A Triumph in late 18th Century Unintentional Town Planning.

Neil Rhind, Bookshop on the Heath

It’s taken me an age to get round to reviewing this, not least because it’s so bloomin’ heavy (in pretty much every respect). Weighing in at nearly a kilo (926g to be precise) despite the fact that it’s a paperback, it’s just not the sort of volume you shove in a back pocket to read on the tube.

It’s also not the easiest book to find – you won’t get it online (for better or worse, sometimes I can’t help thinking that making something hard to buy online forces people to look in the real world. Of course that’s only useful if you don’t actually have to sell something…) I got my copy at Waterstones at an eye-watering £35, and for that price I was determined to squeeze every last drop of information from every last appendix before talking about it.

Thing is, that this is the sort of book that needs to be on the shelf of a serious Greenwich/Blackheath-ophile. Being a Neil Rhind, it is exhaustive, wide-ranging and, frankly, definitive, like his other volumes on Blackheath and Environs – if it’s not in here, it hasn’t been discovered yet.

It’s not the first book on the Paragon, of course. When I first heard he was writing a book about the Paragon I did wonder what Rhind could add to William Bonwitt’s The History of the Paragon, Paragon House and their Residents (also published by the Bookshop Blackheath) which delves into the lives of the people who lived there and which is a fascinating read.  I have always been particularly taken by the rogues and villains – especially the Misses Eliza Robertson and Charlotte Sharp, a pair of swindlers who lived there and who I keep meaning to write about myself.

Neil Rhind has, with a heavy-heart, relegated the pair to one of his (gigantic) appendices as he worries that they’re such a fine story  they actually detract from the rest of the tale, and I can see his point. It is a story hungry for attention and could pull other, more gentle tales out of proportion. It also adds grist to my own personal grind of getting the world to read appendices – proving my theory that they usually have the best bits…

In many ways, this work goes in the opposite direction to many modern social history volumes. Most books about famous places in years gone by have been about the fine architecture, omitting the fact that people lived in the palaces the writers expound upon. There’s been a recent trend for modern authors to come along and write a cosy history filling in the biographies of the human aspect, often with rather a lot of speculation shoehorned in. I confess I’m beginning to weary a little of this ‘fluffy’ approach, though of course, I’m as guilty as the next Phantom when a juicy human story comes along…

William Bonwitt had already looked at the people of the Paragon back in the 70s. So what Neil Rhind has done is go back to the actual bricks and mortar. He looks at materials, social background, the area, the big landowners of the day, Michael Searles (the builder) and, of course, the design. I particularly enjoyed the floorplans, and the newspaper ads from the time, expounding on all the marvellous things you could enjoy if you rented there (few people actually owned their homes at the time.)

Although Bonwitt does touch on what happened to the buildings through history, Neil Rhind goes into much more detail, especially on the 20th Century, which saw so much change – in both good and bad ways. Perhaps the fact that information is more easily accessible these days has helped, but it’s still one hell of a task to track down the kind of detail there is here – and he’s found some new stuff that wasn’t even known about in Bonwitt’s day.

At first I wasn’t wild about all the (many) illustrations being grouped together – I am a bit of a sucker for having pictures throughout a book. But I have discovered since reading it that now I’m using it for reference, it’s much easier to find the images I need – no leafing through trying to find the picture I’m after by trying to guess where it comes in the story.

So yes – it’s a big investment, there’s no getting round that. But it’s a solid one (in every respect.) The paper quailty’s high, the print is clear and strong and it’s going to stay in good nick – if only because it’s never going to stray far from your shelf. But it’s more than that – it’s good quality work. Just as I go back to John Bold again and again, and virtually never look at some of the cheap & cheerful tourist histories on my shelf, paying more for specific volumes does work out better value.

I recommend seeking this out – ask for it for a birthday or something. It’s a keeper.

Last week Chris asked me about R.L. Sims and Co. the photographer. I initially found the question quite hard to answer and ended up doing more round-and-round the garden research than I needed to because I didn’t know something that I only discovered because Gerald (of the Dreadnought Hospital photos fame) mentioned a book I thought I had.

