Greenwich - best off the beaten track

Wednesday 9 October 2019

The enduring magnificence of Royal Greenwich

Today we need to stay local to accommodate an early morning appointment as well as the school pick-up in mid-afternoon - best not to abandon our parental responsibilities two weeks in a row. This makes it an easy decision to select Greenwich for our latest walk - after all, not everyone has a World Heritage site right on their doorstep.

We decide to forgo Andrew Duncan’s guidance this week in order to give upstart walk-disrupter Stephan Millar a chance to show what he can do in London’s Hidden Walks*. Had we spotted beforehand that his Greenwich walk spans a weighty 40 pages (albeit stubby ones - is this a technical term?), we might have stayed faithful. I had also carelessly assumed I knew most things about Greenwich already, having done the main tourist attractions with multiple visitors over the years. I soon discover from reading Millar that I know the square root of diddly squat.

We join the walk in Greenwich Park, where a police notice on bank card scamming already sows seeds of confusion. Apparently the parking machine “cannot capture your card” but (next line) “if the card is captured by the machine do not walk away”. This seems oddly similar to our beloved government’s approach to a No Deal Brexit - it cannot actually happen (Benn Act) but if it does we shouldn’t be surprised and need to face the consequences. But enough of politics - this is meant to be a carefree walk on a nice day (notes storm clouds gathering on horizon).

I've seen worse views

Beside the Royal Observatory we admire the magnificent view of London while I regale (alternative definition: “bore”) Jayne with numerous facts. Nonetheless she appears gratified that a fellow native of Yorkshire, John Harrison, was the first man to invent an accurate ship’s chronometer. It took him 31 years though, quite similar to an innings by Geoffrey Boycott.

We are then underwhelmed by successive park landmarks - Queen Elizabeth’s Oak (which died in the 19th century and finally fell down in a 1991 storm), a Roman temple (or possibly villa) which is not visible to the naked eye, some underground tunnels (“conduits”) which are, er, underground so we can’t see these either, and One Tree Hill, whose single tree on first glance appears to be throwing a party for numerous friends but actually blew down in 1848. Here I should emphasise that, in spite of these minor gripes, we love Greenwich Park - always have, always will. Our love is rewarded when we chance across the Queen’s Orchard in the park’s far north-eastern corner. Opened in 2013 and maintained by volunteers, the orchard originally dates back to the 17th century and is thought to have supplied produce to the nearby Queen’s House when the Tudor monarchy still resided in Greenwich.

Tempting but too early

Millar grows on us as his walk soon takes us past some historical pubs - we especially like the look of the Cutty Sark, nicely located in a centuries-old street on the river but some way off the beaten track of Greenwich town centre (and nowhere near the actual Cutty Sark, whose adjacent pub is obviously the Gipsy Moth). We examine the menu, which looks tempting, alas our watches are only showing 11.30am, meaning (a) it’s still a little premature for lunch and (b) we have only been walking for 45 minutes. We press on, but soon pass two more waterfront pubs - The Yacht (closed) and the Trafalgar Tavern. Stomachs rumbling, mouths suddenly parched from the searing 11 degree heat, we synchronise watches (or Fitbits) again - 11.45. Tempus non fugit. We resolve to return shortly after noon following a whistle-stop tour of the Old Royal Naval College.

The Chapel - but no sign of Rowan

We soon realise there is no such thing as a whistle-stop tour here, as this is where much of Greenwich’s royal history can be found. We visit The Chapel, summoning memories of Rowan Atkinson’s endearingly bumbling vicar in Four Weddings and a Funeral, one of a very large number of movie scenes filmed in Greenwich. The Painted Hall is for another day. We do, however, reflect on the ubiquitous presence of Henry VIII around South East London. Here, there and everywhere - even in Eltham. Legend has it that Anne Boleyn caught the eye of her lover in this spot, thus sealing her gory fate, sentenced to death for adultery and treason. For some reason I find myself comparing the leadership styles of Henry VIII and Donald Trump - but that can bring no good.

Finally inside the Trafalgar, we order the “Lord Nelson charcuterie platter” and the Greenwich whitebait - if for no better reason than to compare and contrast it to last week’s similar fare in Highgate. Maybe this is our true calling - to compile a kind of Guide Michelin to the assorted cold meats and small fried fish of London hostelries. I’m suitably encouraged by the £16 price tag of the charcuterie - £2 more than north of the river and hence promising to be even more massive than ever. It arrives. It isn’t - again. More concerningly, it looks like a bog-standard supermarket selection we could have plonked on a plate at home for 50p. It does come with assorted pickles though (out of a jar from the same supermarket), plus some toasted, possibly even baked on the premises bread (not as tasty as the sourdough at The Angel Inn). Poor tourist-trap fare with a mark-up so outrageous even Lord Sugar would blush. Or as Jayne puts it: “It’s like a rip-off version of a Ploughman’s, with the good bits taken out”.

