The sixties were about to swing as 1961 saw the first appearance of the Beatles at Liverpool’s Cavern club. Above the earth Yuri Gagarin became the first man in space, whilst back on terra firma the cold war heated up when the first blocks of the Berlin wall were cemented into place. In South East Asia, 18,000 US ‘advisors’ arrived in Vietnam.

Closer to home the residents of the Elephant and Castle in South London no doubt marvelled, ignored and tut-tut-ted at these developments in equal measure. After the severe bomb damage of WWII their little corner of the world was slowly being reshaped by planners and architects full of exciting new ideas. The future would be a better, sleeker, more exciting place to live, although the dislocation between these ideas of modernity and the ordinary people were already apparent. For one thing locals were pondering the appearance of a huge shiny futuristic metal box in the centre of a roundabout in the middle of the Elephant. Back in 1961 nobody really knew what it was. Thirty years later the same was still true when, in June 1995, the Evening Standard ran a story with a picture of the box headlined ‘But what on earth is it?’

One often repeated urban myth can be discounted immediately, as the steel cube is most definitely not a subterranean home for dance music pioneer Richard D. James (aka the Aphex Twin). Admittedly it would be a great rock ‘n’ roll story if an artist who credits synaesthesia as an inspiration for creating ground-breaking ambient, acid and techno music should chose to burrow a home under one of South London’s busiest roundabouts. Sadly he lives in a converted bank just round the corner.

In truth it’s easy to sweep the mystery away. Just use one of the pedestrian crossings that link the urban mainland to the traffic island and take a look at the stone inscription on the north side of the box. This tells you that the stainless steel structure is a memorial to local boy done good Michael Faraday, who, although not the most famous south Londoner, was one of the most amazing individuals the capital has ever produced. Born into poverty in 1791, Faraday received only basic schooling but in his teens a fascination with science led him down the road of self improvement. By his early twenties he secured a post as a chemical assistant at the Royal Institution. Over the following years Faraday worked extensively on the principles of electricity, discovering in 1831 electromagnetic induction, the principle behind the electric transformer. This pioneering research laid the basis for the commercial exploitation of electricity. So the next time you switch on your kettle give a little salute to Michael Faraday.

Continue reading "Michael Faraday Memorial, London" »

Posted by Maurice on September 14, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (5)

I think most people would agree that a great deal of nonsense is spoken in public houses. Combining the power of speech with the consumption of alcohol is normally an effective barrier to sensible conversation. The more you drink the greater your propensity to hear and spout total nonsense. Yet it was whilst propping up a bar in Soho that I was first told about a Soviet T34 tank parked up on waste ground in Bermondsey, just a stones throw from the Old Kent Road. Thinking that my companion was a little too well oiled from the Belgian import he was drinking my initial reaction was a furrowed brow and a disbelieving arch of the eyebrows. An armour plated piece of the Red Army dumped in South London? My internal urban myth alarm sounded loudly. I speculated as to who had put it there, Del Boy perhaps? The whole story sounded far too much like a plotline from an episode of ‘Only Fools and Horses’ to have any chance of being true. My drinking buddy gamely assured me that his tale was genuine, but when he told me that I would find the tank on ‘Mandela Way’, I assumed that only a right ‘plonker’ would believe such an unlikely story.

I’m not sure what I expected when I turned up on Mandela Way a few days later. Perhaps a man in a sheep skin coat, puffing on a cigar selling tickets to see the largest piece of Cold War memorabilia in SE1? Unlikely, as anyone touting for tourist trade in this part of town would face a tough job. Tower Bridge may only be a twenty minute walk away, but by the time you reach the incessant buzz of traffic on the Old Kent Road, the manicured visitor delights of central London have surrendered to the much more earthy charms on offer in the ‘Sarf’. A triangular piece of scrub ground deep in the heart of western capitalism is certainly an odd resting place for a machine which once sought to champion a socialist utopia. With a row of humble Victorian terraced houses to the north and the bleak prefabricated expanse of a trading estate to the east, the tank sits on a decidedly incongruous corner of the capital. Indeed the comrades who put this particular T34 together must have thought that the only way its caterpillar tracks would ever grace the streets of London would be during a victory parade. In actual fact it was to be the combination of a film company, British eccentricity and a planning dispute which succeeded where Marxist Leninist dogma failed.

