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Publication Of ‘On Christmas Day’

November 4, 2023
by the gentle author

I am delighted to announce publication of my short story ‘On Christmas Day’ in collaboration with Burley Fisher Books

CLICK HERE TO ORDER A SIGNED COPY FOR £10

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The Gentle Author picks up the threads of Christmas fiction from Charles Dickens, Dylan Thomas and George Mackay Brown to weave a compelling tale of family conflicts ignited and resolved in the festive season.

A limited edition of 1000 copies as a slim volume of thirty-two pages, illustrated with wood engravings by Reynolds Stone. Book design by David Pearson, printed by Aldgate Press on paper supplied by Fenner Paper.

We will be announcing a launch with a reading shortly. We will be sending out complimentary copies next week to everyone who became a patron, friend or supporter of the crowdfund to relaunch Spitalfields Life Books.

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“Over successive Christmases, as I was growing up, I witnessed the disintegration of my family until today I am the lone survivor of the entire clan, the custodian, charged with carrying the legacy of all their stories. Where once I was the innocent child in the midst of a family drama unknown to me, now I am a sober adult haunted by equivocal memories of a conflict that only met its resolution in death. Yet in spite of this, whenever I examine the piles of old photographs of happy, smiling people which are now the slim evidence of the existence of those generations which precede me, I cannot resist tender feelings towards them all.”

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Tony Bock On The Railway

November 3, 2023
by the gentle author

Please come to our SAVE LIVERPOOL ST STATION campaign event at 7pm on Tuesday 7th November at Hanbury Hall, 22 Hanbury St, E1 6QR. Speakers include Griff Rhys Jones, Eric Reynolds and Robert Thorne.

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CLICK HERE FOR TICKETS

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A mischievous trainspotter changes the departure time at Liverpool St Station

“I have always liked railway stations, a focal point of the community – the start and finish of a journey,” Photographer Tony Bock admitted to me, introducing these elegant pictures. “Often the journey was a daily chore, but sometimes it was an occasion,” he added, in appreciation of the innate drama of rail travel.

Tony’s railway photographs date from the years between 1973 and 1978, when he  was living in the East End and worked on the East London Advertiser, before he left to take took a job on the Toronto Star, pursuing a career as a photojournalist there through four decades.

“Although plenty has been written about the architecture of railways and the industrial ‘cathedrals’ – from the perspective of the twenty-first century, it is easy to forget the great change the railway brought when it first arrived in the mid-nineteeth century. Liverpool St Station was opened in 1874 and survived largely unchanged into the nineteen seventies.

So, in 1977, when proposals to redevelop the station were suggested, I decided to spend some time there, documenting the life of the station with its astonishing brick and iron architecture. I loved the cleaners, taking a break, and the young lad taking it upon himself to reschedule the next train – ‘Not This Train’!  Meanwhile, the evening commuters heading home looked as if they were being drawn by a mysterious force.

Next door to Liverpool St was Broad St Station, only used for commuter trains from North London then and already it was looking very neglected. Only a few years later, it closed when Liverpool St was redeveloped.

Over in Stratford, the rail sheds dated back to the days when the Great Eastern Railway serviced locomotives there. Surprisingly, British Rail were still using some of the sheds in 1977, maintaining locomotives amongst the rubble that eventually became the site of the Olympic Park.

Finally, from the very earliest days of railways, I found three posters on the wall in the London Dock, Wapping.  The one in the centre is from the Great Northern Railway, dated 1849, the other two from the North Union Railway Company, dated 1836, and it is still possible to read that one hundred and twelve pounds or ten cubic feet would be carried for three shillings according to the Rates, Tolls and Duties. The North Union operated in Lancashire and only lasted until 1846.  How did these posters survive, they were likely one hundred and thirty years old. I wonder if anyone was able to salvage them?

I suppose there is an irony that I am writing this today in my home which is a village railway station built by the Canadian Pacific Railway in 1904.  The building now sits in woods, since the local branchline is long gone. Yet any station – grand or modest – will always carry a significance for the community they are part of.”

Farewells at  LIverpool St

Ticket collecting at Liverpool St

Cleaners, taking a break, at Liverpool St.

Commuters at Broad St Station.

