The Pagoda

Pagoda Gardens, SE3

I was saving this entry until June (I'll explain why later), but Benedict sent me such a fantastic picture with his question that I've escalated it to now.

He asks:

On a rare morning of no responsibilities my partner and I went for an unstructured ramble around the not so familiar environs and - blow me down - gor blimey - I have never seen this before , but it's obviously been in Blackheath since 1800s. A Georgian Pagoda!!! What on earth is/was it?

The Phantom replies:

Astoundingly, just put the definite article in front of it and that's exactly what it is - THE Pagoda, Benedict. And no - it's not been there since the 1800s - it's been there since the 1700s - 1767, in fact. It was built for the Duke of Montague at a time when everything Oriental was fashionable. It was called chinoiserie - though that term was used for everything that came from the East, not just China.

In fact, if we're being honest, they didn't really much care about authenticity at all - it was the flavour 18th Century stylists were after, not the precise style. All they knew was that all the things they liked - from fabulous silks and exquisite vases to the tea being loaded from massive ships at East India Dock - came from this exotic all-purpose 'Orient.' Many country houses have a 'Chinese' room, decorated with dainty wallpaper, screens, bamboo furniture and porcelain.

And they built their summer houses - for this was what The Pagoda originally was - a grandiose garden shed for Montague House which, if memory serves, was at the South West corner of Greenwich Park, next door-ish to Rangers House - in what they assumed was oriental style, too. They used all the bits of Western building they liked, and just added funky bits and bobs, like curly roofs and moon windows that would make it look Chinese/Japanese/Whatever.

You can still see them from time to time - Heal in Wiltshire, for example, has a fabulous oriental garden with a delightful 'tea house' - more English than Chinese but when it's as pretty as that, who cares?

I have heard that the Blackheath Pagoda was used by saucy Princess Caroline of Brunswick though whether this was before or after the Prince Regent turfed her out of Montague House I don't know. It was certainly used as a hunting lodge though, by one Henry Scott, third Duke of Buccleuch.

The poor old place eventually fell into disrepair - the Victorians weren't that bothered by the oriental style, presumably too busy dealing opium to import flowers and vases. It got passed from pillar to post, even being used as a convent school at one point, I vaguely remember; its final indignity being London County Council building a housing estate right up to its gates over its once-massive grounds in the 1950s.

I don't know when the formal Oriental garden was built - presumably around the same-ish time as the house - any info on that would be gratefully received, though, as to me it looks quite turn-of-the-20th Century. But whatever the original gardens looked like, they didn't last long. It turned into a market garden at one point, covered with greenhouses, and finally became totally overgrown.

And this is where the June bit comes in. The present owners, the Coopers, discovered the dilapidated mansion in 1991 (what does that sort of thing never happen to me?) and renovated it to its current state. Luckily, they were also into gardening and started hacking back the dense undergrowth, where they found the old retaining walls of a formal water garden and they set about restoring it. It's now a fine, mature secret corner in classic British-Oriental style.

Best of all, we can actually get to see it - once a year in June, when they open it as part of the National Gardens Scheme. It's a lovely evening event, where you can wander round with a glass of wine in your hand, soaking-in the bright red pergolas, stone water channels, and exotic plants - wisteria, palms and lotus-flowers.

I try to get there every year - as much to admire the building as anything, (don't miss the wonderful, huge round windows...) and I will let you know the precise date when I've got my sweaty paws on this year's Yellow Book. Devote the entire evening to the event - there are two other gardens, each exquisite in its own way, within walking distance of the Pagoda, that most considerately coincide their openings.

I'm usually a bit wobbly by the time I've visited all three. Aw - c'mon - it's drinking-for-charity. It would be rude not to...

Blow Up

Michaelangelo Antonioni, 1966

A few weeks ago I went to see an artist friend of mine (in Bloomsbury, of course - how fabulous can you get..?) and was a bit put-out to find that he'd been on a pilgrimage to S.E. London and hadn't visited me. He explained that he'd had to go to Maryon Park in Charlton alone, so that he could get the full Blow-Up experience. A likely story... I trust that he was wearing slightly too-short tight white jeans, Chelsea boots and a heavy-lidded, vacant expression, though I suspect the fact that he went by train rather than in a convertible Rolls may have dampened the image.

I was far too embarrassed to admit to him that I had never, ahem, actually seen this seminal piece of 60s hip-o-rama, so I nodded sagely and made 'intelligent' local remarks,' most of which involved wittering on about Mark being able to take pictures of sheep there these days (what's worse - Bill tells me that it wasn't even the same Park - see Comments...) It wasn't going down well . What else was there to do, but quickly rent the DVD and do a spot of catching-up?

Watching it now, post-Austin Powers and High Anxiety, it's difficult to stop just the tiniest smirk from creeping around phantasmagorical lips. Let's face it - it's the ultimate Swinging London Sixties cliche - complete with guardsmen in uniform, funky shots of Piccadilly Circus with guys in mini cars and dolly birds in mini skirts. But it also says something really rather interesting as far as we locals are concerned. I'll get onto that.

David Hemmings's vacuous airhead photographer (apparently based on David Bailey) drove me nuts, with his floppy haircut and dark-circled eyes. Maybe it was the casual misogyny, maybe it was his (or Antonioni's) irritating habit of being sidetracked from the plot for the flimsiest of reasons - buying a boat propeller or romping with naked girlies in bits of sugar paper (some might argue not flimsy at all, of course) or smoking joints with his side-boarded mate Peter Bowles (Peter Bowles? Peter Bowles? How wrong is that?) But my artist friend was clearly impressed with it enough to trek out to South East London (and believe me that's a trek for him...) so I stuck with it.

Now I know it's all about the viewer and how they percieve the images they see before them - did the photographer actually witness a murder or was it all in his drug-addled imagination? The simple omission of the one scene that would prove it one way or another (the return to his ransacked flat after his non-discovery of the body in the cold light of day) is proof that Antonioni doesn't want the audience to know the literal truth. I know that it's full of the classic images of British cinema in the 60s and I know that it was cutting-edge for its day. Even worse, I know that I'm going to get beaten about my spectral tricorn by a good majority of you cinema fans - but frankly I was a bit bored.

