Walk #1 - London's Gardens Walk in the City
SECTION 1
To christen my new habit I've chosen familiar surroundings, close quarters and easy going. The London's Gardens Walk in the City, planned by the London Parks & Gardens Trust, is a palatable 2.4 km walk around some of the small and unassuming green spaces in the City of London. I won't be able to accomplish the whole walk in a single lunchtime - this will need to be split across two or three days. But it's a digestible beginning.
St Paul's to St Martin's
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| St Paul's behind Paternoster Square |
It's actually the fifth cathedral to stand on the site, replacing the fourth cathedral, which was built from 1087 but destroyed in the Great Fire of London in 1666. The current building was designed by none other than Sir Christopher Wren, whose fingerprints can be found in numerous churches and other buildings across the city.
Awe-inspiring as it is, the cathedral was not a focal point of this walk. This is merely the jumping point for a different kind of London.
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| St Martin's Le Grand, southern end of the Great North Road |
Instead, I head north from the station, up St Martin's-Le-Grand. Now the name of a somewhat soulless City conduit and southern terminus of the A1 road to Edinburgh, St Martin's Le Grand was once a parish and liberty, sitting within the City of London but not subject to its jurisdiction or governance.
The collegiate church of St Martin once stood on the east side of the road. Dissolved by King Henry VIII along with the other monasteries, it was demolished in the middle of the 16th century. Today in this spot stands a large and anonymous contemporary building housing offices above and retail units below.
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| Looking up St Martin's Le Grand to the Museum |
To the left lies St Bartholomew's (or, simply, Barts), a teaching hospital that has grown on a site once housing another monastery. Barts is the oldest hospital in Britain that still provides medical services, and it houses its own small church - St Bartholomew the Less.
My walk would take me alongside the hospital, but suddenly and sharply away from it. From St Martin's eastward to the Guildhall runs Gresham Street, although the westernmost section was once known as St Anne's Lane. I hung a right to head towards my first garden.
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| The church of St Anne and St Agnes |
Almost immediately after you enter Gresham Street appears the understated but rather handsome church of St Anne and St Agnes. Another creation of Sir Christopher Wren, the original church was destroyed in the Great Fire in 1666. A replacement was constructed in 1680. The curious name harks to a binomial heritage: in the middle ages, the church was known variously as St Anne-in-the-Willows and as St Agnes. By the 15th century, it had formally taken on its "double dedication".
Today, the building is known as the Gresham Centre. It's the home of Voces Cantabiles (the VCM Foundation), an education project whose benefactors and participants include Voces8, whose enchanting rendition of Kate Rusby's "Underneath the Stars" is always worthy of a listen.
In the 1970s, the churchyard was extended and a public garden was created. Small and modest, the garden provides a surprisingly effective sanctuary from the bustle of traffic on nearby St Martin's and Cheapside. A small area off Gresham Street and an adjoining portion off Noble Street provide a welcome resting place for tired feet.
The flora itself is comfortingly familiar, rather than exotic. Gentle folds of rowan and cherry serve to embrace passers-by into the cool and shaded space. False acacia and catalpa add a tropical touch but blend in harmoniously with the native plant-life.
But the churchyard does house one of my favourite naturalised plants - mahonia. Mahonia are native to eastern Asia and north and central America. They are closely related to berberis (barberry), if indeed they are not part of the same genus. With spiny, evergreen foliage, attractive yellow flowers and sumptuously dark blue berries, the plants find favour as ornaments in English gardens.
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| Mahonia japonica |
The garden at St Anne's and St Anges' boasts two of the UK's favourite varieties. Mahonia japonica (mahonia), despite its epithet, originates in Taiwan. As with all mahonia, the leaves are thorny, like flattened holly. It happily sprouts new branches from its trunk, giving the plant a bushy appearance, bordering on messy. But its pièce de résistance is its pretty little yellow flowers, which, counterintuitively, appear in the autumn and persist through the winter into spring.
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| Mahonia aquifolium |
The leaves of aquifolium are brighter, lighter and more vibrant than those of japonica, with a more defined curvature that gives the plant its second name, the "holly-leaved barberry". Both have a tendency towards russet in mature growth.
While japonica is happy to live out its life as a sizeable bush, aquifolium is wont to explode into a fully grown tree if left undisturbed. We previously had one in our back garden, which towered magnificently over our patio before I cut it down to allow it to re-grow in a more accommodating shape.
