Two townies terrorised by benign Kent countryside (a.k.a. the Westerham/Chartwell loop)

9 September 2020

Now the schools are back, we’re trying our best to return to our old, pre-corona routines - in particular, a weekly walk and blog. Not yet wishing to risk a train to London, let alone the underground, we decide to drive in the opposite direction - into the Kent countryside.

Westerham churchyard - not as scary as the cricket ground

The town of Westerham lies just beyond the M25 motorway, between Oxted to the west and Sevenoaks to the east. It holds a special memory for me because it’s one of the few places on earth where I have scored a hundred runs at cricket. In a single innings, I mean. It’s also the last place I achieved that feat, 26 long years ago. Even at the fitness levels of my then 31 year old self, the match report noted wryly that I needed several visits to the oxygen tent during my innings (surely not). Jayne had been present at this momentous event, but remembers it for a different, much scarier reason. Foolishly deciding her book would be more exciting than our team's fielding, she took her eye off the ball - literally. It’s possible she may have registered some distant warning shouts. The next thing she felt was a sudden whoosh of air as the ball, travelling at supersonic speed, passed no more than a couple of inches from her face. “Ooo, that could’ve been nasty”, we all agreed as the ball was retrieved from the hedgerows and Jayne’s book from where she’d thrown it.

Churchill - just mooching around

Westerham is the nearest town to Chartwell, the country home of Sir Winston Churchill and now a busy National Trust attraction. Our new Ordnance Survey book, Kent - Outstanding Circular Walks, duly recommends a ramble which starts and ends at Westerham church and stretches past the Chartwell estate at its farthest point. At just over 5 miles, this seems like the ideal re-entry point to our walking experiences. Or so we think, before we manage to leave home without either the guidebook or the freshly-made photocopy of its relevant pages. We also have sufficient water supplies for only half a person and are wearing far too many clothes. Luckily, the lack of guide is spotted only a hundred yards from home, so a major argument later is replaced by just a minor one now. We agree later that our other failings are due mainly to an overly pessimistic weather forecast, which predicts a slow rise from the early morning chill of nine degrees to only 16-17 by midday. We check the temperature at 11 o’clock and find it’s already well into the twenties.

The nearest cow - i.e. not that near

The other vital accessory we have left at home is any awareness of what a country walk is actually like. We are, in fact, your typical townies on a trip. After mounting a stile with some difficulty and making sure to close the first of many kissing gates, we are confronted with - a herd of cows. All over our pathway. For Jayne, cows are only slightly preferable to spiders, so it’s not the greatest of starts. Amazingly, we are both up to speed on cow etiquette. The first key question is to ascertain whether the cows have horns - if so, they may not be cows and it’s best to leave quickly and unnoticed. The second is to check if they have young calves with them - if so, they can be aggressive if approached by a dopey day-tripper. Negative on both counts, so far so good. The next bit of advice is to wave your arms vigorously at them if they do approach - if you do that, we are assured, they will soon move away and disperse. For some reason Jayne seems reluctant to try that out, but we find that walking tentatively in their general direction does the trick anyway. Never has Jayne been so glad to reach the safety of a kissing gate, beyond which we can admire these harmless beasts from behind a solid stone wall.

Footpaths - give them an inch and they take a mile

We then encounter several warning signs that imply we could be shot at any moment. This is not what we had in mind at all. One of the big estates of the area, Squerryes Park, was forced to postpone its huntin’, shootin’ and fishin’ experiences earlier in the summer due to Covid-19. Now these are allowed again, they’re making up for lost time by packing them in during September. We’re warned to stick strictly to the public footways and not to use any “permissive footpaths” - you know, the sort that let their teenage kids stay out past ten o'clock on a school night. Actually, we don’t know what permissive footpaths are at all, so this adds to our sense of unease. Are we on one at the moment? Who knows. When we hear gunfire shortly afterwards, it sounds distant, away to the east of the estate, meaning we can relax and enjoy the steep uphill gradient in our ample clothing.

Chartwell - a restricted view for the short of stature

The next hour passes without incident - and without seeing a fellow human being apart from the odd dog-walker (one in particular was very odd). After admiring a stunning view over the North Downs towards Edenbridge and East Grinstead, we descend again towards the outer reaches of Chartwell. Churchill lived here from 1922 till 1964, shortly before his death at the age of 90, and once declared - probably after a stressful day at Westminster: “A day away from Chartwell is a day wasted”. Maybe less well-known is the financial burden placed on the great man by the upkeep of the house and estate, forcing him to sell it on and live as a tenant. After the second world war, the benevolent owners passed it onto the National Trust, under the condition that the Churchills could always reside there. The house was opened to the public in 1966 and I remember my mother taking me there as a child, most likely in the early seventies. Today we admire the upper floors from the road but the high perimeter fence prevents a fuller, more splendid view.