It's almost certainly a case of what I call "Hitchhiker" syndrome. If you listen to the original radio version of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy now, it sounds horribly cliched. The modern listener has to take a step back and think this was the first. This is what all the other comedy sci-fis were based on. I'm sure that Blow-Up suffers from this - all the other 60s films/TV progs, doccos - and now spoofs - base themselves at least a little on Antonioni's creation. Certainly all the art fans I know love it for that very seminal quality and I enjoyed it in its own way too, I guess - to a certain extent for the spotting where other films had been inspired. My trouble is that I've just got myself too plot-driven these days, watching too much Hollywood stuff, and the sundry tangents started to get to me.

Note To Self: Must get back to watching more art movies.

Something Blow Up does do though, is show a quality that South East London had then, which seems to have been forgotten. Now maybe I am, as my old college lecturer would have said, "reading too much into this," but I'm beginning to think that places like Charlton and Woolwich were actually rather funky and alternative in their own ways - so very outre that they went full circle and became hip again. Charlton's not actually owned up to in the film - Hemmings's flat is in some anonymous mews in, what most would assume, is Chelsea - I have no reason to think it isn't - but Maryon Park is implied to be just round the corner, with a cool 'antiques' (read 'junk') shop on the corner. I don't know if that shop's still there, (I'm sure someone will tell me) but I'll wager it doesn't sell propellers, busts and stags' heads anymore.

Ok, it could have just been standing in for somewhere else, as Greenwich Film Unit is so keen to promote these days, but I get the feeling the funkiness went deeper than mere set-dressing.

I've been reading Iris Bryce's A Tree In The Quad, the sequel to her wonderful Remember Greenwich which, while not being quite as compelling as its predecessor, does describe a Woolwich which was, almost impossible to believe now, a hub for the late 50s/early 60s Trad Jazz revival, the radio and television shop she owned with her musician-husband a magnet for duffle-coated beatniks and beardy hipsters, and the various music clubs they ran together meccas for jazz afficionados. I'll get onto that book another day, but for now, maybe my artist friend was right. Maybe Blow-Up is more than a fabber-than-thou whimsy about a bloke who may or may not have witnessed a murder. Maybe, just maybe, it shows that all of London was cool then, not just the West End.

Of course it just might mean that the murders in the 60s were all in South London...

*

Following this entry being originally posted, Stevie went on a pilgrimage of his own. It would seem that the park, still spooky, continues to throw up strange and unexplained images. Did Stevie really step back to Jurassic times, or was it all part of some spaced-out trip? We may never know...

National Maritime Museum Hits Paydirt

Thanks to all of you who sent me the link to the BBC story about Israeli tycoon Sammy Ofer giving £20m to the National Maritime Museum as his way of saying thank you for happy times when he was a jolly tar in the Royal Navy. It seems to be the time of year for bilionaires to bestow gifts on the arts - only yesterday the Bodleian Library received a £5m donation - interesting to us as it was founded on our own Duke Humphrey's 15th Century book collection. Maybe we'll see some more big cash gifts over the next few days as wealthy people see the end of the tax year looming.

And it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good. The NMM are planning to use the cash to build a new wing. So - a good thing for the museum and a good thing for us, I guess. I'm hoping they have a good plan to ensure we don't lose too much green space around the museum and that it will be a plus for the museum - more temporary exhibition space and more archive areas. A tiny part of me slightly agrees with Shaun, who says

In the larger picture, where is this new wing going to go? I don't want anymore buildings around the NMM, but then I'm picky. Although as a bit of a naval historian wannabe the prospect of more NMM really excites me, I'm worried for the area and how it will turn out.

On the telly at lunchtime, they said it would be in the South West corner - and I can't currently picture what's there already - with a bit of luck that will be because it's boring outbuildings. In the end this can only be a good thing.

You know, though - something about this makes me a little sad for the smaller, less glamorous museums and collections. Wealthy benefactors are a fine thing - and I am absolutely delighted that Sammy Ofer's doing this for us. But whilst no museum is ever going to admit that it's got enough cash, the NMM is not exactly at death's door; and already has an impressive list of donors - not least Peter Harrison, who paid for the the planetarium. I visit little places all the time that are starving for lack of funds - and visitors - less money means shorter opening hours which means fewer visitors. When I am a billionaire, and looking for ways to reduce my tax burden, I will be looking to give a leg up to those quirky individual places that really need the help.

Pugh, Pugh, Barney McGrew...

...Cuthbert, Dibble and Grub.


Yes, I've made it to East Greenwich Fire Station. A building that has definitely seen better times. And yet, somehow, despite its reduced circumstances, it still manages to be a curiously elegant structure, waiting, perhaps for the return of glory days.


Just over 100 years ago, East Greenwich must have been a hive of activity much as the Peninsula has just been. The new school in Halstow Road had just been built, a library was just about to be announced as a gift from the American philanthropist Andrew Carnegie, and a whole bunch of new houses was going up - presumably to the great dismay of local people upset at losing Coombe Farm.


And in the midst of this, a brand new fire station was being built. The first stone was laid, according to the plaque on the front, by one J D Gilbert Esq., chairman of London of the Fire Brigade Committee of London County Council, on 18th July 1901, but apart from that info, I can find virtually nothing more about this building. All I can do is look at the place itself and try to work out how it operated.


It's a great-looking place - if you view it from Google Earth it's a curious truncated diamond, the car-park (presumably where the horses were kept) maintaining the shape. It's one of those places that the more you look at it, the better it gets. Now a frankly dodgy-looking 'hotel,' it's not easy to see that the obscure-windows at the little gabled front must have been where the appliance was stored, though the old cobbles outside remain. The front bit, although it looks connected to the rear, is only, apparently, attached by the walls around the outside. What was in that little roofed area upstairs? I have no idea - offices maybe. There doesn't seem to be any room for a pole.


I like to imagine the scene - presumably there are photos, though I've never seen any. All the jolly firemen, almost certainly made out of foam rubber and walking with a slightly stiff gait, lined up for inspection before being called out to a small blaze at Windy Miller's mill or Trumpton Town Hall.


Behind the front business-end, what can only have been the crew's live-in quarters rise in elegant red brick behind. Even these have lovely little touches - crenellated mansards, railings and faux-mullioned windows.