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| Mahonia japonica berries |
As with berries generally, they are suffused with vitamin C, although they also contain the compound berberine, which, if ingested in large quantities, can in theory cause vomiting, low blood pressure and a reduced heart rate. Still, you would have to consume an awful lot of it to notice any effects, something which takes a concerted effort, given the acidic taste to the fruit. All in all, they make a tremendous snacking for the discerning traveller.
The fruit of mahonia japonica are distinctive: oval-shaped, like pinoli, and light purple when ripe. They soften quickly and taste quite delicious, not too sweet and satisfyingly herby. They appear on yellow stalks that branch out like the bony fingers on a jaundiced hand.
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| Mahonia aquifolium berries |
Although japonica and aquifolium represent the most popular mahonia species cultivated in the UK, other species and varieties exist, including oiwakensis (or lomariifolia), a sprawling creature hailing from China and Burma, and 'Golden Abundance', a hybridised version based squarely on aquifolium that produces stunning flowers and ethereal, perfectly round, light blue berries.
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| Goldsmiths' Hall |
I could wax lyrical about mahonia until the proverbials come home, so I'll stop here. My walk continued eastward by about 10 metres to the crossing with Noble Street and Foster Lane. Here, on the corner of Gresham and Foster, stands the magnificent Grade I-listed Goldsmiths' Hall, headquarters of the Worshipful Company of Goldsmiths and an official assay office.
The Goldsmiths stand fifth in the order of precedence of London's livery company. They have occupied their current site since 1339, and the current hall, designed and built in 1835, is their third. It is perhaps most famous as the venue for the Trial of the Pyx, an archaic but still-followed procedure for ensuring that newly minted sterling coins confirm to required standards. The hall, which I have had the pleasure of touring, is open to visitors from time to time and is worth committing an afternoon to.
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| Lloyds Bank headquarters |
Opposite the Hall lies the Churchyard of St John Zachary, which was acquired by the Goldsmiths in 1339 and is the site of a former church of the same name. Today the churchyard stands in the shadow of the operational headquarters of Lloyds Banking Group plc (25 Gresham Street), a modern but aesthetically pleasing building whose tapering lines lead the eye up along the cerulean glass panels, beyond the canopy and into the grey London skies.
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| Entrance to the garden |
The garden is split into two levels.
The upper level contains some benches surrounding a pair of huge London plane trees (platanus x hispanica). Low brick walls embrace the space, and ferns, acers and osteospermum fill out the sides to give the sensation of a compact, but cared-for, little nest. From here one feels separated from the street, but not distant from it. The hum of the engine remains too close for comfort.
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| The upper level |
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| The lower level |
But, on descending to the lower level, one finds a different kind of garden. Dark brick walls rise to create the feeling of a sunken haven, lifted by the sharp green lawn with fountain and rock pool surround. Benches beckon to aching legs, as the planes stretch and splay themselves to shield the patron from the city all around. On the day I visited, a gardener was carefully tending to the grass, crawling on hands and knees over an area the size of a square metre to remove the smallest weeds meticulously with his bare hands.
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| The Three Printers by Dudeney |
In the corner of the lower level sit The Three Printers, a stone sculpture by Wilfred Dudeney. The piece, fashioned from Portland stone, was commissioned by the Westminster Press Group and consists of a newsboy, a printer and an editor. The artist even signed the sculpture - the printer holds a stick with the word "DUDENEY" (in mirror type) set on it. The statue is reputedly the only public monument in Britain dedicated to newspapers. Originally based in New Street Square in Holborn, it was moved to the Goldsmiths' Garden when the the Square was redeveloped into its current format of towering offices, bars and shops.
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| Osteospermum close up |
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| Dimorphotheca ecklonis |
Also known by its more common name - osteospermum - the African daisy, as it is sometimes called, resembles a brighter, bolder and defiantly larger version of our own classic lawn flower. Fifteen sharp, white or pink petals emanate from a deep blue, almost indigo, core studded with golden pollen. I shouldn't eulogise excessively - the flower is quite easily found in garden centres. But this bush was clearly the work of some special and attentive care.
St Martin's to Aldermanbury
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| Wax Chandlers' Hall |
The Wax Chandlers are distinct from the Tallow Chandlers, the former manufacturing and trading in candles made from beeswax, the latter in candles made from tallow (or animal fat). Beeswax candles were regarded as more prestigious in the middle ages and often featured in churches and aristocratic houses, whilst mere commoners had to make do with lard. This hierarchy persists today, with the Tallow Chandlers sitting one below the Wax Chandlers in the livery pecking order.
