Phantom Favourite Front Gardens (8)

Alderburgh St, SE10

Right down the bottom of the Peninsula, tucked away between the various industrial estates and the A102 M flyover, two dainty little streets quietly exist in that strange place that is neither Greenwich nor Charlton, but something all of its own. Fearon St and Aldeburgh St could just be tatty little nothings tacked onto an unexciting business area - but they're not. The residents keep them neat and tidy and there are lots of little touches in them that makes me realise that this is a community that likes being where it is, and has a little unique flavour to it.

There are some sweet window boxes and filled tubs, early-days hedges and tidy flowerpots, but my favourite is an unassuming Victorian terraced house on Aldeburgh St with topiary grandeur punching above its weight.

Two great boxes of box, stepped like Aztec pyramids, a pair of square 'braziers' burst with an unfettered 'flame' of tufty growth on top from a simple brick wall. There is nothing else to muddy the view - no extra flowers, ornaments, hanging baskets, gnomes, wishing wells or birdbaths - and that's what makes this statement so bold.

A gardener of taste lives here.

Free Guided Walks

David passed this onto me - a series of free blue badge guide walks this week - worth a gander, don't you think?

http://www.eastlondonguides.com/

Rathmore Benches Revisited

I've had a fascinating email from Carol of Greenwich Mural Workshop and thought it was so interesting that I would post it in its entirety.

Carol writes:

Rathmore murals were painted in 1979 called " Charlton, Past, Present andFuture". The benches were constructed in 1980.

They were commissioned by Irena McFarland, then senior Youth Worker at thecentre. Paul Stephens( not Paul Simmons), also involved in the Centre,worked with us on the benches.
The theme for the murals and benches were agreed with local residents andyouth centre workers and users, and yes in response to a point you made Ithink, they were deliberately socio-political to reflect the aspirations ofthe local residents, also because that was the genre of GMW.

Each section of the walls reflected the theme of the benches. So from westto east - the first section showed portraits of local people debating /accosting national politicians, the second, people printing leaflets andposters, above the benches of faces; the next above the flames showed imagesof people welding and repairing parts of barges / boats, reflecting localinterest in re-establishing a working economy linked to the river Thames;the fourth section showed people growing food using wind, solar and waterenergy - way before the current interest in climate change etc.

This was linked to a wish to establish allotments on the corner of Rathmore Road andCharlton Church Lane, then a derelict site which was subsequently developedby the GLC for housing.
The doorway had a Mexican image of life - an eagleholding a snake in its beak, an artistic reference to Los Tres Grandes -Siqueiros, Rivera and Orozco - all muralists in the 1930's working on anational programme of mural painting within an education programme teachinga mainly illiterate indigenous population their history and education, andartistic mentors for GMW muralists. The pillars boasted images of the Rowantree - also a symbol of life.

The water bench was to remind us that Charlton lay on the river Thames andhistorically relied heavily upon it for work. The gable - the centralsection showed modern day Charlton-supermarket shopping, moderntransport-buses, motorcycles, computers, skateboarders. Either side werehistorical references including the Bottle Kiln once sited at the end ofRathmore Road - I believe, but certainly locally, market sellers, chairrepairers, the first train, Woolwich ferry, horse-drawn trams etc.

Throughout portraits of local people figured as characters in the mural andduring the painting of the mural we had a "portrait chair" where peoplepassing by were invited to sit and had their portrait drawn and subsequentlytransferred to the wall.

Sounds a bit worthy, visually I don't think it was and it was certainly wellreceived then. So it is particularly uplifting to find that people still think the benches are worth comment.

The benches were repaired about ten, possibly longer ago, but then no money has been forthcoming to do it a second time, plus it is a lengthy anddifficult job. However your site and people's comments have inspired us tolook into finding funds to repair them again.

For us it was an interesting project as we had to pioneer thebench construction and eventually took advice from a boat-builder, using theconstruction method adapted from making the hulls of concrete boats.

The Phantom adds:
Just a thought - but how easy would it be when you get a new commission, to add in a 'trust fund' contingency for upkeep? Presumably the amount wouldn't need to be huge and could be ring-fenced, the interest earned keeping it in line with inflation. I am always saddened by things that were once 'projects' loved by the locals, opened with great pomp by dignitaries and then abandoned to vandals, weeds and Time.

The first time I saw Rathmore Benches was at night, lit by sodium streetlamps and it was an almost magical sight. By day, they are still lovely but would be even more wondrous with a bit of a spruce-up...

No matter. They continue to delight passers-by such as myself 27 years on from their construction and I for one thank you, GMW...

Favourite Phantom Front Gardens (2)

Maze Hill, SE10

This is about half way down Maze Hill (I couldn't see a number for all the greenery...)

Whoever lives here must spend half their life out the front - the garden is tiny - a few square feet at best -but this hasn't prevented the owners from treating it like some kind of stately home.

On the adjoining side of the semi, well-managed trees create a frame - I'm sure there's a eucalyptus in there, but it's kept under tight control and adds a wispy curtain in front of a maple(?) that's also been heavily-clipped. A date palm and cyprus give it a lush depth which only a serious plantsman would know how to create. At the centre, topiary pom-poms shoot up like a sort of mad green fountain and by the drive there are more well-clipped shrubs. The whole thing is softened by a cascade of annuals and a background of climbing roses and I love it.

It's worth walking past this house for no other reason than its sheer exuberance. These people have not let the fact that they only have a garden the size of a (ladies) handkerchief in which to express themselves get in the way of putting on a display for passers-by that puts the owners of far bigger places to shame. Not a blade of grass is left to chance, not a leaf is out of place, not a rose left un-deadheaded. The colours are restrained, but exquisite and the whole is a country house garden in miniature. It's a complete opposite to the fabulous cottage garden up at St Johns, Favourite Front Gardens (1) but nevertheless a brilliant gem to stumble upon.

I can only guess what the back garden is like, but in the meanwhile, how generous of the owners to give the rest of us a free show...

HMS Ark Royal

Moored at Greenwich as part of the Falklands War Commemorations. Whatever you think, it's worth a look...

St Mary's Church

Never heard of it?

Hardly surprising since it hasn't existed since 1935, but I bet you'd know where it was.