I don't even know when it stopped operating - unless I'm googling really badly I can't find anything at all about this place, and no book I own seems to mention it at all. Sadly it seems that Greenwich's everyday past is often forgotten in favour of her grander buildings. All I know is that in its present form, the Greenwich Hotel, this fabulous building is wasted. The sign outside boasts a bar and conference facilities - I can't begin to imagine the kind of conferences that would go there at present. It also boasts an 01 telephone number.


What this place needs is a Greenwich equivalent of the Blackheath Preservation Society, which, if I have it right, was formed to bring back lovely old buildings to gloriously restored health and put them to a genuinely loved use. I know this isn't a Captain's House or a Tea Caddy Lovely, but it has a beauty of its own - and great potential. You won't hear me saying this very often but I actually think this place would make great apartments, with a lovely Something (TBD) in the front bit (suggestions for funky alternative uses on a postcard, please...) So it's a little close to the Blackwall Tunnel Approach and the flyover? Let's face it, it's no more so than most of the Peninsula...


I don't even care if it continues to be used as a 'hotel,' with the same inhabitants. Just not as it is - unloved and slowly crumbling to dust. The paint is peeling, the front closed and unwelcoming, the atmosphere around it miserable - when it needn't be. The slates on the roof are chipped and the bit around the back choked with weeds.

But look again. Greenwich 'Hotel' might be jammed up next to a major road intersection, but actually, there is a little patch of grass and trees in front of this once-pretty building - easy to miss just now, but with a little care, a patch that could be made into a tiny oasis before the madness of the roundabout/flyover ensemble. With a spot of investment this place could sparkle again and, surrounded by the newly-spruced Angerstein Hotel (another day, folks) and the Library (ditto) could bring to this forgotten little corner of East Greenwich a touch of renewed Edwardian glamour.

Sorry about the pic, by the way - I took it a long time ago - during one of the many road-up moments of 2007. However, Dazza has just discovered an old picture of when it was first opened. Just take a look at this:

The Best Shed in Greenwich...

...has to be this one at Ballast Quay. I've written about this fabulous little garden before - mainly the very odd little memorial to the animal victims of foot & mouth dying "not of the disease, but of the cure..."

If I'm honest I know virtually nothing about this lovely little rural corner of the city riverside, but there is something wonderfully bucolic about the simple tree, the ivy-covered memorial, those terracotta jars, crumbling stone steps - and, of course that shed. I love the fact that it has city railings one side, the river Thames the other, yet its low-lying black-shiplap walls and lichen-covered roof are straight out of deepest Dorset.

I imagine the inside, neat rows of ancient terracotta pots, regimented in musty wooden seed trays; the slightly musty, earthy odour mingling with faint reminders of creosote and linseed oil.

In the corner, I see a battered leather armchair, moulded to a half-century's worth of backsides, aged stuffing bursting from cat-clawed arms.

There are, of course, a couple of chipped mugs, a much-used Thermos and a packet of Rich Teas, nestled in a rusty biscuit tin behind a propped-up spade and a pile of seed catalogues. By the window in the roof, a few small seedlings enjoy what little watery warmth the March sun can afford.

I have never seen anyone in this garden, not even perched on the little green-painted cast-iron seat outside my dream shed enjoying a cup of PG Tipps in the setting sun. Someone told me that it's looked after by a lady who lives opposite - presumably in those cute brick houses with the little lattice arches, but anything more - well - my imagination has to fill in the rest.

You know what? Just like that roof garden on the peninsula, I don't want to know what's really in that shed. I could only be disappointed. But I will always stop a moment as I pass that place, poke my nose through the railings and wonder...

Computer Engineers

Abi asks:

Despite being vaguely I.T. literate I can't get my wireless router to work in my flat. Is there anyone locally who provides computer help?

The Phantom Replies:

The only one I know of is Greenwich Communication Centre on Trafalgar Road. I only used them once and that was a long time ago, but they were certainly able to help on that occasion. But maybe other people have other suggestions?

Crossing Points on Woolwich Road

Pat points out:

Have you noticed that the council has built in no less than three crossing points along Woolwich Road?

Two are in front of the retirement home and another further down towards Denham Street.All have dropped pavements and a central island. As a pedestrain I appreciate having somewhere safe to cross but can only predict that this will lead to further traffic problems as the road is now significantly narrowed.

And who in their right minds would choose to cross that road at anything thing other than the designated pelican crossings where at least you only have to do battle with the cyclists, generally the other traffic is not going anywhere very fast anyway!

The Phantom sort of agrees:

I wonder whether they are gearing up for the new "Heart of East Greenwich?" Heaven help us. I noticed that one of the big problems with the plans (when they deigned to show them to us for half an hour last autumn) was the exiting point of traffic from the new development straight onto Woolwich Road.

I asked the guy why they thought that was a good idea and he just said ' well there would have been traffic when it was a hospital." Trouble is that whereas that traffic have been on a continual trickle-basis during the day when it was a hospital, when new flats and offices are built, I can see residents (understandably) wanting to leave for school/work at the same time as the council office workers want to arrive and everyone else is trying to use Woolwich Road around them.

But back to crossings. The point outside the retirement home could well be a good thing, thinking about it - especially for frail people to feel a little safer, though as you point out the traffic's nearly always at a standstill anyway. I can't see that there are going to be enough elderly people crossing to make it a big problem.

Woolwich Road is going to be an interesting experience over the next couple of years, methinks. What I'd love to see is a rejuvenation of the dead shops there. The big problem is the traffic, and at the risk of being a controversial old phantom, it's possible that some kind of congestion charging for people just using Greenwich as a rat-run could be the answer...

What do you lot think?

Replacing London's Victorian Water Pipes...?

Badger asks:

Are you aware of the ongoing saga of the replacement pipe operation in Annandale Road.

We were informed that the Victorian water pipes were to be replaced and the operation would take 6 weeks starting Jan 2007 (Nearly a year and a quarter ago).

Well the original works did start then and actually continued for around SEVEN months. Once the workmen cleared off in July all was good until around September when a sewer pumping wagon started appearing at Midnight and sluishing out the drains (causing a little disruption with it's attendant noise, smell and flashing lights). Apparently the sewers were backing up into the houses on the odd numbered side of the street.

