How do you feel?

Another link rather than a proper blog post, but an interesting new site to recommend places in London dependent on your mood.  See what you think and join in….

http://www.ifeellondon.com/

End of the line

When I first moved to London I used to spend a day every other weekend or so on an ‘explore’; London’s got such a variety of neighbourhoods, architecture and cultures and too many people spend their time with Zone 1 blinkers on, corralled by the Circle line. And so, I added a few more zones than otherwise necessary to my travelcard and went to find out what was at the end of the wires of the tube map circuit diagram, stopping off at a few places along the way.

Often tube lines stop because there’s really nowhere else to go; the metroland population thins out too much to make further track worthwhile. However, at each end point there’s a very different feel, often a more suburban version of the towns along that particular stretch of line but only of that particular stretch of line. A stop 10 miles on the Northern line northbound is very different from a stop 10 miles on the Bakerloo line northbound.

Occasionally things get changed around; take the Central line for example. That red jugular bisecting the city; it stretches out into Essex; from Theydon Bois to Epping, the terminus, you’re travelling through wide open fields; 10 minutes ago you were in London’s biggest building site, Stratford.

But Epping wasn’t always the end of the line. Up until 1994 there was, what had become, a shuttle service between Epping & Ongar. That must have been a long journey and maybe the lure of the M11 on the doorstep was what finally killed off this little single track branch line. In 2004 however, enthusiasts re-opened the Epping & Ongar railway (EOR), putting to one side the fact that they had to stop pretty short of Epping itself, of which more later. And, given I was due to grab a beer with a mate in East London, that’s where I disappeared off to today; to finish those earlier explorations and tick off the end of the spiritual Central line.

The day hasn’t exactly been plain sailing though. The shiny Jubilee line whisks you to Stratford and the Central line is reliably efficient to Epping. But due to ownership issues, access rights or simply a lack of track, the EOR runs from North Weald to Ongar (with a little spur that gets closer to Epping at Coopersale but which has no platform and the train simply reverses back). The website proclaimed a bus service, the ‘201′ would pick me up from the front of Epping station to the front of North Weald. Sadly, there is no 201. And even more sadly, its successor, the 501, is every two hours. Yes, two hours. I guess I’ve been in London too long: that kind of frequency, even on a Sunday, does… not…. compute. I get impatient if I have to wait 5 minutes for a tube. I don’t think every two hours qualifies as a ’service’, especially when I have 90 minutes to wait ’til the next one.

A sane person would have done one of two things: gone home or got a taxi. I’m not only bloody/single minded but a bit tight fisted too and so I decided to walk it. I’m guessing it was 3-4 miles; 3-4 miles of trying to re-programme the ‘I feel a letter coming on’ urge. That said, this part of Essex is very pretty; Epping is a beautiful market town despite the occasional rain that cooled my furrowed brow. Most of the walk was along the edge of the forest and I beat the bus easily.

This is obviously a preservation effort in its infancy; little signage, no official recognition of it being a tourist attraction in the slightest. A single diesel unit does the to-ing and fro-ing with slam doors that brought back memories of the first couple of years commuting out of Waterloo. Rickety, bumpy, the sense the track is a little belt & braces. Still, it was quaint and you get the feeling from the raft of special events that it relies on the passionate, regular support of a hard core – complete with pints of real ale served from the guard’s van at appropriate times.

Ongar, like Epping, is a single road, village-y town; today’s leaden skies weighed heavy over 11th Century churches and the spit-and-sawdust pub where I chose to grab a bit to eat. It was when my fish & sunburnt, oil-drenched chips arrived that spit and sawdust started to seem appetising. A little late for lunch perhaps, given the condition of the food; 2 or 3 weeks perhaps.

Back at Ongar station for the return trip I looked around the meek displays and the considerably less meek Swedish steam locomotives sitting in disrepair. One was apparently the train from the film Anna Karenina if that means anything to anyone reading. I did wonder what they were doing here. On a large heritage railway, sure, a great big hulking steam engine, from Sweden why not? But here, on a tiny little commuter branch line I wasn’t sure it would fit, even less sure that the hilly, nervous track would cope with the weight. A Thomas or Edward at the most; a Percy, definitely, but not a Gordon.

