Saturday.
Friends of ours, Maggie and Mary, had been planning a trip to London and a wander round so of it’s lesser known areas. Or those less travelled by the occasional tourist. We were to meet at St Pancras at ten, which meant us catching the quarter to nine train from Dover. Quite how I managed to convince myself that at ten past eight I had over an hour before we were to leave for the station. ‘Are you still in the shower?’ Jools asked. ‘It’s eight seventeen!’ Oh bugger.
So, a quick shower, get dressed, gather my camera bag and out to the car and off to the station. And of course there were no parking spaces. So I had to try on one of the narrow streets climbing up the foot of Western Heights. Despite having just four minutes to get to the train before departure, I found time to snap the station form the road bridge.
We got on with two minutes to spare, and Mary joined us at Folkestone West; so soon we were speeding through the Kentish countryside whilst we caught up with our news since we last met.
St Pancras was as crowded as you would expect it to be, as trains leave from there to the Midlands, back to Kent and, of course, to Paris and Brussels. So, we made our way down through the undercroft, and then back up to the statue of Sir John where Maggie was waiting for us. Sir John Betjeman worked tirelessly to save St Pancras, when it could have so easily gone the way of Euston. And so despite the dereliction of the 80s and 90s, the station survived and was restored to be the starting point for trains to Europe. And how glorious it is. Under the Barlow trainshed, standing in the shadow on Sir John, I can’t think of a finer spot in all of London.
Maggie asked us if we had been inside the hotel: we hadn’t. And so we walked to the corner of the station, down a short corridor into the lobby. No one cast us a look. So we continued down another grander corridor to the staircase. Once upon a time, hotels would lavish fortunes on staircases, and the Grand Midland was no different. Looking at it now it is hard to believe that a decade ago it was in such a bad state that the stairs could not be used.
It is now fully restored, plush carpet on the floor and all the way up the four floors of the stairs, and wonderful fleur-de-lis patterned wallpaper. We walked all the way to the to look at the wonderful roof. Needless to say, I took many, many shots and in truth this was worth the trip to London on its own.
We then walked outside and along to King’s Cross to see how work is progressing on the soon-to-be-opened public square at the front of the station. In truth, little work seems to have been done. But more things have been removed, and I guess it will be like a beautiful butterfly emerging, one day it will be a building site, the next all the work and detritus will have been swept away, like it was never there. Mary had not seen the new entrance hall, so we went inside, but half of London seemed to be waiting for a train out, so we dived into the underground for a train to the East End.
We got off at Liverpool Street and headed up to Bishopgate, before heading east to Spitalfields. Spitalfields was once the fruit market for the city, but is now upwardly mobile with many fine places to eat. It is always rammed full of interesting buildings which are mostly great to photograph. We pass a pub which was almost certainly where Jack the Ripper once drunk, being opposite where his last victim was found. It is also where Huguenots immigrants came to escape persecution in France, bringing their skill in silk weaving. Looking up at the tops of the terrace houses, many still have skylights which they used to allow as much light in as possible so they could weave as long as possible each day. And for Jools and I it is very interesting, as she is descended from Huguenots.
We went to the old market, which no longer sells just fruit, but is a place where you can buy fashions and the such. We find a café and order coffees and I have a savoury crepe. It is wonderful just to people watch, as it now attracts the arty types with their pampered children, all dressed in peacock coloured fashions: I could have sat there all day, but time was pressing and we had to head to Brick Lane. Brick Lane used to be a centre of the brick and tile making industry, and then brewing, but it is now more famous for being home to many Bangladeshi businesses and in particular, many curry houses.
It is a shock to walk down the narrow residential streets and onto Brick Lane with its many brightly adorned curry house, far eastern fruit and veg shops, and all manner of people walking around, with fusions of east in west in food, drink and fashion. It was all rather intoxicating. As we walked along, I was being persuaded to go into each and every curry house for a meal, with great deals being offered. I just said the ladies were in charge and he should ask them!
Down another side street all the buildings were decorated with street art, and a young tour guide was leading a large group of tourists around explaining who did the art. We all took shots and moved on. Down near the old Truman brewery, there was yet another market, this one offering a vintage vinyl sale. I went to look but only found Lionel Richie type albums. And I had no cash on me anyway, best not look too hard….
We walked up Brick Lane until it entered Whitechapel, we went up Whitechapel Road, right to the hospital where John Merrick, aka The Elephant Man was found and treated. It is now a bustling street market, and it is like being in another country. It was all rather wonderful I have to say, and I took some shots of the people as they went about their shopping and daily chores. Young met friends, the old felt the fruit to see if it was rip,a nd stallholders bellowed out what was a bargain.
Rain was in the air, as forecasted, and as my toe was now thumping, Jools and I decided to head home, whilst Mary and Maggie pressed on along Whitechapel Road. We took the Overground to Stratford, taking nearly an hour to get there, leaving us four minutes to get down onto the platform to catch the Dover train. And in less time than it had taken us to get from Whitechapel to Stratford we were back in Dover and winding our way up the hill to get the car to head home.
On the train I kept up to date with the football, and as we left Ashford, City took the lead against Everton, and in the car the radio announced that The Wolf (as I shall call RVWW) scored a second. But it seems Everton had scored two themselves inbetween and so it was 2-2, which is how it ended. Not bad for a first game, and promise of better things to come once the new boys bed in.
Time then to head to Tesco to get something to eat, and then settle down in front of the TV to watch some old Time Team until it was time to head to bed. Phew.
Sunday
What better way to begin the day with a lay in to half seven then a nice pot of coffee and a couple of huge hot croissants? The plan for the day? Well, orchids and some bondage equipment. We have to buy Bowie a harness and lead so he does not spend all day in the cage meowing mournfully.
So, we set off just before nine, as I clearly had to watch MOTD at least until City had been on. THEN we could go out. Oh yes.
So we headed out to Canterbury then followed the Stour south until we turned off the main road and onto the narrow lanes to Crundale. My friend Mark had supplied fine directions and a grid reference, we just needed to learn how to use the grid reference and we would be fine!
Anyway, we set off down the byway heading along what must have been an ancient road, it went dead straight until it reached a wood where the road began to wander through the ancient trees. We were here to see another rare orchid, Violet Helleborines. So, a way along the path, just where Mark said they were, there they were!
I guess I was expecting a glade full of them, but then we have been rather spoilt this year with the displays of Early Purples, Monkeys, Southern Marsh, Common Spotted and Marsh helleborines, so the half dozen looked rather lonely. Scattered around a couple of glades, a few had been scorched by the sun, but others in deeper shade were still glorious. And the shade was the problem. I could not get shots without using flash, but in the end I did seem to cope, and using ISO 3200 got some using what natural light here was.
Once we got the shots, we walked back, pausing many times to look at the plethora of butterflies that were on the wing. We saw many Meadow Browns, gatekeepers, Large Whites, Small Tortoiseshells and Common Blues. I get a few shots of the blues in the vain hope that they were Adonis, which they were not. Oh well, there’s always up on Folkestone Downs later in the week.
We called in at the pet shop in Folkestone for the harness, and back home to let Bowie out and give him some restricted freedom. He was happy after a while to sleep in the lea of the hedge, free of his bars. We had lunch and then the afternoon kinda slipped through our fingers, I watched the rest of the football and then listened to the radio. And Jools stayed in the garden with Bowie. I cooked steak and ale pie for dinner, with lots of steamed vegetables, and then it was getting late already. The sun set and it began to get dark.
Another weekend gone.
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