This is the sixth incarnation of the Company's headquarters. Previous halls had fallen victim to fires, town planners and bomb damage during World War II. Unlike its nextdoor neighbour, Wax Chandlers' Hall is generally closed to the public, although it can be hired for social occasions. However, once a year it opens its doors as part of the London Open House Weekend, so watch out for that.
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| St Alban's tower and the City of London Police HQ |
A swift turn left and I'm heading north up Wood Street. This was originally the north-south route through a Roman fort, and may have been revived as an arterial route when the city was "restored" in the late 9th Century.
Either way, today the road is fairly unremarkable, flanked as it is by office blocks. Two points of interest are the surviving tower of the former Church of St Alban and the City of London Police headquarters. The tower is the remnant of a church designed in 1685 by - you guessed it - Sir Christopher Wren. However, the majority of the building was decimated in the Blitz. A Grade II* listed building, it now houses the offices of a consultancy business.
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| St Mary Aldermanbury Garden |
Opposite the tower, on the corner of Wood Street and Love Lane, sits the police station. This used to house a museum showcasing the history of the force, although that has now been moved to the main library in the Guildhall.
My next stop is further down Love Lane (so named because it was a medieval red light district). St Mary Aldermanbury Garden lies in the footprint of the former church of St Mary Aldermanbury. Another 17th Century temple rebuilt by Wren, it was obliterated in the War, leaving only parts of the outside walls standing.
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| The Westminster College plaque |
The stones of the walls were subsequently moved to Fulton, Missouri. It was here, at the Westminster College Gymnasium, where Sir Winston Churchill gave his famous "Iron Curtain" speech. This vivid description of the boundary between Soviet-controlled Eastern Europe and "free" Western Europe is usually attributed to Sir Winston, although it seems Joseph Goebbels had used earlier. Either way, the stones now rest in Fulton as a memorial to Churchill. In return, the College contributed a memorial plaque, which now lies in the garden.
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| The bust of Shakespeare |
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| Magnolia grandiflora |
The garden on this level is lush and overflowing, replete with stachys byzantina (lambs' ear), hypericum androsaemum (Tutsan) and other shrubs and herbaceous plants. Flanked by benches, there rests a bust of Sir William Shakespeare, dedicated to the memory of his collaborators during the production of his First Folio: Henry Condell and John Heminges. Both men are buried in the grounds. On the steps down towards the lower level, a giant magnolia grandiflora (southern magnolia) supports the walls of the police station.
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| Lower garden at St Mary Aldermanbury |
Walking down the steps leads me through the choir and transept of the old church and into the nave. Here the garden opens out into a patchy lawn studded by the bases of the old church columns. This part of the garden seems to have been intentionally in a state of semi-neglect. The lawn has clearly been mown but not re-seeded in areas, hedges have been shaped but weeds grow out of the ruins. But far from being scruffy, the selective landscaping adds to the forlorn feel of the space.
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| 'Glass Fountain' |
Sited at the corner of the City of London Corporation's offices, the fountain is made of thousands of slivers of blue and green glass, arranged into an obelisk topped by what can only be described as a Pacman suffering from frostbite.
The mechanism still works, pulsing out water that gently trickles onto a plinth striated with blue and green arcs, then tumbles into a pond lined with black slate. Smaller obelisks and shards thrust out of the plinth like jagged body parts reaching out from a tomb.
Aldermanbury to Moorgate
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| The Aldermanbury Square plane trees |
Time marches on and so do I. A short walk up Aldermanbury brought me to Aldermanbury Square, originally part of a plan to extensively redevelop areas of London damaged in the Second World War. Re-landscaped in the run-up to the new Millennium, it is now essentially a traffic turning point. An otherwise sterile cul-de-sac is, however, relieved by a tremendous tunnel of young London planes, whose canopies have been quite expertly espaliered to form a parasol for the scattered chairs below.
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| The plinth |
Turning back on myself, I headed out of the Square and ventured up Basinghall Avenue, passing on my left the gardens behind Girdlers' Hall. This garden is unfortunately not open to the public but, being compact (sandwiched as it is between Girdlers' Hall and City Tower) and hidden only by railings, is visible from the street. The garden, whilst pretty, is unremarkable and, without the ability to wander in, merits only a passing glance.