When movie crews descended on Battersea Power station in the mid 90s to film an updated version of Richard III they needed some serious firepower. The swords and horses of Shakespeare’s time were to be replaced with more destructive modern weapons. Tanks were needed and one of the vehicles delivered was an ageing T34 tank recently imported from a rapidly decommissioning Russian army in Czechoslovakia. Unlike the make believe action of the film set, this particular tank had seen real service during the Prague spring of 1968 when Soviet troops rolled into the Czech capital to crush the revolting students. After the film, the T34 went to a scrap metal dealer from whom in 1995 it was bought by property developer Russell Gray as a gift for his seven year old son. Even fully deactivated a 35 tonne tank does seem a rather excessive present for one so young and it would seem that Mr Gray had an ulterior motive in mind. Soon after the purchase the T34 was installed on land owned by him at the corner of Pages Walk and Mandela Way, a plot on which he had recently lost a planning battle with Southwark Council. According to one (possibly apocryphal) story Mr Gray had by then secured permission to place a ‘tank’ on the land, although the council thought he meant one of the ‘septic’ variety. Whether there is any truth in that wonderful tale, it is evident the authorities are powerless to prevent the storage of vehicles on the land as the tank has remained in the same spot for the last thirteen years, with, if local rumour is to be believed, its gun barrel deliberately aimed toward the council offices.

Continue reading "T34 Tank, London" »

Posted by Maurice on July 24, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (1)

Even if you have never crossed the threshold of Katz’s in person, there is still a good chance you will be familiar with the slightly beaten décor of this fantastic old deli. The simple furniture, or rather one table and two chairs in particular, is famous for co-starring in probably the most famous ‘non-sex’ scene in cinematic history. Today a cardboard sign dangles from the ceiling pointing to the spot where Meg Ryan faced Billy Crystal and writhed in faux sexual ecstasy to confound his character’s scepticism that she could successfully simulate an orgasm. The scene became an instant classic and helped catapult ‘When Harry met Sally’ into movie folklore. Sadly during my visit nobody was 'having what she was having’ so the room remained frustratingly moan free. Indeed visitors seemed particularly keen not to occupy the infamous seats, perhaps fearful they would be obliged to provide an impersonation, and circled around the spot like it was the site of a car wreck. When a couple did finally sit at the table they were soon in the glare of camera flashes as tourists spotted a chance to snap the location complete with stand-ins.

Despite the allure of the Hollywood connection, Katz’s remains a staunchly old school deli. Aside from a nice sideline in t-shirts the sole purpose of this cavernous eating emporium is to fill the bellies of hungry New Yorkers to breaking point. For overseas visitors there is always a strong suspicion that non-American notions of what constitutes large are deemed to be only worthy of diminutive status Stateside. At Katz’s the portion sizes try to squeeze another ‘ex’ in excessive and the main ingredient is meat; lots and lots and lots of meat. I should perhaps warn any faint hearted vegetarians to discontinue reading now because Katz’s is a temple where people pay homage to salad dodging. Its menu is a lentil free list, a bible for beef, a catalogue of carbohydrates, where the only concession to greenery is a side order of pickles and coleslaw. However if you like the sound of a Reuben sandwich (toasted sandwich made with corned beef, sauerkraut, Swiss cheese, and Russian dressing) or a Philly Cheesesteak (thinly sliced pieces of steak and melted cheese on a long roll), then please read on.

For those seeking an archetypal New York experience a lunchtime visit to Katz’s will be highly rewarding. Here, everything the movies have ever told you comes true. Upon entry the deli crackles with energy and attitude. As banter fires off in all directions so the room is filled with a symphony of American accents which range from first generation Hispanic to full on ‘Tony Soprano’. The temptation to say ‘eh, alrightalready’ with a theatrical shoulder shrug is hard to resist and the conversation seems to have only one volume setting - loud. As orders are barked out, a legion of workers zip around, making their own ballet out of what appears to be chaos. At the door you are given a blank ticket and pointed in the direction of a long counter which runs nearly the entire length of the shop. Behind it an army of white capped men await your order with dangerous looking knives in hand. The list of coronary clogging culinary delights is daunting, and while seasoned regulars issue their requests with practiced confidence, the patience of the cutters seems easily tested by hesitant virgins. Indeed, getting served in Katz’s is half the fun as the servers seem to take a disinterest in customers which would please even the surliest of Parisian waiters. Fortunately there is a row of inviting beer taps situated at the one end of the counter so it’s not a bad idea to partake of a brew and take your time deciding. In fairness the bark of the employees is worse than their bite and they are actually quite happy to explain the dishes or provide a sample of the meat. Whatever you order is marked on your ticket for payment upon departure. Given the size of the portions your exit could be somewhat delayed by the demands of your digestion.