The Greensand Way - a better class of forest furniture

Just past the busy Chartwell car park, we are instructed to turn into the woods and once more embark on a precipitous climb. We can’t say we weren’t warned beforehand, having read on Jayne’s walking app a number of complaints that this particular walk had been unexpectedly arduous for the oldies. I suppose the Ordnance Survey’s promised height gain of 705 feet (215m) was a clue as well - it just omits to make clear we would make this gain multiple times. We pick up the Greensand Way as instructed, while extolling the virtues of our new guidebook and how easy it is to follow. This puts the mockers on it straight away and I become convinced we’ve lost our way, walking ten minutes in the wrong direction before deciding we’d been right all along. This bonus itinerary naturally involves another steep hill. Jayne mutters dark words to the effect that I shouldn’t be let loose on a Duke of Edinburgh expedition any time soon.

Much friendlier than the large dog

Finally, we locate the stretch of pathway that promises to take us back to the centre of Westerham, but this confuses us further by setting off in the polar opposite direction. Before reaching the English Channel, the path eventually curves round to the west and then pleasingly northwards again. In the woods we encounter an excitable and large dog which bites a mouth-sized chunk out of our photocopied instructions but fortunately not from the hand I’m holding them in. Its human companion seems relaxed in the time-honoured manner of all dog-owners, reassuring us matter-of-factly: “I always get a bit worried when he stops, as it means he’s about to pounce”. Thanks, mate.

The gate with no fence

Eventually, after startling some deer, we emerge from the woodland, only to be confronted with another steep climb. But it’s worth it this time, as, at the top, there’s the most marvellous view across the valley in which Westerham lies, its church nestling resplendently in amongst the sleepy houses and cottages. This place, like much of the rolling Kent countryside around, seems remarkably untouched by time, with just the distant hum of motorway traffic reminding us of the proximity of suburbia. Oddly, we also come across a solitary metal gate, diligently closed shut, as if guarding the way across the open fields towards Westerham. With apologies to the authors of We’re Going on a Bear Hunt, we can’t go over it, we can’t go under it - but we can go beside it, as it’s not attached to a fence or a wall, it’s just a gate in a field. We finish our walk with a nice downhill stroll through the same cow field in which we started three hours ago - except, to Jayne’s relief, the cows are nowhere to be seen.

General Wolfe - always alert to heavy traffic

As we reach the town centre, lunch is being served in a Covid-compliant manner from the door of the Grasshopper on the Green pub. By now it’s a balmy September lunchtime and most of the tables are occupied by a mix of locals, walkers and cyclists. Our salads are voluminous and tasty, rendered even more palatable by the generous 25% discount offered on a Tuesday. The giant statue of a reclining Winston Churchill overlooks our picnic table, while another famous son of Westerham, General James Wolfe (of Battle of Quebec fame), strikes a more proactive pose as he appears to defend the town against the oncoming traffic of the A25.

Westerham church

A helpful pub sign informs us that the origins of the town date back to 1096, appearing in the Domesday Book as “Wistreham”. The inn itself can trace its roots to 1555, in which year the landlord’s son, John Frith, was burnt at the stake as a protestant. I’m pleased with this - the long history, I mean, not poor John’s demise - as I had missed from today’s ramble the historical context in which our city walks are normally so rich. I’m also pleased that a more modern resident of Westerham’s environs, Nigel Farage, is not present as the very sight of him would have spoiled a very pleasant day out. Next time though, these townies need to come better equipped to deal with life in the countryside.

Acknowledgements: Jayne and Richard were following Walk 7, Westerham and Chartwell, from the Ordnance Survey’s “Kent - Outstanding Circular Walks”, published by Crimson Publishing (reprinted version 2018). Photos mainly by Jayne as usual. Information on Chartwell was based on the National Trust’s website at www.nationaltrust.org.uk/chartwell.

Chislehurst - walking in our 'hood with Napoleon, Michael Jackson and Siouxsie Sioux

29 May 2020

Chislehurst (or Prickend) Pond

My blog has been silent for two and a half months now - a couple of weeks longer than even lockdown itself, which seems eternal.