Back in the early 19th Century there was a massive rise in church attendance and Greenwich herself was well on the up. The centre of town was a veritable neo-classical building site. St Mary's church, at St Mary's Gate of Greenwich Park, was built just before the first phase of the grand improvement scheme which transformed the market area was begun, but Crooms and Royal Hills were already gentrified and Gloucester Circus was brand-spanking-new.

The architect was George Basevi, a Greenwich boy, born and bred. He was desperate to become an architect and persuaded Sir John Soane to take him as a pupil. He then disappeared off to Italy and Greece for three years, as young men of his day and class did. On his return St Mary's church was one of his early commissions in 1823. From the rather fanciful engravings that remain of it, it was a pretty little place - a neo-classical front and a tall Italianate bell tower. It was intended to show just how genteel Greenwich was becoming, and the developments around King William Walk followed not long afterwards.

It all went horribly wrong, though. First, for poor George Basevi, who, in the 1840s was commissioned to sort out Ely's prison population by enlarging the jailhouse. He was doing well, but on 16th October, 1845, whilst inspecting Ely Cathedral's western bell tower (what was he doing up there, I wonder? checking it out as a watchtower for escaped convicts?) he fell and was killed. They buried him in Bishop Alcock's Chapel in the cathedral (tastefully placed at the other end...)

St Mary's church lasted less than a century longer. In 1935/6, it was demolished (I don't know exactly why) and integrated into part of Greenwich Park. It's surrounded by a beech hedge, some of the foundation stones marking out the original position.

And the reason why everyone will know it? Because it has one of the most snigger-worthy statues in Greenwich placed right at its centre. The giant granite sculpture of "the Sailor-King" William IV was originally sculpted by Samuel Nixon in 1843 and intended to stand at the head of London Bridge, appropriately enough on King William St. Road-widening in 1936 made poor William redundant, so he was moved to live out his retirement in a quiet corner of Greenwich Park at the top of a road I am not conviced was named for him, being giggled at by small boys and juvenile phantoms...

fnaar, fnaar...

Rathmore Benches

The corner of Troughton and Rathmore Roads, SE7

Who needs to go to Barcelona when you have Charlton on your doorstep? If you're not expecting anything more than some rather sweet Victorian terraces when you're walking along Troughton and Rathmore roads, the first time you see the (still) fabulous Rathmore benches is one of those wonderful experiences that Life gives out for free every so often.

In a style strongly reminiscent of Gaudi's dazzling Park Guell, this extraordinary structure of concrete benches wrapping its way around an old (1901, if memory serves...) chapel (now Rathmore Youth Centre) winds like a length of colourful satin ribbon gently undulating and forming two long, continuous benches for the Youth of Charlton to enjoy. All along it, in minute detail, are mosaic images - people, flowers, sun rays, crashing waves, boats, motorbikes, cornfields - and what looks suspiciously like a detonator of some sort.

Maybe this is a darker vision than it at first appears. This was made by the excellent Greenwich Mural Workshop (You know the drill, 'more about them another day') in the heady days of the 1980s when there was the money around to do that kind of thing. There is some doubt about exactly when it was executed - The Public Monument and Sculpture Association, thinks 1989, but I have found evidence of a publication about it as far back as 1983 (it's by Greenwich Mural Workshop themselves and just 12 pages long, so I guess it could be a proposal. I am sure one of you long term residents - Inspector Sands, perhaps, can tell me the date?) but this is a period when CND and the Greenham Women were still very much at the forefront of the news. A time when even Tony Blair was still against nuclear weapons. In other words, more politically volatile times.

Sadly the colourful mural that accompanied the project and which may have explained more about the meaning of the remaining benches has been painted over - in battleship grey, of all colours. A more miserable, dampening colour would have been difficult to find, but could have rather symbolic subtext if my theory is correct. I have no idea whether my fancies about these benches having political resonance are anything more than mere whim, but if it is, it might explain the grey paint and general condition of the work...

If you've never seen these remarkable constructions, my advice would be to see them for the very first time by night. The sodium streetlamps are far kinder to them than the harsh sunlight which shows just how badly they have worn. By night, they are a magical sight, the colours a little subdued by the lighting, but the general view much more akin, I suspect, to how they were originally conceived.

The money just isn't around these days to look after exciting sculptures in backstreets in Charlton. The Public Monument and Sculpture Association has recorded them as being "At Risk" - and they're absolutely right. They are. Flakes and tiles of mosaic are missing almost everywhere you look, and in places the wire mesh that forms the foundations shows through. Even the little flowerbeds carefully integrated into the design are looking distinctly bare. But it is not too late to save this wonderful piece of late 20th Century art. If the will is there, then they can be preserved, perhaps even by their original creators. Listing would even be an option. Sadly I don't think that grey paint is coming off any time soon...

Greenwich Time Ball

It's one of those wonderful oddities of London which makes our city so vibrant. In the same way that we don't actually need beefeaters marching around a dead royal palace with a bunch of keys every night, an annual dinner for two warring livery companies to settle medieval differences or a bloke in black to open parliament every session, there is no real necessity for us to squint up at the Greenwich skyline at 1.00pm to set our watches, but if we ever catch the Greenwich Time Ball at that microsecond when it drops, we feel a little shiver of excitement; a little link with our maritime past.

It all goes back to that old chestnut of longitude, which I promise I'm not going into today. The problem had been more or less solved by the end of the 18th Century, but none of John Harrison's splendid clocks was going to stand a cat's chance in hell if they weren't set correctly to start with. Trouble was, that they didn't have radio-controlled digital timepieces in those days. A few people, such as ships' captains had clocks and watches, and the ships themselves, by the 19th Century, had chronometers, but they were useless if they couldn't be set.

They'd been experimenting with the idea of time balls in Portsmouth and in 1833, it was suggested by one Captain Robert Wauchope that Greenwich would be an ideal place for one for the Thames. John Pond, who was Astronomer Royal at the time, thought it was a great idea and the Admiralty agreed - Greenwich Observatory was well-placed, up a hill, and with the right instruments to gauge the time accurately. I doubt that Pond was quite as pleased when he realised that it would be the job of the astronomers working there to toil up the stairs of the little tower, haul the ball to the top of the weather vane then drop it at one o'clock every day, rain or shine, when they could be doing a million other, more exciting things.

Nevertheless, the world's first public time signal was duly manufactured by Maudslay, Son & Field. A giant red ball, with a winch, was installed. The ball was originally made of leather, which must have become like lead when sodden with winter rain.