On discovering that Sims was a friend and fellow-conspiritor of the Rev Spurgeon, who in taking dozens of photos of everyday life in Greenwich for a magic lantern show, created a unique and important record of London streets in late Victorian times, I immediately turned to my book on the subject, Grandfather’s Greenwich.

I knew it was a 1972 reprint, and I was fine with that – there’s only a certain number of first editions available and all I was interested in was the information inside. The photos are well reproduced and the commentary seemed perfectly good, if a little thin on the ground. There was a little intro and a short caption for each photo.

Then Gerald sent me some scans from another book< Grandfather's London – clearly the same photos, but an entirely different commentary. Each photo got a double-page spread – one half devoted to the photo, the other half an explanation, with the subject, how the photographer probably set up the shot and, very importantly for locals, exactly where the picture was taken. There’s a longer introduction, that discusses the ‘world-picture’ (well, okay, the London-picture) and, in short, 127 pages instead of 63.

Had I had the second book, I would have known much more about The Champion Piemaker, The Third Class Milkman and the Threepenny Bumper than just the picture titles and, more importantly, I wouldn’t have gone on a wild goose chase around Deptford looking for King Street and had to rely on Joe to remind me that it’s now King William Walk.

So, folks, a word to the wise. If you’re just after the pictures and a perfectly acceptable overall view, (by the usually highly enjoyable Alan Glencross) Grandfather’s Greenwich is fine. But by far the better book, with glossy pages and a more in-depth commentary, you need Grandfather’s London by O J Morris (the reputed third conspiritor). They’re both easy to find second hand, both about the same price on Amazon market place, Abebooks etc. but they are not both made equally.

It’s not often I find myself surprised by the solitary entry about Greenwich in a general publication about London.  However, I have to confess to being taken aback at a Christmas present last year. A friend had bought me Writing London, one of Herb Lester’s splendid ‘alternative’ maps where there’s a delightful schematic  plan on one side and ‘interesting stuff’ on the other.

I (obviously) turned straight to Greenwich. It only had one entry – George Eliot.

George Eliot? I always think of Cheyne Walk and Wandsworth when I think of the ‘scandalous’ author of Middlemarch, Adam Bede and The Mill of the Floss . I have never heard her name mentioned in connection with Greenwich before – not even in my book about The Trafalgar Tavern where, I have just discovered, she enjoyed a whitebait dinner in June 1861. I guess everyone is so delighted to talk about the rivalry between The Ship and the Tavern, to supply the two political sides of the Commons with annual dinners, and so overjoyed with ‘the Dickens connection’, to pay a nod to this extraordinary writer.

Female authors still use male names to sell books, using the old argument that women will read books by either gender but a large enough number of men will not read a book by a woman to make economic sense in changing their pen name to something more masculine. It’s only a relatively small number of writers these days, but in Victorian times, Mary Ann Evans figured that there would be even more prejudice against her – and, ultimately she was right.

Wanting to be taken on an equal footing with male authors, she became George Eliot so that it wouldn’t be assumed she could only write frothy little potboiler romances. Originally from the Midlands, she moved to London to write and wanted a quiet life, not least because she was living in daring sin with the married George Lewis whose wife was also having a relationship with someone else. Oh – just as a by-the-by, Lewis was educated at Greenwich himself, at Burney’s school…

Evans edited the left-wing journal The Westminster Review (quite an acheivement for a woman in those days – there were female writers but few with any ediotorial power)  and published a ‘Scene of Clerical Life’ in Blackwood’s Magazine whilst building up to Adam Bede, her first novel.

It wasn’t long before the pseudonym became a pretty open secret (Dickens declared he wasn’t fooled for a moment) – as was the author’s private life, which wasn’t helped when she married someone else after Lewis’s death who jumped from their hotel balcony on their honeymoon (though survived.)