This continued until a work crew set up camp in November for a repair job on the main sewer which had somehow got concrete poured down it by the water pipe replacement operation (this is what I was told from the workmen). This was due to take around a week but actually took us into January and this time the road actually had to be closed as they dug a huge pit in the middle of the road.

Now they've appeared again early this month and are digging trenches down the sides of the road replicating the original operation over a year ago. Rumour has it that the pipes were not dug in at the specified depth and this therefore has to be corrected.

Six week operation still not completed inside 60 weeks !! Do any other corrsepondents know what is going on ?? Can the authorities enlighten us and if it takes this long for one street what chance for the rest of London which I believe is the extent of the whole operation ??

The Phantom wearily replies:

Sadly I don't think you're alone here, Badger. It seems that all over Greenwich (and, indeed, London) roads are dug up, filled in, re-dug, re-filled. Take Woolwich Road. I wonder which bright spark thought it was a good idea to excavate in late March 2007, only to have to fill it in again, having done bugger-all, for the Marathon in April. By the time they got round to digging it up again it was time for the Tour de France and the whole lot got filled in again. I thought they actually had it nailed when they did it again in about September - but a couple of weeks ago it was all fenced off and dug up around the corner - where Combedale and Kemsing roads are - and where all the traffic comes round the corner. And yes. Poor old Annandale Road has copped it yet again too. I'm so used to seeing those wire mesh panels somewhere (before the roads it was the SElectIOn (a name devised by a very weary PR person...) being built) that it will seem quite bare when the road's actually clear again.

Maybe the job is so big that they're just not training people properly to do it right the first time. I went to a lecture at the Barrier last year where Thames Water were boasting that they were ahead of schedule - thye'd counted on finishing all of London by 2010. Maybe they had actually factored-in the number of times they'd have to return to 'finished' projects so they could look good last year when they were getting all that bad press...

I know it's a big job and it has to be done (though I did notice that they're using the 'old Victorian waterpipes' excuse for every patch-job they're doing - in places that are clearly no older than mid 20th Century - some work in Charlton for example where the pipes cannot possibly be 19th Century is proudly annoucing that the 'Victorian' pipes are being replaced...) but if they'd just get it right the first time, it would be better for everyone.

Ooh. I do like coming back and having a good moan.

Back to Blogging

Wow - just turned on the computer for the first time in almost four days. That has to be some kind of record. You can tell that Easter's over and I've stopped being on filial duty as the snow/hail/fog/wind has stopped and the sun's out.

Currently reading all your replies to sundry posts and wading through another enormous postbag of lovely questions, info and curious pointings-out. Glad to see so many of you made the Underground Greenwich walk. Check out the Parish News for a very interesting-looking talk coming up soon.

In the meanwhile, I'll have a nice cup of tea and a sit down, before cracking the phantasmagorical knuckles and getting back to work. Will be back to normal very soon.

Separated At Birth...

Could it be? Is it possible? That Admiral Lord Nelson has a long-lost brother? It took me a long while to work out whose lips the artist based this statue on (thanks for the pic, Stevie) ...



...but I've finally worked it out.



Who would have guessed?

Free Guided Walk

Franklin has sent me the details of a very curious-looking walk about undergound Greenwich on Sunday, which I'll pop on the Parish News page (don't forget to keep looking there - I do occasionally put local things in it) - I'm writing about it here as it's very short notice. Look out also for the Friends of East Greenwich Pleasance's Easter fun activities.

Your Phantom is gutted - I'm going a-visiting-relatives this weekend and will miss it all - sometimes it just has to happen. Enjoy yourselves whatever Easter-y stuff you end up doing...

Book Clubs

Esther asks:

I was wondering if you knew of any book clubs in Greenwich?

The Phantom replies:

I just did a quick google and could only find messages from people looking to join one... I suspect that your best bet will be taking a quick look around the libraries - maybe on the noticeboards - or perhaps Greenwich Community College. But I bet that this is just the sort of thing you lovely folks will know about. Can anyone help Esther?

If you're going to one, make sure you choose a nice Greenwich-related book - I've reviewed a few in the books section...

Elizabeth I And The Stinking Peasants

Cast your imaginations back 436 years, folks, to Maundy Thursday 1572, and picture the scene.

Good Queen Bess sits upon the throne at Greenwich Palace, chuckling to herself, enjoying the fact that there are only a couple of days of tedious Lenten fasting to go. And yet even as she dreams of Sucking Pig and Greate Pye, an unfortunate courtier is very gingerly making his way towards the Royal Ear, knowing that as soon as he whispers in it, his own will be somewhat thicker. But someone's got to do it; someone's got to remind the sovereign of one of the less enjoyable of her regal duties...

All the way back to at least Edward II, it had been the tradition for the monarch to wash the feet of the same number of poor people as their age. What's worse, they had to kiss said feet afterwards, to prove their humility before God. The tradition went all the way back to the 8th Century, when monks started washing grubby-old dark-age plebs' tootsies in memory of Christ washing those of the disciples, and Elizabeth knew there was no getting out of it. The very word 'Maundy' comes from the Latin "mandatum."

It wasn't so much the rest of the ceremony that bothered her. She didn't care about the money - twenty shillings in alms given to each pauper, wrapped in a red leather purse. She didn't mind the food - a gift of half a side of salmon, the same again of lyng (presumably some other fish) six red herrings and a cheat loafe, which the fabulous Old Foodie blog tells me was bread made with leaven saved from an earlier batch of baking, and, as far as I understand, kneaded with the feet, which makes sense considering what the whole Maundy gig was about.

Elizabeth didn't even care about having to fork our for other gifts - "certain yards of broadcloth to make a gown," a pair of shoes and a wooden platter. But those feet...

There was only one thing for it. To have a minion carefully select the least-smelly peasants, and have them thoroughly pre-washed. Three times.

The Yeoman of the Laundry copped the least desirable chore - the initial scrub to tackle the worst of the grime, fleas, worms, whatever. The Sub-Almoner then got to try to polish them up a bit, and mask the pong with sweet herbs before the Almoner did the final tweaking of the toes. Only then did the Queen, presumably from the furthest distance possible, dip her own pinkies into nice-smelling water and splash a few drops onto the rustic appendages thrust before her and pucker up to bestow the lightest of pecks from the royal lips.