There are various reasons (excuses) for this, but these are the main ones:

• By definition we have been unable to continue with our walks around London, so historical content has been thin on the ground.

• For many weeks I couldn’t find anything remotely humorous about the virus or its consequences. (Of course, many talented people on social media have since done so, and I am grateful to them for that).

• I’ve also been working on some of my other projects, both financial (ugh) and creative (yay). One venture even tries to mix the two subjects, which I realise sounds a bit dodgy but isn’t really (honest).

The war memorial on Chislehurst Common

In terms of walking, we have tried out just about all the options in our immediate neighbourhood in Chislehurst, while sticking strictly and prudently to the government guidelines (after all, we are mere mortals, not the prime minister’s dad and certainly not his special adviser). After six weeks or so, we were congratulating ourselves on developing a circuit which takes us exactly one hour (plus or minus a couple of minutes crossing roads or giving a wide berth to profusely sweating joggers). Just as soon as we had done this and were awarding ourselves model citizen status, the government loosened the rules. Hey ho. The main problem with our route is that the final stretch is always uphill, but that’s our fault for living in a strategically elevated position as if we were medieval warlords. Sometimes, for added excitement, we even do the walk the opposite way round! After all, variety is the spice of lockdown life.

To be fair to our beleaguered government, the decision to permit one hour of daily outdoor exercise was - in my view - a masterstroke. We are fortunate enough to have a back garden in which we can sit out or even partake in some limited sporting activity (table tennis, soft ball cricket), but many people don’t have this option. Just being able to escape outside for an hour must have made a huge difference to the country's mental and physical health in this unique situation. The residents of Italy, Spain and to a great extent France were not so fortunate. But that’s quite enough of praising the UK government, as almost everything else they’ve said or done has objectively been a disaster.

Chislehurst - it does what it says on the tin

Absent other entertainment, we amuse ourselves by observing the social distancing attitudes of our fellow pedestrians. With the odd exception, the Chislehurst walking and jogging communities have been respectful observers of the two metre rule. Even the friendliness quotient has enjoyed a positive boost. This pleases Jayne, who grew up in York and hence is not at all phased by strangers saying “hello” on the street. On moving to London, she soon found out that such generosity of spirit is completely unacceptable here - even on the Kent borders. Now she almost jumps out of her skin as an elderly gent passes by with a loud and enthusiastic “HELLO!”. I point out as gently as possible that he's just repeating what is written in large letters on the front of her hoodie. Although warm hoodies have long since been replaced by T-shirts, the hello’s have continued, albeit in a more reserved manner. Will this new spirit of openness outlive the lockdown, paving the way for a better and more gentle society in future? No chance at all. There’s more likelihood of Dominic Cummings saying “Sorry, everyone, I messed up big time there”.

Camden Park Road - it doesn't get much posher

Our route takes us up Camden Park Road, one of the poshest private roads in Chislehurst. Boasting some fabulous properties in large grounds, its Porsche per capita (“PPC”) ratio also lies well above the average for the area. Our eye is always caught by Fairacre, a massive pile halfway up the hill, which is Grade II listed and last changed hands for what now seems an almost reasonable £3.85 million in 2007 (though it probably didn’t seem too reasonable when the markets crashed shortly afterwards). I remember looking round a house further down the road when we were planning our move back from Stockholm in 2014. Unfortunately it was neither posh nor nice, and its garden was built on the same gradient as the north face of Everest, so we passed, then as now.

The view across Chislehurst golf course towards Camden House

The road is named after William Camden, an antiquarian and historian, who lived in Chislehurst from 1609 up to his death in 1623. Camden was also headmaster of Westminster School, but reportedly did not enjoy this as “it interfered with his work”. Camden’s house was rebuilt and renamed Camden House a century later but today is better known (and well used) as the clubhouse of Chislehurst Golf Club. After some gentle nudging, the club threw open its grounds for use by the general public during the Coronavirus lockdown, but the recent relaxations have meant that the sounds of club on ball have returned. Meanwhile, us cricketing folk continue to sit idle through glorious Spring days.