Continue reading "Katz's Delicatessen, New York City" »

Posted by Maurice on September 26, 2007 | Permalink

The blue bereted soldier inspected our documentation from behind stylish, slightly sinister, wrap around sun glasses of the type often favoured by sports competitors and the military. His movements were lacklustre, those of a man bored by the monotony of sentry duty, and, judging by the insignia on his United Nations uniform, I suspected that he would rather be enjoying vodka back in his native Poland, instead of standing guard in the heat of the Holy Lands. Satisfied that the dramatic swirls, peaks and troughs of the Arabic script correctly accompanied the ministry of interior stamps he handed the papers back to our driver and, with a casual nod of the head, signalled his approval for us to proceed. As we edged forward, Ali punctuated the front seat silence he had cultivated since we left our hotel with a single word, ‘Golan’. He then gestured westward toward the verdant hills in the near distance. This would be where our road from Damascus would hit a dead end; any progress blocked by barbed wire, minefields and beyond that the Israeli army.

On the 10th of June 1967 the six day war was in its final stages. In just over 130 hours Israeli forces had defeated the military opposition offered by Egypt, Jordan and Syria with a series of brilliantly planned pre-emptive attacks. Citing the fear of an imminent assault by Arab forces, politicians in Tel Aviv had gambled on striking first in order to destroy the forces which encircled them. The level of their success out stripped their wildest dreams as Israeli troops quickly captured Jerusalem and the Sinai desert, decimating the Egyptian and Jordanian militaries in the process. By 8.30am on the final day Syrian forces were being engaged on the border and by mid morning the Golan Heights had been taken.

As a general rule I have found that men carrying Kalashnikovs rarely smile, and the balding member of the Syrian intelligence agency who halted us at the next checkpoint, proved to be no exception. Once again our papers were taken for close inspection but this time upon their return we also received an extra passenger in the form of an official government ‘minder’, who would accompany us for the remainder of the journey. Wearing a regulation black leather jacket, steady frown and perma-stubble, our new travelling companion instantly made his presence felt by berating Ali for announcing that we would soon be arriving at the ‘Israeli border’. Our enraged escort spun round from his seat to tell us that our driver was talking nonsense, in truth we would soon be visiting Israeli occupied Syria. My wife gave me a wide eyed look which suggested that, as usual, I had succeeded in ‘taking her to all the best places’.

Continue reading "Golan Heights, Syria" »

Posted by Maurice on August 18, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Even some of the most experienced south Londoners will furrow their brows and scan their mental A-Z’s in vain when you mention a visit to Nunhead. Despite being firmly lodged in zone 2 the area possesses a spymaster’s flair for anonymity. Perhaps its low profile can be ascribed to the Post office decision in the early twentieth century to lump Nunhead and Peckham together within the SE15 postcode. Ever since being made GPO bedfellows, Nunhead has played the poor relation to its neighbour and the crisis of identity was only exacerbated when Del Boy and his three-wheeler stamped an indelible mark on the nation’s popular consciousness. But while Peckham revels in notoriety, Nunhead possesses at least one very good reason why you should make tracks to this overlooked corner of the capital. Tucked away among the ordinary terraced side streets is perhaps the greatest of all London’s nineteenth century cemeteries, a true hidden gem, which the more discerning visitor will be just dying to visit.

From the outside, the front entrance to Nunhead cemetery exudes the sort of gothic menace which would excite the location finder for any Hammer House of Horror film production. The drama of the huge iron gates hanging from towering stone columns is heightened by their recessed location from the main road. It’s easy to imagine long faced Dickensian undertakers arriving atop a jet black carriage, pulled by plumed horses the colour of midnight. This monumental entrance is the meeting point for the vast ten foot high wall which encloses some 52 acres of gravestones. The gates revel in the insignia of death featuring badges depicting an emptied hour glass flanked by wings of a feathered angel, and more ominously, a skeletal demon. Similarly the stonework is decorated with down turned torches, the life of their flames permanently extinguished. It’s fair to say that this exterior possesses sufficient creepiness to encourage the casual passer-by to consider crossing the road even in the full glare of daylight. But if the outside alone is liable to unnerve then perhaps those of a nervous disposition would be advised not to take a stroll inside.