The irony is, that I doubt the peasants much cared whether their feet were clean anyway - after all they were only going to step in the usual animal crap, discarded cabbage leaves, 'nightsoil' etc. as soon as they left the palace and stepped into the filthy Greenwich streets anyway. They would have been just as happy to forgo the washing-and kissing and cut straight to the cash.

Which is what eventually happened. Today, Elizabeth II merely gives specially-minted coins to the sum of her years to the same number of 'poor people,' though in a typically British throwback, she's still followed around by a lackey with a towel. I can only assume that no one's had the heart to tell him that his job's a bit redundant these days. I have no idea how you get to be one of the lucky recipients, given the number of below-poverty-line candidates there are to choose from.

Even less do I know why The Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, reinstated the foot-washing thing for himself in 2003. Surely they have websites for that kind of thing...

Water Polo

Alick rightly points out that sport is not among The Phantom's favourite activities:

I know it's a bit niche and probably not your thing (having read and enjoyed your blog for a while and searched for "sport" on it ;) ), but do you or your readers know of any water polo teams based near to Greenwich? I'm aware of teams that train in Waterloo, Croydon, and Sevenoaks, but was hoping to find one closer to home than that.

So. I've done a spot of research and Deptford's Wavelengths pool claims to do water polo, though I can't find anything at all about it. I know that there are quite a few of you that do sporty-type stuff - can anyone help out Alick?

The Guildford

Guildford Grove, SE10

I first went here for lunch with friends a good few months ago, and really enjoyed it, but wanted to experience the full evening atmosphere before a review. It's a newish conversion from old-time-boozer to gastro-pub and I had heard very different opinions of it, so at least two visits were necessary, I felt...

As pub-restaurants go, it's not cheap. Most of the meaty mains are around fifteen quid, and the alcohol is also pricey. But I have to say that I like this place as well, if not better than many similar-priced eateries around here. So shoot me.

It's cosy - the lush red walls and curtains, the squashy sofas by the modern fire and slightly kitsch chandeliers take care of that, and the tables aren't too close together. The drinking area is pretty small, really, with funky wood surfaces and a vase that looks like it came out of Professor Branestawm's lab, though even on the very quiet night we were in there (actually it wasn't full on the lunchtime either) there were a couple of well-heeled-looking regulars sitting at the bar with newspapers. There was only one other table of actual diners the whole time we were there.

The service was relaxed and very friendly indeed - a cheery chap, happy to let us sit with drinks on the leather sofa until we felt like ordering at the tables, and knowledgeable-enough about the excellent compilation CD on the sound system to be able to tell me who was playing on a particular track without having to look it up.

Now. I know this is going to sound like some dodgy local paper review, but I really did love everything I ate that evening. The aubergine-sunblush-tomato ensemble I scoffed as a starter was beautifully prepared - lots of funky drizzled bits and sumptuous layers that melted into each other in my mouth. The Phantom Companion's duck rillettes on toast were equally enjoyable.

The mains kept-up the side. I'd already had the risotto on another occasion so tried something different - a rather splendid cod confection, beautifully executed. TPC couldn't decide whether to have the beef or the pork, so asked the waiter, who recommended the pork, in spite of the beef costing considerably more. It was a good shout - done to perfection.

I'm squirming as I write this. There's normally something I can carp about. But this really was a hugely enjoyable meal. I didn't really fancy the puddings (a good thing really; this Phantom-gig is piling on the pounds...) so we just had a coffee and cleared off.

The price of this place is going to mean I don't get to go back there as much as I'd like to. But for a nice semi-special-to-special night out, I'd say this would be a good choice indeed. A few more visits (I want to try the garden as soon as it's warm enough) and this could join the list of Phantom Favourite Haunts...

The website promises an upstairs restaurant area with more brasserie-type downstairs food, though it hasn't materialised yet. Maybe they aren't getting enough custom yet. That's a shame. From what I experienced, they deserve it.

Grisly Bones Discovery

Talking of lovely local photographers sending me curious things, here's an oddity from Blackheathen which has left me puzzled indeed.

Walking along the path by the Old Royal Naval College on Saturday, he saw police raking around on the shore, collecting a large quantity of dodgy-looking bones, after a tip-off from beachcombers. Apparently they are probably not human, (the bones, dummy, not the beachcombers...) though they've been carted off to the labs for checking anyway, and had probably been in the river for some time (also not the totters...)

Blackheathen tells me

"Police have yet to confirm if their investigation will lead to any prosecutions but local residents commended the prompt response by authorities in brightening up an otherwise dull afternoon..."

John Penn and Widow Smith Almshouses

-
Greenwich South St

I wanted a picture of these with the fabulous blossom that's in full bloom outside at the moment, but I made special trips twice and each time it was either too dark or bloomin' raining, and the pics in my collection are just not good enough. Then Benedict came to my rescue, rushing out this morning to capture in its finest moment this fab, almost Tudor-looking building with its royal-iced decorations and pretty little garden. Thanks Ben...

I'm talking about them today because David's been asking about them - he sent me a google earth link asking what they were and, to be honest, they're slightly easier to deal with than the other question he's asked (don't worry David - I'm onto it...) It's interesting to note from that aerial view that they appear to be a bit fur-coat-and-no-knickers - all front, and virtually no back. I'd appreciate it if any of you know what the rear of the place is like...

The Penn Family was one of the big Victorian clans of Greenwich. They were engineers - making cranes and treadmills to start with (not the sort you get in gyms - these were early 'generators' powered by slaves or convicts) but moving on to marine engines under the leadership of John Penn Jr, popularising the rise of the propeller. He even, apparently, perfected the compact oscillating engine - one or two of which are still used now.

They were very sociable. John Penn himself was the first president of the West Kent Microscopical Society, which doesn't seem to exist now, which somehow seems a shame, and he and his wife liked to hold large soirees at their house, The Cedars (not the one in Westcombe Park; this one was on Belmont Hill.)

Three years after John Penn's death, in 1884, his widow commissioned George Smith, who had already built Greenwich and Blackheath railway stations, to design some memorial almshouses in Greenwich South St. It was Smith's last major work and he clearly decided to use up all the ideas he still had left. There are parapets, arches, big chimneys - you name it, these cute little houses have got it.