Waiting for a train at Victoria Station

Wartime sign in the cellar of Broad St Station, demolished in 1986.

Stratford Railway works, now engulfed beneath the Olympic site

Repair sheds at Stratford

Engine sheds at Stratford

Railway posters dating from 1836 in London Dock, Wapping

Photographs copyright © Tony Bock

You may like to see these other photographs by Tony Bock

Tony Bock, Photographer

200 Years In Rhondda Grove

November 2, 2023
by Naman Chaudhary

Rhondda Grove resident Naman Chaudhary has written this history of the street in celebration of two centuries of a cherished East End backwater, constructed in 1823

Rhondda Grove was originally known as Cottage Grove

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The river was a wide bowl of pewter then. Its bank of silt and clay – some peat – was trodden only by sailors, boat builders, rope makers, figurehead carvers, dry dockers, painters and tavern keepers. Over the crying of gulls and seamen, if you followed the pealing bells, away from the shore, you arrived at St Dunstan, the church of the high seas.

To the east of the churchyard, the land opened to a common, Rogues Well. Beyond stretched acres of fields, Fenwick, Buckridge, Grice. Some of them belonging to sea captains, Cook and Owen. These were ribboned with walks, lanes and paths – Robin Hood, Beer Binder, Salmon – all joining up to the main thoroughfare that led to Essex and East Anglia.

Rising above the pasture on either side of this road were the roofs of inns, hamlets and a few country manors of merchants. But what dominated the landscape since medieval times were large plots of market gardens and orchards. Placed on the rich alluvial soil and heavily manured, they supplied fresh vegetables, fruits, flowers and salad to the burgeoning population of London.

In the early eighteen-hundreds, when the docks were constructed and Commercial Rd laid out, accommodation was needed for the large numbers – dockers, ballast-heavers, clerks – who came to work there. The farmlands vanished and the rustic hamlets of Stepney, Poplar, Mile End and Bethnal Green were transformed into a dense web of streets.

The estate along the main road on which Cottage Grove (now Rhondda Grove) was laid out belonged to the Gouge family. In 1589, Elizabeth Culverwell bequeathed it to her daughter Elizabeth and her husband Thomas Gouge of Bow. In the same manner, Sir Charles Morgan inherited property in Tredegar, Wales, through his wife, Jane, in 1792. Rich in minerals, the land was leased by Charles to a mining company. Employing this income, his son – also Charles – purchased two parcels of land from the Gouges and developed what we see today.

James Stevens Curls in an article in Country Life on ‘Architectural Grandeur in Stepney’ wrote, ‘The estates at Mile End Old Town were unusual in that they were designed in a lavish scale, and were planned to resemble contemporary developments in the western and northern parts of an expanding London. Sir Charles Morgan envisaged his Stepney inheritance as having possibilities as a middle class residential area. In 1822, he made a new agreement with Daniel Austin for a lease of eighty years, with the intention of developing the western part of his estate for housing.’

Daniel Austin was a man of many trades. He is described in records as a surveyor, builder, brick-maker, haberdasher, dealer and chapman. He laid out a formal plan that comprised a square and five streets lining the north side of the road to Essex that became Mile End Rd. These terraces were Frederick Place (later Aberavon Rd), Cottage Grove (now Rhondda Grove), Tredegar St, Montague St and Coborn Rd. To the north of these terraces were open fields.

William King, one of the architect of this scheme, was a local man and may well have been a friend of Austin, since the design of the houses in the street Austin chose to live in was significantly different to that of the others. The paired villas in Cottage Grove, with space between the pairs, were made of yellow stock brick. Their big overhanging slate roofs with projecting eaves on coupled wooden brackets, recessed entrances with elaborate fanlights over the doors, large sash windows, sill bands on the first floor, and substantial gardens in both front and back, were much grander than houses in the surrounding streets.

Once the building works were complete, Austin lived at 14 Cottage Grove. On January 7th 1824, one of the three co-partners in his firm dissolved his share by mutual consent. On August 8th 1826, the second co-partner did the same. A year later, things took a turn for the worse and a Bankruptcy Award was issued against Daniel Austin.