Continue reading "Nunhead Cemetery, London" »

Posted by Maurice on April 02, 2007 | Permalink

It’s certainly not unusual for buildings to be deemed a danger to public safety. Dodgy slates, subsiding walls or loose panes of glass often result in blocked pavements, stripy warning tape and cheek sucking workmen looking skywards. In the history of remedial construction however there must be precious few examples of an erection being declared unsafe due to the threat of falling penises. Yet in 1930’s London, number 429 Strand, a building dogged by controversy ever since its completion, was irrevocably altered, some would say vandalised, in the name of health and safety.

A stroll along the Strand today would most likely involve a head down battle against the tide of humanity. The street still contains some classic features, including Charing Cross Station and the Savoy hotel, but as a vehicle choked city thoroughfare, it’s not the best place in the capital to admire the view. In 1908 the scene would have been very different. Locals, spared the high doses of CO2, gathered in large crowds at what is now number 429, to view the recently completed headquarters of the British Medical Foundation. The focus of their attention was the series eighteen seven foot high nude sculptures entitled the Ages of Man which adorned the outside of the building. The nakedness of the figures enraged conservative writers of the time and the Evening Standard spearheaded a campaign against art works they considered to be morally retrograde. Father Bernhard Vaughn, a member of the National Vigilance Society raged in the paper that:

“As a Christian in a Christian City, I claim the right to say that I object most emphatically to such indecent statuary being thrust upon my view.”

While the good Father was clearly opposed to any sort of thrusting filth, the vehemence of the morally indignant he represented soon generated a wider public interest. So when the Evening Standard suggested that the statues were the sort that “…no careful father would wish his daughter, or no discriminating young man, his fiancée, to see”, Londoners flocked to the Strand eager to consume their quota of outrage.

Continue reading "429 Strand, London" »

Posted by Maurice on February 20, 2007 | Permalink

Ever since the ingenious subterranean and tree top protests of environmentalists failed to halt the extension of the A34, Newbury has become an easy place to bypass. Traffic now speeds past its western edge with a consistent urgency, but with the defeat of the anti-road campaigners in the late 90s the town lost its national notoriety as well a few hundred acres of woodland. Unless you are a horse racing enthusiast or a Vodafone employee (the town is the world HQ for the company) there is little to tempt the casual passer-by onto the streets. The place is perfectly nice while being simultaneously perfectly undistinguished. Given this ordinariness, it’s peculiar to think that just over twenty years ago this sleepy part of Berkshire was a prime target for Soviet nuclear missiles.

What prompted Kremlin military planners to consider the total obliteration of Newbury is to be found a couple of miles to the south east of the town. Greenham Common is now a vast open space full of dog walkers, ramblers and the occasional cow but in the mid 80s it housed a huge military airbase and was one the most guarded places in the UK. The security was necessitated by the decision of Maggie Thatcher’s Conservative government, to allow American Cruise missiles to be located on British soil. These weapons were designed to neutralise the threat posed by Soviet SS-20 missiles which had been deployed in the mid 70s and were perceived to have upset the precarious nuclear balance of the Cold War. The first of the ninety six bombs housed at the base, arrived in November 1983. They were stored in six enormous purpose built underground shelters. Hundreds of anti-nuclear campaigners were on hand to greet the delivery and give notice that they had no intention of leaving the base in peace.

Today nature has reclaimed much of the Common, although remnants of the old base are still visible. The control tower, which once guided in vast military transport planes, is intact, but up close appears disappointingly small. It oversees the remains of the runway which is discernable only as an unnaturally flat stretch of grass which splits the centre of the Common. Pieces of military machinery, so imbedded they must be immovable, still punctuate areas which once would have accommodated taxiing aircraft.

Continue reading "Greenham Common, Newbury" »

Posted by Maurice on February 10, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (2)

Despite being a child of the 60’s the Brunswick centre still feels distinctly futuristic, a neat trick considering its last century lineage predates the technological innovations which define modern notions of cutting edge. Yet among the otherwise genteel Georgian Streets of Bloomsbury the monolithic concrete architecture of the Brunswick still evokes visions of tomorrow. The rectangular slab looks like a super block of reinforced Lego that has fallen from space and embedded itself in north London.