Fifty odd years later, in 1930, a mysterious lady known only as Widow Smith was building some almshouses of her own, over in East Greenwich. I find it utterly amazing that this is not that long ago, and yet virtually nothing's known about her (I guess I shouldn't be surprised - I'm still marvelling that after much less time the secretive Amanda Hinge and unfindable Helena Pare Lydia Mott have so totally gone to ground...) and, if Mr Hitler had had his way, she would have been totally forgotten. Her almshouses were bombed to buggery in WWII, and even John Penn's delicious confection in South St was badly hurt. The two charities merged to repair the one mendable set of buildings, giving them their present name.

For more about John Penn, check the Greenwich Industrial History's site, where I also read about the fate of Cold Bath Street, which someone was asking me about recently (to my embarrassment I can't remember who.) It's now called John Penn St...

BTW Does anyone know the story of that sad-looking dark brick building next door? It looks very unloved - but could be stunning. Any clues?

Bear Fighting on Blackheath?

Rebecca says:

I am an American who is living in Blackheath Standard and I love walking down to Greenwich on Sat and Sunday afternoons. My question is this, I have been told that the green dug out areas before you get to Blackheath Green in front of the Blackheath entrance to Greenwich Park were originally dug by Elisabeth I to hold bear fights in and I was wondering if you knew if that was true or not?

Hmmm. The Phantom is unconvinced.

I've heard many tales about the bumps and dips that cover Blackheath but never that one before. Blackheath is honeycombed with holes and is really quite unstable. There have been collapses throughout history - some bigger than others - and the last one was very recent indeed - 2002, when the A2 disappeared into a big old chalk pit. I intend to get onto Black (heath) Holes soon, but for now, if there was a bear pit there, I can't think that it would have been anything other than temporary - perhaps for one of the fairs that were held there. Neil Rhind doesn't appear to mention it in his seminal work The Heath - though I could have missed it, I guess.

It could even be a dried-up pond, if it's right next to the gate. I think there was more than one there.

More research needed, I think, but for now I'm not buying that there was a bear pit there.

Red-faced Phantom

After a weekend of computer "challenges" and intervening Real Life, I have just turned on my email and discovered a gigantic cyber postbag from all you lovely people. It's absolutely fantastic to hear from you - and I will go through the intiguing news, bizarre observations and fascinating questions as quickly as possible.

I am getting one hell of a backlog now though, so please bear with me. I'll be as quick as I can. And for all you lovebirds who asked me wedding venue questions this weekend (heavens - it must be Spring...)I am currently working on a gigantic suggestions guide for the FAQ page...

The Sad Story of Admiral Byng

29 Oct, 1704 - 14 March 1757

Today marks the 251st anniversary of the execution of Admiral John Byng - a loyal man sent to battle with inadequate supplies (sound familiar at all?) and still an embarrassment to the MoD.

It all started out well enough. Byng went to sea at the age of 14. His father was the Viscount of Torrington who had carefully nailed his colours to the right mast in supporting William III's bid for the throne and had made it to the top as an admiral himself. Young John was determined to follow his father's example and was soon a rising young seadog. He quickly became a lieutenant and then a captain at 23. He was clearly able - even if carrying the Byng name probably did him no harm at all at meetings of the promotions board...

He led a pretty comfortable career until the Seven Years War - a series of cushy jobs and straightforward ships hadn't brought him into any real problems.

Byng was in the English Channel when he was told he needed to hotfoot it to Minorca where the dastardly French had just invaded what was at the time a British territory. He took one look at the ships he was supposed to sail, and realised that they were total wrecks. He complained repeatedly as the money, ships - and, crucially, time were just not forthcoming from the government. What was worse, they faffed around unnecessarily while he and his men kicked their heels waiting for their orders, cutting down on preparation time. He kept asking for proper equipment and a sensible amount of troops, but ended up setting out with 10 leaking ships completely undermanned.

When he actually got to Minorca, it got worse. He was relieved of what troops he had to relieve someone else's garrison. It was quite cleared his ass would get whooped if he met the French and he wrote home to that effect. Still the governor of Gibraltar refused to send any more troops.

After a skirmish with the French, Byng's ships were indeed in shrebbons and the losses were huge. The nearest port was Gibraltar so he set off there to get his ships repaired. It was at this point it all went horribly wrong. His limping fleet was intercepted by another ship from Britain, which assumed Byng was running away, took over the job - and poor old Byng into custody.

Minorca fell anyway and the Navy was outraged. English law had just been changed, which made failing to do one's utmost against an enemy, either in battle or pursuit, a capital offence. At the court martial, it was pointed out that Byng had not done his utmost - he had failed to chase, with his tiny broken fleet, the enormous undamaged French flotilla.

The court martial was forced to sentence to him death, acquitted of personal cowardice and disaffection, but still guilty of failing to do his utmost. They told him they were powerless against the new Article of Law but suggested he go to the House of Commons to ask George II for clemency. The House agreed, but George II (whose statue, by the way, stands in the centre of the Old Royal Naval College) was unmoved. On hearing the House of Commons had recommended mercy he said "You have taught me to look for the sense of my people elsewhere than in the House of Commons." Byng was to be shot.

He was kept in Queen Anne's Court, manacled to a wall overlooking the Thames, whilst awaiting his death. Malcolm Godfrey reckons that his is the most prolific ghost in Greenwich - repeated sightings in various areas around his final lodgings have been reported for years. Amazingly, he's not malevolent - he's always a very polite and helpful spectre, holding doors open for people and handing workmen their tools.

Admiral John Byng was shot on board his own ship a hundred and fifty one years ago today. His death prompted Voltaire to write in Candide that the British liked to shoot admirals on an occasional basis "pour encourager les autres..."

I'm glad to say that Byng is not forgotten even today. Shaun sent me a link to a BBC article which mentions that a petition has been launched to gain him a posthumous pardon. So far there's been no dice from the Navy. Presumably it would encourager les autres...

Nelson Road.

SE10

What a sad looking street. This should be the most attractive shopping street in Greenwich and it has more shut shops per metre than even Trafalgar Road.

