14 October 2020
For today’s Covid-era walk we decide to stay south of the river, rather than venture foolishly into the pox-ridden north. But this means our travels involve several trains, giving us an opportunity to observe current levels of face-mask compliance (100% on Southeastern but only around 50% on the DLR, which is concerning).
We are once again connecting two different Stephen Millar walks, this time taking us from London Bridge to Greenwich via Rotherhithe and sections of the Thames Path. The weather is unusually kind to us, with only a gentle breeze coming off the Thames today instead of the normal storm-force blast straight from Siberia. We pass the rather sad-looking offices at More London, devoid of their workers once more and pondering - at least metaphorically - their purpose and future, as well as City Hall, where Britain’s worst ever prime minister (no names) cut his political teeth as London mayor, not obviously learning anything useful during his eight year tenure about the principles of leadership, integrity or truth. Yet it’s a bit early in the day for a rant about the state of our nation, so we continue calmly on past Tower Bridge and into the converted warehouses of Shad Thames. There’s an encouraging buzz of activity in the restaurants along the river - it’s almost as if they're expecting some actual customers to come and mingle on their terraces for lunch.
We join the first of today’s walks already halfway along its trajectory at New Concordia Wharf, saving the delights of Bermondsey Street and its surrounds for another day - ideally, when the pubs are open and free from restriction. Crossing the bridge over the River Neckinger towards St. Saviour’s Dock, we wonder why this tributary has a German-sounding name but Millar puts us right: it’s actually a derivative of “devil’s neckcloth”, a euphemism for the hangman’s noose in centuries gone by. This gives an insight into the less than edifying history of this area, a notorious slum formerly known as Jacob’s Island. This refuge for criminals and down-and-outs, consisting mainly of mudflats and disused warehouses, formed the backdrop for Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist, most notably Bill Sykes’ last escape and eventual demise - all brought so vividly to life in Carol Reed’s iconic musical film. (I was just thinking that Carol, as a female film director in the sixties, was ahead of her time - but that was before I found out she was a man.)
Such degradation is almost unthinkable as we admire the luxury apartments standing on this spot today. Yet only a little further, we come across a throwback to the past: the massed ranks of barges and houseboats with the rooftop gardens at an early 19th century mooring point. We’re interested to read that the Johnny-come-lately local residents, in cahoots with the council, tried hard to evict the houseboats as recently as 2003, but were rebuffed by a public campaign which included support from Star Trek actor Patrick Stewart.
Shortly before The Angel public house, we come across an information board telling the story of Dr Alfred and Ada Salter. Surprisingly ignored by Millar’s normally comprehensive guide, the couple played a vital role in furthering the health of the local community in the early 20th century, setting up a free medical practice for the poor people of Bermondsey a full half-century before the introduction of the National Health Service. Dr Alfred Salter later served as a Labour MP, campaigning tirelessly to improve living conditions in the docklands. The achievements of his wife Ada were perhaps even greater, as she became the first female mayor of a London borough (and the first female Labour mayor in the country). Their story is tinged with sadness though, as not even Alfred’s medical training at Guy’s Hospital could prevent their only child, Joyce, dying from scarlet fever at the age of ten - a reminder of the much higher mortality rates of barely one hundred years ago. The statues of the Salter family beside the river in Cherry Garden, opposite the site of a 14th century manor house, provide a touching tribute to their lives of philanthropy and activism for the greater good.
Continuing along the Thames Path, we reach Rotherhithe Street, which starts as a narrow backstreet before, rather implausibly, stretching a further two miles round the curve of the docklands peninsula to earn its status as the longest street in London. This first stretch was home to a thriving bohemian community in the mid 20th century, including the society photographer Tony Armstrong-Jones, later Lord Snowdon following his marriage to Princess Margaret. It was also here that the Mayflower set off on the first stage of its epic sailing to America, captained by local Rotherhithe lad Christopher Jones. This momentous event, shortly before picking up en route the group of religious nonconformists who would become known as the Pilgrim Fathers, is commemorated by a blue plaque and, equally predictably, by a fine-looking pub of the same name (it’s still too early though, even for a swift one).