I'm not going to go into the concept of standard time and GMT today - do try to contain your excitement, I'll come to it ;-) Suffice to say that the Observatory was central to anything that went on throughout the 19th Century to do with Railway Time, Local Time or any other time. But all through that time the Greenwich Time Ball was hoisted to the top of its little pole at two minutes to, then dropped precisely at one o'clock. As the years passed, telegraphic communication helped to let people across the globe know what the time was, but Greenwich remained at the centre.

Today the ball is automated - there are no more astronomers left to winch it up and let it drop. But it continues to do so by machine, every day like - well, like clockwork, I guess. It's aluminium these days, but still a big bugger. I heard they had to take it down for a spruce-up recently and it proved exceeding unwieldy.

Why 1.00pm rather than midday? At first I was told that it was because the astronomers were always doing important experiments at midday when the sun is at its apex, but more recently I've heard that it's because in order to know the exact time you have to know noon. Since you're actually waiting for noon, it's difficult to be really accurate, so once the astronomers saw noon, they could actually count more accurately to 1.00pm.

I am terribly fond of our time ball. Not least because it's discreet. If you don't know to look for it you might miss it completely. If you need the time it's there (set your watch precisely "1.00pm" the moment the ball drops) if you don't need to know, you don't get bothered. As a local resident, I guess I'm quite glad I'm not in Edinburgh where 1.00 is signalled with a cannon...

Favourite Phantom Front Gardens (1)

Angerstein Lane, SE3

After yesterday's agonies, I thought I go totally fluffy on you today and share one of my favourite secret local corners. It may be cheesy, but sometime's CheddarVision's just not enough...

Angerstein Lane (no prizes for guessing the provenance of that name) is one of those places that no one who stumbles upon it can quite believe is in London. A straight passageway behind the posh bit of Vanbrugh Park that curves round the edge of Blackheath - linking St John's Park and Shooters Hill Road (ok, the A2, go ahead, smash my rustic fantasies) it is merely a dotted line on the map, but a delightful leafy retreat, complete with postbox set into ancient wall, lamp posts and overarching trees straight out of one of those postcards of 'Old Blackheath' you can buy in libraries. I would turn this picture into sepia except it's so bloomin' small already it would end up fuzzy...




Much of the back of it is garages and back entrances for the big houses on Vanbrugh Park, delightfully neglected in many cases, and there is a secret little path of modern houses (Langton Way) which is so embedded that you don't notice it until it's right upon you. But the rest of this path is totally empty - save for one tiny little roses-round-the-door cottage, Number 5, nestled in the only bit of clearing that the sun manages to break through. I can't work out what happened to Numbers 1,2,3 and 4 - there is no sign that there was ever any other habitation.

At first it looks like it might be part of the giant Victorian building towering among the foliage behind it, and maybe once it was an outhouse, but it is very much a little cottage now. A low, white-walled building, it is cute in itself, but what really makes it is one of the loveliest cottage gardens I have seen in a long while. 'Designed' in that wonderfully hap-hazard style of the classic country garden, it has been clothed in traditional flowers and plants by someone who clearly spends a lot of his time out there - and who cares passionately about the bit of land that he's reclaimed from the lane at the front of his house.

It's clear the guy's grown a lot of things from seed and cuttings, supplementing with bought specialities. The first time I walked past, he was out working and I spent some time chatting to him. A very friendly soul, he happily discussed planting ideas and pointed out his favourite bits (as gardeners usually do.)He is particularly proud of a peony he's just acquired at great expense.

Though I would suspect this is not a totally new garden, it's going to take a few years to fill out, but it's already one of The Phantom's Favourite Haunts. He's created a tiny hawthorn hedge around it, though of course it will take years to get above knee height, and I suspect that he will always be delighted for fellow enthusiasts to enjoy it. And in the tradition of the true cottage gardeners, he's generous too, leaving surplus plants at the gate with a note for anyone to take them.

I thoroughly recommend this little haven as a way to feel good about the world again after yesterday's misery. Forget Chelsea Flower Show. This is real.

James "Athenian" Stuart

1713-1788

V&A Museum - to 24th June 2007, admission free
The Old Royal Naval College Chapel

There is nothing quite like losing oneself in one of The Big London Museums on a dark, wet May afternoon. And the V&A is one of the best to lose oneself in because it's so full of twists and turns and dark Victorian corners filled with dark Victorian delights. Even better are the exhibitions - at the moment Surrealism and Kylie (complete with a costume by our own Johnny Rocket) are selling out, but I wasn't there for either of these big-hitters.

James "Athenian" Stuart may not trip off the tongue the way that contemporaries such as Robert Adam, Josiah Wedgewood and John Soane might, but his pioneering work in bringing neo-classicism to late 18th-century Britain is extraordinary and, along with all his great country piles and elegant townhouses, he found time to beautify Greenwich for us. It's taken over 200 years to create him a major exhibition, but at least now the V&A has done the right thing.

Born in London the son of a Scottish sailor, Stuart was not from wealthy stock. Things got worse when his father died and the family was plunged into poverty. He was apprenticed to a fan painter (I wonder if there are any of his efforts in the museum in Crooms Hill...?) but he longed for adventure. He decided to walk to Italy to learn about culture and architecture, antiquity and style. This was, after all, the beginning of the age of The Grand Tour. To start with he supported himself as an itinerant fan-painter (how much more romantic than working in the Rome branch of McDonald's during your gap-year, eh?)

James was doing okay in Italy, picking up the odd wealthy sponsor and portrait commission, but he craved more. He and his mate Nicholas Revett hitched down to Greece to really find out about the ancients and this was when James and Nick's Excellent Adventure began...

The pair of them had a whale of a time. Their sketchbooks still exist, showing them wearing Turkish robes, pretending to be Ottoman princes, clambering over precariously crumbling ruins making measurements and delighting in Local Colour. Stuart's sketches depict the minutiae of life - farmers toiling amongst vegetables - a friar blessing a diseased sheep - peasants escaping plague - and themselves - escaping the local law enforcement officers.

Only one of Stuart's own textbooks still exists - carefully annotated with corrections - he clearly didn't think much of its author, George Wheler - "It isn't a charger (in the statue's hand) but a shield from which he showereth down hail and tempests..." he writes. "He holdeth a conch shell," he points out exasperated at Wheler's erroneous description of another statue which claims "He holdeth nothing."