I've had several worried emails about it this week - here are just a few concerns:

"What is happening with Warwick Leadlay gallery?? I walked past this morning and all the windows are papered over! The notice on the door - which mentioned additional premises around the corner - was ambiguous as to whether the Nelson Rd site was going to reopen…
Please tell me that this is just a short-term thing and that they're not closing or moving the gallery we all love so much!"

"Where's Pistachios Cafe? I used to like eating there. Have you noticed its absence....? Is it closed permanently or undergoing renovations (signs on the door say re opening in mid march)"

"Rococo- gone overnight it seems!"

As far as Rococo is concerned - yes - that was a big surprise - there and seemingly flourishing (and a classy shop too) one day, dead and gone the next without a whimper.

But the other two - well - I'm cautiously optimistic. I have heard that Warwick Leadlay is actually expanding - its art department has already moved into Marcet Book's old site, and (or so I've heard) Warwick is devoting the Nelson Road shop to the antiquarian side. I hope and pray this is true. Ditto Pistachios - I walked past yesterday and frenzied activity inside suggested that the sign on the door is correct. I was never that wild about Pistachios myself - but I will give it another go when it reopens - hopefully much smarter.

But the rest of the street - and all those empty shops - what on earth are Greenwich Hospital Trust thinking? All the shops we're losing are the independents. GHT just HAS to do something about it - if not for our good, for its own. If Greenwich goes the same way as every other high street in Britain, full of bland chains, visitors will stop coming and GHT's income will go down. The shops look great - but they have nothing in them. I truly believe that GHT needs to cast a few sprats to catch a few mackerels - to give good rent deals to independents to keep Greenwich's individuality and visitor levels - good for all in the long run.

There is one small glimmer of curiosity. The old Thai place that burned down a couple of years ago seems set to rise out of the ashes in Japanese form. Itoshi, from what I can see from pressing my nose against the glass, will be going down the conveyor-belt-sushi route. I can't it's a chain - yet. BTW, Japanese definitely seems to be in just now - what with the likes of Zin and the superb Ginza, and a new Japanese grocery store down Trafalgar Road I haven't tried yet. Anyone been in there ?

Greenwich Sundials (1)

Thames Path, Greenwich Peninsula

First in a new series today, folks. I've been thinking recently that Greenwich, being the 'the home of time,' 'where time begins,' 'where days begin and end' etc. etc., has an enormous amount of sundials, old and new.

In fact they seem to fall into two categories - very old and very new - and there has been a positive rash of them in recent years - it seems that if we're going to have a new piece of public art it just has to be a sundial. They are strangely homogeneous, too.

I've chosen this one, just by the Eco Park at the Peninsula, to start the series with because it's typical of the recent 'corporate' variety of Art. It's not utterly horrible - just not very inspiring.

A solid, vandal-proof black brick piece (complete with a slightly worrying white stain these days) with solid metal gnomons and solid metal face plates, it's a polar sundial (as many of them seem to be these days.) It comes complete with inscriptions where all the good deed-doers who had anything to do with the placing of the item congratulate themselves - the Worshipful Company of Tylers and Bricklayers, Master Sir Idris Pearce, CBE, Stockbuilding Products Ltd, The Corps of Royal Engineers, English Partnerships - oh, and Nick Raynsford, who unveiled it. It says little else. I'm sure it never occurred to these good people that it might seem to some to look suspiciously like a fancy advert...

Would I rather it were not there? Of course not. I like art being in the community. But does it have to be so created-by-committee? Oh, yes, I know that Piers Nicholson is credited as having 'designed' it, but I can't believe that he thought this was cutting-edge. He must have been leaned on - and with that many chiefs I can't imagine that one lone Indian had much say in the final outcome of the piece. I'd love to see the first draft...

I see fewer and fewer examples of artists being given commissions in this country and being allowed to just get on with it. That's what happens when art is funded by business and corporations. Everyone wants their pound of flesh and free expression is a faded 1970s memory.

Blimey. Where did all that come from? I hadn't intended to talk about art funding today. Better go and have a nice cup of tea and a sit down...

Trident Hall

Park Row, SE10

Unbusy Ben asks:

Trident Hall at the beginning/end of Crane Street, what goes on in there ( I thought it was where sailors did their Christmas panto's) and who owns it?

The Phantom replies:

It's easy to walk straight past this unassuming 20th century building, its being sandwiched between Trafalgar Quarters and The Trafalgar Tavern and not being as 'pretty' as either of them. It's a secretive sort of place - not something that is talked about much, and as far as I'm aware not much at all goes on there now, but in its early days it was a veritable hive of activity.

It was built as a lecture theatre for the Naval College - and used heavily for that purpose, especially during the heady days after the introduction of the Department of Nuclear Science and Technology (ohhh, yes. I'll get onto that another day...) and all that Cold War stuff.

On a jollier note, yes, Ben - it was used as a theatre for entertainment purposes, so it's not beyond imagination that off-duty sailors donned the tights and wigs, slapping their thighs in the name of panto.

Malcolm Godfrey, who has written several books about Greenwich Ghosts, tells a creepy story about the place, when it was hired out to a local am-dram group in the late 80s. Eltham Opera were busy rehearsing for Oliver! when a couple of cast members were puzzled to see a gentleman in full costume, who was most definitely a bit old to be in Fagin's gang. He wandered through the auditorium and out through the back - except there is no rear exit...

When they mentioned the fellow's 'costume' - complete with tunic, breeches and a tricorn hat, it was noted that they had just described the old 18th Century uniform worn by the pensioners. Malcolm Godfrey points out that the hall is built on the site of the old maintenance yard and hospital workshops. Shiver.

And the owner? I can't be completely certain, but I have heard rumour of the worst. That it has been bought by Greenwich Inc for a hotel. In its current form it would be difficult to do much with it for that purpose, so I have a horrid suspicion that it will go the usual route of being razed...

Mehak

Trafalgar Road SE10

I always wondered why this place used to be called The Standard Tandoori when its curries were best described as substandard, so when it was taken over and became the Mehak, I was very excited. That excitement lasted as long as my first meal there. It was going to take several encouraging emails and the recommendation of trusted friends to get me back in, even after the refurb.

I'd been particularly worried since during the redecoration, or at least during its early knocking-things-down stage, they continued to do takeaways. Note to self: avoid this one like the plague. I'm glad to say they did stop cooking when the dust got really bad, but all the same I wasn't in much of a rush to get back.