Victorian society though, had notorious double-standards. Whilst queuing up to read her novels (Queen Victoria loved Adam Bede so much she commisioned an artist to paint scenes from it for her), no one wanted her to come to dinner or infect their women-folk with her loose morals. Tongues wagged and George found herself in the odd position of being both ostracised and lauded.

When her publisher John Blackwood held a dinner for her to celebrate the publication of Silas Marner, he took her downriver to the Trafalgar Tavern where, as we all know, Greenwich women were much more robust…

It was the fashionable place to eat whitebait and, despite sundry Phantom efforts to introduce a new ‘local delicacy’ remains the only true ‘Greenwich food.’ Eliot was the only female present. Men, of course, being much stronger of character than women, would be able to withstand the disgraceful way she lived without being tempted to emulate her.

By this point, though, she was used to it all. She had a marvellous time – John Blackwood declares ‘George Eliot was extremely delighted with the whole affair, which she caused others to enjoy so much.’

Why didn’t I know about this fleeting moment in literary history?

London Archaeologist is one of those subscription-only magazines that’s almost impossible to buy individually, and few general libraries carry (I’m guessing Greenwich Heritage Centre gets it, but wouldn’t swear to it.) I’ve been subscribing for several years now for that very reason – you can’t pick and choose, but if you like London and you like archaeology, even if it’s not ‘your’ area, it’s still something to read cover to cover and enjoy.

Obviously there’s always loads about the City (yes, even this edition has a feature), not least because there’s always some building being demolished and redeveloped as something with seventy storeys, but I love reading about the City, and they do cover all kinds of stuff too – anything within the M25 area.

Greenwich has been pretty poorly served in the past year or so, but the Winter 2012/13 (Vol 13, No.7) edition is making up for that in spades (well, okay, trowels.)

It’s a special issue about archaeology on the Thames and there are three articles that include digs I’d call ‘local’ – though they’re not necessarily very recent.

The main excitement for me was a six-page, in-depth article about the dig at Anchor Iron Wharf. If you’re a bit hazy about where that is, think the modern develoment of flats with the Cutty Sark Pub on one side and the power station on the other – basically the bit where there’s apartments over a never-used riverside restaurant. The dig took place between 2001-2003, so we’re not looking at hot news here, but I guess that’s the speed that general archaeology goes at (as opposed to big-hitters like the Staffordshire Hoarde and Richard III’s maybe/maybe-not bones…)

It’s a fascinating account, not just of the history of Old Court from non-prehistoric evidence, through more exciting, possibly Royal, Tudor buildings to the site’s acquisition by Morden College, who, given that they own pretty much everything around those parts, probably still hold it, but also of the dig itself, and the issues created by ‘considerable ground contamination,’ not least more than 100 shells left over from WWII.

Further downstream, in an article called Ship to Shore, there is a small piece about the warship remains that still lie on the shore in Charlton just outside the Anchor and Hope, the wonderful Great Eastern launchsite, plus the remains of four wooden craft at Tripcockness, east of Woolwich (and a place of which I had never heard…)

I always enjoy London Archeaology, though it’s usually of rather academic interest for a Greenwich Phantom. This edition, though, really is worth trying to get hold of. The rest of it’s interesting, too. I utterly love the medieval shoes on the front cover, part of a haul of 417 of them (there’s always an odd one, isn’t there…) found at the site of Baynard’s Castle in Westminster, and the story of Thomas Gresham’s shipwreck is also well worth a read.

We’ve talked about the Charlton Park Reminsicence Project a few times now – an ongoing project begun by Carol Kenna and Greenwich Mural Workshop (if you recall, Carol & Co. were responsible for many of the giant, rather-faded-by-now murals and mosaics around here, including the extraordinary Rathmore Benches) – often when they’ve been holding one of their periodic open days and exhibitions where they actively searched out new memories to add to the archive.

The project, as it might sound, mainly focuses on things within living memory – everything from people remembering playing in the park as a child, visiting the animals in the zoo and watching the jobsworth parkie refusing permission for David Hemmings to bring his Rolls Royce into Maryon Park during the filming of Blow Up to more recent sporting events and protests at the proposed closure of the petting zoo.