Inside its walls the elevated pedestrian central precinct is a clinical open space, flanked by shops and residential units which run the length of the development and cascade down toward street level. The tiered construction is the architectural equivalent of a tea plantation with the flats terraced back against an invisible hillside. Huge service towers stand watch over the building, reaching for the heavens like the ramparts of a futuristic citadel. The effect is dramatic and distinctly sci-fi, you really wouldn’t be surprised to see a Cyberman or bowler hatted Malcolm McDowell giving the place the once over.

Our visions of the future are usually played out cinematically against two distinct architectural backdrops. On the one hand there is the grim, grimy and nihilistic tomorrow as seen in films such as Robocop. On the other our offspring are seen to inherit a sleek, minimalist, usually white robed world, often harbouring a sinister secret. Check out Jenny Agutter in Logan’s Run for a good example. Before its £24 million revamp the Brunswick centre would have fitted neatly into the former category. In the late 1990s the building was neglected and shabby; its concrete walls turned a dour shade of inner city grey by the British weather. The unloved design coped badly with neglect and the Brunswick looked increasingly like the sort of place Judge Dredd patrols in the pages of 2000AD. This state of affairs was hardly surprising given the history of wrangling and compromise which dogged the development.

Continue reading "The Brunswick Centre, London" »

Posted by Maurice on December 12, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (1)

If the walls at The Old Operating Theatre could talk, they would most likely scream in agony rather than strike up a conversation. Standing on the tiered steps which arch around the operating pit, the centre piece in one of London’s lesser known and quirkier museums, it only takes a pinch of imagination to visualise the grim realities of surgery in a time before anaesthetic. The operating table, no more than a slab of wood, stands on stripped floorboards beneath the vast glazed skylight which once provided the illumination by which the surgeons could slice. These men, often dressed in frock coats, went about their business ignorant as to the merits of antiseptic and without the benefits of effective painkillers or unconscious patients. Operations required speed, skill, a strong stomach and more than a little luck to ensure those beneath the blade survived. It’s safe to assume that during the early decades of the nineteenth century the wooden walls of the operating theatre witnessed enough gore and suffering to make even the Christmas special of ‘Casualty’ seem tame.

Getting to the operating theatre is a peculiar business as the entrance is to be found in St Thomas’s church, an eighteenth century baroque building whose dusty loft space, or garret, houses the museum. The narrow spiral staircase which leads upwards, seems ill suited to the care of the sick and the location is only explained when one learns that the church roof abuts the wards on the south wing of St Thomas’s hospital. When the church was rebuilt in the seventeenth century, the new building was constructed with a large ‘aisle barn’ garret which became home to the resident Apothecary at the neighbouring hospital. This seller and maker of medicine would have cultivated a herb garden and recent renovation work has found remains of dried opium in the rafters. Part of the museum recreates the workshop of the apothecary and the combined smells from exotic ingredients such as Frankincense, Santolina, Comfrey, Horsetail and Gum Arabic assault the nostrils as soon as you reach the top of the staircase. Signs detail the medicinal benefits of these raw materials although some remedies appear to have more in common with witchcraft than science. One of the least promising must be the recipe for Snailwater, which purports to offer a cure for venereal disease through a mixture concocted largely from crushed snails and earth worms.

Continue reading "The Old Operating Theatre, London" »

Posted by Maurice on November 25, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (1)

I must have driven past the turning for the A4180 a couple of hundred times before finally flicking the indicators and directing my car away from the terminally busy lanes of the A40. Previously my desire to either get to, or escape from, the congested delights of London had always persuaded me to speed past the west and east bound road signs which point towards Yeading and Ruislip respectively. Yet, delightful as these towns may well be, it was the words Polish War Memorial, emblazoned in white capitals across the top of the metal rectangle which always tempted me to deviate off course. I was intrigued as to what sort of a monument would warrant such a grandiose notice and always imagined that the post-war government in Warsaw had commissioned some brutal piece of communist commemoration to sit in capitalist Britain. So, cruising up the slip road, I twisted my neck searching for a memorial of Soviet proportions, all shards of concrete and square jawed figures, striking determined poses.

