Tomorrow morning is due to be sunny; the heavens be praised.
I shall be leading a walk around The Cut starting at 10.45 outside Southwark tube.
The Cut is pretty couth these days, but George Sala, a nineteenth century journalist saw it differently. He said the gin shops, leviathan, ghastly in their newness, richness of decoration were the only things new. Everything else was secondhand. The women were slovenly, you could hear the howling of beaten children and kicked dogs; the tenements were vile and rotten. There was a smell of escaped gas, deceased cats, ancient fish, unwashed soddened, unkempt, feckless humanity.
I found my camera.
Here are the hens at the end of our walk.
I’m going to be having a bit of break from guiding people around this wonderful city as tomoorow I am heading for Australia.
I’ll be back in December, and getting back into harness leading the Walworth walk on Saturday 3rd December at 10.45 from outside Kennington tube, and getting into the festive season at the artists’ open studios.
Barbara Wakefield, Hearts
Jam Jar Flowers
Spring has sprung and April is well and truly established. It’s a month where the weather is as changeable as the days. Showers, wind and sunshine chase each other through the hours. Trees get greener, more blossom laden by the minute.
It’s a time of hope, of new life, and London stirs like a great beast and stretches towards summer.
Tomorrow, Sunday 17th April, I am leading a walk around Denmark Hill and Camberwell. It’s an area close to the centre of London, but greener and leafier than you might expect. In the past it was called South London’s answer to Belgravia. It was also the home to many German families who had migrated to London, including some of my own family. Indeed my grandparents were married there, and it is where my father was born.
So it has a special meaning for me.
The William Booth Memorial College, Denmark Hill
It was like a scene from that sweetest of films about community, Local Hero. As I made my way along Liverpool Grove, I could see people ahead of me all walking into the church, the very lovely St Peter’s Walworth, according to one book I’ve read, the only building of architectural significance in Walworth. Strangely, I don’t agree. I don’t think many at last night’s meeting would either.
There was a good turn out, a testament to how people care about our neighbourhood, including a fair few councillors, and we filled the pews. Jeremy, chair of the Walworth Society, scampered about with a mike to make sure everyone could be heard.
The biggest cheer of the night was for a local resident, fan of the library and the Cuming museum, who is also a firefighter. He urged all present to go to the London Fire Brigade website and take part in the consultation. If the current proposals to close fire stations go ahead, six of the engines and their crew who helped to put out the fire at Walworth Town Hall will be axed. There will be a public meeting we are urged to attend at the GLA 14th May from seven to nine in the evening.
So exciting! The flame has been lit in Trafalgar Square, and will travel around London today. I heard it will be at the Palace of Westminster where I am working, so I am hoping and hoping to see it! The Paralympic Games are nearly here.
It’s been called the ugliest place in London, but there’s much more to the Elephant and Castle than roundabouts and a shopping centre.
Join me at 10.45 next Sunday morning outside the tube station on London Road for a walk around the Elephant.
£9, £7 over 65s and full time students.
I was at Westminster Abbey today. You can’t take pictures inside the abbey, but two of the lovely marshals, John and Peter, let me take their photograph by the West Door.
John and Peter, Abbey Marshals
The marshals are a friendly bunch. I haven’t guided the abbey for a while, and inside I enjoyed catching up with some old friends. I didn’t see the lovely Ben, alas. Ben is the verger who became famous around the globe last year when footage of him cartwheeling down the nave after William’s marriage to Kate Middleton was published. He’s a font of dreadful jokes. The choirboys pass him their old joke books when they have finished with them. Continue reading