On his return to England, the pair published The Antiquities of Athens, Stuart revising the work, painting the illustrations and even designing the cover. A few copies of this massive tome still exist.

He didn't go straight from his adventures to grand design jobs. it took a while to get established, during which time he painted a backdrop for a school play - for Westminster School - and became the official portrait painter for the Society of Dilettanti (to which he and Nick had been elected some years before) but once he did, everyone (well all the nobs anyway) wanted him to design for them - everything from elegant furniture to splendidly frivolous garden temples to entire neo-classical palaces. Many of his palladian mansions have been demolished - and not that long ago - the 1960s were the worst culprits, it would seem (that's when the grand house at Belvedere was pulled down,) but there are a few left - notably at Shugborough in Shropshire, Earl Spencer's town gaff in Green Park and, on a different note entirely, our own chapel at Greenwich.

He had his critics - Horace Walpole described a closet at his Wimbledon Park stately home as "villainously painted" (though he later softened, describing a later offering as having a "noble, simple edifice" compared to a "harlequinnade" by Adam) but generally by this stage he could do nothing wrong.

He was given the prestigious job of Surveyor for the Royal Hospital for Seamen at Greenwich in 1758 and, after designing a few extremely ornate Admiralty Passes (sort of passports for ships - the fancier they were, the more easily British shipping passed through foreign waters) he got stuck in on the chapel. He made sure that there were lots of maritime images and impressive displays though it all got a bit damaged in a fire in 1779 after some rather raucous New Year celebrations in a tailor's shop above the church.

He also designed a three-tier pulpit, including a clerk's chair, reader's desk and 'preaching platform' in limewood with Corinthian columns and coadestone roundels(there goes that coadestone again...) A few years ago there was a great deal of excitement when the Reverend of All Saints Church in Belvedere looked a bit more closely at the pulpit that was bought in late Victorian times for a pound and thought it was by Stuart. Sadly it's unlikely, but you never know...

Stuart did other work in Greenwich, especially on the King's House and the Infirmary in between flitting around the country designing architectural baubles for the aristocracy. But by this point the bohemian lifestyle of his youth was catching up with him. He had married his 16 year old maidservant in his old age and they had five children in ten years which caused a bit of a scandal, and gout from alcoholism coupled with some chaotic business practices made him unreliable. He spent much of his later life drinking and playing skittles, dying in 1788.

The exhibition at the V&A, tucked away in an upstairs back room, is as elegant as Stuart's designs. It includes his early sketches, copies of his book, furniture and ornaments, as well as designs for and photographs of his best architectural designs. It's well worth a look. But if you don't make it to South Ken, a wander round the chapel in Greenwich, now beautifully restored, will lend some idea of the work of this underrated genius.

Micro Eco Park on the Peninsula

No - not the "official" one - which I'll come to another day. This tiny little eco park is about a tenth of the size of the 'proper' one and I confess I've walked past it on several occasions without realising what it was or even, if I'm honest, that it was there at all.

It's round the back of the Teletubby Sainsburys - presumably some kind of Section 106 set-aside, and it takes approximately 1 minute to walk round, but it's nevertheless a delight to stumble upon, and once the sundry consortia who have carved up the Peninsula have covered what is green and lovely now with coloured concrete boxes, it will be an even more welcome haven for animals, insects, birds and even the odd walker.

It's basically a couple of wetland-pond-ish-marshy dips, filled with reeds, rushes and, at the moment, some beautiful yellow irises. There are saplings of what look like some sort of willow (?) dotted around and a little fenced area with some young apple trees - I have no idea of the variety, but I'm hoping they're either native or at least heritage breeds.

A little (pretty-accessible) path winds its way around the site - it takes a couple of minutes to march around it, slightly longer to wander. There are no signs, plaques or even gates - but it's such a welcome corner, tucked behind a shopping centre and surrounded by a hedge of mixed British plants - even the back of Sainsburys itself doesn't 'loom' over the area (and presumably provides a nice place for employees to enjoy a quiet fag) that it's worth seeking out as a five minute excursion of peace from the madness that is that sodding Peninsula car park.

Paul McPherson Gallery

77, Lassell St SE10

Paul McPherson's tiny gallery is tucked away down an East Greenwich side street, and you might miss it unless you were actually looking out for it, but it's well worth a visit - and a regular visit at that.

Paul McPherson himself is a graphic artist and designer - he's the man responsible for that wonderful Hope & Greenwood sweetie packaging (now there's a shop I could stand a sister branch in Greenwich - but that's a whole other story.) He's also worked for J&B Whisky and Smirnoff but his best-known work in Greenwich is probably the graphics for Theatre of Wine. You can see the sort of thing he does on his website.

He works from the back room, which leaves the gallery at the front available for rolling exhibitions from up-and-coming artists. They're not always my cup of tea, but that's the beauty of a rolling display - the artists change on a regular basis, so if you don't like one, the next one might turn out to be a favourite.

The Paul Catherall exhibition on at the moment is excellent (he did those fab posters on the underground with the lino prints of modern London landmarks but is possibly better known, if you hang out round bookshops, for the design for The Cloudspotters Guide - you can find him at www.paulcatherall.com) but you never know who's going to be there so it's worth making a regular date in your diary.

It's minute - the size of a shopfront, but it's crisp, bright and modern - a perfect exhibition space for a new artist. The door is a 'normal' front door and can look intimidating - but if it's regular office hours, chances are it will be open - and if it's not and Paul's in, if you ring the doorbell, he'll let you in. There's no obligation to buy of course,and there are usually sweeties in a jar at the back as an extra incentive to visit...

www.paulmcphersongallery.com

Quantum Cloud

Antony Gormley, 1999

Greenwich Peninsula (North Greenwich tube)


Quantum Cloud is that strange-looking sculpture very close to the Dome which, if you first view it in winter from a distance you might mistake for a very odd tree.

It's Antony Gormley's tallest structure - 30m high - and yes, that IS taller than The Angel of the North (and by the way, Ken - we don't NEED an 'Angel of the South' to let people know when they've reached London.)

It took months of arguing in our household to decide whether we could see a shadowy human figure depicted in the centre of this ovoid tree of what looks suspiciously like scaffolding bars, but there IS actually 'someone' in there - Gormley himself, apparently.