We press on past Brunel’s Engine House, commemorating the world’s first attempt to build a tunnel under a navigable river. Unfortunately this proved problematic for even the greatest engineering family of the age and took nineteen years to complete, including a fatal accident in which Isambard Brunel nearly drowned. The tunnel was only accessible by foot before being taken over by the railways in 1865. The modern Rotherhithe Tunnel, used by motor vehicles, is not far away but opened much later in 1908. Further memories of the area’s seafaring history are provided by St Mary Rotherhithe church and the nearby Free School of the same name. Millar tells a great story of how another local ship, the Antelope, transported a prince named Lee Boo all the way from the Palau islands in the Pacific at the request of his father, the king, who desired that his son receive a western education. Unfortunately for Lee Boo, he only enjoyed six months of the best a Rotherhithe education could bring before succumbing, aged twenty, to smallpox. He is buried in St Mary’s churchyard.
Soon after, we reach the crossover point of today’s double-header: Canada Water, which is today best known, at least to me, as an underground station, but under its former identity of Canada Dock was one of many working dockyards within the massive acreage of the Surrey Commercial Docks, their names denoting the provenance of their wares. Today its more sedate quays are lined by a mix of new-build apartments and retail outlets. But we soon realise that the size of Canada Water is relatively modest when we set eyes on the real docklands daddy: Greenland Dock. Covering an impressive 22.5 acres, today it’s used mainly for watersports and is home to many species of birds and fish - and another impressive collection of houseboats (if you like the thought of spending each night rocking gently up and down and without access to modern bathroom facilities). Most of the other docks were filled in (nearby Russia Dock has been reclaimed as woodland) but Greenland Dock survives in memory of former glories before the more efficient, modern container port at Tilbury hastened the closure of London’s inner city docks in 1970. It also provides access to South Dock, London’s largest yacht marina.
Our route via Greenland Dock cuts off a huge chunk of peninsula and - as if by magic - we find ourselves back on the Thames but much further downstream. Nearby we cross the old boundary between Surrey and Kent, which was in operation until 1899. It’s a shame for us that the Kent boundary is located so much further south these days, as it would be very convenient to avoid the “Tier 2” Covid status about to be imposed on all regions of London, even those (such as ours) with low levels of new infections. As it is, we live in a strange twilight zone that is neither one thing nor t’other - our postal address and postcode say we live in Kent but we pay our dues to the London Borough of Bromley, part of the Greater London conurbation that is home to nine million citizens. For these purposes (and those of the government’s new Covid tiers), the Kent border is inconveniently drawn several miles south of our house.
The old border stone on the river also marks the parish boundary between Rotherhithe and Deptford. Much like the rest of Docklands, Deptford’s best times remain stubbornly rooted in the past - the 16th century, to be specific, when Henry VIII (yes, him again) established a naval storehouse here and later a dockyard. The name Deptford meant “deep ford” - in this case, not of the mighty Thames, which would have been an impossible task, but of the less imposing Ravensbourne. This river rises eleven miles away in Keston (which looks as if it’s far enough south to be in Kent, but isn’t) and flows through Bromley, Catford and Lewisham before meeting up with the Thames at Deptford Creek. Henry was fond of Deptford as it was not only close to his “favourite palace” at Greenwich but, more strategically, much nearer to his London royal armouries than Portsmouth, where the Navy’s dockyards were previously based. In other words, it was a naval no brainer. So it was that for over 350 years Deptford was an important shipbuilding and naval supplies (“victualling”) town surrounded by pleasant Kent countryside.
Many a famous voyage was launched from here: Sir Francis Drake’s famous ship, the Golden Hinde, was berthed in Deptford Creek in 1651 as a monument to his circumnavigation of the world (the book says “permanently” but the original ship fell apart a hundred years later, with its replica now located in Brixham, Devon) and James Cook’s Endeavour was refitted here in 1768 before his voyage of discovery to Australia. Cook was from Yorkshire, by the way - this goes out to my legion of fans from God's own county (you know who you are). Sadly, by the late 19th century, Deptford’s decline had become inevitable when its waterways began to silt up, becoming too shallow for naval vessels, meaning the once-thriving town progressively lost its status to upwardly-mobile Greenwich.
