For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

Order out of chaos (17.09.2010)

On CabbieBlog there are currently 180 posts and by far the most read has been a short introduction to London’s maps, so you might say that today’s contribution is back by popular demand.

In any city as large and diverse as London is maps can help you find your way around, and probably the most famous of these is Harry Beck’s tube map, although another use of mapping is perhaps less obvious, but these are often of far more use. These are maps that can be used when order has broken down to show the causality and how that order might be returned.

Morgan Map 1682

On Sunday 2 September 1660, the Great Fire of London began reducing most of the City to ashes, and among the huge losses were many maps of the city itself. The Morgan Map of 1682 was the first to show the whole of the City of London after the fire. Consisting of sixteen separate sheets, each measuring eight feet by five feet, it took six years to complete. The map is based on the first detailed and truly scientific surveys of the City, Westminster and Southwark, which had been underway since immediately after the Great Fire in 1666. For the first time the layout of buildings was shown vertically, and on the basis of mathematical calculation rather than pictorially, as had previously been popular. William Morgan’s beautiful map, on a scale of 300 feet to the inch, completed in 1682, symbolised the hoped-for ideal city.

Snow Map 1854

In the nineteenth century, there were several outbreaks of cholera in London. One could awake hale and hearty, develop diarrhoea, vomiting, agonising cramps and by teatime succumb to delirium and death. In the 1849 outbreak, a large proportion of the victims received their water from two water companies, both of these water companies had as the source of their water the river Thames just downstream from a sewer outlet. Dr. John Snow plotted the distribution of deaths in London on a map. He determined that an unusually high number of deaths were taking place near a water pump on Broad Street. Snow’s findings led him to petition the local authorities to remove the pump’s handle. This was done and the number of cholera deaths was dramatically reduced. The work of John Snow stands out as one of the most famous and earliest cases of geography and maps being utilized to understand the spread of a disease. Today, specially trained medical geographers and medical practitioners routinely use mapping and advanced technology to understand the diffusion and spread of diseases such as AIDS and cancer. A map is not just an effective tool for finding the right place; it can also be a life saver.

Abercrombie Map 1945

The Blitz of September 1940 had a shattering impact on London and its inhabitants. On just the first night of the attacks, 7th September, over 400 civilians lost their lives and 1,600 people were severely injured. Out of this destruction emerged the idea of reconstruction. Straight away innumerable newspaper articles, pamphlets, books, exhibitions and films called for the British Government to begin to prepare for when the conflict would be over. Whilst British forces were fighting throughout Europe, Africa and other parts of the world, exhibitions such as Rebuilding Britain in July 1943 began to set out a new agenda for architects and those concerned with the built environment. At the time, Patrick Abercrombie was one of the most authoritative figures on modern town planning. The best-known study that Abercrombie and his team of researchers completed was for London and after two years of research, he published The County of London Plan in 1943. Significantly, it recommended the establishment of several new towns on the outskirts of London, relieving congestion in the city’s central areas and to stop suburban sprawl. Its bright red indicates the areas of London that contained industry at this point in 1943, as you can see, there is a significant amount of red concentrated around the Thames just east of the Isle of Dogs – before the war there was still much heavy industry concentrated around the East End. The map was regarded as key to the argument for reconstruction.

For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

Keep calm and carry on (14.09.2010)

Broadcasting House in Portland Place is almost certainly the most famous 20th century building in London. Completed in May 1932 to provide a home to the world famous British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC), whose motto “Nation shall speak unto Nation” would be better interpreted for BBC executives as “Where moron shall speak unto moron”, for Broadcasting House was inadequate from day one.

Its ingenious design to provide 22 soundproof studios, by surrounding the inner core of studios with the offices, the only part of the building visible from the outside, thereby forming a sort of protective outer shell worked, unfortunately no such consideration was made to soundproof beneath the building, as a consequence it allowed the rumble of tube trains to be heard occasionally.

Costing £350,000 a tidy sum at the time, within months it was found to be far too small and St. Georges Hall next door was taken over along with a disused roller-skating rink in Maida Vale.

Lord Reith the guiding force in the BBC in its formative years would have been particularly proud of newsreader Bruce Belfrage on 15 October 1940. For reasons best known only to Reith newsreaders wore a dinner jacket resplendent with bow tie to read on radio to the nation that day’s news.