But there’s a silver lining. The whitebait is billed as the traditional meal of 19th century Greenwich (“caught from the Thames and served straight to the table”). Luckily ours has also been cooked somewhere along the journey - and it’s delicious. It gets better - Jayne, out of character but mindful of last week’s portion sizes, has suggested an accompaniment of “skin on fries, roasted garlic aioli” (i.e. posh chips). These hit the spot too. The choice of drinks is immense, in fact we’ve never seen so many bottles of spirits crowded into one place, but we’re both driving later so can’t do justice to more than a light ale and a glass of white. In the meantime (geddit?) the pub has filled up with a mix of university students and conference types with name badges, so we’re happy to leave, heavier of stomach and lighter of wallet.

Turnpin Lane - from Greenwich Market to St. Alfege church

The next points on the trail are those we know well - the Cutty Sark, the entrance to the foot tunnel (where, considerately, there is a warning sign that the lift at the Silvertown end is not working) and wonderful Greenwich Market. I’m a bit mystified by the absence of the Gipsy Moth IV (the boat not the pub) which used to stand in dry dock next to the Cutty Sark - this was the small ketch (only 53 foot) in which Sir Francis Chichester circumnavigated the world in 1966/67. I later read that it was purchased in 2004 for “£1 plus a gin and tonic” (Chichester’s favourite tipple), given a complete makeover and has since taken part in regattas and even a round-the-world race. Though no longer part of the Greenwich landscape, I can now view its image as often as I want on the inside back cover of my passport (thanks Wikipedia).

We march ever onwards in a bid to finish the walk before our maximum four hour parking expires, an eventuality which could still transform the packet charcuterie platter into the bargain of the day. On Nevada Street, Jayne is tickled by the sight of the sausage and vegan shops being separated from foody fisticuffs only by Oliver’s jazz bar nestling in between. Crooms Hill is narrow, picturesque and adorned with blue plaques such as that commemorating the former home of Cecil Day-Lewis, Poet Laureate (I wonder if his global superstar son Daniel, with his three Oscars, is at all miffed he remains “unplaqued” at his childhood home).

I’m very taken with the juxtaposition of Gloucester Circus, its stunningly beautiful 18th century townhouses, some of Greenwich’s most sought after real estate, standing opposite rows of 1950s flats that would be unlikely to find favour with Prince Charles. Jayne, on the other hand, is very taken with the local shops on neighbouring Royal Hill - a fishmonger, butcher and fruit ’n’ veg shop, all in a row. Why don’t we have this in Chislehurst? When are we moving to Greenwich? All valid questions.

Protected view from The Point to St Paul's

We climb up Point Hill, which is very steep but leads to another well-known Greenwich viewing point, The Point. This is indeed well worth a visit, as the west to east panorama is both spectacular and explained in intricate detail on a new-looking sign. The old sign is also still in place, offering a couple of soundbites but an inadequate grasp of detail - which reminds me to check later what Boris Johnson has been up to today.

Now we really are under time pressure. With a mile still to walk, I inform Jayne we only have 15 minutes left to reclaim the car from the clutches of the Royal Parks wardens, whose reputation for timekeeping is the stuff of legend. I find I am able to speed-walk and recite whole passages from Millar’s guide at the same time - a multi-tasking gift that had remained hidden for all of my previous 56 years. I drone on relentlessly about the history of Blackheath (named after the colour of its soil, not the mass burial of Black Death victims as is often thought) and even the poor personal hygiene of Princess Caroline, estranged wife of King George IV (some remains of her sunken bath, presumably barely used, are to be found next to the Ranger’s House). Luckily we find a short cut across the park, which brings today’s history lectures to a merciful end and ensures we reach the car in the nick of time.

Retail heaven in the back streets

Summary: I may be a bit biased here, but I do think that a walk through Greenwich on a sunny day is one of life’s pleasures. From Stephen Millar we also learnt heaps more about its long and varied history, most of which has not been repeated here. Our walk took four hours, including up to an hour's stop for lunch, but was very rushed at the end and would have benefited from another hour (more if including any visits inside halls or galleries). At around 16,500 steps, with a steep gradient back up to Greenwich Park, this was good exercise but a long way short of last week's Highgate to Hampstead epic.

