London Bridge goes 'Falling Down'...
Years ago, while at Uni I lived over in New Cross, close to where I was studying at Goldsmiths College. Trains from New Cross mainline station go straight into London Bridge, so whenever paying for my studying by temping, chances were I'd end up travelling through the station. Like Waterloo, twice a day London Bridge sees a vast migration of humanity washing through the station...a tide of grey suits focused only on getting from station to underground as quickly as possible. Heads down, taking no prisoners, they sweep through the hallway and down the escalators.
During one summer, I commuted daily from New Cross to Queensway...Northern Line out of London Bridge to Bank, up the spiral staircase to pick up the Central to Queensway. It gets hot and sticky, and there are too many people, all in a hurry. But at least I knew it was only for a limited number of weeks before the more off-peak casual temping of term time.
I get fractious though at the heat, the crowding and the stone faces. Finally, after being forced on another a cattle truck of a train, crammed in with people of dubious personal hygiene, all whey-faced and souless in grey serge, once the train finally gets into London Bridge and we all spill out, I lose my temper. I'm wearing a burnt orange crushed velvet trouser suit; very 30's cardigan style jacket and beach pyjama pants, and stand out as the only smear of colour in the world. I climb onto the back of the bent metal platform bench and holler at the top of my voice:
"You're all zombies!"
There may even have been manical laughing. There was certainly the shaking of my tiny fist at an uncaring world.
No-one pays the slightest attention; the grey tide of suits continues to pour past, hands reaching out only to push travelcards through the ticket barrier. No-one stops, no-one actually looks up; the station staff are unmoved.
I climb down and head towards the barriers myself and go to work.
Later, as the summer comes to an end, I am stuck on a train heading home. The train is packed as ever, in fact I'm squatting in the baggage carriage as it's the only available space. The train has been stationary outside New Cross Gate for over ten minutes. Everyone is too hot, fed up and tense. An annoucement comes over the PA to say 'signal problem sorted and we'll be on the move in a moment'. I jump to my feet with an involuntary hurrah; I am dreaming of buying an ice lolly from the shop outside. People rustle newspapers in disapproval at my enthusiam. It's uncool to be happy in London. A face appears over one paper, and chap exclaims"
"Ahh! You're the zombie girl".
And then he blushes and goes back to hiding behind his paper. I wave at him from the platform as he peeps at me as the train pulls away. He looks startled.
London Bridge Underground looks nothing like it did when I was last travelling through it daily. Nowadays you get to the tube through the mainline station concourse down through the beautiful fluted ceilings of the old brick-lined vaults, past groovy little posh shops selling French pasteries, deli food and expensive exotic flowers. What most people don't know is this chi-chi retail experience used to be the morgue for the nearby London hospital. They keep that bit quiet...
London Bridge becomes station number 50. I still haven't been to the London Dungeons.
During one summer, I commuted daily from New Cross to Queensway...Northern Line out of London Bridge to Bank, up the spiral staircase to pick up the Central to Queensway. It gets hot and sticky, and there are too many people, all in a hurry. But at least I knew it was only for a limited number of weeks before the more off-peak casual temping of term time.
I get fractious though at the heat, the crowding and the stone faces. Finally, after being forced on another a cattle truck of a train, crammed in with people of dubious personal hygiene, all whey-faced and souless in grey serge, once the train finally gets into London Bridge and we all spill out, I lose my temper. I'm wearing a burnt orange crushed velvet trouser suit; very 30's cardigan style jacket and beach pyjama pants, and stand out as the only smear of colour in the world. I climb onto the back of the bent metal platform bench and holler at the top of my voice:
"You're all zombies!"
There may even have been manical laughing. There was certainly the shaking of my tiny fist at an uncaring world.
No-one pays the slightest attention; the grey tide of suits continues to pour past, hands reaching out only to push travelcards through the ticket barrier. No-one stops, no-one actually looks up; the station staff are unmoved.
I climb down and head towards the barriers myself and go to work.
Later, as the summer comes to an end, I am stuck on a train heading home. The train is packed as ever, in fact I'm squatting in the baggage carriage as it's the only available space. The train has been stationary outside New Cross Gate for over ten minutes. Everyone is too hot, fed up and tense. An annoucement comes over the PA to say 'signal problem sorted and we'll be on the move in a moment'. I jump to my feet with an involuntary hurrah; I am dreaming of buying an ice lolly from the shop outside. People rustle newspapers in disapproval at my enthusiam. It's uncool to be happy in London. A face appears over one paper, and chap exclaims"
"Ahh! You're the zombie girl".
And then he blushes and goes back to hiding behind his paper. I wave at him from the platform as he peeps at me as the train pulls away. He looks startled.
London Bridge Underground looks nothing like it did when I was last travelling through it daily. Nowadays you get to the tube through the mainline station concourse down through the beautiful fluted ceilings of the old brick-lined vaults, past groovy little posh shops selling French pasteries, deli food and expensive exotic flowers. What most people don't know is this chi-chi retail experience used to be the morgue for the nearby London hospital. They keep that bit quiet...
London Bridge becomes station number 50. I still haven't been to the London Dungeons.