The gates to Camden House - or "my gaff" as Napoleon liked to call it

William Camden wasn’t, it turns out, the most famous resident of Camden House. Oh no, this was - drum roll - Emperor Napoléon III of France, nephew of the first Napoléon Bonaparte who was defeated by Admiral Nelson at the Battle of Trafalgar. Napoléon III was the first elected President of the new French republic from 1848 to 1852, only to seize power from himself and serve as the last French monarch from 1852 to 1870. He was then defeated by Otto von Bismarck’s troops in the Franco-Prussian war, continuing a losing streak for France that was to be ended only by its modern-day football teams. The consolation prize was his exile to the more peaceful surroundings of Chislehurst, where he died in 1873. Fun fact of the day is that his current heir, Jean-Christophe Napoléon Bonaparte, currently works in the London private equity industry, as does at least one relative of von Bismarck.

The Chislehurst Society website reminds me that Sir Malcolm Campbell also hailed from these parts. Sir Malcolm famously broke the world land speed record between the wars, becoming the first man to drive at over 300mph, a feat accomplished on the salt flats of Utah in 1935. His descendants may also work in private equity for all I know. What I do know is that some bell-end tried to break his record a few weeks ago driving along Lower Camden, a 30mph residential road. He then drove back in the opposite direction, this time at a normal speed, and spotted us taking a photo of his car and number plate. Five minutes later he was back again and his passenger took a video of us and the kids on our walk, which was all a bit spooky and intimidating. I’m sure all of these things were in the spirit of necessary journeys in the early lockdown weeks though - after all, the guy was probably on the way to a massive garden barbecue with his mates.

The woods of Chislehurst Common

Just past Camden House we pass the gated entrance to Wilderness Road, a further contender for the much-coveted “Poshest Road in Chislehurst” trophy. We believe this is where grime rapper Dizzee Rascal currently resides (just round the corner from his mum, who lives in a flat on our estate). But it’s another posh private lane, Foxbury Manor, only accessible via the extremely posh Kemnal Road, that would most likely scoop the award. Located on the other side of Chislehurst pond (or Prickend Pond, to give it its original and more entertaining name), this is not strictly on our route, but there's a cracking story about it. Michael Jackson (yes, that one) was due to rent Foxbury Manor for an impending visit to London in 2009, its owners having agreed to relocate temporarily to the badlands of Orpington. But the deal was thrown into doubt when the superstitious star heard that the nearby Chislehurst Caves stretch under the manor house and are supposedly haunted. In the end, the contract fell through for a different and more terminal reason: the singer’s premature death.

Joëlle's - the anticipation mounts

Chislehurst High Street is pleasant but a bit dull at the best of times, its predictable selection of estate agents, chain restaurants, coffee shops, hairdressers and the occasional niche boutique vying for the attention of passers-by. Some good news during lockdown is that this predictability is soon to be shattered (we hope) by the arrival of a new delikatessen, to be christened Joëlle’s. If only a decent bakery, butcher and fishmonger would follow suit, this would represent a miraculous purge of first world problems. Today, it's a hive of activity inside and out as their opening day, next Wednesday, draws ever closer. Meanwhile, the rest of the street returns slowly - painfully - to a pretence of normality. An estate agent’s door cautiously ajar here, a coffee shop with a tentative line of patrons there, two forlorn takeaway cafés that refused to shut in the first place, some of the upmarket restaurants opening up their kitchens for delivery only. Sometime soon we will meet again (now where have I heard that phrase before?).

Somewhere here is a semi-famous Chinese takeaway

At the far end of the street, there’s a gaggle of customers at the flower shop next to the Chinese take-away, the latter being an emporium of such historical significance that it’s included in the Chislehurst Society’s grandly named “heritage walk” (don’t get too excited, this turns out to be nothing more than a short tour up and down the High Street). The takeaway's former name, Hong Kong Garden, somewhat implausibly formed the inspiration for Siouxsie and the Banshees’ eponymous breakthrough hit in 1978. Punk goth icon Siouxsie Sioux - or Susan Ballion, as her mother preferred to call her - is, to my knowledge, the only major recording star to originate from Chislehurst. David Bowie came close, but resided more towards Beckenham and Langley Park (and was born in Brixton), whereas Pixie Lott grew up in nearby Bromley. By comparison, Dizzee and Michael are mere johnny-come-lately’s, trying to jump on the bandwagon of Chislehurst cool after the fact. The reality that Siouxsie Sioux couldn’t wait to escape late seventies suburbia and later moved to France is just a narrative inconvenience.