More impressive is Girdlers' Hall itself. Home to the Worshipful Company of Girdlers, a hall has stood on the site since 1431. However, as with many of the other livery halls and other buildings in London, the first hall was destroyed in the Great Fire of London. A second hall, built in 1681, was destroyed in the Blitz.
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| Girdlers' Hall |
The current hall, built in 1961, retains neo-classical features common to many London buildings, injected with the brickwork and window-panelling so characteristic of mid-20th Century architecture. Almost as impressive at the hall itself are its surroundings. The hall sits nestled but proud between modern giants on all sides - City Tower behind it, the Legal & General building to its north and 1 Basinghall Avenue to its south. The Corinthian columns and terrace form a pleasant counterpoint to the sleek lines behind and the honeycomb lattice alongside.
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| Armourers' Hall |
The Company has occupied the same since 1346. The original hall was one of the few livery halls to resist the Great Fire of London, but it could not resist the relentless tide of human progress. In 1839, it was torn down and the modern hall was built. But the new hall inherited its predecessor's stubbornness, standing tall during the Blitz when many of its brethren succumbed. Today, the Hall is available for hire as a private venue.
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| Moorgate rail and underground station |
A short walk up Coleman Street brings me to the end of the first part of my walk - Moorgate Station. Opened in 1865 as Moorgate Street station by the then Metropolitan Railway, it served as a new eastern terminus for the line, bringing commuters from Marylebone, Paddington and Hammersmith into the City.
From 1868, new lines ran from the station to King's Cross, linking the City with London's northern suburbs, such as Kentish Town and Cricklewood, via the Midland Railway. From 1900, services running to the station from Islington in the north and Stockwell in the south. And, from 1904, further extensions brought other northern suburbs, like Finsbury Park, within the commuter belt.
London Underground took over services in 1913 (other than those from King's Cross), but, over the course of the 20th Century, routes to the station gradually attenuated, leaving only three today: the Northern Line, the Circle/Hammersmith & City/Metropolitan Line, and the Northern City Line. However, from 2020 the station will effectively been integrated into Liverpool Street station, allowing access to the new Elizabeth Line section of Crossrail 1.
Moorgate was also the scene of the most tragic peacetime accident on the London Underground. At 8:46 am on 28 February 1975, a southbound train on the then Northern City Line failed to halt at the line's southern terminus and ran head-first into the end wall, forcing the front carriage up into the tunnel roof, concertinaing the second and crushing it under the weight of the third. The driver's cab - normally 91 cm (3 ft) deep, was condensed to only 15 cm (6 in), half the length of a standard school ruler.
74 people were injured and 43 died, including 56-year-old driver Leslie Newson. The inquest showed no sign of fault with the train and the crash was attributed to driver error. Newson had no chronic medical conditions, leading to speculation over potential suicide, distraction or a transient medical anomaly.
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| The cut-and-cover line platforms at Moorgate |
The crash led to the introduction of a new safety system, officially called the TETS (Trains Entering Terminal Stations) system, but informally called the "Moorgate protection", which automatically stops trains travelling above a pre-defined speed. A memorial plaque was placed on the side of the station, where it remains today, and a memorial headstone listing the names of the 43 victims appears in nearby Finsbury Square.
Today the station has ten platforms, of which eight remain in use, with the old Thameslink platforms shielded behind wooden façades.
At this point, I had run out of time, so I jumped on the next train west and headed back to the desk, only to return the next day to pick up where I had left off.
SECTION 2
Refreshed and rejuvenated from a good night's sleep, my morning work out of the way, I escape the goldfish bowl to continue - and hopefully complete - my walk.
Moorgate to Barbican
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| Finsbury Circus |
Out from the station and over the main road, a short walk down a side road led me to Finsbury Circus Gardens. The Circus itself is a large oval affair, created in 1812 out of part of Finsbury Manor, originally as a residential area for merchants and aristocrats.
However, the sub-division and leasing of those townhouses to professions precipitated a total demolition, completed in 1921, paving the way for a substantial redevelopment. The gardens were laid out in 1815 to a design by Charles Dance the Younger.
In the early 20th Century, the circus was acquired by compulsory purchase and the gardens, hitherto reserved for the private enjoyment of the residents, were requisitioned for public use.
Today the gardens run to around 2.2 hectares and form the largest open space in the City of London. They are Grade II listed and administered by the Corporation of London. Unfortunately, when I visited, the centre of the gardens was closed to the public due to Crossrail works, masking its full glory.