Bankruptcy at this period brought not just criminal charges but humiliation and disgrace. Cottage Grove had its fair share of bankrupts, including Wm. Jos. Layel, an ‘out-of-business man’, who was ordered to be brought before the court in Portugal St as an insolvent debtor. The only person to petition against the award was James Metcalfe, of No 13, a Boot and Shoe Maker and a part time collector of Taxes, Tithes and Sewer Rates.

One of the most famous residents of Cottage Grove was George William Francis. By the time he moved into No 27 in around 1838, he had already established himself as a figure in the strata of ‘gentlemanly science’. He lectured and wrote a number of books including the best-selling Analysis of British Ferns (1837), The Little English Flora (1839) and The Grammar of Botany (1840), and he played a big role in starting the Victorian fern obsession. While at Cottage Grove, Francis founded The Magazine of Science & School of Arts, an ambitious journal extremely popular for its illustrated explanations of curiosities and discoveries in chemistry, astronomy, and craftsmanship. It was printed nearby at his brother David Francis’s workshop at 6 White Horse Lane. He left Cottage Grove in 1844 and emigrated with his family to Australia, where he founded the Adelaide Botanic Garden.

There were other ingenious resident of the street. In 1851, whe the Great Exhibition was held at the Crystal Palace, a resident of Cottage Grove, W Squires, exhibited his invention which can be found in the weapons category of the Official Catalogue: ‘W Squires, of Cottage Grove, Inv. and Manual New rifle, calculated to project a ball to a great distance with a small charge’.

Squires was not the only inventor to live in Cottage Grove. On July 21st, 1868, James Chandler, an engineer who lived at No 17, had his patent accepted for ‘Improvements in apparatus for drawing and preventing waste of water from pipes, Maines, or other sources, for domestic or other purposes’. Four years later, he could no longer afford to continue to pay the stamp duty on his patent and received a letter that proclaimed the patents void. His name was eventually published in 1874’s Record of failures and liquidations in the financial, international, wholesale branches of commerce. He continued to live in Cottage Grove, his wife occasionally selling plants, ‘old crimson clove carnations – true sort, cuttings 1s. Per dozen, post free’.

Then there were the five Wimpress siblings, the eldest of whom, George H Wimpress lived at 8 Cottage Grove and advertised his skills at typing and shorthand in local newspapers. The family were all member of the Little Folks Humane Society, an animal welfare organization. Other residents included a carpenter, a mantle maker, a butcher, a cigarette manufacturer, a tailor’s cutter, a cabinetmaker and a bell hanger.

By the turn of twentieth century, reforms were made to remove children from workhouses and move them to live in domestic houses, commonly known as ‘scattered homes’. Fifteen of these children lived at No 14, 15 & 16 Cottage Grove, operated by Stepney Union. The style of these houses is significantly different to the others in the street, terraced rather than in twinned pairs. This ‘scattered home’ had a superintendent, a steward, a matron, assistant matron and a chaplain.

There, in 1903, taught a Mrs Pilcher, who believed that ‘systematic education was a crying need for East End children’. She started a school for children in Cottage Grove, which eventually moved to more commodious premises in the Mission Hall, Stepney that Mrs Pilcher rented from the Rector of Stepney. Occasionally she took the mission children on outings to Epping Forest in a van.

At the other end of Cottage Grove, where it meets Mile End Rd, was the Assembly Room. Here, on a hot day in June 1857, the residents of Cottage Grove gathered in to witness a performance by the Bow & Mile End Harmonic Society. It also held public meetings and lectures including London Ethical Society and the East London Medical Society.

Through the summer of 1915, a year after the war was declared, the residents of Cottage Grove saw a Communist & Anarchist group organising lectures on topics such as ‘Evolution & Revolution’ and ‘Anarchist Morality’. These meetings often commenced at 8:30pm and went on till 3am, ‘Tickets, One Shilling each’.

The Assembly Room even featured in the prolific and popular novelist Jack Lindsay’s Rising Tide: A Novel of the British Way, which deals with the dockworkers’ strike:

“‘Let’s go to the Victory Dance the Stepney Y.C.L. are giving,’ he said. ‘Some of the lads were talking about it.’

‘Where is it?’ she asked, flustered.

‘At Rhondda Grove'”.