The project continues, but they have reached a bit of a milestone – a booklet of memories, photos and information – which will be available free from libraries, Greenwich Heritage Centre and Charlton House from the end of this month.

That doesn’t mean they’re not looking to add to the labyrinthine archives (don’t miss the photos and if you have some good memories of Charlton, they would still love to hear from you. There’s a form you can fill in on the website, or you can just find it here.

Lt. Comm. LM Bates,, Frederick Muller Ltd, 1949

A rather wonderful book I found in a secondhand bookshop in the West Country for a pound – it’s always worth repeating that some of the best London book bargains are found miles from the capital – there’s just not the competition for them and therefore the prices are much lower. In fact, if you mention it to the bookseller what you’re looking for they often say ‘I’ve got a load more in the warehouse at the back that I don’t display because no one buys them…’

But back to The Londoner’s River. I can find virtually no information about Leuitenant Commander LM Bates (I’m sure somebody will have the info – I love doing this blog…) save that he spent many years traversing the sixty-nine miles of the tidal part of the Thames, knew the river better than most, and observed at first hand the characters that lined its docks, ports and ships.

He wrote several books on the subject: the ones I’ve read appear to be collections of articles that first appeared in shipping journals. Some are more ‘Greenwich-y’ than others – understandable, really, there’s an awful lot of river to cover in shortish books but the anecdotes about London ‘characters’ and incidents are charming and the illustrations by ‘Stanley’ are both dramatic and from a world we just don’t recognise today, rendering them, IMHO, utterly wonderful.

Understandably, writing in the late 1940s and early 1950s, many of Bate’s tales are of the war – one book, Thames on Fire deals specifically with the war years (and I note is going from 1p on Amazon) but there are delicious little asides, told with a nice nudge-nudge, wink, wink feel and snippets that made me immediately start googling on tangents.

Take the Seven Seas, for example. Built in 1876, as the Emma Ernest, she was an unassuming wooden brig that spent her life trawling around the world with dull cargoes, being cut down and refitted every so often, usually so she could carry even less interesting goods.

Even during the first World War she only trudged coal to France, her most ‘interesting’ moment an unfortunate collision with a destroyer.  On a boring passage to Cornwall she got stranded, then rammed and ended up being towed home.

But like so many salty seadogs, Emma Ernest was to find a whole new lease of life as a land-lubber. She was moored at Charing Cross Pier, renamed the Seven Seas and became the plushly maritime headquarters for the social club of the British Sea Services.

Bate’s description of a guest night at the Seven Seas Club is delightful – even he reckons that it was ‘the kind of evening which Kipling would have loved to spend.’

…it’s haze of smoke, the yarns and chorus of shanties…watched over by the ship’s macaw, a bird whose plumage and repartee were equally brilliant.

The ship was full of nautical treasures, including a lifebelt, the only thing recovered of HMS Pincher, lost with all hands during WWI, a copy of The Times from Wednesday Nov 6t, 1805, reporting Collingwood’s dispatches from Trafalgar, a cannonball fired by Sir Francis Drake in 1586 and a ship’s lamp from the Arethusa, a training ship broken up on the Thames in 1935.

But the piece de resistance – and the reason I’m banging on about it today – a ship’s bell, inscribed Shakespeare- Liverpool. Apparently a club member, finding himself lying next to the ship Ferreira in a foriegn port was furious to see his dear old Cutty Sark reduced to flying the Portuguese flag. He stole onboard, and half-inched the ship’s bell in protest.

The Portuguese crew, in sort-of retaliation, pinched the bell from the poor ship Shakespeare, who happened to be lying the other side – and sailed with it for 19 years.

When the Cutty Sark was bought back by Captain Dowman in 1922, the original culprit returned her bell to her – and received in exchange the Shakespeare’s bell – not entirely sure what had happened to her – probably chime-less she got run into in fog or something. The bell was presented to the club.

Sadly the Seven Seas was badly damaged by bombs and was broken up. I have no idea what became of the Shakespeare’s Bell.

