Fifty two – Social Historic Walks

It was New Year’s Day. Despite over indulging a little more than I ought to have done on new year's eve, I felt surprisingly and unexpectedly ‘together’. My misjudged sense of wellbeing helped me to make a decision: I was going out.

My phone told me to take the DLR to Shadwell and then catch an Overground train to Shoreditch High Street.

One of my favourite ways of getting about London is the Docklands Light Railway. I sat near the front of the train and watched the urban landscape glide below me. I looked out of the window and saw warehouses and wharfs, rusted girders and mysterious water management locks. For an instant, I wondered what used to happen in these places, remembering that Deptford was a place where ships were built that were used to discover the 'new world'. I wanted to know more. I wanted to become an ‘urban explorer’; it was a feeling that continued to rise as the robotic DLR train glided through Canary Wharf station.

When I arrived at my destination, I saw a waving hand. Was this figure waving at me? I looked around and behind me; there was nobody else. The ‘waver’ turned out to be Helen, the gregarious guide from the Carpe Diem River Fleet walk. For a moment, I was confused: had I accidentally broken my rules and gone to the same group twice? No, I hadn’t: this was a different group, but one that was a lot more focussed. Helen’s Social Historic Walks group was just about walks.

‘Good to see you! How are you doing? Did you have a good Christmas?’ asked Helen. I told her that I had, and I had really enjoyed her Fleet walk, and that it had changed my scooter-commute to my office.

The focus of her walk was ‘street art in Shoreditch’. In the event description, Shoreditch was described as ‘achingly cool’, and it’s an area of the city that is gradually revealing its secrets to me, mostly through Meetup events.

‘The area where we are in right now isn’t technically Shoreditch. It’s actually Bethnal Green. I’ll let everyone know when we’ve moved between one boundary and the other. Before we begin, does anyone know where the name Shoreditch comes from?’ Helen looked around at all eighteen people who had turned up to her event. ‘Well, there was this time when holes were dug in the area so that people could make bricks, but because of the water table being what it was, these holes gradually filled with water. At the time, the area isn’t like what it is now. If you’ve got stagnant water around, it’s not going to be a very nice area, so it got the name ‘Sewer Ditch’. So, if you know anyone who has bought a posh flat around here and tell you it’s in Shoreditch, say to them: ‘oh, you mean it’s in Sewer Ditch!’’ Helen then regaled us with joyfully miserable quotes that described congealed fat, purification and dead cats.

We were led down some nearby streets where we caught sight of paintings on walls and hoardings. A psychopathic looking Santa Claus glowered down at us and a slogan suggested that Christmas was an evil capitalist conspiracy.

We walked past a building site that was cordoned off using wire mesh. People had attached locks to the mesh; simple symbols of relationships, initials adorning each lock. One lock stood out. It was painted pink and had a simple slogan. It said, ‘fuck love’. There were no initials. It was, to me, a simple symbol of heat break and rebellion.

We walked onto Bethnal Green Road, crossed the road to Club Row and then down Whitby Street where we passed some beautiful etherealpa intings; figures of heads with distant aching eyes, bubbles of colour and splashes of paint sang from the streets, creating canvas from bricks. We walked past a small piece of urban wasteland that was protected by wood and transitory graphics.

Minutes later we were on Redchurch Street; a street of fantasy figures and African animals. A mystical and brooding jungle scene was painted with blues and greens. We took a right down Boundary Street. On the corner was a restaurant. My eye briefly stole a glance through its window. It was busy. There was a large long table, every chair occupied. There were plates and drinks. Inside, New Year’s Eve seemed to be continuing. Everyone looked happy and joyful. Whilst I wasn’t unhappy, for an instant I wanted to be a part of their group, to be younger, to be having a New Year’s Day lunch in achingly cool Shoreditch.

We found ourselves in an area called Arnold Circus, and climbed a small flight of stairs where we found a bandstand. Around us we saw a circular road, some old red brick housing, and different streets leading away from the bandstand. I recognised where I was: I had seen this area on a television documentary about London. I remember an interview with a young couple who had moved into one of the apartments.

Helen told us something about the area: Arnold Circus was one of London’s oldest social housing schemes. It was constructed in 1890, and the rubble from the former slum formed the central ‘circle’. Local landmarks were pointed out: a church, a school and a huge community centre. This area was yet another surprise of London.

Within minutes we were on our way. We walked down one of the streets, past the brick tenements, and stopped for a moment. Helen had more to tell us.

‘Has anyone here heard of the social reformer, Booth?’

A couple of people put up their hands.

‘Booth is famous for his survey of London. Booth and his researchers visited different parts of London and drew these maps’. Helen showed up a copy of a map which was attached to her clipboard. It was a map of the area surrounding Arnold Circus. ‘Different colours signify how well off people were. This whole area is coloured in black; that tells us that this was an area of extreme poverty.’

As we walked onwards, I began to feel a little different. My surprising sense of wellbeing had started to dissipate to give way to what could only be a New Year’s Day hangover; I had walked the last vestiges of alcohol from my system, and I was now starting to acquire a headache that was complemented by an uneasy sense of lethargy.

We arrived at a main road. I saw what I thought was a photograph of a London street scene. I saw an image of cars, headlights, streetlights and reflections from rain soaked pavements. I recognised the shape of which might have been a Nissan, and a silhouette of a mini-van. As we crossed the road, I realised that it wasn’t a photograph, but an astonishing painting: a painting of a traffic jam for motorists who were stuck in traffic jams.  We were directed around the corner, to another space of urban waste land. The space was decorated by paintings: a collage of faces, images of skyscrapers and ominous abstract forms; hoardings were hiding the old with images that were symbols of the new.

We crossed another road; a road I instantly recognised. I had been here to see the James Brown tribute band. As we wandered along another deserted street where we saw painted posters, cheeky slogans and cartoon images with exaggerated tears, another Meetup memory was revealed to me. I recognised Tabernacle and Paul Street. I remembered my visit to the Tax accountant and the early morning coffee with entrepreneurs.

Our walk ended at Old Street station. Helen energetically thanked us all for coming along, and we all gave her a big round of applause. Ten minutes later, the remainder of the group went over to a nearby coffee shop. The Café was opposite the building that had hosted the Sports Analytics Meetup I had been to.

During our walk I had tried to chat to different people, but it proved to be difficult: everyone was so busy taking in the sights, whilst at the same time battling with New Year’s lethargy and tiredness. In the café, things were different: everyone chatted freely. I chatted with Daniella, an Italian banker and Sue who was very proud of her free bus pass.

‘It’s one of the few advantages of getting old!’ she enthused, telling me about her plan to travel across the country using different bus companies.

I also found out a bit more about Helen. Helen, it seemed, worked ‘in digital’, for a disability charity.  I also learnt that the Social Walks group was her group, but she sometimes moonlighted for other groups, which explained how come we had previously met at the Cape Diem group. We talked about Meetups, photography, frozen peacock feathers, hot chocolate, Christmas, life hacks and London.

‘So, what’s your next one?’ asked Helen. It was still relatively early in the day. Although I was tired and a touch hung over, the next couple of hours could be considered to be ‘free time’. I got out my phone from my jacket pocket. Sue, Helen and Daniella all looked at me intently.

‘Does anyone know how to play chess?’