It's all very clever stuff, based on algebra,where he programmed the shape of his own body into a computer, then created a random 'cloud' of squared bars of galvanised steel around it. The way the 20m figure is created is merely by having a greater density of the bits of metal welded together in the centre. At some angles the figure is quite clear, at others it just looks like a mass of tangled TV aerials, an ambiguity that Gormley intended, according to his artist's statement at the time. The outer antennae are supposed to move with the wind, but I've never noticed.

Our Cloud at Greenwich is one of at least 11 different Quantum Clouds, I believe, with figures in various positions, but Gormley's website despite clearly having spent considerably more cash than I have on this one, is not an awful lot easier to navigate around and eventually I gave up trying to find any more about it. I got the feeling from his statement that the one on the Peninsula was the first, but ultimately I guess I don't really care. It's one of my favourite sculptures in the area - or, indeed at all. It's only when you get near to it (you can't get really close as it's slightly offshore) that you can really see how clever it is to work at so many different levels and angles.

Hooray for Public Art.

Underground Greenwich (1) Greenwich Foot Tunnel

Island Gardens end of the Foot Tunnel from a window of The Admiral's House




A word to the wise.

Never try to walk South through Greenwich Foot Tunnel around 8.00am or North around 6.00pm if you want to live.

This is because it will be being put to its original use - as a conduit for workers to reach the Isle of Dogs and you will be very much going against the flow. Of course the workers themselves have changed - not too many cheeky cock-er-ney dockers these days - much more likely besuited bankers making their way to Canary Wharf, but the sheer momentum of bodies is still just as frightening as ever if you're trying to move in the opposite direction.

The riding of bicycles is banned, which means you get two different types of cyclist. There are those who just ignore it, putting their heads down and just going for it who are truly terrifying, and those who think it doesn't count if they stand on one pedal and freewheel. The former is slightly more dangerous than the latter but they are both deadly. There is a very rare third variety - the guy who actually gets off and wheels his bike through. If you see one of these shy, scarce creatures, shake them warmly by the hand and thank them voraciously.

Other dangerous troglodyte-types you might encounter below the Thames include the local teenagers who think it is Greenwich Footie Tunnel and happily kick their footballs straight at you, foreign teenagers who buffet you with their back packs, and the idiots of all ages who think they're the first people on earth to come up with the idea of hooting as loud as possible to test out the echo.

I suspect it was ever that way.

Before the idea of digging underneath had ever occurred to anyone, there had been a ferry service across the Thames since 1676, but it tended to be rather unreliable and the workers had to pay for the privilege. Largely due to the efforts of the ex-docker MP Will Crooks, it was decided to create a tunnel to get the proles to work.

Sir Alexander Binnie was commissioned to design and oversee the project which would have cost £ 180,000 if the ferry operators hadn't kicked up a fuss at losing their business. They were paid compensation, which seems like a good deal to me.

Digging began in 1899 - around the same time as huge amounts of new building was going on in East Greenwich and Charlton. The tunnel was opened in 1902, with some rather splendid lifts opening two years later. They were 'upgraded' in 1992, but they at least kept the wood panelling. There is a charming cupola at each end - one in Island Gardens, they other on Greenwich Pier, next to the Cutty Sark and Greenwich's only superloo (yeuch.) Both glass domes are lit at night - the Greenwich side is usually green. Aaah...

For those of a statistical frame of mind of for pub quiz enthusiasts, there are over 200,000 white ceramic tiles lining the tunnel and it's almost a quarter of a mile long. Statistics bore me, so if you want any more, go to the Pepys Centre and buy yourself an A4 double-sided paper sheetlet with all the number crunches you'll ever want for 25p.

The Tunnel is regarded as a public highway, so it has to open 24 hours a day, but the lifts only work at civilised times.

A Thames Tale

Who IS the mysterious Amanda Hinge? Her work is immortalised on the side of Greenwich Power Station but no one seems to know who she is/was.

It's a funny little piece - a sort of ceramic collage on the stock-brick wall along the Thames Path just before Ballast Quay and just after the coal pier. It tells a charming story about a boy who's walking along the Thames picking up flotsam and jetsum - little pottery coke cans, paper bags and footprints - when he meets a strange-looking creature. The story doesn't make total sense if you try to read it as an adult - but who cares? This is a delightful piece of whimsy and yet another reason why Greenwich is more than the sum of its big-hitter tourist attractions. Things like this should be encouraged.

There are so many questions I have about the piece - but no one seems to know anything about it. The website advertised on the plaque next to it seems long-dead and I would have done well in the googlewhack competition by typing the words into my search engine.

When I tried to find a bit more out, the various bodies who paid for it seemed puzzled by my request - the best result I had was when I called Greenwich Council who remembered that it had been commissioned for the Millennium - but nothing else - certainly nothing more about the artist herself.

I'd love to know if Amanda Hinge has made any other art that we could see. Does anyone out there know her - or know of her? Is she local?

I think we should be told.

Winter Gardens

Avery Hill Park, Eltham

Ok - so it's not actually Greenwich - so shoot me - it's in the borough and everyone needs to get out occasionally...


The Winter Gardens at Eltham are one of those surprising little places which make being a tourist in your own borough worthwhile. Clearly with a name like that, I waited until deepest January to visit, picking a bright, clear and bloomin' freezing afternoon to pack up a flask and buns and head off towards the Eltham Campus of Greenwich University.

It's not a generally exciting building complex, Greenwich University's Eltham Campus now occupying what's left of self-made millionaire 'Colonel' John Thomas North's mansion - which is why when you do discover the hothouse it's all the more delightful.

It was built during the 1830s but not an awful lot happened to it until the colourful 'Colonel' bought it in 1888.

North had started out, it is said, as a gun runner in South America where he'd gone to build railways (it's amazing how one can get sidetracked, isn't it...) but eventually found his fortune in seagull guano, wich any fule no makes great fertiliser.

But being a shit importer has never guaranteed success on the social ladder, and though North had made a pile Oop North on the where-there's-muck-there's-brass ticket, and though he had heaped largesse on the good folk of Leeds he still just didn't seem to get invited to the right parties.

