I got out!
Yesterday, having been bullied into this by a woman, yes Fly of all people, forcing me out to meet her at a far off place called London. I was looking forward to it mind. So, I hobbled down the hill to the station intending to make Liverpool Street station for the first time in 6 years. What an adventure! Six years since venturing out, no wonder I am a fat slob.
Indeed it was 2019 when I last ventured out to Liverpool Street and tramped around for a short while. I scribbled about that Spitalfields area at the time and now I was to find how it has changed since. Anyway, Old Man's Card' in hand I headed for the ticket office which Greater Anglia told me would be open from 6 am-2 pm. Of course it was closed. This meant the ticket machine that I canny work. I was seen looking over the shoulder of others attempting how to work the blessed creation. I may have mentioned this before but I hate technology! My turn came, I faffed about pressing this button and that, hoping it was the correct one, and not able to find a place for my old man card. So I paid £30.10p for a return without money off. Who do I complain to? I mentioned this on the Greater Anglia Twitter site and got no response, and that is no surprise. The Chinese man behind me moved towards the machine as I left. I heard him ask, "How does it work?" and the woman standing there fiddling with her phone claimed she did not know. I almost turned to help but left that to others heading towards the machine of doom.
I joined the usual motley collection of passengers ignoring one another. Some sitting under the shade of the closed ticket office, others sitting or standing wistfully along the platform. No-one spoke. Within a few moments a sun blessed 5 coach Class 720 'Aventura,' number 720503 rolled in. These are a great improvement on the previous trains, however, my favourite seat was already taken by another. How dare these people, don't they know who I am? ...Oh!
The journey was smooth, quiet and delightful, and I had sat in the off side so did not have the sunshine blinding me all the way along. It was so long since I had been on a train and I was enjoying this.
As we sped smoothly along the one hour journey passengers, sorry, customers, came and went at various stations. Some trailing those cases on wheels that appear the thing today, others making use of the old man card that I could not, some returning or departing to/from home, office or prison, others on a day out, gran and granddad taking the kids off for a day. A normal day I suggest. All was quite for the most part. Outside green fields flew by, occasionally cows, horses or sheep could be seen. Aged houses with accompanying red brick farms were simmering in the sun. My favourite, near London, was an aged farmhouse and outbuilding next to a massive roundabout and flyover, with several lanes of traffic right at their front door. What fun!
A gleaming Liverpool Street, a mass gathering of humanity, at least I think they are human, fussed. They flapped and fretted as people do in stations and airports, fearful of wrong platforms or missing their connections. The desperate or foolish and certainly well paid were to be seen spending money at the various eating outlets around the station. Prices too high for me to even contemplate searching the menu's. The crowd was constantly moving bar those staring at the large timetable screen above. The orange lettering flickering, occasionally offering a departure gate for a train to Norwich, Colchester or all stations in between.
The line began in the 1840s and progressed onwards through some delightful and mostly flat countryside. Now from the line we notice the vast growth of housing, and not cheap 'affordable' or council housing at that, all along the route. Of course when the line opened similar large housing was appearing alongside the line, certainly many 1920/1930s housing is passed in the 'East End.' The middle class glamour of the time faded with use.
The station itself does indeed gleam. Workers clean up here and there, while many remember, as I do, the dark forbidding station of times past where the joke was the maintenance peoples main job was keeping the place covered in grime. It is certainly not like that today.
Having left the train secure at the buffers, a place I have been myself for some time, I went in search of this woman Fly. I only approached one wrong woman that morning, and no, not a young one, no time for that. Eventually she found me.
Together we went shuffling off to find somewhere to sit, eat and talk. We made use of the escalator up stairs to Bishopsgate. No Bishop here now of course, he was first around in the 7th century, the gate in the wall preceding him as the Romans built this wall after Boudicca passed through. Thrusting our way through the City of London throng, still as considerate and loving as always, we passed the Bishopsgate Police Station, which explained all the police vans parked outside, and searched for Spitalfields Market that we knew lay around somewhere around here. It appeared lost.
When I recognised the statue of the Goat high above the plaza I knew we were in the right place, but we could no longer sight the market. Of course not, a great high building had arisen since we last visited and this hid the market from sight. No maps, or signs indicated where to go. A Spanish workman indicated where the entrance was and we moved as quickly as possible before it moved again and entered.
What a few years ago was a wide space filled with stalls, clothes, jewellery, self made art and of course street food stalls had turned into an expensive tourists trap. Clothes, art and jewellery existed but at a price, while the food stalls had gone, and none were to be seen on the streets outside as before. Increased rents had driven them away, as well as council bans it appears.
However, a café/restaurant, call it what you will, I choose the word 'expensive,' was found on the left as we entered. Here we found a table, good friendly service as they need the tips, and a chance to talk. This was good, and a delight.
Having known my friend Fly for many years via the blog it was delightful to sit and listen in real time. We of course destroyed everybody else and put the world to right, yes, you were mentioned but don't ask how. However, on musing through the online press today I did not notice any change, possibly they did not listen to our words? Maybe tomorrow. We munched our Pitta based meal, drank liquid, and allowed the young black waitress to chat, she was like so many such women I have known in London, I hope life goes well for her.
It was very good chatting to someone I knew so much about. Sometimes people in real life are not what they appear online. Fly was herself and this was good!
In time we had to make a move, I rushed to pay obviously but she beat me to it. This often used to happen to me when with people. I appear very slow and lackadaisical when it comes to getting the wallet out, I know not why.