Our top tip is to walk the backstreets and the Thames Path as well as visiting the main town centre attractions such as the market and Cutty Sark, or the crowded Greenwich Park sites at the Observatory and the meridian line. This will give a more rounded picture of the “real” Greenwich, past and present. And we will definitely go back soon to visit the Cutty Sark pub, the Painted Hall and possibly the National Maritime Museum in a more leisurely fashion.

Acknowledgements: Richard and Jayne were following Stephen Millar’s “London’s Hidden Walks: Walk, Explore. Discover…”, Volume 3 - Greenwich Walk, pp 222-261, 2014 edition published by Metro Publications Ltd.

Hills, heath and history - from Highgate to Hampstead

Wednesday 2 October 2019

Covering six miles and with historical delights spread over a full eight pages of Andrew Duncan’s Walking London*, this “long, hilly walk”is not for the faint-hearted.

Wisely keeping a close eye on this autumn’s unpredictable weather, we choose the only dry, sunny day promised for the foreseeable future. But that’s iPhone weather forecasts for you - if you lived your life according to Apple, you’d never set foot out of doors. No doubt this is all part of their master plan.

The walk starts at Archway tube station - in our case rather inauspiciously as we walk alongside the Whittington Hospital, where my aunt Margaret died just two years ago at the grand age of 93 - but that's a story for another day. We pause briefly to admire the statue of Lord Mayor Whittington's faithful cat. Foolishly I allow the words “Ooh, I never realised the hospital was named after Dick Whittington” to leave my mouth. This, in turn, causes a strange but scornful-sounding guffaw to leave the mouth of my beloved.

Mock Tudor makeover at Holly Lodge

We soon reach the fences surrounding Highgate Cemetery, but the public entrance is still some way off. Instead we admire the Mock Tudor elegance of the neighbouring Holly Lodge Estate. Mr Duncan does not deem these worthy of mention in his otherwise comprehensive guide, but a quick Google search informs us that the original grounds and villa date back to 1798 and were later owned by the Coutts banking family. In the early 20th century attempts to sell the land were apparently thwarted by its long distance (four miles) from the City - astonishing when one looks at today's property prices in the windows of Highgate estate agents. Later so-called “Lady Workers’ Homes” were built on the site to accommodate single women moving to the capital for work. The estate also contains the wonderfully-named “Traitors’ Hill” where it was believed members of the gunpowder plot gathered to admire an expected firework display over distant Westminster, though this tale has - rather sadly - been debunked (and it wasn't as if the spectacle lived up to its billing).

In the meantime we have reached the entrance to the cemetery. Although Duncan’s suggested walk doesn’t include a visit within the grounds, this seems too good an opportunity to pass up. We part with £4 each for admission, plus a handy guide to the location of famous dead people. The nice lady encourages us to return the guide at the end of our visit as they are running short - presumably due to an unexpected surge in Marxist tourism. We decide later to keep it in memory of my aunt - just in case it comes in handy (actually it’s to show my father, who is interested in that sort of stuff).

We wander respectfully amongst the graves, searching the headstones from side to side. For some reason I’m reminded of The Smiths’ song Cemetery Gates, maybe because I once loved the song and recall its role in the definitive South Bank Show documentary on the band:

Morrissey's dream day out

A dreaded sunny day

So I meet you at the cemetery gates

Keats and Yates are on your side

While Wilde is on mine

Well, Morrissey, your cemetery must have covered an area as large as Europe, as John Keats - though we will later pass his Hampstead home - is buried in Italy, while Yates, somewhat more predictably, was lain to rest in Ireland. And Oscar Wilde, famously a resident of Paris in his latter years, has his tomb at Père Lachaise, a cemetery on a par with Highgate in terms of attracting tourism - and arguably even more sprawling and macabre. Luckily for us we have a map, rather than relying on dodgy directions from an indie icon.

Karl Marx - never knowingly understated

We feel obliged to visit the oversized memorial to Karl Marx, bringing back memories for me of studying the Communist Manifesto as part of my German degree. “Where’s his mate Engels?” I muse, this time to myself. Not here - although Engels also resided in London, his body was cremated and his ashes scattered over Beachy Head. I also find myself wondering if Marx himself would have approved of the huge memorial, given that his original grave, in a family plot elsewhere in this cemetery, was a more modest, maybe more “socialist” affair. The current monument, in situ since the 1950s, stands as a beacon for his followers, admirers and sympathisers, but also for graffiti, vandalism and even bomb attacks from opponents and fanatics - indeed the latest instances took place only this year.