Despite have painted the pristine Portland stone of Broadcasting House grey, German bombers managed to target the building, destroying the world famous gramophone library and killing seven, nonetheless Bruce brushed the fallen plaster from his dinner jacket and soot off his script and continued to read the Nine O’clock News with barely a pause for breath.

On the first floor directly over the entrance with its statute of Prospero and Ariel is the council chamber, the statute depicting from Shakespeare’s Tempest, Prospero sending Ariel, the spirit of the air, symbolises the future of broadcasting to the world.

Eric Gill its sculptor it would seem had other ideas. He insisted on carving the statute in situ. Standing on scaffolding above the entrance, female employees on arriving would be greeted by the unwelcome sight of London’s first “builder’s bum” for Gill wore a monk’s habit with nothing underneath.

When completed Prospero was found to have a girl’s face carved upon his bottom, the image facing the council chamber. As for Ariel being sent out into the world, he would appear rather well endowed for that, for such a young child.

For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

Fire Brand (10.09.2010)

The word curfew derives from the Norman French Couvre le Feu – meaning put out your fire, and not as is commonly thought to tell citizens that they must not leave their homes, but since it is bedtime a bell would ring to remind them to extinguish all their fires, something a baker from Pudding Lane in 1666 clearly ignored.

First ordered by William the Conqueror this long lasting tradition is still maintained at Gray’s Inn with a curfew bell rung each evening in South Square, itself the centre of the legal profession since 1370.

Fire, that fear of nay mediaeval city, with its timber framed buildings by the end of the 12th century London’s houses were required to be made of stone on the lower parts and roofs had to be tiled.

Each ward was required to provide poles, hooks, chains and ropes for the demolition of a burning house. Later as homeowners could insure their houses, the insurance companies employed their own firemen to protect those insured properties.

Fire-marks denoting which building was insured with which company were affixed to the front of a building.

These fire-marks can still be found in Goodwins Court, and probably accounts for this little gem remaining intact, which made its first appearance in the rate books in 1690, being described then as a row of tailors.

Approached from St. Martin’s Lane (opposite the Salisbury Buffet public house) through a doorway up a couple of steps this intimate little alley seems positive Dickensian with a row of eight narrow late 18th century shop fronts working gas lamps and an attractive clock face over an archway giving on to Bedfordbury. Take Samuel Johnson’s advice to his companion Boswell when just arriving in London “to survey its innumerable little lane and courts”.

For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

Join the queue (07.09.2010)

Often as I’ve put the cab up on the Paddington rank, I have watched passengers as they have squabbled about their relative positions in the queue, blithely ignoring the fact that behind me are 100 taxis available for hire. Observing this I’ve just put it down to “Johnny Foreigner” who doesn’t understand the quaint English courtesy of standing in a line and waiting one’s turn.

Apparently though according to a recent survey LINK the English are becoming more impatient; 41 per cent of people refuse to queue longer than two minutes in stores, with two-thirds regularly stomping away in a huff at having to endure a wait for anything. Furthermore, half of us refuse even to enter a shop if there is the sign of a queue.

Six years ago in a previous survey we were prepared to wait patiently for a barely credible five minutes before impatience got the better of us.

I remember visiting Paris in the 50’s and finding a ticket number dispensing machine attached to bus stops, used to establish the order passenger should embark, this at a time when queuing in England was seen as enduring a mild hardship for the common good, if soldiers at Dunkirk could stand in line to board their ship, waiting one’s turn to buy a loaf of bread was what set up apart from those “one the other side of the English Channel”.

We now one company is keeping alive this tradition I discovered recently when I visited the London Eye. On arrival I noted with smug self-satisfaction, the queue stretching into infinity for the attraction. Clutching my “fast track” pre-booked confirmation I joined the queue for the ??? kiosk. After 10 minutes of waiting the assistant informed me as she ad other before me that I was in the wrong queue and directed me to the ticket office. A crowd of us joined the back of the 80ft long queue marked “Pre-booked and Group Bookings” each holding their fast-track confirmation receipts.

When reaching the desk I have to admit dear reader my stiff upper lip was sorely tested when told again that I was in the wrong queue. The sound of protestations from my fellow queuers the desk clerk reluctantly issued that precious official tick.

It then was only a matter of joining yet another 40ft long queue to enjoy the “flight”. Total time flying 40 minutes; total time queuing 40 minutes. Next time I’m going on a foggy day.

