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 Right Type (06.07.2010)

You probably haven’t heard his name before and after reading this will probably never again, but Edward Johnson has given us a symbol for London every bit as iconic as a red bus or my black taxi, and we hardly ever notice it.

A font designed nearly a century ago was adopted as the Underground’s corporate typeface and almost subliminally its usage has given an identity to London Transport and is now used for all of Transport for London’s media. With its distinctive sans-serif font for years known as “Underground” it has capitals based on roman square capitals and a lower case said to be taken from 15th century Italian handwriting. A perfectly round “O” the unusual use of a diamond dot above the “i” and “j” and with a capital M its diagonal stroke meeting at its centre, its design quite simply would change the way we read today.

By 1913 Johnston was a man already making a name for himself in the world of type. Then 35, Johnston had only really discovered his talent for (and love of) typography in his mid-twenties. By 1906, however, he had already been recognised as a man who had almost single-handedly revived and rediscovered the art of calligraphical type and lettering, and was the much-loved teacher of many of print’s future greats, his book, Writing & Illuminating & Lettering would be (and indeed still is, I should know, having once been a typesetter) one of the “must read” texts for anyone in the typographical world.

His brief was that the typeface should have “the bold simplicity of the authentic lettering of the finest periods”, it should also be easy to read from a moving train and in bad lighting, be noticeably up-to-date with the times, and yet also be completely different from anything found on other shops and signage” and finally, Johnston was told that each letter should be “a strong and unmistakeable symbol.” It took him three years (in fact all likelihood it probably didn’t – Johnston was notorious for leaving commissions until the very last minute), but in 1915 Johnston delivered a character-set that met every single one of those demands.

What Johnston created was, in effect, the very first modern “Sans-Serif” typeface which are “fonts without the little kicks.” Open up a word processing program and print out this article (CabbieBlog is set in 10pt Trebuchet MS if you’re interested), first in Times New Roman, then print it out in Arial (or Helvetica if you’re on a Mac) and look at the difference – you’ll see that the letters in the “Times” version are slightly more ornate around the edges. This is because Times is a “Serif” font and Arial is Sans-Serif. In the simplest, most generic terms, this is the difference between the two families.

Sans-Serif typefaces, therefore, are those “flourishless” families like Verdana, Arial, Helvetica and the ubiquitous Comic Sans, faces that bless documents everywhere and virtually the entire internet. Sans-Serif faces are, in many ways, the living embodiment of text in the 20th Century and Johnston, with the typeface that he delivered, almost singlehandedly revived them as a valid and useful style. The typeface now renamed as Johnson Sans, has been subtly updated by Eiichi Kono in the late seventies.

The London Transport Roundel again designed by Johnson who took an existing design of the YMCA logo and turned the basic bulls-eye into the clear and strikingly handsome symbol we see today, and like his typeface was tweaked over many years by Johnson, a process which continues today even now.

The London Transport signs are made of vitreous enamel requiring a process of silk-screen printing and five separate firings in a furnace. Incredibly all are made by a third generation family A. J. Wells & Sons of Newport, Isle of Wight.

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.

Patriot Games (25.06.2010)

Was it Samuel Johnson who was alleged by Boswell to have said “Patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel”? He should have prefixed that quote with “phoney” for I don’t know about you, but I’m getting very weary of seeing St. George’s flags being raised to support self-adoring, over-paid footballers, rather than for self-sacrificing, under-paid and under-resourced soldiers doing their very best not to cry over fallen comrades.

I’ve supported this country during many conflicts over these past 25 years; Falklands, Iraq, Afghanistan and wherever our boys (and girls) seek to fight fascism. But now all over London we see evidence of a phoney patriotism. And look how shallow all their football “patriotism” is, Marks & Spencer, that temple to middle class consumerism is like a football flea market, piled high with World Cup tat: flags, plates, kids’ games and yes, mugs. Which rather sums up those who purchase this junk? Walk across the road and the Nationwide Building Society is offering a higher rate of interest on some accounts if England wins this contest, couldn’t they have just paid better rates in the first place?

In America, that place which really likes to wear its heart of its sleeve, there are so many star-spangled banners flying on every lawn and shopping mall that all patriotic impact has been lost. They use Old Glory to support the troops; they use it to sell you a Chrysler. Many of these flags are imported anyway; the year after the 9/11 attack, the United States imported $7.9m of flags from China and some had 53 stars.