He decided to buy Avery Hill and do it up so that he could have a swanky London pad. He had the main road moved to Bexley so that he wouldn't actually have to come in contact with the South London riffraff and spent over £ 200,000 on the interior design alone. He commissioned TW Cutler to remodel it in the popular Italianate style, but Cutler went overbudget even for the likes of North and was sacked; his assitant promoted in his place.

North was responsible for the fabulous hothouse, which he presumably fertilised with his own imports, but at the time it wasn't the hothouse which was the star of the show. Instead an outrageous three-roomed Turkish bath took pride of place - with tiled walls, marble floors and silver fittings, it outshone the other big Turkish baths at the time and the architectural critics were agog.

His home complete, North was made an honourary Colonel in Tower Hamlets but what he really wanted was a knighthood.

He invited the Prince of Wales to tea, but it would seem that Bertie wasn't overawed by the experience. North never did get his knighthood. He lived only another five years in his creation before his death in 1896.

His family, unimpressed with the extravagance, immediately put Avery Hill on the market. It took two years to sell, and even then it went for considerably less than North paid for it. The new owner never moved in.

It's been in the hands of the council since 1902 - they bought it and the park for £ 25,000 - a bit of a bargain even then. What's left of the house is now part of the uni but the hothouses and park are open to the public - and a splendid job they have done too, maintaining it - it can't be a cheap thing to do.

If you're driving, you enter through the grounds of the uni, you can park in what must have once been a walled kitchen garden (well, I did, anyway...) and walk around to the astonishingly large palm house, heated even in the darkest, dankest of winter months to house the exotic plants so fashionable amongst wealthy Victorians and Edwardians.

In the centre, a giant Norfolk Pine dominates the view, and to either side of the red-brick glasshouses are smaller, delicate little rooms. The one to the left provides a great place to sit and contemplate on a late winter afternoon as it makes the most of what watery sun there is, the only interruption the odd university group using it as a film location or for a botany lesson. The one to the right has a replica of a beautiful marble fountain (the original was half-inched) playing over cyclamen and fernery.

The greenery of the park tumbles away down the hill towards football pitches and dull suburban housing, but here is a little corner which will be forever Victorian splendour. Enjoy...


BTW. Sadly, the Turkish baths were bombed to buggery in WWII, but there is a fantastic account of them by Victorian Turkish Bath specialist Malcolm Shifrin at

http://www.victorianturkishbath.org/6DIRECTORY/AtoZEstab/Houses/Avery/AverySF.htm

National Maritime Museum

I understand that this august building was once home to a rather dull display of paintings of rear-admirals and dusty models of ships. I don't remember much about a childhood visit which apparently included such items, but it's certainly not like that now. Bright and light, it houses well-designed, often interactive displays designed mainly, it would seem, for people with a passing rather than a deep interest in all things marine-related.

Objects range from the profound - sobering articles from Franklin's ill-fated expedition to Antarctica - to the frivolous - just what is that giant tank of water in the ground-floor gallery for?

I particularly like the no-nonsense polemic stance that the captions by the exhibits take. No wishy-washy sitting on the fence here. As the visitor walks around the museum a picture is gradually built not only of the exhibits, but of those who collated and curated them - for me something almost as fascinating as the place itself. (I used to find a similar frankness in its sister museum, the Royal Observatory, though it has changed somewhat now.)

My favourite permanent exhibit is the Ocean liners display complete with reconstructions of first class and steerage accommodation, posters, menus and films all with a very obvious sponsor. The scatological child in me enjoys looking for the people doing naughty things in the cabins of the scale models of liners at the end (or beginning, depending on which way you come in) and the plastic peeping-toms watching them through miniature portholes...*

I also enjoy the "exploration" section - a darkly sparkling jewel focusing on ancient mariners and treasure seekers, not to mention the odd merchant adventurer and pirate.

Upstairs there are some quite interesting interactive things, mainly for kids (though I quite enjoyed playing on them too)and a rather boring gallery of paintings, ancient and modern, which I always think is shut - but then find it's not - it just looks like it.

Ultimately I find the museum an excellent one-off. It passes a splendid afternoon for the mildly curious, but, as with so many modern museums, it fails to deliver any real depth. In trying to ensure that it appeals to all, it forgets that some would actually prefer a little more content. So though, as a resident (and friend of the museum) I do visit on a regular basis, it is really to see the generally superb temporary exhibits - Nelson & Napoleon was a particular favourite of mine.

Outside there is a fabulous view - to the front the Old Royal Naval College, to the rear the Royal Park. The cafe serves the usual tea, buns and olde-worlde lemonade at the usual inflated prices, but at least it's in pleasant surroundings. The gift shop is splendid - very well-stocked with interesting themed goodies as well as all the usual souvenir-shop-suspects.

Try not to be put off by the daft roaring sound just outside the entrance to the museum. It's supposed to be the sea - if you walk fast enough it will irritate you for at most a few seconds.


*made you look....

St Alfege's Church

This elegant, if rather sombre Hawksmoor church is typical of its architect in that there is something ever so slightly sinister about it. I fail to actually put my finger on it - perhaps it's merely that much of it seems to fall in shadow most of the day - and that the entrance is not on the street but at the back on a rather sweet, if car-infested, green.

Maybe some of its creepy quality is owed to the unfortunate St Alfege himself who was the Archbishop of Canterbury in the Dark Ages. He is actually a Greenwich Saint (yes - a local saint for local people ...) The poor bloke was captured by Vikings who'd moored their longboats at Greenwich and held for a fat ransom - 3,000 marks. Alfege refused to have a ransom paid for him so he had to languish in irons in a dark, dank cell with only frogs for company.

In a sturdy act of defiance, Alfege escaped - and fell straight into a bog. His Recaptured Holiness was put in more irons and a meeting feast was held to decide his fate. As the Vikings got more and more plastered, the drunken oafs started throwing food and ox-bones at him. Some say he died from the wounds, but others tell the no-less-cheery tale that he converted some of his captors who kindly cleaved his head open with an axe as an act of mercy.

King Canute ordered his bones to be taken back to Canterbury, a request apparently more successful than when he commanded the waves to retreat.

There's been a church here ever since, but the Hawksmoor version has only stood since 1712 - after the previous one was demolished in a storm and the religious folk of Greenwich petitioned for a new one. John Evelyn and Sam Pepys were both worshippers at one time.