When I drew up alongside the monument I realised that my socialist fantasy had gotten the better of me. The structure which remembers the 2,165 Polish airmen killed during WWII is the work not of bureaucrats but rather surviving comrades who sought to build the memorial soon after the armistice in 1945. The Polish air force association commissioned Miecystam Lubelski, a craftsman recently released form a Nazi labour camp, to construct the memorial and his plan exudes gravitas through simple design. A set of small iron gates lead to a needle of Portland stone fronted by a shallow pond and flanked by two low walls. On top of the central column is a bronze eagle, symbol of the Polish air force, and to the rear a sunken half moon walkway is inscribed with the names of the fallen as well the insignia of long disbanded squadrons. Despite its proximity to a busy roundabout, and given that the dead end approach road is used as a car park, the memorial manages to radiate a serenity which succeeds in blocking out the distractions which surround it.

Continue reading "Polish War Memorial, Northolt" »

Posted by Maurice on October 26, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (5)

Burgess Park is certainly not one of the most famous parks in London. Situated just off the exhaust choked tarmac of the Old Kent Road this large open space offers a green refuge from the madness of the capital's wild south east. On first inspection the park appears fairly undistinguished. It has a large lake where optimistic locals dangle rods and the largely treeless expanse plays host to impromptu football matches. It also stages the largest South American carnival of the year. But the strangest thing about Burgess Park is the iron canal bridge which sits alone like a forlorn bachelor on its southern most edge. This gently rusting structure is totally land-locked, spanning nothing but earth. Its existence is incongruous, canals and the Old Kent Road are not recognised bed fellows. Was I the first to wonder if its location hadn’t been the result of some eccentric copying the efforts of Robert McCulloch in transporting London Bridge to the USA? After all, that seemingly crazy inter-continental shift has transformed Lake Havasu into the second most popular Nevadan tourist attraction after Las Vegas.

If this were true then the experiment has failed in Burgess Park, there are no tacky gift shops or tourist hoards in evidence. However, by following the path leading from the bridge towards Peckham it soon becomes apparent that you are following the bends of an old water course which winds under two classic Victorian bridges. The physical scars of nineteenth century engineering are still evident on the landscape and when following the canal route it requires only a smidgen of imagination to visualise barges floating past the modern houses of north Peckham estate.

A little research reveals that at one time The Grand Surrey canal ran through what is now Burgess Park. Poor road links in the reign of George IV resulted in the proposed extension of the waterway to link London with Portsmouth. Unfortunately the money ran dry in 1826 with the canal only dug out as far as Peckham. The stunted waterway was adapted to ship softwood and materials were floated to Eagle Wharf, not far from where Whitten Timber merchants stands today on Peckham Hill Street. It’s worth popping into the shop to look at the old black and white pictures of the working canal and sniff the odour of freshly cut wood.

Continue reading "The Lost Canals of Peckham, London" »

Posted by Maurice on October 09, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Just before Philip K Dick died in 1982 executives at Warner Bros Studios arranged for him to see rough cuts of the film Blade Runner, a project inspired by his novel ‘Do Androids dream of Electric Sheep’. The author had been hitherto suspicious of the movie adaptation but after seeing the rushes he noted that the film would ‘change the way we look at movies’. The prescient Mr Dick was on the money and Ridley Scott’s vision of a dystopian Los Angeles became the cinematic yard stick by which depictions of the future are still measured today. Though a great deal of the film was shot on vast studio backlots, locations in downtown LA were also employed to depict a grimmer, grimier tomorrow. The monumental architecture of Union Station doubled as a police station, while the magically named Million Dollar Theatre formed part of the futuristic streetscape. One of the most memorable scenes takes place in the apartment of prematurely ageing genetic designer J.F. Sebastian whose fictional home was created in the Bradley Building, a superb late nineteenth century office block which, fan of the film or not, is certainly worth a visit.

The reasons why the building was chosen as a sci-fi location are clear as soon as you step through the brown brick Romanesque entrance. Once inside you are presented with a sensational five storey high central court yard topped with a glass roof which allows the glazed brick walls to sparkle in natural light. Directly facing the entrance is a marble stair case lined with ornate railings flanked by two open cage elevators surrounded by wrought iron grills. The French made metal work was also used in the construction of the freestanding mail-chutes and was made to give the illusion of hanging vegetation. Despite being completed in 1893 the fusion of geometric design and exquisite materials allows the building to conjure the neat trick of appearing timeless.