Not really sure why I went off on this one today – but you could do worse that seeking out LM Bate’s books of the Thames if you’re at all maritime-interested.

As longterm readers will know, I am quite a fan of Smoke – A London Peculiar, a now-online-but-used-to-be-proper-print literary magazine. I miss both it and One Eye Grey in their physical form, but hey – I get it. I can hardly snark, since I’m online myself…

Matt, the editor (who has his own Greenwich blog, Beware of the Trees) tells me the Smokers are putting together their latest magnum opus, From The Slopes Of Olympus To The Banks Of The Lea, inspired by London’s response to the Olympics. Matt tells me:

Not all the sporty running and jumping stuff, the other bits, positive and negative – everything from first hearing that we’d beaten Paris through to watching the stadiums being taken down, via the closure of the park, the takeover of Cafe Rouge by the Russian paralympic squad, and the removal of the Oyster card reader from Platform 3 at Greenwich station in case it caused dangerous levels of milling.

They’re currently looking for contributors, and, if past publications are anything to go by, the odder the better. Matt continues:

We’re looking for words, photos, fact, fiction, anything from a single sentence to a short story – but the more oblique and offbeat the better. 

If you’ve got something cool, fun – or just weird – contact Matt at bewareofthetrees@yahoo.co.uk or drop me a line and I’ll pass you on…

Gwladys Street sent me this – it is, as you can probably see, on one of the pillars on the coal jetty at Greenwich Power Station, and not particularly unusual in itself – there’s quite a lot of ‘sticker art’ around these days. Most of it’s pretty inane – there was some under the A102M flyover recently that was so dull I actually wondered why someone had gone to the trouble of creating it.

But this one’s curious. It’s a scene from a not-even-cult-at-the-time 1970s strip by the doomed comic publisher Pearl, which appears to be enjoying a comeback among underground comic readers – and writers.

The artwork is a real blast back to the seventies but I’d never heard of this guy – or, indeed the company. Surely a
creation as splendid as the world’s crappest superhero, who was dreamed up by bored ex-beatnik cartoonist down on his luck seemed almost too meta to be true.

I found myself fascinated by the work of this guy, Jeff Lint. Clearly a misspent childhood reading comics had not been mis-spent enough, for I had failed to read…

The Caterer.

A character of such depth, such force, such mercurial energy, such sagacity, that Pearl Comics gambled their very existence on the success of his adventures, dreamed up by eccentric genius Jeff Lint.

Part Beat-visionary, part wise-man, part braindead, this guy seems to have reinvented the world of comics, flown as high as printing techniques of the seventies could take him, discovered that like Icarus he’d flown too high, and tumbling back down to earth entered into a spiral of doom not dissimilar to the fate of his own creation. A lengthy legal dispute following an episode where the Caterer runs amok in Disneyland (I believe the few copies of that particular issue – Issue 9, in case you happen to have a copy knocking around the attic – that weren’t burned by The Mouse are now fetching stupid money on certain auction websites) saw the end of Lint, his misunderstood character and Pearl Comics themselves.

It’s a tragic fable of wretched excess, misplaced ambition and human frailty dubbed by Alan ‘Watchmen’ Moore as ‘ the holy barnacle of failure,’ so it seems only right to have a reminder of it encrusted on a pillar to be washed by the Thames every high tide.

Steve Aylett – you made me look.

I might just even have to read the book and start a campaign for a screening of the documentary of Lint’s life at the Picturehouse. For as the Caterer says:

Reading time is like sticking a knife in the river.

Wise words indeed.

I admit it – I got up today in a very grumpy mood – not least because of the gloomy weather outside. It’s like someone’s flicked the ‘Autumn’ switch since Saturday and suddenly I’m all fed up.

But then I opened an email sent to me by Joe, telling me about his blog, Greenwich Wildlife, and suddenly, for a few moments on a grey, wet, Monday morning, it was Summer again in Phantom Towers. It’s a photography blog, which makes the Phantom’s own Greenwich Wildlife section somewhat redundant and if it slips off-topic very occasionally, I’m not going to moan. It’s nice to be able to put names to butterflies or birds I’ve seen around but known nothing about.