But lovely Phantom regulars have been nudging me for some time to give it another go, so we decided to try again. It was a Wednesday night.

Am I the only person who thinks of Henry VIII, wenches and whole sucking pigs at the mere mention of the word banquet? Well, at the Mehak, Wednesday nights are Banquet Nights but not quite in that sense of the word. It's basically an opportunity to stuff your face for £9.95 which frankly seemed too much of a good thing to turn down.

It's a large menu, with dozens of dishes and alternate options and all the old favourites. I'm an old favourites kinda phantom, so the Secret Control Order was placed (as far as possible) and we sat back to enoy the atmosphere.

I guess I should mention that almost every last scrap of the old decor is gone - instead of flock wallpaper and arch-back tapestry chairs, it's all white walls and sleek furniture. They couldn't really get rid of the columns and mosaics outside, but they've painted them black in the hope that they will shrink into the back of the mind. I like it (though I confess that if a curry house is truly amazing, I'm a bit of a sucker for flock wallpaper...) It was about half full, mainly with couples and families. Later on we were to be joined by the obigatory Bunch of Blokes^TM but apart from one guy who (much to his mates increasing irritation) kept popping outside to make phone calls (new girlfriend, I'd guess from the simpering I could see going on through the glass) they were model citizens.

The Puppodums (not included in the banquet deal but generally a good indication of the food to come) were fresh and crisp; their accompanying sauces (also extras) a bit on the neon-side but perfectly good to taste. But they didn't prepare me for the main event.

Which was very good indeed. The starters were beautifully prepared - well-presented with thought and care. They tasted fabulous. The mains were generously-sized (maybe Good King Henry wouldn't have felt so out of place after all) and again, nicely-executed, well-spiced and good-looking on the plate. There was no way we were going to finish that lot, but I gave it my best. I nearly asked for a doggy bag (BTW I've never done that in Britain - has anyone else? Somehow in other countries it seems fine but here I'm not sure what the reaction would be.)

The final course was a real throwback to the 1970s. Coffee with cream, which was somehow quite comforting in a childhood-celebrations kind of way, and a shot of Baileys - something I haven't tasted since I was about 17 and probably won't bother doing again. Still - it was a fun touch (probably more in keeping with the former decor) and I rather liked it. I liked the orange chocolate even better.

With the accompanying puppodums, sauces and (ahem) several Cobra beers, the entire bill came to £35 for two. I've paid more than that at the Bombay Bicycle Club for just the food.

It's good, folks. I'm still not totally convinced by the only takeaway I've had from there, but the eat-in option - go for it...

The Lucky Greenwich Dromedary

The Royal Standard, Pelton Rd, SE10

Benedict, who clearly has too much time on his hands, has sent me this great picture of the splendid fellow outside The Royal Standard pub in Pelton Road. I think he must once have been a Christmas decoration, but was such a hit he just stayed there. He's been there for bloomin' yonks now, and somehow the place just wouldn't look the same without him. He seems to be caught in what looks like a rather alarming net - presumably that's fairly lights, though I've not seen them lit. I've heard all kinds of stories about him, most of which seem to be variations on his granting three wishes to anyone who climbs up, gives him a carrot and a mince pie, and pats him on Christmas Eve, from which has arisen the moniker of the Lucky Greenwich Dromedary.

There's is something strange about that reindeer, wishes or not. If you click on the pic you can see it better and blow me, if it isn't actually some kind of humpless camel with a saddle on its back and antlers attached. Part of a recycled fairground ride, perhaps?

This kind of customisation is something of which I approve, and I've set my mind to thinking how other sculptures in Greenwich could be improved with little extras. William IV with deelyboppers, perhaps? The Throne of Earthly Kings with some comfy cushions? It's a good job Knife Edge isn't still with us - it would have made a fantastic maypole. Maybe we should have a special festival of 'improved' statues? I certainly enjoyed the Cannon-In-A-Condom recently.

And what of Nelson, which Stevie (who sent this pic) and I have been agreeing is easily the ugliest statue in Greenwich? Certainly that pale green furniture does nothing for him. The only improvement I can think of for this strangely amphibian incarnation would be a paper bag...

Any other suggestions for funky additions to Greenwich Scuptures?

Cigar Warehouse

Benedict (who sent the above) asks:

Does the phantom know anything about the Cigar Warehouse near the station, at the junction of The High Road and South Street?

The Phantom replies:

In a word, no, but I'd like to. Whenever I walk past that little row of shops I look up and wonder. I guess it says it all on the wall - but as yet I know nothing about it. I wonder if anyone else does..?

Nelson's Jacket

Katrina asks:

Where is Nelson’s Jacket? I’m doing the Knowledge -it's a test question. Answer given 'Park Row SE10' – but where?

The Phantom replies:

Unless this is some obscure naval term, I can only assume that the question refers to the jacket Admiral Lord Nelson was wearing when he was fatally wounded at the Battle of Trafalgar. It's in the National Maritime Museum, though why that's given as Park Row, I'm not quite sure - I always assumed the address was in Romney Road. The side entrance is in Park Row - maybe that's where cabbies have to do the drop-off.

The jacket was sent to Lady Hamilton after Nelson's death, and despite members of the family wanting it back, a letter found in the pocket meant that she got to keep it. Actually, she ended up on the skids and gave the jacket to a certain Joshua Smith to clear a debt just before her death. Prince Albert bought it from Smith's widow for the staggering sum of £150 and gave it to Greenwich Hospital.

It's a fascinating garment - not least because it's so very tiny. When we think of great men of history, somehow we tend to think of physical giants, but Nelson was really only average for his day - which is generally smaller than we are. It's dark blue with gold epaulettes, dainty and has a brown stain in the left shoulder where the bullet went right through it.

Interestingly, I read an article on the ethics of conservation recently that focused on those stains. Apparently, after a while, the dried blood started to fade, so Victorian museum curators decided to sex them up a bit with some red paint. The ethical question is "when does the history of an object end?" Basically that boils down to whether or not the Victorian curator's painty daubs are also part of the garment's history now and whether they should be stripped away by a conservator or kept as a monument to historial 'preservation.'

Any more Knowledge teasers on this bright and breezy Friday afternoon?