The driving force behind the creation of such an exciting space was local property millionaire Lewis Bradbury who initially tasked local architect Sumner Hunt with the job of masterminding a spectacular office block. Sadly for Hunt his plans did not match the grandiose vision of his pay master, and the frustrated Bradbury unexpectedly turned to draftsman George Wyman for an alternative design. Given Wyman’s total lack of formal training as an architect he seemed an odd choice for such a major project. Stranger still was that his initial refusal to take up the challenge was only reversed following an evening spent dabbling with the occult. The story goes that George received a Ouija board message from his dead brother saying "Mark Wyman - take the -Bradbury building - and you will be - successful".

Continue reading "The Bradbury Building, Los Angeles" »

Posted by Maurice on September 17, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (1)

When I mention that during a trip to Los Angeles I visited some of the locations featured in the series Buffy the Vampire Slayer the majority of people curl their top lip, flex out one nostril, and utter the word ‘why?’ in such a way that their tone of voice refines the meaning of incredulity to a new level of purity. To a certain extent I guess they are right, most people pack a pair of shorts to enjoy the Californian weather rather than an anorak. Yet despite the inherent geek factor in this expedition we, I was accompanied by my friend and fellow devotee Sebastian, had enormous fun paying homage to officially ‘the best’ TV show of all time. Of course you don’t have to a fan of Buffy to enjoy LA (although it does help) but television and film provides a fascinating vehicle to explore a city which often proves difficult to love.

Roman Polanski quipped that “Los Angeles is the most beautiful city in the world...provided it’s seen by night and from a distance.” It’s difficult to disagree with this assessment. Even if you haven’t witnessed the magical glow of the illuminated street plan in person, you’ve seen the beguiling nocturnal view from the hills a hundred times on the big and small screens. Yet, as Polanski suggests, up close and personal the town appears less appealing. Los Angeles is a sprawling mass, dissected by massive freeways which offer the promise of connection but only serve to isolate and confuse. Frustratingly these rivers of asphalt seem continually congested with cars liable to log jam at any time. The homage to the automobile has allowed the city to seep out over southern California like the contents of leaky paint tin. The resulting lack of density means that LA is one of the least visitor friendly cities in the world.

Despite, or perhaps because of this, Los Angeles remains among my favourite destinations. It possesses an illusive allure and a seedy glamour best described in the works of Raymond Chandler. Indeed, getting to grips with LA requires detective work and there is no better way to play the sleuth than becoming a character in your own tourist screenplay. After all the most recognizable landmark in the city is an old real estate sign which acts as the emblem not only for the multi billion dollar film industry but also the city itself. Away from the self important Hollywood letters there are surprisingly few iconic structures to denote the low rise surroundings. A strange architectural anomaly given that, with over one thousand movies made there annually, LA is the most filmed place on the planet.

Continue reading "Finding Buffy, Los Angeles" »

Posted by Maurice on August 31, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (4)

The first time visitor to Tobacco Dock could be forgiven for thinking that they have arrived at a building nearing completion. It is immediately clear that the nineteenth century warehouse has been lovingly restored from a repository for imported goods into a modern shopping emporium. Everything is in place, fancy fixtures and fittings, stylish walkways and smart glass fronted units fully prepared for arrival of High Street names to breathe new mercantile life into the historic brick walls. Unfortunately Tobacco Dock is not waiting to be launched but rather sits becalmed after opening its doors in 1990. The crew that once manned the shops have long since abandoned ship and on this retail Marie Celeste CCTV cameras search for non existent miscreants.

Yet the story started so brightly back in the booming mid 80’s when stock markets were sky high and yuppies were busy buying red Porsches, listening to Phil Collins and carrying mobile phones that weighed half a tonne. During these heady days Brian Jackson and Lawrie Cohen had the bold idea to build a version of Covent Garden in the east end. Their ambition cannot be doubted and the selection of the stunning Tobacco Dock as a location seemed inspired.

The warehouse into which Cohen and Jackson would invest millions was designed by architect David Alexander as part of a much larger development built in 1811-14. This was a period of rapid commercial expansion along the Thames and businessmen hurried to keep up with the explosion in the sea-going transportation of goods. With London at the epicentre of the global market the demand for new storage and reception facilities for raw materials was enormous. In response Alexander collaborated with engineer John Rennie to mastermind the construction of London Dock. When completed the site covered 30 acres and specialised in high-value luxury commodities such as ivory, spices, coffee and cocoa as well as wine, tobacco and wool, all stored in elegant warehouses and cellars. Tobacco Dock was one part of this giant scheme and originally covered 20,000 square meters. The two fifths which remain standing today showcase an evolutionary architectural phase which, before the use of metal beams, combined timber and cast iron to make horizontal roof spans.