For those new to CabbieBlog or readers who are slightly forgetful, on Saturdays I’m republishing posts, many going back over a decade. Some will still be very relevant while others have become dated over time. Just think of this post as your weekend paper supplement.

The Greatest Day in our History (31.08.2010)

We’ve all had a Tardis Teaser fantasy. What moment in history would you like to be transported if you had a time machine?

One point in London’s timeline worthy of consideration might be the opening of “The Palace of the Great Exhibition of the Works of Industry of All Nations” or as Punch nicknamed it the Crystal Palace. Covering 19 acres with room inside to accommodate four St. Paul’s Cathedrals it was at the time the largest building on earth.

Started 160 years ago on 31st August 1850, a year earlier it had not even existed as an idea, until Henry Cole more famous for inventing the Christmas card conceived the idea after visiting the Paris Exhibition.

An open competition attracted 245 designs all were deemed unworkable. A design committee was formed having amongst their number Isambard Kingdom Brunel, and between them they produced a vast low, dark shed of a building, needing 30 million bricks. Now with only 16 months to go desperate times required desperate measures and Joseph Paxton was approached.

Paxton, born into a poor farming family in Bedfordshire, he was at the age of 20 running an experimental arboretum for the Horticultural Society. There one day he made such an impression on the Duke of Devonshire in that his strong, clear voice could be heard by the near deaf Peer of the Realm, he was offered the post of Head Gardener at Chatsworth House.

Paxton really was a boy wonder, he created one of the great gardens of England at Chatsworth with the Emperor Fountain’s raising a jet of water 290 feet into the air, a feat only exceeded once to this day in Europe; built the largest rockery in the country; designed estate villages; became the world’s expert on dahlias; produced the country’s finest melons, figs, peaches and nectarines winning numerous prizes; he ran two gardening magazines; a daily newspaper; he was on the board of three railway companies; built the world’s first municipal park, later copied to form Central Park in New York; the hot house at Chatsworth he built was so vast that when Queen Victoria visited the Great Stove, as it was called, she toured it in a horse drawn carriage.

Learning of the committee’s struggle to design a building for the Great Exhibition he doodled plans while chairing a meeting and had completed drawing ready for review in two weeks. The design broke all the criteria stipulated for the competition, but desperate times required desperate measures and after a few days of hand wringing the committee accepted them in their entirety.

Nothing, really absolutely nothing, says more about Victorian Britain and its capacity for brilliance than entrusting this iconic building to a gardener. No bricks, no mortar, no foundations, prefabricated from standard parts away from the building site it was simply bolted together. The build time was phenomenal in eight months, one million square feet of glass, 18,000 panes a week (one third of all the glass produced that year); 20 miles of guttering, 33,000 iron trusses and tens of thousands of planks of wooden flooring, this being tested by a battalion of soldiers marching across it. The finished building was 1,851 feet long (in celebration of the year the exhibition was held, now copied by the new World Trade Centre whose height matches in feet the year of their independence), 408 feet across and 110 feet high and spacious enough to accommodate a much admired avenue of mature elm trees.

Queen Victoria opened the exhibition on 1st May 1851 describing with some justification that it was “the greatest day in our history”. Open for five and a half months it attracted six million people at a time when Britain had a population of only 20,959,477. Almost 100,000 objects went on display; a knife with 1,851 blades; furniture carved from coal; a 4-sided piano; a bed which automatically tipped its surprised occupant into his morning bath; an enormous lump of guano from Peru. Newfoundland for some inexplicable reason devoted its entire stand to cod-liver oil, and the highlight of the day was a use of the elegant “retiring rooms” the flushing toilets, a novelty at the time.

Unlike its successors the Great Exhibition cleared a profit of £186,000, enough to buy 30 acres of land south of the exhibition site where the Royal Albert Hall, Victoria and Albert Museum, Natural History Museum, the Royal College of Art and Royal College of Music were later built.

After the Exhibition was closed the Crystal Palace was moved to Sydenham were we managed to burn it to the ground in 1936. All that marks its passing is the Colebrookdale Gates originally made to stand at the entrance to the north transept of the Exhibition, now moved to the entrance to Kensington Gardens beside Alexandra Gate and behind which Albert sits enthroned in his memorial, on his lap he holds a book: The Catalogue of the Great Exhibition.