But what remains open of the gardens is delightful. Large plane trees dominate the skyline, permitting the most dappled of light to run through to the ground and providing enticing glimpses of the sumptuous architecture behind.
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| Finsbury Circus Gardens, looking west |
The gardens are suffused with mahonia japonica (more sustenance) and fatsia japonica (paperplant), but they also house a number of other exotic and beautiful plants, including camelias and Mexicn oranges, as well as the heady pittosporum tobira (Australian laurel, mock orange or Japanese cheesewood), with its pungent fragrance of jasmine.
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| More mahonia japonica |
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| Fatsia japonica |
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| pittosporum tobira |
Among other things, the full garden also incorporates a bandstand, lawn bowls club, drinking fountain and pagoda, and (apparently) the only styphnolobium japonicum (Japanese pagoda tree) in the City of London.
Time to move on. I came out the way I came in, back to and over Moorgate and down Ropemaker Street. The grandeur of Regency architecture soon gives way to the towering boasts of 20th and 21st Century design.
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| Citypoint and Ropemaker Place |
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| The Heron |
Across the road stands Ropemaker Place (or 25 Ropemaker Street), a 20-storey building designed by Arup Associates built in 2009, distinguished by its multi-layered, segmented appearance and grilled façade.
Behind both of these stands The Heron, a 36-story residential skyscraper developed by Heron International, the firm behind Heron Tower (now 110 Bishopsgate). Completed in 2013, the building incorporates a 625-seat concert hall, a 225-seat training theatre and 284 apartments and is the 13th-tallest building in the City of London. Mind your change, though. As I write, a 2-bedroom, 2-bathroom apartment with 84.7 sq. m. (912 sq. ft) of floor area will set you back a cool £1.5 million.
The Barbican
From a noughties res-dev to a sixties one, my next destination was an old haunt of mine that continues to hold a special place in my heart.
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| The Barbican on Silk Street, including the Guildhall School of Music and Drama |
The Barbican estate was built between 1965 and 1976 on a 35-acre site that had been bombed to destruction in World War II. The City of London Corporation took the decision to give the area over to residential properties in order to encourage inner-city living. Architects Chamberlin, Powell and Bon, famous for their modernist work, including the nearby ground-breaking Golden Lane Estate, won a competition to design the new development with a bold and extensive design.
The estate would comprise numerous low-rise terrace blocks surrounding a highly landscaped central garden and lake, studded with three exceptionally high-rise blocks. The buildings would interconnect on multiple levels in labyrinthine fashion, effectively creating an internal community. The architecture was relentlessly and unapologetically brutal, showcasing stark, dark concrete atop brown brick. To this day, the architecture divides opinion.
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| The Barbican Centre |
Residential blocks would come to be named after famous Britons, including William Shakespeare, Oliver Cromwell, John Bunyan, Daniel Defoe, Ben Jonson and Sir Thomas More. The development would also house numerous amenities, including an arts complex (The Barbican Centre), the City of London School for Girls, the Museum of London, the Guildhall School of Music and Drama, a public library and a YMCA (which has now been converted into apartments). The architecture within was as uncompromising as that without.
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| Lakeside Terrace, looking west to Lauderdale Tower |
But for the purposes of this walk, the focal point was the Lakeside Terrace. Built from red-brown brick on multiple layers, it features a huge rectangular lake pierced by reeds, surrounded by man-made canals and rivulets on the north side and promenades on the south that artfully dip below the water level. Apartment blocks flank the lake, with price tags at over £1 million for a 2-bed flat.
A great garden with towering trees sits at the west end before Lauderdale Tower. Patrons and residents can relax on the terrace outside the arts centre or eat at the Barbican Kitchen nextdoor.
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| Gilbert House |
More apartments straddle the lake in Gilbert House, the ivy from the lowest level hanging from the balconies as if yearning to touch the face of the water. Fountains blast jets of water into the air, its fall back to the podiums generating a gentle and calming babbling the calms the soul.
An elevated walkway, accessible from the second floor inside, connects the north and south sides of the lake and is the only short route across the reservoir. It's an awkward route, typical of the Barbican, where intuition gives way to slavish obedience and failure to follow the signs strictly can leave one lost and quite without hope of escape. But when one finally manages to ascend the bridge, it all becomes clear why it is worth the effort.