Between the two World Wars the street was renamed, becoming Rhondda Grove, as a nod to its Welsh roots.

A few months before the Second World War, Mr J Alexander, of Rhondda Grove, wrote to the local newspaper, ‘I am an auxiliary fireman and I work with the finest body of regulars and auxiliaries that anyone could wish for. Now this is what I want to know, why, when we are out on a call, people turn round to jeer at us and laugh as if it was a good joke. Do we look comical? Or perhaps we are doing wrong by wearing an axe and belt and a steel helmet which we take for protection.’

The newspaper’s answer: ‘Can Mile End be a hotbed of grinning apes? ‘Cos this is the first time we’ve received a complaint of this nature. Carry on, laddie! Stick your axe, your belt and your tin hat. You’re doing a darn good job, even if a few dimwits in your locality can’t see it.’

We do not know whether Alexander was at home or work when the first V-1 flying bomb to strike London landed not far from Rhondda Grove on 13th June 1944 or later, when more bombs fell destroying five of the paired villas built by Austin.

View from an attic window of one of the big overhanging slate roofs with projecting eaves on coupled wooden brackets. Note the pair of side passages that have been bricked up.

The paired villas with recessed entrances, built in 1823 of yellow stock brick.

Substantial front gardens make these houses much grander than those in neighbouring streets.

An 1823 villa meets post-war infill.

Large sash windows with sill bands on the first floor.

Where one half of one of the twin villas was bomb-damaged, modern flats have been grafted on.

The stone steps have an iron stair rail and the street is lined with mature lime trees.

Recent modernist houses fill the space where a pair of twin villas were completely destroyed in the Blitz.

Each front door is flanked by Doric columns with an elaborate fanlight above.

A Hindu temple stands on the site of the former Grove Mews.

14, 15 & 16 Rhondda Grove were run by Stepney Union as ‘scattered homes’ for workhouse children.

The author, Naman Chaudhary, is a resident of Rhondda Grove.

You may also like to take a look at

In Mile End End Old Town

Marie Lenclos’ Walk In Stoke Newington

November 1, 2023
by the gentle author

Blue Gate

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A Walk in Stoke Newington is an exhibition of new oil paintings by Marie Lenclos opening on Monday 6th November. Marie walked for days exploring the streets, enjoying the shortcuts and alleyways, strolling along terraced streets, and observing the way light fell on buildings and walls. Her new paintings comprise a personal and intimate reflection on Stoke Newington, focusing on the stillness and tranquility of the place. Marie takes delight in colour and form, and the play of light at certain times of the day.

A Walk in Stoke Newington is at Everyday Sunshine Shop, 49 Barbauld Rd, N16 0RT, from 6th to 26th November, Thursday to Sunday, 10am to 4pm, for the duration of the show.

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Caf

Church Walk

Church Walk Factory

Crossing

Dalston Junction

Edwards Lane

Green Door

Stairs

Three Windows

Paintings copyright © Marie Lenclos

Upon The Nature Of Gothic Horror

October 31, 2023
by the gentle author

I believe I was born with a medieval imagination. It is the only way I can explain the explicit gothic terrors of my childhood. Even lying in my cradle, I recall observing the monstrous face that emerged from the ceiling lampshade once the light was turned out. This all-seeing creature, peering at me from above, grew more pervasive as years passed, occupying the shadows at the edges of my vision and assuming more concrete manifestations. An unexpected sound in my dark room revealed its presence, causing me to lie still and hold my breath, as if through my petrified silence I could avert the attention of the devil leaning over my bedside.

When I first became aware of gargoyles carved upon churches and illustrated in manuscripts, I recognised these creatures from my own imagination and I made my own paintings of these scaled, clawed, horned, winged beasts, which were as familiar as animals in the natural world. I interpreted any indeterminate sound or movement from the dark as indicating their physical presence in my temporal existence. Consequently, darkness, shadow and gloom were an inescapable source of fear to me on account of the nameless threat they harboured, always lurking there just waiting to pounce. At this time of year, when the dusk glimmers earlier in the day, their power grew as if these creatures of the shades might overrun the earth.

