Comments on: My Night On Liverpool St Station

By: Space Waves

Space Waves — Fri, 04 Jul 2025 09:42:02 +0000

What a powerful, evocative post. Your memory of Liverpool Street Station captures exactly why places like this matter—not just as transport hubs, but as vessels of personal and collective history.

By: Helen Kinsey

Helen Kinsey — Wed, 02 Jul 2025 14:58:01 +0000

My father worked in the office above the bank in the market, so with me in tow Dad would take me to the market then on to petticoat lane for a walk about. After the rebuilt the station it sadden me, I loved that old place as a kid, full of tunnels , walk ways, all the Iron work, the high glass roof of the main area, the clatter and noise the smell, the train announcement system, the boards that flipped that changed train info. Magic at its best. Oh and so much more.

By: Lynne Perrella

Lynne Perrella — Wed, 02 Jul 2025 13:38:38 +0000

For me, this was a richly-layered story. I so enjoyed the word picture of the hapless young traveler, feeling apprehensive and weary — (that must have been quite a mood swing after seeing the castle and watercolors!) — and I also enjoyed thinking how much the Author is now so tightly woven into the fabric of the great city. The story of the station reminds me of how it feels to find oneself a part of a huge metropolis, and to finally feel strangely “at home” in such a vast, inexplicable place. Belonging!

Onward and upward.

By: Mark

Mark — Wed, 02 Jul 2025 09:55:23 +0000

Excellent. I totally identify with that tale, as I mentioned my own a few days ago, but not quite as eloquently.
(The original Mark)

By: Chris Page

Chris Page — Wed, 02 Jul 2025 08:56:50 +0000

I had a similar experience in the late ’70s/early ’80s (can’t recall exactly which year).

For a number of years Rod Stewart played a series of concerts in London around Christmas time. A group of us from Norwich would often travel down to one of them. Usually we drove, but one year I got the train and met up with friends who had moved to London. After the concert I made my way back to Liverpool Street, only to find I’d missed the last train back to Norwich. I do remember that my lateness was exacerbated by consumption of alcohol in a drinking establishment near the concert venue (probably Earl’s Court or Olympia). All I could do was wait for the first train in the morning.

It was November, December or January; I was wearing a t-shirt and a thin leather jacket. Liverpool Street seemed such a gloomy, dirty, maze of a place. By 2 or 3 in the morning I was absolutely freezing cold so decided to walk down to Billingsgate Market, just to experience it and avoid death through hypothermia. Once there, as an innocent youth from the provinces, I was put off by the noise, bustle and considerable bad language(!) so I didn’t enter the market itself and returned to Liverpool Street. Fortunately one of the night staff took pity on me and offered me a seat in their rest room, which contained a small open fire. Not too comfortable but nice and toasty.

Eventually I caught the first train to Norwich but, in compliance with the Law of Sod, the heating wasn’t working in any of the carriages!

Now, as a Londoner of almost forty years and with more money in the bank, the internet, a smartphone, Google Maps and a good grasp of London’s transport systems, that wouldn’t happen.

By: Milo

Milo — Wed, 02 Jul 2025 07:34:52 +0000

I spent a similar night on Euston station whilst waiting for the first train North. At that time if you were waiting for early trains you were locked in to the concourse and dossed down as best you could on the concrete floor. Luckily my neighbour was a friendly young chap who liked a chat and was a salesman for Glenmorangie (or similar) and wasted no time in introducing me to his samples. How we managed to get to our trains whilst heavily under the influence at 6 in the morning I shudder to imagine.