Turning vodka into gin - a modern miracle

In her interviews, Siouxsie has claimed the song was written as an attack on the racist skinhead mobs of the day that used to abuse the takeaway’s staff as a form of evening entertainment. Yet her lyrics seem themselves to be deeply racist: “Slanted eyes meet a new sunrise, a race of bodies small in size”. Worse still, she appears to conflate the Chinese and Japanese under one race: “Would you like number twenty-three? Leave your yens on the counter please”. Indeed the contemporaneous music press praised the song for its innovative use of Japanese themes! All pretty amazing judged with the lens of today - and also sad that elements of UK society appear to relish a return to the values of this era. But there I go again - back into that political rabbit hole. Musically, Siouxsie and the Banshees were, and remain, outstanding - Chislehurst’s finest!

To everyone's immense relief, I will end the Chislehurst history lesson there, as Jayne has decided to shift her lockdown skills from baking wonderful bagels and sourdough over to the distillation of hard liquor: homemade gin! The confusing thing is that she apparently needed a whole bottle of vodka to do that. And judging by my taste test just now, it could also double as rocket fuel in case Elon Musk is having trouble sourcing supplies. Cheers!

Acknowledgements: Richard and Jayne were following a walking route of nobody's invention but their own. They both took some photographs. Research was courtesy of t'internet, especially the wonderfully dedicated https://chislehurst-society.org.uk/

Leave it out! Walking within the sound of Bow Bells

3 March 2020

Whitechapel - a stone's throw from the City

Today we’re roughing it in the heart of London’s East End - or if not its heart, then certainly its spine, our route taking us along the A11, the old Roman road running from Whitechapel through Mile End to Bow. Our first surprise is how unfeasibly wide this road is. This already runs contrary to our preconceptions of the area, which admittedly are drawn almost entirely from Eastenders, the long-running BBC soap. On this basis, we also expect to conduct multiple extra-marital affairs, separate and get back together a couple of times, almost drown, suffer (or cause) a nasty road accident, fall out with the pub landlady and cry like Ian Beale - all in the space of the next few hours. This one should be a right roller-coaster.

Gutted, mate - Royal London Hospital

The first person we almost fall out with is our guide Stephen Millar*, as his first set of directions from Whitechapel tube resemble the devilish work of a random number generator. Eventually we realise this is because the station exit has been relocated several hundred yards eastwards due to the Crossrail works. Whitechapel is to form a major intersection of the new Elizabeth line - assuming the project ever reaches a conclusion of course. Opposite, the historical front of the Royal London Hospital is also undergoing a make-over, one of its façades still standing defiantly while the main structure behind has been gutted. Meanwhile its modern high-rise units greet the arrival of an air ambulance onto the roof-top - a far cry from the days when Joseph Merrick, nicknamed the “Elephant Man”, was famously a patient in the late 19th century.

A model ship astride the gates of Trinity Almhouses

We’re intrigued by the Working Lads’ Institute, originally set up around the same time to “provide distractions for boys over 13 years old after they had finished work”. Wow. It’s the first of many reminders we will see today of the poverty and hard graft often associated with the area - and also its long tradition of philanthropy. Another recurring theme is the Jewish influence over the centuries - close to the tube there is a drinking fountain erected by East End Jews in 1911 in honour of Edward VII, who had been sympathetic to the Jewish community. Poor Edward, the impish child “Bertie” in ITV’s fascinating Victoria series, had only ruled for nine years before his death in 1910, having waited until the age of 60 as a result of his mother’s longevity. Was that a distant sigh I just heard from 71-year-old Prince Charles? It’s difficult to imagine an influx into the East End of as many as 150,000 Jewish immigrants fleeing rising antisemitism in Russia at the turn of the 20th century, but Millar reminds us that the East End has been home to waves of immigrants over the centuries - Sephardi Jews from Spain and Portugal, Ashkenasi Jews from Eastern Europe, Huguenots, Irish and more recently Bangladeshis, whose market today stretches out either side of Whitechapel station.

The Blind Beggar - scene of nefarious deeds

Soon we’re outside the Blind Beggar pub, where Reggie Kray shot George Cornell dead in 1966. We peer in apprehensively - next to a poster advertising “Gangster Tours”. This was very much the Krays’ “manor” in the sixties - you crossed the Kray family at your peril (later we are informed that the concrete supporting the flyover into Stratford likely enshrines an unknown number of other victims). Over the years the pub also bore witness to “death by umbrella” (not a Soviet-style assassination in this case, but a more mundane stabbing through the eye in 1904) and an attack by an Asian group in 2011 targeted at members of the English Defence League who were not actually in the pub at the time - maybe they were sitting quietly at home watching their favourite Hitler movies. Just nearby, the “Houndsditch murders” took place in 1910 when some Latvian Jewish anarchists killed three policemen, before being killed in a house fire after they had been tracked down and besieged under the orders of home secretary Winston Churchill. This is more like it.