Is this mindless support for football “heroes”, a manifestation of a national nostalgia that constantly harks back to a simpler age, when we had decent men prepared to lay down their lives for a cause they believed in, or just an excuse for the indolent males of England to eat twice their own body weight over these three weeks?

The flag we all should be flying is the Union Jack, for tomorrow is Armed Forces Day which quietly acknowledges the work our brave soldiers are doing, in conditions likely to test most of us, and aims to provide a much valued morale boost for the troops and their families.

Our footballers, some of which are as rotten and corrupt as our politicians, might like to support the real men and women of courage, who between them have kept England safe, and an island that lets you dress up in a football shirt, with a flag draped around your shoulders, if you choose to be a plonker.

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.

Bathtime in London (18.06.2010)

The next time you are washing your hands and complain because the water temperature isn’t just how you like it, or your hotel uses a cheap hand wash, think about how things used to be here in London in the 1500s:

① Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath in May and still smelled pretty good by June. However, they were starting to smell, so brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odour, hence the custom today of carrying a bouquet when getting married.

② Baths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all the other sons and men, the women were next followed by the children and last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it. Hence the saying; Don’t throw the baby out with the Bath water.

③ Houses had thatched roofs-thick straw-piled high, with no wood underneath. It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the cats and other small animals (mice, bugs) lived in the roof. When it rained it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof. Hence the saying; It’s raining cats and dogs.

④ There was nothing to stop things from falling into the house; this posed a real problem in the bedroom where bugs and other droppings could mess up your nice clean bed. Hence, a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top afforded some protection. That’s how canopy beds came into existence.

⑤ The floor was composed of dirt. Only the wealthy had something other than dirt, hence the saying; Dirt poor. The wealthy had slate floors that would get slippery in the winter when wet, so they spread thresh (straw) on floor to help keep their footing. As the winter wore on, they added more thresh until, when you opened the door, it would all start slipping outside. A piece of wood was placed in the entranceway. Hence the saying; a thresh hold.

⑥ In those old days, they cooked in the kitchen with a big kettle that always hung over the fire. Every day they lit the fire and added things to the pot. They ate mostly vegetables and did not get much meat. They would eat the stew for dinner, leaving leftovers in the pot to get cold overnight and then start over the next day. Sometimes stew had food in it that had been there for quite a while. Hence the rhyme; Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot nine days old.

⑦ Sometimes they could obtain pork, which made them feel quite special. When visitors came over, they would hang up their bacon to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man could, bring home the bacon. They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit around and chew the fat.

⑧ Those with money had plates made of pewter. Food with high acid content caused some of the lead to leach onto the food, causing lead poisoning death. This happened most often with tomatoes, so for the next 400 years or so, tomatoes were considered poisonous.

⑨ Bread was divided according to status. Workers got the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle, and guests got the top, or the upper crust.

⑩ Lead cups were used to drink ale or whisky. The combination would sometimes knock the imbibers out for a couple of days. Someone walking along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence the custom of holding a wake.

⑪ England is old and small and the local folks started running out of places to bury people. So they would dig up coffins and would take the bones to a bone-house, and reuse the grave. When reopening these coffins, 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside and they realized they had been burying people alive. So they would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, lead it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell. Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night (the graveyard shift.) to listen for the bell; thus, someone could be, saved by the bell or was considered a . . . dead ringer.

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.

10 Downing Street (11.06.2010)

The world’s most photographed door and CabbieBlog is old enough to have driven down England’s most famous short street in his car, turning round at the end and driving out again. The last time the cab went into Downing Street every corner of the vehicle was checked and checked again, the only purpose at that time of going in was to pick up a bust of the unlamented Tony Blair.

Built in about 1680 by Sir George Downing, Member of Parliament for Carlisle for persons of “honour and quality”, which presumably excluded MPs nominating them for their second homes, the building’s frontage is remarkably unaltered.

Of the original terrace only numbers 10, 11 and 12 remain, acquired by the Crown in 1732, George II offered Number 10 as a personal gift to Sir Robert Walpole, he being an honourable politician would only accept it for his office as First Lord of the Treasury, a gift that a recent incumbent, now moved to Connaught Square, would have bitten His Majesty’s hand off to acquire.