On the return shuffle we noticed the shops now hiding the past market entrance. Expensive outfits for those who read colour supplements for fashion advice, including a shop which was dedicated to female eyebrows! At least four staff were on view so money must be made here. Jackets £45, or two for £80 were available but we managed to resist any temptation here. Others must have failed to resist as there were many people about and I guess Saturday would be a big day in this market. Maybe street food will be available then?
We passed the city slickers in fast suits carrying expensive takeaways and bottled drinks, the girls chomping delicately on sandwiches and diet drinks or expensive bottled water in the sunshine. Many sat around the area amongst the elephant statues that abound round here. Mum and Dad and 20 small ones I read. These belong to the Herd of Hope, an organisation raising money for endangered elephants. Sadly I could not find where to enter my donation. Back through the growing masses noting the people passing us. Tourists, smart men going places, office girls, tourists street people, a large man somewhat scruffy and unkempt in appearance came through the crowd barking his opinions to someone only he could see. I thought how much he looked like me as he passed. That is my future! A woman well wrapped up wielded a cardboard sign stating 'Need £18 for Board,' but few believed or stopped to care. Neither did we, trying to keep one another from falling was hard enough.
Traffic raced by down the A10, the ancient route towards Kings Lynn and on to York. Once a busy highway it is now a much busier highway, but few go to Kings Lynn. As we passed 'Dirty Dicks,' I thought much more of this crowd and that pub is as far as we will go. Then the traffic halted and we joined the race to cross before the lights changed again. Naturally, at the station the down escalator did not work. Who puts stations downstairs anyway?
Fly and I parted here. It had been such a short, but such a good time. It made me glad to have ventured out of the Hermitage and shuffled down the line for this. All that prayer to ensure it went well worked!
The lift taking her downstairs to the underground reminded me of Dr Who. Maybe as the doors closed it grew in size? I began to wonder if we would ever see her again! So, I was left, abandoned in a great bustling station. I Checked the train times I then proceeded to find a working escalator that enabled me to get a picture of the station.
You will note I managed to get the Great slab of the GER Railway War Memorial in at the side.
Again, the place was awash with movement. The escalators never empty. People standing over their bags staring wistfully at the screen high above, coffee being slurped at many overpriced venues around, or held in hands as tickets are inserted into entrance slots in a rush as the train is about to leave. Others with time and money wander around the upper floor window shopping to pass the time.
Not me.
I entered the W.H. Smith shop and purchased, via another blasted self service machine, a bottle of sparkling Highland Spring water which cost me £2:89. It was some time before I realised I had grabbed the 'Still' water and not the 'Sparkling' stuff. Bah!
Soon I was sitting on a train heading home. I took the first one to change at Chelmsford. Anything can happen to hinder trains so I get as far as possible to avoid disaster or accompanying crowds. This train was busy but quiet. The towers of Thatcher's Britain glinted far away in the sun. Far away from the train and I fear far away from real life. Towering above London and weeping above London as Donald Trump does his best to ruin their bonus this year. I sympathise, don't you?
As we approached Stratford she reiterated her message once again over the Tannoy. "If you see anything that is not right text this number, See it, Say it, Sorted." I was strongly tempted to text about the building that reach unto the skies over Stratford these days. The ones pictured are the best, all around ghastly revelations from young architects on Cocaine reveal the damage caused by such habits. Many look half finished but have been there since the Olympic nonsense was placed here. Behind us a football stadium, of no use to a proper football team, dominates the skyline in the far distance, a far distance for those who have to walk there every other week. I noticed work was continuing to clear land and build, I could not see what this was going to be. However, on the way back I noticed several tower blocks from the late 50s and early 60s in a state of undress. Clearly these dated blocks are going and soon more artistic talent will be ruining the neighbourhood once again.
I passed through here around 45 years ago when all around was rail tracks, electric pylons, occasional worn buildings and abandoned vehicles, nothing else. It looked better then than it does now.
Look! A field with cows in it! I was so happy just to see such a view after so long. The cows themselves did not comment as I passed I must say. A much better view than that found in Stratford.
At Chelmsford I changed for my own train following on 12 minutes behind. I took the opportunity to photograph passing trains and the renown signal box. This train I know not, I thought it was the Norwich to Liverpool Street but in fact it appeared empty. Who knows?
This signal box is famed because of the action of one man, signalman Frederick Herbert Hunt. During 1943 he remained in the damaged signal box, stopping trains heading through Chelmsford as a bombing raid passed overhead. The town suffered many raids as a Ball Bearing factory was based here. In fact it had been moved elsewhere but the raids continued. Some 50 persons died this night alone. I'm sure I read somewhere that the signalman also died, however, the train stuffed with passengers survived.
I took this shot in spite of the power crazed female rail employee telling me to 'get behind the yellow line.' It was as if I had never been near a railway before. I suppose the speeding train, 5 miles an hour at this point, was dangerous, and she expected me to lean on it or some such. A uniform turns them into a corporal.
Another quiet train, more announcements heard many times, and usually ignored. More glancing at the screen above helpfully informing passengers where seats were available. More checking the time and being surprised I was almost home in one piece.
I left the train and slogged my way up the Matterhorn like rise to the town centre. It used to be a slope, now it is a major climb. Who increases the height of roads round here? I'd like a word. The weariness almost made me stop of at the Weatherspoon's on the way up. However, watching one of the regulars entering I changed my mind. It's that sort of pub.I passed a fire engine doing I know not what. However, he was being ably assisted by two young men eager to join in. The firemen appeared willing to let them.
So, up the stairs, find I had no food out, the servant had forgotten to take something from the freezer. I was certainly not going out again. So, make do and mend it was. Then for some reason I fell asleep...
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