Nothing could have persuaded me to walk into a dark house alone. One teenage summer, I looked after an old cottage while the residents were on their holiday and, returning after work at night, I had to walk a long road that led through a deep wood without street lighting. As I wheeled my bicycle up the steep hill among the trees in dread, it seemed to me they were alive with monsters and any movement of the branches confirmed their teeming presence.

Yet I discovered a love of ghost stories and collected anthologies of tales of the supernatural, which I accepted as real because they extended and explained the uncanny notions of my own imagination. In an attempt to normalise my fears, I made a study of mythical beasts and learnt to distinguish between a griffin and a wyvern. When I discovered the paintings of Hieronymous Bosch and Pieter Breughel, I grew fascinated and strangely reassured that they had seen the apocalyptic visions which haunted the recesses of my own mind.

I made the mistake of going to see Ridley Scott’s The Alien alone and experienced ninety minutes transfixed with terror, unable to move, because – unlike the characters in the drama – I was already familiar with this beast who had been pursuing me my whole life. In retrospect, I recognise the equivocal nature of this experience, because I also sought a screening of The Exorcist with similar results. Perhaps I sought consolation in having my worst fears realised, even if I regretted it too?

Once, walking through a side street at night, I peered into the window of an empty printshop and leapt six feet back when a dark figure rose up from among the machines to confront my face in the glass. My companions found this reaction to my own shadow highly amusing and it was a troubling reminder of the degree to which I was at the mercy of these irrational fears even as an adult.

I woke in the night sometimes, shaking with fear and convinced there were venomous snakes in the foot of my bed. The only solution was to unmake the bed and remake it again before I could climb back in. Imagine my surprise when I visited the aquarium in Berlin and decided to explore the upper floor where I was confronted with glass cases of live tropical snakes. Even as I sprinted away down the street, I felt the need to keep a distance from cars in case a serpent might be lurking underneath. This particular terror reached its nadir when I was walking in the Pyrenees, and stood to bathe beneath a waterfall and cool myself on a hot day. A green snake of several feet in length fell wriggling from above, hit me, bounced off into the pool and swam away, leaving me frozen in shock.

Somewhere all these fears dissolved. I do not know where or when exactly. I no longer read ghost stories or watch horror films and equally I do not seek out dark places or reptile houses. None of these things have purchase upon my psyche or even hold any interest anymore. Those scaly beasts have retreated from the world. For me, the shadows are not inhabited by the spectral and the unfathomable darkness is empty.

Bereavement entered my life and it dispelled these fears which haunted me for so long. My mother and father who used to turn out the light and leave me to sleep in my childhood room at the mercy of medieval phantasms are gone, and I have to live in the knowledge that they can no longer protect me. Once I witnessed the moment of death with my own eyes, it held no mystery for me. The demons became redundant and fled. Now they have lost their power over me, I miss them – or rather, perhaps, I miss the person I used to be – yet I am happy to live a life without supernatural agency.

Fourteenth century carvings from St Katherine’s Chapel, Limehouse

The Dead Man In Clerkenwell

October 30, 2023
by the gentle author

This is the face of the dead man in Clerkenwell. He does not look perturbed by the change in the weather. Once winters wore him out, but now he rests beneath the streets of the modern city he will never see, oblivious both to the weather and the wonders of our age, entirely oblivious to everything in fact.

Let me admit, although some might consider it poor company, I consider death to be my friend – because without mortality our time upon this earth would be worthless. So I do not fear death, but rather I hope I shall have enough life first. My fear is that death might come too soon or unexpectedly in some pernicious form. In this respect, I envy my father who always took a nap on the sofa each Sunday after gardening and one day at the age of seventy nine – when he had completed trimming the privet hedge – he never woke up again.

It was many years ago that I first made the acquaintance of the dead man in Clerkenwell, when I had an office in the Close where I used to go each day and write. I was fascinated to discover a twelfth century crypt in the heart of London, the oldest remnant of the medieval priory of the Knights of St John that once stood in Clerkenwell until it was destroyed by Henry VIII, and it was this memento mori, a sixteenth century stone figure of an emaciated corpse, which embodied the spirit of the place for me.