Strolling down the stretch of river known as Deptford Strand, we fail to spot the inferred beach but are entertained by Millar’s splendid yarns about Christopher Marlowe, Samuel Pepys and Peter the Great of Russia - all of whom spent time here in Deptford’s halcyon days:
Marlowe, by the tender age of 29, had already penned classics such as Doctor Faustus, which proved to be just as well when he was arrested on charges of atheism, at the time punishable by the small inconvenience of a stake-burning. After being released on bail, he met a violent end in his lodgings near Deptford Strand, accounts of which vary between a dispute over a bar bill and an assassination by one of the Crown’s spies. I dare say we will never know what really happened on that night in 1593, as it's a while ago now.
Unsurprisingly, Pepys' diaries document his frequent visits to Deptford. As in Covent Garden (see our previous walk), his outings aimed mainly to indulge his sexual dalliances, which included an innovative deal struck with a dockyard carpenter to further the man’s career in return for after-hours access to his wife. Today, his name lives on in the sprawling Pepys housing estate built on the site of the old shipyards and victualling warehouses, as well as Lower Pepys Park, today used for dogging activities in memory of the lower Pepys.
The tale of St Peter the Great is a tall one indeed, mainly because the Tsar of Russia measured six foot seven inches in height. During a reconnaissance mission across Europe in 1698, he rented a fine Deptford manor owned by John Evelyn, a contemporary diarist colleague of Pepys, with the goal of learning the trade of shipbuilding in the nearby yards. In the space of just three months, his penchant for holding wild parties with his Russian friends succeeded in wrecking the house and much of the garden, Evelyn’s pride and joy.
Turning inland towards central Deptford, we pass St. Nicholas Church, where Marlowe is buried, with its hotchpotch of period features, the repaired main building following damage in the Blitz contrasting starkly with the original 14th century tower. The lurid skull and cross-bone carvings on the front gates, “designed to remind the congregation of the inevitability of death”, date from the 17th century. From here it’s only a short walk to Deptford High Street, one of the hidden delights of the area - at least to me, as it’s the first time I’ve ever set foot here. This is despite driving past many hundreds of times on the two main roads at either end - the main A2 towards Central London and the only marginally less main Lower Road from Greenwich to Southwark. The High Street is splendid - full of quirky boutiques, cafés and 18th century period houses. Here we also encounter my cricket clubmate Tom, who is out getting some fresh air between Zoom meetings and confides he’s a massive fan of this blog (at least I think that’s what he said, it was very noisy). In any case, our new-found enthusiasm for Deptford High Street has meant we have now gone too far and missed the turning into Albury Street, a fine 16th century street which was the home of ships’ captains and, allegedly, the mistress of Lord Nelson.
The final, now very wet stretch of today’s walk takes us past the Trinity Laban conservatoire of music and dance, alma mater of an old friend who is now Australia’s leading dance artist working with babies and young children (Sally, you did say the cheque’s in the post?). Just over the bridge at Deptford Creek, we turn into another new housing development before emerging back on the Thames Path next to the Greenwich foot-tunnel, built in 1902 and still in use today as a short-cut across to the Isle of Dogs. Here the familiar tourist attractions of the Cutty Sark and the Royal Naval College loom into view.
After three and a half hours walking and almost 20,000 steps behind us, we feel we’ve earned our lunch at the Sail Loft. A Fullers “gastro-pub”, this is a well-designed and spacious new-build over two storeys, offering sweeping river views in both directions. It’s at this moment I sense a second career as an estate agent is there for the taking. The lunch doesn’t disappoint: our caesar salads, served with whole anchovies and a choice of chicken or halloumi, are delicious at only £10.50 a pop. It’s early in the week so Jayne wisely declines anything alcoholic but I have no such qualms and down two pints of Dark Star Hophead, convincing myself that, at a mere 3.8% proof and accompanied by salad, it’s almost healthy. From there it’s a short walk to the DLR for some involuntary virus exposure, then home.
Acknowledgements: Jayne and Richard were following the “Bermondsey & Rotherhithe Walk” from Volume 2 (pp348-375) and the “East Rotherhithe Walk” from Volume 1 (pp266-291) of “London’s Hidden Walks” by Stephen Millar, published by Metro Publications, 2014. Additional information was sourced from “The London Thames Path” by David Fathers, published by Frances Lincoln/Quatro, 2015. Photography by Jayne Burton.
Blimey, never knew I went to a Conservatoire... Brilliant and entertaining writing!
Great stuff Richard.