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| The view west from Gilbert Bridge |
The development really is a masterpiece. The gardens here - if you can call them that - merge into the urban landscape in a way that seems part-designed, part-organic, as if the architects laid the foundations and someone let the plants run loose. Buildings teeter on stilts, jagged edges meet smooth concrete arcs, foliage rises out of the clay as if desperate to mollify the hard, angular exterior of the complex.
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| Looking east from Gilbert Bridge towards Brandon and Andrewes Houses |
The soft ripples of the green water, rounded streetlamps and semicircular waterfall, the simplicity of the lake - all stand juxtaposed with the rigid, straight lines of the balconies and the busy mosaic of windows above. There is a strict demarcation of geometry here - taught and inflexible gradually gives way to relaxed, gracious, feminine curves.
Sunken allotments, like pods on a space station, seem frighteningly vulnerable yet calmly defy the water, the entire amalgamation emerging into the air like a modern-day Atlantis rising from the ocean.
It's no wonder that the complex has been designed a site of special architectural interest, and the majority is either Grade II or Grade II* listed. It convincingly resists calls from disgruntled aesthetes to tear it down and start again.
There is so much more to this complex that these few words and photographs I've patched together here. And there are the things that can't be reduced to writing. The atmosphere, the zeitgeist, the culture and attitude of the people who live here and the buildings they call "home".
Barbican back to St Paul's
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| St Giles Cripplegate |
On the way out of the complex, I pass the Church of St Giles Cripplegate. Built in 1394, this church amazingly survived the Great Fire of 1666, although subsequent fires in 1897 and the Blitz did cause severe damage.
The church has an odd shape - it is a trapezoid, with the southern wall deviating from the centre line by around 20 degrees. This shape gives the church a rather expansive feel inside when looking down the nave from the chancel.
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| Salters' Hall |
From here I do an about-face, exiting the estate onto Fore Street, turning right down London Wall Place and coming back on myself. In doing so, I skirt the unexpectedly modern Salters' Hall, headquarters of the Worshipful Company of Salters, a livery company that derives from a historic guild of food preservation experts.
Every other livery hall I had encountered on my walk was at least 100 years old, or built to look it. This one, by contrast, was built in 1976. The Salters had lost their previous hall in 1941 during German bombing, subsequently languishing without a headquarters for 35 years. Based on an original concept by Sir Basil Spence (architect of modernist interpretations such as Coventry New Cathedral and the Beehive in Wellington, New Zealand), the hall is an industrial concoction of plinths, blocks and oblongs that is relieved only by its much newer striated glass entrance.
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| Salters' Hall garden |
Behind Salters' Hall lies the garden, squeezed behind the Hall on one side and fragments of the old Roman Wall on the other. On entering the garden, I am immediately hit by an intense and heady rush of lavender that lines the tiers framing the space on the east side.
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| Looking down the central aisle of Salters' Hall Garden |
The whole affair is a bit odd and rather resembles an oversized allotment. Unkempt hedges of hornbeam and balustrades of box guard wire frames the eke the vines to climb, climb. The lawn has not been mown, and the grounds are littered with random terracotta pots stuffed with geraniums and primroses.
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| The Roman Wall that separates Salters' Hall Garden from St Alphage Garden |
Running along the south side of the garden is a fragment of the old Roman wall, which separates the garden from neighbouring St Alphage Garden. My walking route took me to the garden next, but unfortunately it was closed for redevelopment. The garden sits on the former site of the Church of St Alphage London Wall (or St Alphage Cripplegate), which was demolished at the end of the 16th Century.
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| The medieval tower of the Priory Church of St Alphage |
Remnants of the medieval tower of the church can still be seen today between London Wall and the garden. With the garden closed, I skirted the ruins and passed along the busy thoroughfare of London Wall, returning back up Wood Street and left into Monkwell Square.
Officially part of the Barbican Square, Monkwell Square is really its own little creature, comprising a few small offices and residential apartments and an elevated garden in the centre.
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| Monkwell Square Garden |
The foliage here is somewhat tropical. Palm fronds splay outwards from raised beds to paint an image of a modern-day, miniature Hanging Gardens of Babylon. With the garden is a paved area with benches for resting weary soles. The whole area is tranquil and peaceful.
Dominating the garden, a tall stone obelisk stands as sentinel to the square's principal building - Barber-Surgeons' Hall. The Worshipful Company of Barbers have maintained a presence in this area since the 14th Century.