Joe has the great humility to tell me that it’s an ‘amateur’ blog.

Joe – I’ve got news for you – we’re all amateurs. The number of people that can make actual money on blogs is teeny – and that’s usually only if a) it’s a saucy read that sends a sensitive Phantom all hot under the tricorn or b) you write an actual proper, paper book based on it. Now – Joe’s plumped for the latter (though given the history of Greenwich Birds I’m sure there’s room for the former too…), and has co-authored the publication pictured at the top of the post – but he’s fallen down on the whole ‘making money’ bit.

The Birds of Greenwich Park 1996-2011 is FREE.

It’s “an annotated checklist of the birds known to have been recorded in the Park during those years“, and the idea is “to raise awareness amongst local people and officialdom of the wildlife around them and hopefully this will encourage them to then take some steps towards helping it, however small those steps might be.”  Joe points out that sometimes things are lost simply because people didn’t realise they were there.

It’s published by Royal Parks and you can get your sweaty mitts on a copy, free, gratis, for nothing and at no extra charge,  at the Park Office next to the police station.

It might be fun to use it like an ‘I-Spy’ book – see how many you can spot on a walk round the park…

Thank you Joe. My mood has turned from Autumnal glum to crisp anticipation of hot pumpkin soup, brisk park walks, strange fairy toadstools, roasted Greenwich chestnuts and ghost stories round a roaring fire…

An Exlusive Insight into 100 Architecturally Inspiring Buildings in London 

Victoria Thornton,  Ebury Publishing, £25

We’re nearly at that time of year again, folks. The time where we can poke into places we’re not normally allowed near, see inside buildings that we’ve only seen the outside of and see some incredible architecture, old and new, up close, for one weekend only. I have a love-hate relationship with it – however hard I plan I always end up turning up on the wrong day being late or being the one after the last person in the queue is let in (happened with Linley Sambourne House last year – I queued for a good forty minutes, then the person in front of me got in and I didn’t. To add insult to injury she turned and smirked at me. Bah…)

We’ve talked about Open House weekend so many times – had long discussions about things in Greenwich we’d like to see opened and even tried the odd campaign to see that happen.

Greenwich is pretty poorly served for openings – just two pages in the catalogue and many of them are places that would be open anyway. Not that I’m knocking anywhere that chooses to open their doors for this incredible event – a heartfelt thank you to all of them. I’ll do my pick of the openings at the end of today’s post. But there are places I would love to persuade to open their doors too.

One I keep meaning to contact is Our Lady Star of the Sea on Crooms Hill – a church I understand has Pugin interiors. Yes. I’ll put that on my list for pestering next year. You can see the lovely White Dog of Crooms HIll at the same time if you’re lucky. She’ll be feeling lonely now the paths are open again in the park…

I did try to get the roof of the Observatory opened a few years ago – they said they’d think about it, and that’s the last I heard of it, hint, hint.

Forget the Observation Tower at Greenwich Borough Hall. Several Phantomites have had upleasant encounters with the letting agency who have no intention of allowing anyone at all up there, ever. Why Greenwich Council ever gave that up I still don’t know. It’s an observation tower, built for the people,  from which only the pigeons have a view.

I’ve lost count of the number of different places I’ve written to to try to get power station tours – never with any luck at all – it seems such a missed opportunity for a place that most people think is closed down (I get a lot of emails from people suggesting this derelict hulk be turned into an art gallery/peformance space/shopping mall)  to become part of the community but I’ve had virtually no repsonse.

The closest I got to an answer was mutterings of ‘security issues’ – but I don’t buy that. There are much higher profile buildings (including strategic-industrial) quite happy to do tours. My problem is that I’ve never been able to pin down the guy (or gal) who could actually make a decision and I’m passed around jobsworths who don’t want to stick their necks out.  Maybe next year we could have a concerted effort together – anyone know the exact person we need to talk to?