Since that date it has been the official residence of the Prime Minister although many early Prime Ministers did not live there, preferring to remain in their own grander town houses and letting Number 10 to relatives or junior ministers.

Extensive alterations have over the years been made, including incorporating a further two properties at the back, internally improvements to the property have been made by such eminent architects as William Kent and Sir John Soane.

By the middle of the 20th century however, Number 10 was falling apart again. The deterioration had been obvious for some time; the number of people allowed in the upper floors was limited for fear the bearing walls would collapse; the staircase had sunk several inches; some steps were buckled and the balustrade was out of alignment; an investigation ordered by Prime Minister Harold Macmillan in 1958 concluded that there was widespread dry rot; the interior wood in the Cabinet Room’s double columns was like sawdust; baseboards, doors, sills and other woodwork were riddled and weakened with disease.

After reconstruction had begun, miners dug down into the foundations and found that the huge wooden beams supporting the house had decayed. Incredably, there was some discussion of tearing down the building and constructing an entirely new residence. But the Prime Minister’s home had become an icon of British architecture, instead it was decided that Number 10 (and Numbers 11 and 12) would be rebuilt using as much of the original materials as possible.

Some unless Number 10 trivia:

•During expensive alterations in the late 1950s remains of Roman Pottery and a Saxon wooden hut were found in the foundations.

•The zero of the number “10” is set at a slight angle as a nod to the original number which had a badly-fixed zero.

•After the IRA mortar attack in 1991, the original black oak door was replaced by a blast-proof steel one. Regularly removed for refurbishment and replaced with a replica, it is so heavy that it takes eight men to lift it.

•The brass letterbox still bears the legend “First Lord of the Treasury”.

•The original door was put on display in the Churchill Museum at the Cabinet War Rooms.

•Number 10 has been the official home of the Prime Minister since 1735 when Sir Robert Walpole first took residence.

•It has been home to over 50 Prime Ministers.

•Downing Street stands on the site of a former brewery.

•Number 10 was originally Number 5.

•The last private resident of Number 10 was a Mr Chicken.

•The Cabinet usually meets once a week in 10 Downing Street, normally on a Thursday morning, in the Cabinet room.

•The door has no lock.

•It’s postcode is SW1A 2AA

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.

Moving the Mad (04.06.2010)

If you would bear with me for a while as I tell you the tale of how Bedlam became synonymous with a state of total chaos.

Built in 1250 the first Bethlehem hospital was situated just outside the City’s walls near Bishopsgate. Where now the ANdAZ Hotel in Liverpool Street now stands, on a wall adjacent to it a blue plaque marks Bethlehem Hospital’s location. It was here the priory of St. Mary of Bethlehem and like all religious orders in Catholic England it had a duty to help the poor and needy.

Within 100 years the priory had been expanded and new parts were specifically designed to house the “weak of mind”. As auteristic as the monks would appear the treatment meted out to inmates were appalling, if not killed for being possessed with the devil, they were shackled or chained to the wall throughout their stay was the norm. Never washed, fed like animals and as a change to their routine would be ducked in freezing water or whipped.

With the Dissolution of the Monasteries the Priory was converted to a place for those who “entirely lost their wits and God’s great fit of reasoning, the whiche only distinguisheth us from the beast”.

In the late 17th century the hospital moved to open fields just outside Moorfields. A beautiful purpose classical building was provided not for inmates comfort (overcrowding and insanitary conditions prevailed), but for the entertainment of Londoner’s at the weekend. Social attitudes had changed towards them and hundreds would arrive to look around the madhouse, it was deemed to “guarantee to amuse and lift the spirits”.

The hospital’s principle income came from these visitors who paid good money to have their spirits lifted and evidence of wardens deliberately working up the patients to act even more wildly on Sunday afternoons.

The hospital’s name had, over the years, been abbreviated to Bethlem, but now the hospital had become known as Bedlam and the word became synomous with a scene of chaos. It was only when King George III became mad and his plight aroused sympathy that social attitudes started to change.

In the early 19th century that the hospital moved from Moorfields to the building that is now the Imperial War Museum in Lambeth. The patients were brought across London in a long line of Hackney cabs that were prepared to go south of the River with the inmates under a careful guard.

The latest of the long line of buildings is a hospital built at Addington in Surrey.