I have to admit the return trip was one of the most surreal experiences, well, this week at least. Someone, a regular it seemed, was playing his guitar in the carriage; it sounded, hmmm, ‘Bluegrass’ sprang to mind but I’m not sure if that’s right. I certainly felt like I should have been in the old West perhaps, not heading to North Weald. In a London Lines first, see and hear for yourself.

This time I knew I was closer to the bus for the return leg and had spotted the North Weald Airfield Museum just down the road; enough for half an hour’s aeronautical diversion. Following the rather more official-looking signs I arrived at what appeared to be a house. The signs insisted it was a museum. My brain vehemently declared ‘house’. I rang the doorbell, still within the apparent opening times but there was no answer. Slightly relieved, I skulked back towards the bus stop. 30 minutes to go and the dominant part of my brain kicked in again. Yes, reader, I walked again.

It’s these little quirks, these frustrating inconveniences, this lack of polish that make these days so memorable. Sure, I could do my well-rehearsed South Bank tour to the latest visitor, knowing we’ll be there just in time for a tube with the flexibility that if that gallery is shut, there’s a great little market around the corner. But that’s only part of London; there’s the individual, suburban, public-transport taunting part, on the frontier between metropolis and countryside, which either is too many peoples’ home (and that’s their limit) or simply not on the radar of cosmopolitan Zone 1-ers. And that’s precisely why I love the ends of the lines.

IWM: Duxford

Admittedly it’s not in London but it’s part of the Imperial War Museum and easily done as a day trip from the capital.

Duxford is the aeronautical division of the Museum, a little outside of Cambridge and given my light aircraft flying habit, somewhere I couldn’t miss off my list.

Some truly fascinating exhibits – including my first (and, sadly, only) walk through Concorde, the Blackbird SR-71 (smaller than I expected) and the ill-fated TSR-2 (which I’d only read about and I was surprised my mum had heard of). The highlights are split between a brand new, in-progress ‘Air Space’ gallery and the American Air Museum, the latter being the subject of all three photos.

But here a bit of a moan: we’re at a huge airfield in the sleepy middle of nowhere with recent buildings and all the main exhibits are crammed together, overlapping, confused. Now I appreciate that this is inevitable to an extent with such huge aircraft, I don’t expect a B52 to be sat by itself, but hardly anything was viewable or photograph-able without peering past a sea of wings from its’ neighbours.

But here a bit of praise: the Norman Foster-designed American Air Museum had me mesmerised, almost trumping the exhibits themselves. Sweeping lines with clever detailing such as the external goods doors looking like wings when open.

The day and my tour of the slightly quieter and lower profile exhibits was cut slightly short by last buses back to Cambridge but I’ll probably return once the ‘Air Space’ gallery fully opens.

Natural History Museum

Initial scepticism clouded my first visit; it was a place to hide out of the rain or to kill a few minutes after visiting the Science Museum next door. However I’ve since visited twice more in quick succession to try and take in the enormity and variety of the place: true the cabinets of gemstones and metals are purely there to guide one towards the meteorite fragments and there’s only so much of stuffed animals you can take – strong and interested constitution notwithstanding. It is that variety that holds the attention though; the Planet Earth exhibitions are superb and bang up-to-date for environmentally-aware (if not particularly active) 2007.

Two highlights stick out though: firstly the architecture, so often my Achilles heal when I should be admiring the contents of a museum, is stunning. Internal brickwork and tiles that are carved with leaves and animals: that’s inspiring detail.

The second was in less auspicious surrounding but no less fascinating. The emerging Darwin Centre for the active research the Museum (and other visiting scientists) is right next door and the subject of a dedicated, free, tour. Those with a weak stomach or mind are quickly despatched with the first stop. Ever wondered how those skeletons are prepared for show, how they’re so… errr… clean? Well with the exception of dinosaurs who have a couple of millennia to decompose it doesn’t happen overnight without a little help. Cue the Darwin Centre’s colony of flesh eating beetles who can tear through a bone or two in a few days leaving it pristine and less…. errr…. fleshy.