We follow the main path round the rest of cemetery and suddenly an hour has gone by. It really is a fascinating, if eerie, place. Whilst the guide includes a host of notable figures from 19th century naval history, architecture, commerce and learning, I am most fascinated by the people I had heard of, even admired, as living creatures - Paul Foot, the crusading investigative journalist at Private Eye; the fine actor Sir Ralph Richardson; Douglas Adams, author of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy; comedian Max Wall; even Jeremy Beadle is there to spring a final surprise on unsuspecting passers-by. We learn that the more recently departed George Michael also rests in Highgate Cemetery, but in the smaller Western section across the road that is only accessible for guided tours.

After this detour it’s almost time for lunch, so we pick up the pace through the attractive Waterlow Park before entering the gardens of Lauderdale House, a former summer retreat of Nell Gwynn. In his walking guide, Andrew Duncan describes Nell solely as “Charles II’s mistress” while a notice on the side of the house primly details only that she was a renowned actress of the day. Hmm. We notice that a middle-aged couple have unpacked a couple of beach bats from their rucksack and are playing their own version of tennis on the terrace. This strikes us as somewhat eccentric, but we don’t get involved.

The Angel Inn - centre of its community since 1610

We climb the hill to Highgate High Street, which runs through the picturesque old village. This is more like it. Rather disappointingly, our guide Andrew Duncan only appears to mention pubs in passing - clearly not a drinking man. He duly notes the historical significance of the Old Gatehouse inn, located further into the village, but we simply can’t wait that long. Slaves to the rhythm of our stomachs, we decide to enter the first pub we stumble across, the Angel Inn. This seems pleasant enough as it’s not obviously part of a dreary gastropub chain and offers a promising and quirky menu. As if to correct Duncan’s omission, the Angel displays some of its own history on a blackboard. Founded in 1610, it prides itself on “upholding traditional pub values” at the centre of its community. Its patrons have included Keith Moon of The Who and Graham Chapman from Monty Python, who “drank here often and copiously”. I’m not sure if this is meant as a commendation or a health warning, possibly a bit of both. On another wall there's a framed photo of Chapman in The Life of Brian, a reminder that it's exactly 40 years since that brilliantly comedic film caused outrage and heated debates on national TV. How times change.

We are tempted by the Calabrian Meat Board sharing platter, eschewing the option of a main dish since I’m convinced the meat board, at £14, will be “massive”. It arrives. It isn’t. But the meats are very tasty and accompanied by some toasted sourdough, so we’re happy enough (while thankful we also ordered a side of devilled whitebait). Welcome to North London liberal metropolitan elite pricing - no wonder Priti Patel moved south of the river. On the drinks front, Jayne plays safe with a small white wine, but I go full “let’s try a beer I’ve never heard of” and order a pint of “Old Man”, which I deem pertinent to my recently retired status. This turns out to be worryingly dark and opaque, but tastes just fine. Its remnants later need to be shared rather urgently with a tree on Hampstead Heath, at which point I appreciate the wisdom of Jayne’s modestly sized Pinot Grigio.

Double plaque delight in Highgate

Onwards we trek, not even close yet to the halfway point of Kenwood House. One particularly splendid house on The Grove boasts not one but two plaques commemorating past residents, which seems a bit greedy - in this case the authors J.B. Priestley and, much earlier, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, whose magnum opus The Rime of the Ancient Mariner became the scourge of many a schoolchild, including myself. I can’t help recalling the famous line “Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink”, not to mention the unfortunate incident with the albatross, before our guide reminds us that Coleridge is also known for his “opium-inspired Kubla Khan”. Now I find myself humming Frankie Goes to Hollywood: “In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a pleasure dome erect” (with the emphasis on the final word, obvs). Sorry Sam.

At last the great heath appears before us, the cue for Duncan’s guidance to become sparser and less interspersed with historical tidbits, leaving us to focus fully on the wide, open spaces around us. Impossible to overlook in the early afternoon are the hordes of professional dog walkers with their multiple charges. One passes us at the entrance, immediately releasing all (eight/nine/maybe ten) dogs off their leads to run amok on this vast expanse. I can’t imagine I’d be very good at that job, not having any particular love of dogs. Although now I think about it, an ex-girlfriend had a dog which I eventually grew to like. That was despite the rather disgusting habit of licking my feet in bed (the dog, not the ex-girlfriend - just to be clear). For one thing, I’d be terrified of mislaying some rare and invaluable cross-breed somewhere on the 800 acres of open heathland.