Genesis - the chic local cinema, not the ageing rockers

Further up the Mile End Road, we later pass the Genesis cinema, which has won awards as the UK’s “Best Cinema” and, under its old name of the Paragon, was the setting in 1963 for the film premiere of Sparrers Can’t Sing, a locally made film starring Barbara Windsor and featuring a cameo appearance by the Kray brothers themselves. Millar notes that Princess Margaret was due to attend the premiere with her husband Lord Snowdon but had second thoughts about being seen in public with the notorious Krays, so was a “no show”. The Genesis website reveals the real backstory to this, as told by Windsor many years later: apparently Margaret did show up but went straight to the Kit Kat Club, a nearby pub owned by Ronnie and Reggie, where she proceeded to get drunk with the brothers while everyone else was across the road. Fittingly, Windsor went on - via many a Carry On film - to play the archetypal East End pub landlady, Peggie Mitchell, in Eastenders, the role for which she was surely predestined.

HOWZAT?! Another victim for umpire Booth

Continuing with the crime theme, Millar teases us with the odd mention of Jack The Ripper, the notorious serial killer of the 1880’s - an inquest here, an autopsy there - but doesn’t develop the topic further. One for another day. Meanwhile we’ve moved onto beer - not (yet) as refreshment but the brewing history of the area. Those brave (or foolish) enough to speak out against the perils of alcohol were “dealt with” in traditional East End style i.e. with intimidation and violence - including William Booth, who later founded the Salvation Army. Booth’s statue (as well as his wife’s) can be found in Mile End Waste, which, in defiance of its name, is actually a pleasant strip of parkland alongside the main road. A more surprising anti-alcohol campaigner was Frederick Charrington of the famous brewing dynasty, who had a sudden epiphany after witnessing a drunken assault by someone leaving one of his family’s many local establishments and was sufficiently moved to found the Tower Hamlet Mission, which still exists today as a charity for the homeless fighting alcohol or drug addiction. The influence of the Charrington family - in brewing, workhouse ownership and philanthropy - will continue to be pervasive throughout today’s walk.

Spiegelhalter - forever in the way but brazens it out regardless

We pause to admire a plaque in honour of local resident but generally more adventurous Captain James Cook - the only man named Cook to conquer Australia until his namesake Alastair, who scored 766 runs in the 2010/11 Ashes series. We’re also tickled by the story of a neighbourly dispute which blighted the progress of Wickham’s department store, long since closed down but formerly a retail powerhouse of this area, nicknamed the “Harrods of the East End”. Slap bang in the middle of this grand old store building still stands an apparent interloper, a much smaller white shop-front which was, in fact, there first and whose owner, a German clock-maker and jeweller named Spiegelhalter, refused to budge for exactly that reason, thus forcing the Wickham family to build around it. Although the Speigelhalters finally threw in the towel and closed down in 1982, by then they had outlasted the Wickhams by 13 years - a struggle lauded in Nairn’s London (1966) as “a perennial triumph for the little man, the blokes who won't conform” and also as “the best visual joke in London”. As recently as 2015, a petition gained enough support to save it from the bulldozers once again.

Spring (maybe, some day) in Stepney Green

Shortly after passing the Genesis cinema, we go “off-piste” for the first time, exploring Stepney Green, the first of three occasions today where the splendour of the houses and sound of silence so close to the busy A11 almost take our breath away (the others are Mile End Place and Tredegar Square). The green itself, a strip of fenced parkland running down the centre of the street, looks resplendent in the watery sunlight, its daffodils in full bloom. (You will note I’m hedging my bets with the weather, which can’t quite make up its mind today). Further along Stepney Green, which leads south to the parish church of St. Dunstan, the buildings are more of the communal and charitable variety, including the Stepney Jewish School.