Thanks to the curator at the Museum of the Order of St John, I went back to look up my old friend after all these years. They lent me their key and, leaving the bright October sunshine behind me, I let myself into the crypt, switching on the lights and walking to the furthest underground recess of the building where the dead man was waiting. I walked up to the tomb where he lay and cast my eyes upon him, recumbent with his shroud gathered across his groin to protect a modesty that was no longer required. He did not remonstrate with me for letting twenty years go by. He did not even look surprised. He did not appear to recognise me at all. Yet he looked different than before, because I had changed, and it was the transformative events of the intervening years that had awakened my curiosity to return.

There is a veracity in this sculpture which I could not recognise upon my previous visit, when – in my innocence – I had never seen a dead person. Standing over the figure this time, as if at a bedside, I observed the distended limbs, the sunken eyes and the tilt of the head that are distinctive to the dead. When my mother lost her mental and then her physical faculties too, I continued to feed her until she could no longer even swallow liquid, becoming as emaciated as the stone figure before me. It was at dusk on the 31st December that I came into her room and discovered her inanimate, recognising that through some inexplicable prescience the life had gone from her at the ending of the year. I understood the literal meaning of “remains,” because everything distinctive of the living person had departed to leave mere skin and bone. And I know now that the sculptor who made this effigy had seen that too, because his observation of the dead is apparent in his work, even if the bizarre number of ribs in his figure bears no relation to human anatomy.

There is a polished area on the brow, upon which I instinctively placed my hand, where my predecessors over the past five centuries had worn it smooth. This gesture, which you make as if to check his temperature, is an unconscious blessing in recognition of the commonality we share with the dead who have gone before us and whose ranks we shall all join eventually. The paradox of this sculpture is that because it is a man-made artifact it has emotional presence, whereas the actual dead have only absence. It is the tender details – the hair carefully pulled back behind the ears, and the protective arms with their workmanlike repairs – that endear me to this soulful relic.

Time has not been kind to this figure, which originally lay upon the elaborate tomb of Sir William Weston inside the old church of St James Clerkenwell, until the edifice was demolished and the current church was built in the eighteenth century, when the effigy was resigned to this crypt like an old pram slung in the cellar. Today a modern facade reveals no hint of what lies below ground. Sir William Weston, the last Prior, died in April 1540 on the day that Henry VIII issued the instruction to dissolve the Order, and the nature of his death was unrecorded. Thus, my friend the dead man is loss incarnate – the damaged relic of the tomb of the last Prior of the monastery destroyed five hundred years ago – yet he still has his human dignity and he speaks to me.

Walking back from Clerkenwell, through the City to Spitalfields on this bright afternoon in late October, I recognised a similar instinct as I did after my mother’s death. I cooked myself a meal because I craved the familiar task and the event of the day renewed my desire to live more life.

The Museum of the Order of St John, St John’s Gate, Clerkenwell, EC1M 4DA

Save Liverpool St Station Event

October 29, 2023
by the gentle author

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In the foreground of the developers’ visualisation, you can see how their nightmareish scheme for Liverpool St Station will look if built. Note the eleven storey tower block on top of the grade II* listed hotel. Courtesy Sellar/Herzog & de Meuron

Please come to our SAVE LIVERPOOL ST STATION campaign event at 7pm on Tuesday 7th November at Hanbury Hall, 22 Hanbury St, E1 6QR. Speakers include Griff Rhys Jones, Eric Reynolds and Robert Thorne.

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CLICK HERE FOR TICKETS

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Robert Thorne will talk about the history and evolution of Liverpool St Station. Robert was one of the GLC team that fought successfully to save it in 1976-77 and is the author of a history of the station. Since the seventies he has worked on numerous conservation projects, including at St.Pancras, Paddington and Bristol Temple Meads.

Eric Reynolds will analyse the flawed commercial case behind the redevelopment. Eric is a regeneration specialist, founder of markets at Camden Lock, Spitalfields, Greenwich and founder of Container City at Trinity Buoy Wharf, led the campaign to save Smithfield Market, and is Chairman of SAVE Britain’s Heritage.

Griff Rhys Jones will introduce the campaign to reject the proposed redevelopment of the station. Griff is a Welsh comedian, writer, actor and presenter well known through numerous television shows and documentaries. Less well known is his role as President of the Victorian Society since 2018.