Similar to the cemetery earlier, Duncan’s recommended walk doesn’t include the most well-known vantage point on Hampstead Heath - Parliament Hill - although he does suggest it as a diversion for the more energetic walker. We still feel full of energy so it’s a must for us, but not before we run into trouble with his rather vague directions, such as “continue on for some way until you emerge from the trees”. Failing to spot the relevant trees from which we should eventually emerge, we conclude that Duncan’s strengths lie more as a historian than a geographer.

A shy and retiring Shooters Hill (behind HSBC)

Once at Parliament Hill we enjoy one of the iconic views of our great city. We work out that we haven’t been here for over 25 years, when we briefly lived in West Hampstead - as a born-and-bred South Londoner, this remains my one and only flirtation with North London. A lot can change in 25 years and indeed the vista before us appears vastly altered from the early 90s. That an office building at Canary Wharf now obscures the view of the water tower on Shooters Hill, where I grew up, is a source of personal dismay, but the view on this clear day is spectacular nonetheless. Further dismay will follow later when I read that Shooters Hill is not after all the highest point in London, as I had believed since my childhood (in fact, it hasn’t even come close since the expansion of Greater London in the mid-60s to include multiple outlying boroughs with more impressive hills).

We cheat a little by skipping a section of Duncan’s itinerary for the very good reason that it lies uphill from where we exit the heath. We also have no particular desire to see where the architect Ernö Goldfinger lived, as we’ve only just this minute learnt of his existence. The aforementioned John Keats’ house is a must-see though - by an amazing coincidence, this turns out to be located in Keats Grove. We take a stroll through his gardens, which are so delightful and peaceful it’s hard to imagine he suffered from melancholy, thus inspiring his eponymous ode. Then again, mental wellbeing was not much of a thing back then, so he probably suffered in silence and was told to “man up” periodically by passing dog-walkers. Meanwhile Jayne ponders the difference between an ode and a mere poem.

We finally reach Hampstead High Street some five hours after setting off. The entire walk was billed as four and a half hours, but we have constantly added optional extras (cemeteries, views and lunch - the latter of which is not at all optional in my book). Together these have probably extended the walk by some two and a half hours. There is now little chance we will be in time to pick Simon up after his rugby match, so we might as well stop for a coffee at Roni’s Bagel Bakery and bask in the warm afternoon sun - a beautiful spot. Our coffees are excellent; we also covet the scrumptious-looking Israeli salad being served at the next table - another day maybe.

St Mary bears witness to a neighbourhood dispute

Before leaving the bagels behind, I inspect the (admittedly simplified) map of Hampstead in Andrew Duncan’s book and inform Jayne we are nearing the end of the walk. An hour later we are still criss-crossing the old backstreets of Hampstead and have by now lost all sense of direction. Of course it’s all totally splendid and we see more former homes of the prolifically talented du Maurier family than you could shake a stick at. There’s even a DIY prison block attached to one grand house that once belonged to the local magistrate. Parking is at a premium, however, and we witness an acrimonious dispute between two female neighbours (let's call them Coleen and Rebekah) that ends with a threat to involve solicitors. In error we then turn left to inspect the (alleged) highest point in London, only to read on that this was intended by Duncan purely as an “FYI” and obviously we should have turned right all along. Add another ten minutes to the now late hour. We pass the second pub of the walk, Flask Tavern, to be named after the old spa water flasks of Hampstead (the other was located in Highgate but socially aspirational), before Hampstead tube station finally looms into view, signalling the end of today’s walk. Never have I been so pleased to see a facility operated by Transport for London.

Alley life in Hampstead

Summary: Very enjoyable but also very tiring, as we had somehow managed to extend a six mile walk to 10 miles and 25,000 steps. It was hilly too, as Mr Duncan had forewarned - so much so that my Fitbit credits me with the equivalent of 100 floors (though strangely Jayne’s has registered only half of that - maybe she took the lift without me noticing). For a while I conveniently forget that I’m going to a football match in the evening, which will further increase my day’s step total to 32,600 - a personal best this year (possibly this century).

Would we recommend this walk? Absolutely yes. This will take you through some of London’s most beautiful and historical residential areas and parklands, up high streets where local businesses thrive alongside the ubiquitous chains, down narrow winding alleys full of character - with plenty of tempting opportunities to go “off-piste” along the way. It definitely needs a full day to do it justice though.

*Acknowledgements: Richard and Jayne were following Andrew Duncan's "Walking London: Thirty Original Walks in and around London”, Highgate to Hampstead walk, pp 213-220, 2010 edition published by New Holland Publishers (UK) Ltd.