to Wapping to Canary Wharf), pages 186-197, "33 Walks In London That You Shouldn't Miss" by Nicola Perry, published by Emons Verlag GmbH, revised 4th edition 2019.

For the histories of the various pubs, we also referred to this excellent website: www.londonspubswherehistoryreallyhappened.wordpress.com.

Photos by Jayne Burton (thank you).