My final wishlist ‘want’ is the fabulous Rotunda -Nash-designed, incredible history, odd construction methods – and absolutely locked up.

But that’s enough of what we can’t see. Before I go onto what we can, I really want to talk about the book that’s come out celebrating the event. It’s not cheap, but it is beautiful, and one of those books that you’d want as a physical presence, rather than on your Kindle.

A hardcover, full-colour exploration of the kind of buildings open across London, it features heavily the modern, achitect-led constructions rather than the historic ones I tend to graduate towards. The great thing about this is that, flicking through, I find myself fascinated by them – my eye doesn’t really catch listings in the brochure about modern buildings, but seeing a photo of a particularly odd/innovative design makes me want to read the write-up and the write-up makes me want to see the real thing. Often the sculptures inside very large, airy atriums pull me in more than the buildings themselves.

Obviously other people’s homes are particularly nose-worthy and the ones in this book are, for the most part sleek, smooth and design marvels, especially the ones created in teeny spaces, using innovative technology. But how on earth would you live in such places? Don’t these people have clutter? I note that at least one place has children living in it. HOW? Where are the books? The toys? The papers? The mess? The crayons? Those poor kids…

There’s only one actual Greenwich place in the book  - if you’ve never been to Greenwich Yacht Club, it’s worth a sneak around there, and reading the background to it and the GMV, but there are close things – such as the extraordinary cathedral of sewage, Crossness (never been? Go!) and the very wonderful Trinity Buoy Wharf – so near, and once, so far – now a little easier to visit thanks to the cable car. It’s also worth checking out Marlborough House in Pall Mall to see the loot from the greatest act of Royal vandalism Greenwich has known. Both are discussed in the book.

So -onto my Greenwich recommendations for the 22/23 September this year:

Blackheath House – I don’t know this, but I think I read it’s recently been listed. I may be wrong.

Charlton House – owned by the council and thus pretty empty, but the panelling, fireplaces, ceilings etc remain and are majestic.

Devonport Mausoleum – you can get pretty close to this anyway these days but I’m hoping to be allowed inside the fencing.

Dreadnought Library – I’ve never seen this – I always seem to turn up on the wrong day – but it’s apparently a good example of new within old.

Eltham Lodge – make sure you’re in plenty of time for this fabulous old mansion – I arrived on the stroke of 12.30 and was unceremoniously (and quite rudely) kicked out.

Greenwich Heritage Centre – nice place, not really sure why it’s on the list – it’s always open.

Greenwich Yacht Club – definitely worth a nose for the stilts alone.

Old Royal Naval College – the tours you normally have to pay for are free.

Queens House – absolutely seminal building – again, not sure why it’s on the list, being open all the time (except during the Olympics, natch) but deffo worth seeing if you’ve not been inside yet (where have you been? )

Ravensbourne – an utterly amazing building from the outside – one of my faves, but rather dull inside.

Ruins of Garrison Church, RA Barracks – normally only able to be squinted at through iron gates, worth a view.

Sevendroog Castle – Supeb views and well worth the long queue, not least for the mouldings (and mould) on the inside. Sponsor a brick while you’re waiting; I hope to see it reopen as a tea room and observation tower sometime in my lifetime.

St Alfege Church – book one of their Crypt tours and see the tombs of General Wolfe, Thos. Tallis and Lavinia Fenton.

Call: 020 8853 0687

St Mary Magdalene School – I don’t know this one.

St Saviour’s Church, Eltham – ditto

Station Officers’ Mess, RA Barracks –  If this is the cute bit in the middle, it’s well worth joining a tour.

Thames Barrier and Information Centre  - not sure this is particularly worth it – the REALLY interesting bit is the barrier itself and that bit’s not open.

The Coronet Cinema, Eltham – in the middle of some serious change – probably worth seeing while it’s still at least partially there.

Tudor Barn – a beautiful place.

Woolwich Town Hall - I’ve only ever been in the foyer – it’s on my list for this year.

Enjoy Open House Weekend, folks.