Street art in Mile End Road

Back on Mile End Road, we’re now desperate for a reviving coffee and snackette - so desperate that we dive into The Half Moon, the local Wetherspoon. Our daughter Annabel loves a ‘Spoon's, myself, um, not so much - but it’s true that I could be overly influenced by the fact its owner is prominent Brexiteer and obnoxious loud-mouth Tim Martin. I text her to report that “I already feel dirty”, but - grudgingly - it’s really not that bad, at least at 11.30 in the morning. The pub is massive, boasting two spacious main bars and an outside area currently under renovation in preparation for what might pass as the English summer. And it’s SO cheap, almost unfeasibly so compared to almost any other pub in London - a pint of Shipyard pale ale for £2.75, a 500ml bottle of East London pale ale for £1.99. It’s like the 20th century revisited. Damn you, Martin, I'm almost liking you now! Small wonder then that ‘Spoons is so popular with students - I think I’d also be minded to overlook the owner’s political leanings if I could buy an unlimited supply of coffee refills for £1.60. The feel-good feeling is only slightly dented by the ominous warnings to “look out for your bags!”. And the fact that the unlimited coffee is, in practice, self-limiting due to being a bit crap. When one of the workmen starts up some loud drilling next to my head, it’s time to leave.

Daniel Mendoza - boxing's Vorsprung durch Technik

Our next port of call is Mile End Place, a small cobbled turning that would be very easy to miss. It’s a narrow road lined with pretty 19th century workers’ cottages that would not look out of place as a Belgravia mews. Only the workshop garages at the entrance to the street give away its working class heritage. At its end lies the first of a number of historic Jewish cemeteries, the Betahayim Velho. The newer burial ground, the Betahayim Nuevo, is to be found nearby at Queen Mary College and sits rather incongruously in the middle of the campus, surrounded by lecture halls on all sides. True to the Sephardi tradition, the tombstones are laid flat “as we are all equal in death”; one larger plot, however, appears to be fenced off from the rest, maybe proving the old adage that some of us are more equal than others. Despite the presence of dead bodies in its midst, the campus otherwise is pleasant enough, offering a nice statue of Clement Attlee and a striking plaque honouring 18th century local pugilist, Daniel Mendoza, who is fêted for inventing modern, or “scientific”, boxing. Our guide credits the college with an impressive five Nobel prize-winners, but the flags flying on campus claim an even more awe-inspiring nine such recipients. Either Mr Millar has miscounted or the college has massively outperformed its peers since his guidebook was published in 2014.

Regent's Canal (again)

We cross the Regent’s Canal, approaching the end of its journey from Paddington to Limehouse Basin, and pass under the Green Bridge - so called as it has a park, rather than a road or railway, running over its top and has won prizes for its environmental impact. We climb its steps just to make sure. Opened for the millennium, the bridge joins up the two sides of Mile End Park, which leads to Victoria Park in the north (and from there onto the site of the London Olympics) and looks like it stretches all the way to the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf in the south (it stops a mile or so short, but it’s a nice optical illusion from our vantage point). The volume of space here without housing has, of course, a sadder background - this was the area of London most badly hit by the Blitz, with the first V-1 flying bomb to hit London landing in Mile End, killing eight and injuring 30 more.

Tredegar Square - home to multiple Charles Morgans

Our next excursion from the main road is Tredegar Square, which is so at odds with its immediate neighbourhood, it’s as if we have wandered into the posh parts of Kensington and Chelsea. Fortunately there’s a tale of gruesome murder at number 40 to remind us which part of town we’re in: a wealthy businessman killed his mistress and buried her body under his factory floor in Whitechapel, but later made the mistake of selling the factory which meant he had to move the rotting remains and was caught red-handed (literally) in the process. Fortunately, this well-to-do neighbourhood comes equipped with all mod cons, especially a local pub, the Morgan Arms. The pub, like the street it sits on, is named after the original land-owner, Sir Charles Morgan, Baron of Tredegar. A quick Wikipedia search (yes, yes, I know!) reveals there were a number of Sir Charles Morgans of Tredegar, but my uneducated guess is that this one was the 2nd Baronet, as opposed to his father Charles, the 1st Baronet, or his eldest son, Charles, the 1st Baron. (Confused? You will be). Rather oddly, the 2nd Baronet appears to have suffered an imagination by-pass and named three of his four sons - you’ve guessed it - Charles. The second-born son, George, was the only one to escape but his Dad probably called him “Charlie” anyway. Yet, for all his faults as a son-namer, Morgan’s modern-day pub is excellent, offering a fine range of draft ales (we choose a brace of established favourites, a pint of Timothy Taylor’s Landlord, £4.95, and a half of Beavertown Neck Oil, £3.15). There’s also a well-stocked food menu - we order a lunch of smoked haddock on new potatoes and spinach, topped with a poached egg (£15) and crushed avocado and poached eggs on sourdough toast (£9). It’s superb. Jayne awards it the accolade of “Best Pub Lunch Ever On Our Walks”, which is much sought after, I can tell you. Thank goodness we didn’t succumb again to the Italian/Spanish (delete as applicable) cold meat platter.