It's in generally pretty good nick (apart from the poor cherubs outside whose faces have been worn away by years of pollution.) Like all churches of the neo-classical design, it's quite simple, and rather lovely in that simplicity. There's a gallery around the edge, which is a good vantage point if you go to one of the concerts they hold there on a regular basis. I'm particularly fond of the various wooden plaques commemorating charitable deeds for the poor done by various wealthy parishioners (who presumably didn't like to talk about it.)

Thomas Tallis (of Spem in Alium fame) is buried here - but don't look for him in the graveyard, which is what I once spent a good half-hour doing. He's in the crypt below - as is General Wolfe, whose statue must have the best position in London, high on Observatory Hill in the park. If you're into Tallis, the Thomas Tallis Society choir sings there on a regular basis. Last year they actually performed Spem in Alium - as well as another hitherto undiscovered 16th Century 40-part motet, which it's thought could have been Tallis's inspiration.

The church seems to be open at random times (though I'm sure there is a timetable) so my best suggestion for visiting if you don't want to actually attend a service would be to go to one of the concerts and enjoy the architecture at the same time. You might even get to see inside the wonderfully typical Great British Church Hall opposite the entrance, which has a minute stage for amateur theatricals and smells comfortingly of tea-urns and selection-pack biscuits. Delightful.

Train Topiary

If you're taking a stroll around the Westcombe Park area, then make sure you look out for one of my favourite front gardens in Greenwich. Not only does number 23, Foyle Road boast a splendidly nautical theme in the shape of an old rowing boat, coiled rope and other seaside-related paraphernalia, but there is a delightfully-cut topiary steam engine hedge, complete with buffers, engine and bell. A lovely, flamboyant surprise in a generally architecturally restrained area, and something for children to look out for if you have to walk that way.

I had been worried recently because on passing it a few times it seemed to be getting a bit - well- fluffy round the edges. But I am pleased to report that on walking up there a day or so ago it had been very well clipped, was sharply defined on boths sides of the boundary and just as glorious as ever.

At the risk of looking like some kind of tragic stalker, I have chosen this as one of The Phantom's Favourite Haunts

Princess Caroline's Bath

It was no secret that the Prince Regent (later to become George IV) and his wife, Princess Caroline of Brunswick, didn't get on. He hated the sight of her - though frankly he was no oil painting himself - and banished her off to the country so he could continue his philandering in peace. To get her own back, she started to live it up at her new gaff in Greenwich, Montague House - now flattened and back to being part of the Royal Park and managed to get herself 'a bit of a reputation' into the bargain...

Right from the start she was well aware that she wasn't considered "the right kind of gel" in royal circles. When the Earl of Malmsbury travelled to Brunswick to collect her in the first place he had described her as dowdy, stockily built, coarsely-spoken and washing so little as to be "malodorous." George had only agreed to marry his cousin for her cash anyway. She had arrived in Greenwich to find that far from actually greeting her himself, he'd sent his mistress to pick her up - and even she was late. As soon as he set eyes on her, the indelicate prince declared himself sick and called for some brandy. After the briefest of polite consummations while she conceived Princess Charlotte, Caroline was packed off back to Greenwich.

She held parties and soirees - very daring affairs at which she apparently wore rather less than the going amount of clothing - and at which all manner of saucy events occurred. She even had a giant bath made (at a time when few people washed at all) and threw a few bashes in that too. George became so angry (jealous, perhaps, that she was having a better time than him??) that he razed the palace to the ground, and sent her packing.

In a beautiful irony, however, the woman whose chief fault in George's eyes was that she smelled, lives on in Greenwich, the people of which never stopped secretly rather liking this scarlet woman who brought a bit of fun to the area. The sole remaining part of Caroline's palace is that salacious bath, situated in the southwest corner wall of the park, near Ranger's House. A fabulous sunken affair, complete with steps leading down into it, for many years it was filled-in and used as a rather unsubtle flowerbed, until as part of the millennium celebrations, those good burghers of Greenwich, the Friends of Greenwich Park, excavated it and it is, at last restored to a dignity which it may never have had in life.

East Greenwich Pleasaunce and Friends

Yesterday we went to a rather sweet little event at the East Greenwich Pleasaunce, - carols in the park with mulled wine, mince pies and Father Christmas, who turned up in a tinsel-covered sports car. It was rather low-key, of course - the FEGP are very new – but it will get bigger, I hope - it was sort of fun in a "local carols for local people" kind of way. The "male voice choir," not one under the age of 900, was festively dressed in Victorian garb, and though they didn't seem too sure of any of the words, or indeed the tunes, it was all very seasonal. Kiddies queued up in pretty much equal numbers to see Santa or sit in his decorated car - almost a bigger draw than the Man Himself. Admittedly we didn't last very long - two cups of mulled wine, to be precise, but it's important to support events like this, and we might have stayed longer had we not both trodden in dog crap, which somewhat dulled the atmosphere.

East Greenwich Pleasance

It's a funny little park - surrounded by Annadale Road to the West, the railway to the South, Chevening Road to the North and Halstow to the East. It was the overspill cemetery for the old naval hospital and there are still about 3,000 seamen buried there (including veterans of Trafalgar and The Crimea,) under great slabs of Victorian gravestone in the shape of anchors, rope etc. It's got a fab old wall around the outside, which has what's left of a row of pollarded limes around it - sadly they're not very well thanks to the long hot summers we've been having. There's a small kiddies playground and a couple of areas where dogs aren't allowed though you still need to look out for your feet - it's Dog-crap City in places, as we regularly found during a rare outburst of keep-fit activity and started trying to run every morning in the park (that lasted an, ahem, limited time.)

There's supposed to be a lot of wildlife there but apart from the ubiquitous squirrels, foxes and the odd garden bird, I've not really seen that much. The main gate is in Chevening Road, with some rather splendid iron railings (don't be fooled by the big gates looking closed - they usually only open the side one,) and another more recent one provided by one of those fab Section 106 agreements which forces local developers to give something back to the community at the railway end of Halstow Road. Occasionally the council forgets to open this one, so if the park is open but these are closed, it's worth reminding them. If they're not reminded, they tend to treat EGP as a bit of a poor relation to the bigger Well Hall Pleasaunce in Eltham. Pah.