Continue reading "Tobacco Dock, London" »

Posted by Maurice on August 01, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (3)

It’s amazing what people can get accustomed to. Locals living in Headington, a quiet suburb on the eastern edge of Oxford, don’t seem to notice the 25 foot long headless shark embedded in the roof space of an otherwise undistinguished terraced house. The head turning and furrowed brows are now the preserve of outsiders who gaze quizzically at the fibreglass fish then look skywards as if the beast has crashed down from the heavens. But this fishy protrusion is not in place by accident and from the time it was craned into position on 9th of August 1986 the shark swam into a wave of controversy.

The owner of the house with the new finned extension was Bill Heine, an American expat who had commissioned sculptor John Buckley to create the piece. If Bill’s desire was to generate publicity he very quickly achieved his goal as pictures of the shark went from Oxford to Fleet Street and then around the world. Camera crews and the curious followed all questioning the motives behind the eccentric project. Bill replied that the shark, actually named ‘untitled’, was a comment on Cold War politics having been installed on the 41st anniversary of the dropping of the atomic bomb on Nagasaki. He told journalists,

“The shark was to express someone feeling totally impotent and ripping a hole in their roof out of a sense of impotence and anger and desperation….It is saying something about CND, nuclear, power, Chernobyl and Nagasaki. “

For many locals and council officials this artistic explanation did not provide Heine with the freedom to lower the tone and possibly the house prices in the area. At first the shark was hunted on the grounds that it posed a danger to public safety, but engineering reports on the girders supporting the structure suggested otherwise. The council decided they needed a ’bigger boat’ so used failure to comply with section 22 of the Town and Country Planning Act as grounds for removal. While the debates on the future of the shark became mired in council committees local people slotted into pro and anti camps. The shark was either a harmless bit of fun or an unlawful eyesore. Heine proved adept at stalling for time and in 1991 appealed to Michael Heseltine, then secretary of state for the environment, for clemency. In 1992 Heseltine’s inspector Peter Macdonald ruled in favour of the sculpture and the shark was free to remain a fish out of water.

Continue reading ""Untitled", Oxford" »

Posted by Maurice on July 26, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (8)

Mention that you live in Peckham and most strangers gleefully enquire whether you drive a three wheeled van or live next door to 'Trigger'. Countering that the Only Fools and Horses film crews set up their cameras in Bristol rather than south east London doesn't seem to deter them. The on-screen world of ‘Del Boy’ bears little resemblance with reality and the only ‘trotters’ to be found are in the butcher’s shops. Rye Lane slices through the heart of Peckham and a saunter along its pavements reveals a slice of zone two London as yet untouched by the homogenising touch of modern retail. The street and surrounding side roads are a distinctly chain store free zone. Local entrepreneurship is in the ascendancy and most of those doing the selling are immigrants from an array of nationalities. There is no better place in London to buy international phone cards and avoid trendy wine bars. The effect of this melting pot is chaotic, exhilarating, scruffy, noisy, smelly and colourful in equal measure. Buses and cars battle with pedestrians for superiority and a raw energy crackles in the air.

Book-ending Rye Lane is the large green space of the common to the south and the Will Alsop’s iconic Peckham Library building to the north. The latter is an emblem for the ongoing regeneration of the area and this bold vision of modernity is soon to be joined by Peckham Pier, another Alsop building, this one a gallery space supported by the Camberwell and Chelsea art colleges. Peckham has long been an artistic refuge and a detour to the increasingly gentrified Bellenden Road reveals cast iron bollards designed by local famous person Anthony Gormley. Newcastle may have an Angel but Peckham can boast slowly rusting street furniture of a slightly phallic nature.

The tree lined Rye common is where an eight year old William Blake saw a vision of angels in a tree and is also the reputed site of Bodicea’s great battle against the Romans. The space is a picnicker’s paradise and the Clock House pub is a short stroll for a pint. Outside the library the lights illuminating the canopy in the square change colour in accordance to air temperature. When standing under its protection look across the street towards the ‘Crackerjack’ discount store where, beyond the shop front, you will see a rather crooked, elderly structure. It is a remnant of when Peckham was a village on the edge of the metropolis and is one of the oldest timber framed buildings still standing in London.

Continue reading "Rye Lane, Peckham" »

Posted by Maurice on July 13, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (3)