Not Tower Hamlets, but here's the Sephardi cemetery instead

Onto the final stretch (surely): this takes us through Tower Hamlets Cemetery, one of the “Magnificent Seven” large burial grounds of London, which were established by a change in the law when church graveyards became too full. While not as grand as Highgate, it covers an impressive 27 acres and today is home to a mix of dog walkers, a gaggle of schoolchildren and locals taking a detour back from work. At the entrance there appears to be a kids’ playground built in amongst the gravestones - how odd. Sephardi equality is not a concept here though, as some of the graves rise head, shoulders and several bodies higher than their neighbours, while Millar reminds us that the less fortunate were laid to rest in mass public graves holding up to 30 bodies. In another contrast to monied Highgate, the most famous resident he can come up with is a doctor who performed the autopsy on one of the Ripper’s many victims.

The match factory - luminous jaws thrown in for free

Onward we trudge, still enjoying the many hidden treasures offered up but by now willing the walk to end soon. I expect you feel the same. I decide I need another pit-stop (old age), so we duck into another famous pub, the Bow Bells. They don’t serve coffee, this is a proper pub, not like that cheapo ‘Spoons from earlier, but a pint of Neck Oil sets me back less than a fiver, which I suppose is something to be grateful for these days. Jayne’s none too impressed that the pub used to be haunted by a ghost which flushed the ladies’ toilet while they sat on the seat. But it’s a long way home from here, so she decides to take her chances. Back on the road, we do our best to admire the art deco frontage of the former Poplar Town Hall, now a business centre, but it’s a bit of an eyesore to be honest. We’re more confused that the building opposite is claiming to be Bromley Town Hall, which we had last seen near where we live in, er, Bromley. But then I recall that the full name for this area is Bromley-by-Bow, mystery solved. We take one last detour to see the old Bryant & May match factory, home to some of the most notoriously dangerous working conditions in the late 19th century - such as direct exposure to white phosphorous, which meant workers’ jaws become deformed and started to glow in the dark. not generally a sign of rude health. When the workers went on strike, they were threatened with the sack (and a short route from there to the workhouse) but stood firm and succeeded in forcing the owners to back down in the face of bad publicity. Shocking really.

Gladstone - caught red-handed by the match girls

At last, we reach the famous landmark of St. Mary’s Church of Bow, built on a religious site dating from 1311. This may well be the church referred to in the definition of a true Cockney, who has to be born “within the sound of Bow Bells”. But as Millar points out, it could equally well refer to the church of St Mary le Bow, several miles to the west at Cheapside. The important thing, as we experienced in Paddington, is that every church must be named after St. Mary, nobody else will do. A statue of William Gladstone, erstwhile Prime Minister, stands with outstretched blood-red hand at the head of the church grounds. The blood stains are a legacy of another protest by the match factory girls - this time not against their conditions but the deduction of money from their wages to pay for a drinking fountain erected by the owners. It certainly wasn’t much fun to be a worker in Victorian times.

The sound of Bow Bells - or maybe not

Summary: Advertised as 5¼ miles, this was over a mile shorter than our previous walk in Paddington and Marylebone - yet it seemed much longer. It took us the best part of six hours (though admittedly we made three different pub stops, so need to deduct a couple of hours from that), but by the end we had achieved no more than 17,000 steps. There was simply so much to take in - a total of 71 different landmarks and related anecdotes spread over 36 pages of our Metro guide. It was fascinating but exhausting - arguably more on the brain than the feet. The East End certainly has a varied and often bloody history, so this has definitely whetted our appetite to explore more of this part of London - but only after a couple of picturesque river walks to recover. Next stop Hammersmith and Chiswick!

*Acknowledgements: Richard and Jayne were following Stephen Millar’s “London’s Hidden Walks: Walk, Explore. Discover…”, Volume 3 - Whitechapel & Bow Walk, pp 290-335, 2014 edition published by Metro Publications Ltd. Photography by Jayne Burton (thanks!)