I emerged from the darkness of Camden Town underground station into glorious sunshine. It was eleven o’clock in the morning; I was bang on time. I was heading towards an event called: ‘historic walk: the lost Fleet part two’.
The Fleet is one of London’s hidden rivers. Today, there is little evidence of it having ever existed; it has been managed, tamed and built over. I was especially interested in this walk since it started, quite literally, around the corner from my office. I was prepared: I wore sensible shoes and had packed a bottle of water.
Through the crowds, I soon saw someone who I took to be our leader, a woman called Helen. Helen was an official council guide. We all handed her some money, were given a short health and safety briefing (‘there is some traffic, so be aware of what is around you’), and we were off.
Our first main stop was close to a pub called The Constitution, half way between Kings Cross and Camden. Helen pointed to an unobtrusive manhole cover. This, she said, was the river, which has its source in Hampstead Heath. We peered into the manhole grate; we heard a hiss saw flashes of light reflecting from water.
We continued towards Kings Cross and St Pancras station, passing by new buildings that were either residential flats or student accommodation. As we walked, I got talking to a Russian woman called Svetlana. She was in her mid-thirties and worked as an accountant. She told me that even though she had been in the city for over ten years and enjoyed Helen’s social walks because she always learnt something new about her new home.
We stopped on a corner as Helen climbed a small embankment. Behind us was a huge Victorian building. Helen told us that it used to be a workhouse.
‘You really wouldn’t want to be there’, Helen said, describing nasty jobs, such as pulling ropes apart (picking oakum) and crushing bones. She told us that women and children were separated, and impressed upon us that the pace of work was relentless. The building was now a hospital, specialising in geriatric and mental health care. What was once just another building on my commute home had now acquired new significance.
A few minutes later we arrived at the grounds of St Pancras Old Church. Helen said that the grounds have been a site of Christian worship since the fourth century. At the back of the grounds, we could see brick walls that separated the grounds from the railway.
Apparently, ten thousand graves had to be excavated to make way for the train line that eventually found its way to St Pancras station. We stood by a tree, known as the Hardy Tree, named after Victorian novelist, Thomas Hardy. Hardy worked on the excavation of the grounds and placed discussed headstones around the trunk of the tree, creating a rough and unexpectedly beautiful monument to those whose death had been disrupted by the arrival of a new technology.
We were soon back onto the main road, passing through a road tunnel that ran underneath St Pancras railway station, following the path of the hidden river. Within minutes, a modest amount of grass had given way to acres of glass. I quickly realised where I was and its significance to London; we were walking though one of the cities ‘newest’ districts: we could see the building of what was to become the Francis Crick Institute.
Helen told me that it was originally to be called ‘the hexagon’, since the building represents a partnership between six different research groups (which can huddle together and share expertise and technology): Cancer research, three prestigious universities, the medical research council, and the Wellcome Trust. (I couldn’t help but realise that there must be an amazing story of how all these different institutions ‘got together’).
I saw the construction site for Google’s new UK headquarters. Close by, there was Central Saint Martins College of Arts and Design. All these buildings constitute an amazing concentration of creativity, all served by three huge railway stations. Collectively, they show how London is changing and becoming something new, a place that is connected; you will soon be able to walk between the world of science, past a powerhouse of technology, to a prestigious centre of artistic education and endeavour all within a couple of minutes.
Our group meandered through the recently reopened King’s Cross station, where we marvelled at its graceful steel lattice roof, and then went outside to a square that was now unrecognisable. We crossed a road, assembling by yet another building site, further evidence of the area’s perpetual transformation.
Helen had a lot to tell us. We were told that the area was once known as Battle Bridge. The ‘bridge’ part referred to an ancient river crossing, and ‘battle’ bit referred to a battle between Boudica and the Romans, in AD 60 or AD 61. We were told stories of floggings, Boudica’s journey down Watling Street (now known as Kilburn High Road) and the mysteries that surround her remains. A popular modern myth is that she is buried beneath platforms nine and ten of King’s Cross station.
We walked up an incline and found ourselves at Percy Circus; a roundabout surrounded by expensive looking houses. From the centre of the roundabout, we were told to look down towards the street. We could see the hill fall, and then rise again on the other side of a road. The road, we were told, was a valley where the Fleet used to flow; this was the hidden topography of the river that Helen had told us about. Helen then pointed towards a blue plaque that had been placed on the side of one of the buildings. It was a house where Lenin used to live.
We walked down a flight of steps, which inspired an Arnold Bennett novel called the Riceyman Steps, and returned to an invisible shore. Our next stop was a royal mail sorting office, which used to be a prison. Helen had more stories for us. Flogging again featured, but this time she included a description of a giant ‘hamster wheel’ which prisoners were forced onto.
‘Punishment was all about pain; they were given very little food, so they all wasted away’ Helen said with relish.
We were then taken to a junction of a pub called ‘The Coach and Horses’ on a kink in the road where the river once meandered. ‘Even the police wouldn’t come down here. There was bear baiting, cock fighting, and a secret entrance to the river so robbers could escape; you wouldn’t want to come here. Priests would come here with bodyguards’.
Close by, we found the ‘well’ of Clerkenwell, which was only discovered during the construction of a new building, and walked past the Smithfield Market and to bottom of the Holborn viaduct.
‘This was the part of the Fleet that was navigable by sea. Back there, you’ve got the market, where cattle were slaughtered. Because the market is so close to the river all the entrails went into the river; it was an automatic waste disposal system. It was a disgusting place.’
Minutes later, we stopped again, and were told of yet another prison and further stories of rape and torture. I was finding all these dark nasty stories hard to take in.
‘You’ll see that the street rises and falls a bit? This is because of the Victorians. Underneath the road you’ve got all these arches that they built to control the flow of the river’.
We were getting to the end of the walk, and our penultimate stop was at a site of what used to be a tutor mansion house. It was now a solicitor’s office. On my left I could see Blackfriars station, gleaming in the sunlight. As I glanced at it, it suddenly dawned on me that a big part of my journey to my office is over this hidden river; I had been following its path and I had never realised. I also realised that I wouldn’t look at my commute in the same way ever again; that Helen’s tour had now, suddenly, added immeasurable depth to my daily trip.
Our final stop was Blackfriars Bridge and the river Thames. We peered across a safety rail and saw a tiny outlet embedded into the bridge, a concrete pipe. There was a small trickle of water coming from the pipe. This, we were told, was the end of the river Fleet.
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