Once we’d returned from letting a couple of the tour out we got onto the jars. Library archive-style cabinets of jars and jars and jars of everything, everything that we know of at least. The most spectacular space was the one that reeked of alcohol and formaldehyde (though probably not the latter or we wouldn’t have lived very long). Real specimens or real fish, snakes, monkeys; where things didn’t fit into jars naturally there’s an element of ‘folding’ or separation involved. Part of this collection is ‘Archie‘, a giant squid for which a special perspex case had to be constructed using techniques developed a la Damien Hirst. Though now probably trumped by the recent haul of a colossal squid near New Zealand this is an eye opener, literally. The immense size of the eyes, the viciousness of the sharp suckers.

Of greater interest even that this were some of the canopic jars from a certain Mr Darwin on his beagle voyage; yes, the Darwin, yes some of his specimens. The importance of these examples historically cannot be understated, unless you live in certain parts of the US of course.

Maybe it’s my (comparative!) ignorance in this particular field but the Museum is one not to simply walk round but one to be introduced to. Don’t necessarily be seduced by the (expensive) animatronic exhibition or whatever is flavour of the day; take a tour, don’t miss the architecture and be prepared to return.

Imperial War Museum

The IWM London has long been one of my favourite museums even though it may sound a rather morbid thing to admit. It’s sympathetic, educational, moving, powerful.

The post-1945 galleries taught me things about Cold War campaigns I didn’t know from History GCSE or International Relations degree paper. The Holocaust exhibition drives people to silence, awe and tears. It’s superb, it’s a must-see, it’s important.

British Museum

Unsurprisingly one of the first questions levelled at my tour guide was on the rights and wrongs of the venerable British Museum keeping the Elgin Marbles. They’ve obviously become accustomed to dealing with the question and the museum’s policy and justification is well-rehearsed and confidently delivered.

Aside from well-documented claims to the Marbles, part of the answer begs the wider question. What would a world where all antiquities rested in their original country of origin look like? What would that do for preservation, for education, for understanding? That said, I can’t but help feel a slight uncomfortable twinge that we make that argument from a position of great empirical strength in our collections.

The Museum is impossible large and diverse; from my personal point of view not necessarily engaging on its own. It needs the tour guide to bring context and stories alive. Stones with labels alone don’t keep my attention for long.

I have a slightly guilty admission; I’m as enthralled by the architecture as I am by the exhibits. Nothing particularly exceptional about the outside though living in London makes you a little blasé about the scale and quality of such buildings.

Inside however the Great Court is, well, inside. The Foster-designed glass roof is astonishingly impressive covering the refurbished library and new, if rather over-priced, restaurant. The library reminded me of Magdalen’s Grove Quad; classic in design but a bit too clean. Give both 50 years and they’ll be perfect.

Two hours of tour and we’ve only scratched the surface of a few countries’ bounty and a mere couple of centuries making a return visit (or 6) inevitable and essential.

Science Museum

Appropriate that I should start with the Science Museum; after all this is one of the first museums I visited in London nearly 20 years ago and which probably has the greatest longevity given my pent-up scientific interest.

Such a shame then that high expectations weren’t met. I went along just before Christmas and found section after section closed, even parts of the new Wellcome Wing, the rest of which has started to look decidedly grubby despite (or perhaps because of) its ultra-modern futuristic design.

Perhaps the greatest disappointment was that it’s becoming very difficult to actually learn anything there and I don’t believe that’s because of my own knowledge. Exhibits seem to fall into one of two camps:

1. modern interrogative exhibits, provoking questions of genetics, medical ethics, evolution such as in the afore-mentioned Wellcome Wing but without any real narrative. Absolutely perfect for school parties as an aide to discussion and teacher-led visits; pretty pointless and frustrating for anyone else.
2. display cases that simply label mathematical instruments or models of ships without providing any story.

These combined with a Communications gallery that stops with the introduction of the pager and an Optics gallery that’s closed altogether made for this to be my last visit for a while. I even paid for the exhibition on the development of video gaming, ‘antique’ computing being a bit of a sideline interest. This was no more than a token nod to the history, technology and culture of gaming though – primarily an excuse for kids to play on old consoles and give me a headache as I wandered through looking for some intellectual stimulation. Even the pachinko machine was for display purposes only… still I’m denied a play on one of those things.

Shhhhhhh

I realise I haven’t been particularly active on the London blogging front; I have, however, been considerably more active in taking advantage of the capital’s museums and galleries recently.

So to make amends for the former and to document the latter I’ll be posting a few photos and comments here over the next few weeks from my visits. Watch this space. And keep your voice down.