Friends of East Greenwich Pleasaunce

Well - it's pretty obvious really - they're a bunch of local people who encourage "the use and enhancement of East Greenwich Pleasaunce." They're quite new – only inaugurated in 2006 - but they have big ideas - a cafe and - heavens above - working toilets, and they have little events from time to time. Maybe because they're new, maybe because they're small or maybe because they're not involved with something Royal, this lot are a whole lot less stuffy than the nearby Friends of Greenwich Park.

New Exhibition at the Queens House

Before I start - a piece of news which probably everyone else has heard before me but I've been a way a bit recently and I missed it GODDARD'S PIE SHOP HAS SHUT!!!! I'm terribly upset - yet another piece of independent "Old" Greenwich gone - to a burger chain. At least it's not McDonalds - but nevertheless it's a crying shame. I used to be able to get a pie for virtually pennies - when we ate in the Kingston branch of the Gourmet Burger chain a couple of months ago it cost an arm and a leg. I wonder - will there be ANYTHING left soon?

Onto other matters. There's a new exhibition at the Queen's House, which I popped along to see yesterday. It's a "radical" (hmm) new hanging of some of the gems of the NMM's collection - with a strong naval theme and showcasing some of the more famous artists.

It's what I call a "solid" exhibition. It's hardly exciting - far too many rooms full of seascapes for a land lubber like me - but there are some interesting bits - I found the paintings of people far more enlightening - not just the bigwigs who were the founders of the British Navy but "ordinary" sailors, travellers and the people encountered by explorers. There's a charming portrait of a "native" polnesian woman and a fun picture of sailors enjoying a spot of shore leave. A new acquisition is a Victorian painting of people seeing off a ship bound for the New World - almost photographic in its detail and very cosmopolitan for its time in its depiction of black people. I did like the 20th Century war paintings - I found them very moving - and beautiful in their own way.

Despair not - as I almost did - they haven't lost the Greenwich galleries so the pics of Sam Pepys and his ilk are still intact.

This is not an exhibition to rush out and see, but it's definitely a good option for something to take visitors to (especially visiting parents) - it's interesting and involving and certainly not to miss in the long term.

The Covered Market

The epicentre of modern Greenwich is the covered marketplace. It's surrounded by that horrid one-way system which means you take your life into your hand just crossing the road, but for all that it's a fascinating area which repays a closer look. It's only small, but has a lot more personality than many a bigger market, and changes on a daily basis.

For the first few days of the week, it's largely empty, and even a fair few of the shops around the edge don't bother opening. Of course it's a good time to see the architecture on those days – a funny design which although it has a columned archway as its main entrance, the rest of the openings just take the shape of tiny alleys or doorways, straight out of a Dickens novel. The mixture of cobbles and flagstones on the ground meld well with the Georgian architecture, but my favourite bit is the quote from Proverbs just above the entrance, - 'A false balance is abomination to the Lord but a just weight is his delight.' It makes me smile every time I see it.

What a shame about the horrid glass roof which can never have been an attractive sight, even when new. Thursdays and Fridays have more antiques than the other days – though the prices are generally rather high for the not-fabulous-quality goods. Frankly I'm surprised that much of it sells – though it must do or they wouldn't do it, I guess.

Saturdays and Sundays are the real crowd-pullers, and are more varied with craft and clothing stalls as well as specialist food emporia such as one which sells curry sauces and another which stinks the whole place out with the sickly smell of revolting flavoured coffee. Yeuch. Talk about an abomination...

For my money, the man who sells various trendy kilts is worth a visit, as is the guy who sells giant ceramic pots which you can use as impressive flame oil lamps. In fact I bought them for several friends last Christmas which went down very well indeed, though on reflection it might have been wiser to buy them on different occasions and not try to get six of them on the bus at once.

In a different, currently-under-threat-from-developers part of the market, across the railway line and round the back, there are some much better quality antiques stalls and even a two story warehouse which sells 20th Century Kitsch and memorabilia – it's not cheap but the quality's pretty good. Look for it behind the Car park at the bottom of Crooms Hill opposite the Ibis Hotel.

There's also a big building which sells ethnic-y furniture, if you like heavy Thai-influenced hardwood and metal stuff. Heaven only knows what will happen to these important little one-off shops when the developers move in and do their best to standardise Greenwich to match the rest of the country.

Every so often the naval charity that owns much of Greenwich "threatens" to redevelop the covered market, which always results in the same local uproar, a few national newspaper articles and very little else.I always used to be at the forefront of such outraged protests - yes - I even wrote to Time Out about it the last time - but I confess my attitude has softened after a conversation with Warwick Leadlay who owns the very fine Warwick Leadlay Gallery in Nelson Road.

I absolutely agree that the idea of raising rents so that all the lovely individual shops that Greenwich is so proud of are forced out in favour of chains is a VERY BAD THING INDEED. But I then started to think what a redevelopment of the market might actually do for the community. It's sold as a dreadful idea, lock stock and barrel - but here are a few things to think about.

1) The actual buildings around the outside are listed. Nothing can be done to them.

2) The proposals appear to be the demolition of the god-awful 1950s monstrosities INSIDE the covered market and the redevelopment of shops where they are now with flats on the second floor to pay for them. What if we were able to keep the delightful little businesses downstairs with ATTRACTIVE upper floors inhabited by a few yuppies that we don't really ever get to see?

3) That might lead to a NICE glass roof that we could actually see through and Greenwich Market being more like the glorious renovations at Leadenhall. Presumably the ridiculous prices the yuppies would pay for apartments would lessen the 'necessity' to maul the independent shop owners with rent hikes.

Just a thought.

I'd be willing to at least listen to proposals. Naturally if they want to bring in a Body Shop, Tie Rack, Baby Gap or Next, all bets are off.

The Pepys Visitor Centre

I know, I know. Who apart from rank tourists goes to a visitors' centre?

Well, me, actually. This one is a model for how visitors' centres should be. The people behind the desk know what they're talking about, the selection of local publications both for sale and for free is excellent, and the layout is clear and uncluttered. Nobody bothers you if you're browsing the well-kept, up to date "what's on" racks of leaflets and flyers but they're helpful if you actually want to know anything.

If you go into the main part of the building there's the Old Royal Naval College gift shop which is not half bad, a small group of genuinely interesting displays and a reasonable tourist coffee shop. The loos are free and clean. I heartily recommend that you make it your first stop on arrival in town.