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AT THE PUBLIC CONSULTATION

‘Where is the top part?’ I asked, when shown the lower portion of a model at the public consultation for the proposed redevelopment of Liverpool Street Station by Network Rail, Sellar & MTR . ‘We don’t have it,’ replied the developers’ representative. ‘So how can I judge the impact?’ I queried, growing suspicious and feeling I was being taken for a fool.

Then I was helpfully directed to a larger, much-smaller-scale, model of the surrounding urban landscape that included a great part of the City of London and in which I had to search to find the Liverpool Street proposal amid the forest of towers. The outcome was that while I could see this would be one more tower among many, the immediate impact upon the station and the former Great Eastern Hotel (designed by Charles Barry Junior and his son and partner Charles Edward Barry, 1883–84) was less discernible.

Yet I was swiftly disenchanted of my innocence when I saw the rendering of the view down Liverpool Street with an overwhelming tower of 11 storeys squatting on top of the fine Victorian hotel like a monstrous succubus in a nightmare. My feelings of nausea were compounded on learning that this would be supported by pilings through the grade II* listed hotel which would be converted to offices and replaced by a new five-star hotel in the block on top, boasting the advantage of City views.

London’s great railway stations – 19th-century cathedrals of glass and steel refracting the ever-changing changing patterns of light from our northern skies – are one of the architectural marvels of Europe. St Pancras, Paddington, Waterloo, King’s Cross and Liverpool Street are universally loved for their inspirational vaulted glass roofs. Euston, Charing Cross and Cannon Street exist as salient reminders of what has been lost through misguided redevelopment in the last century, removing the natural light by plonking ugly buildings on top.

When Liverpool Street Station (built between 1873 and 1875 for the Great Eastern Railway by chief engineer Edward Wilson) was last redeveloped between 1985 and 1992, the former labyrinthine palimpsest was clarified by the sympathetic extension of the 1870s glass roof over the platforms across the passenger concourse to meet the Great Eastern Hotel. Unfortunately, the new development proposes building over the concourse and replacing this part of the roof with a solid ceiling beneath the new office tower which itself will cast a long shadow, obscuring much of the daylight from the remaining Victorian glass vaults above the platforms.

The case put forward at the consultation was that passenger access to Liverpool Street Station needs upgrading and this ‘improvement to the public realm’ can be delivered at no cost to the taxpayer by sticking a massive office block on top of the station. Yet it is a false logic, because Network Rail – as a responsible operator — has a public duty to provide adequate access. It does not follow that such overdevelopment is either necessary or obligatory in order to achieve decent public access to the station.

My heart sank when I saw the artist’s renderings of the wild-flower meadow that the developers plan to plant on top of their block and the rooftop infinity pool which is to be open to all. These are cynical sops to the public. Architects Herzog & de Meuron presumably got this job because of their conversion of Giles Gilbert Scott’s Bankside Power Station into Tate Modern. The hope was that they would bring a similar magic to Liverpool Street Station, but the brief here is entirely misconceived and this is a scheme that risks damaging their reputation irrevocably.

Why is the City of London contemplating the construction of new offices at all when so many sit empty, post-Covid and post-Brexit? Flexible working patterns mean the financial industries will require far less office space in future. I see no evidence of the City advancing any cogent or enlightened vision that accommodates to this prospect.

Thankfully, Historic England are objecting to the new development and have revised and updated their listing of the station, adding the sensitively conceived 1985/92 vaulted-glass roof over the passenger concourse which was the result of a seminal conservation battle for the station in the 1980s. The hotel has also been upgraded from grade II to grade II* (the second highest level of protection).

I understand that, for the development to go ahead in its current form, this would have to be successfully challenged and overturned, so we must now brace ourselves for a mighty and possibly protracted fight over Liverpool Street Station. The planning application has been submitted to the City of London.

This article was commissioned by Apollo magazine

Developers’ rendering of proposed redevelopment of Liverpool Street Station. This is the view along Liverpool Street looking east towards the Andaz (formerly the Great Eastern Hotel). Courtesy Sellar/Herzog & de Meuron

The proposed rooftop wild flower meadow Courtesy Sellar/Herzog & de Meuron

The proposed new entrance to Liverpool St Station Courtesy Sellar/Herzog & de Meuron