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| Barber-Surgeons' Hall |
In 1540, the Barbers merged with the Surgeons' Fellowship to become the Company of Barbers and Surgeons. The surgeon trade broke off in 1745 to form the Royal College of Surgeons, but despite this the Hall has kept the combined name since.
The original hall was built in 1604 by architect Inigo Jones. A second hall was built following devastation caused by the Great Fire. When that hall was destroyed in World War II, a new headquarters was commissioned in Monkwell Square and was opened in 1969. As with many of the livery halls, it is available for private events but not to the general public.
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| The Roman bastion |
Behind the Hall lie the Barber-Surgeons' Gardens. As well as an impressive herb bed and an expansive lawn, the gardens house the ruins of a bastion from the Roman London wall. The bastion is actually the remains of an old fort dating back to around 300 AD but, when the wall was extended and completed, it was effectively subsumed into it. At its height, the fort itself would have house around 1,000 men throughout a series of barracks. I won't dwell on the bastion now, as I'll be visiting it again along with other parts of the old wall in my next walk.
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| Church of St Botolph without Aldersgate |
The final part of my walk takes me back to St Martin's-le-Grand and St Paul's. Veering back onto London Wall, I take a quick shimmy down Aldersgate Street between crossing over towards the Church of St Botolph without Aldersgate.
This church (not to be confused with the unnecessarily similarly-named St Botolph without Aldgate in the east of the City) was completed in 1791. It replaced an earlier church dating to the 13th Century, which somehow survived the Great Fire but met its fate when it became unsafe to patronise.
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| Placard on the entrance to Postman's Park |
The current building (one of a few in central London not designed by Sir Wren) was built under the supervision of Nathaniel Wright, a local surveyor. Plain on the outside, the interior delights in wooden galleries and rococo plasterwork. Today, the church is used by the London City Presbyterian Church, part of the Free Church of Scotland.
Next to the church stands Postman's Park, formerly the churchyard of St Botolph's but now a public open space. Once a mixed-use area, by the mid-19th Century a lack of burial space had led to the site being used exclusively as a cemetery, with graves being uncompromisingly reused and bodies stacked on top of each other. So piled were the corpses that the ground level in the park rose six feet higher than that of Christ Church Greyfriars (my next stop). Subsequent legislation forced burials to be re-directed to new cemeteries built outside central London.
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| Looking into Postman's Park |
Today Postman's Park is a charming courtyard, a hidden gem in the beating heart of London. As in other gardens, plane trees rise and spread their canopies to provide gentle shade, while carefully tended borders provide welcome colour and structure. The name derives from the fact it was a popular withdrawing space for workers from the nearby Post Office.
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| The Memorial to Self-Sacrifice |
Towards the back of the garden lies a treasure - the Memorial to Self-Sacrifice. Proposed in 1887 by painter and sculptor George Frederic Watts (creator of such works as Hope and The Good Samaritan), the display seeks to commemorate the selfless deeds of ordinary citizens, or, in Watts' words, to "collect a complete record of stories of heroism in every-day life".
Originally conceived as a bronze statue, Watts later designed a covered walkway, lined with benches and memorial tablets. The scheme was built was, at first, garnered significant complaints - not for its content, but for the fact of it being built in such a small space. But, over time, the memorial has carved a place for itself in the hearts of Londoners.
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| Memorial plaques in Postman's Park |
The tablets bear the names of individuals of all ages who gave their life in aiding others. Each tile provides a brief description of the late individual's deeds and the date they made the ultimate sacrifice. The heart-rending nature of the memorial can be summed up in a plaque that reads:
JOHN CLINTON
AGED 10
WHO WAS DROWNED NEAR
LONDON BRIDGE IN TRYING
TO SAVE A COMPANION
YOUNGER THAN HIMSELF
JULY 16 1894
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| Christ Church Greyfriars Rose Garden |
The final destination in my horticultural walkabout was the Christ Church Greyfriars Rose Garden. The garden fills in for the nave of the second church on the site, which was built by Sir Christopher Wren in 1687 and destroyed in the Blitz in 1940. Before this the site was occupied by the Franciscan Church of Greyfriars, a monastery whose privileges ended under Henry VIII's dissolution.
The Church of England decided not to rebuild the church, a hardly surprising decision given the sheer proximity of other churches, including St Botolph's without Aldersgate, St Vedant alias Foster, St Sepulchre-without-Newgate (into whose parish Christ Church was ultimately merged), St Bartholomew the Less and St Mary-le-Bow, not to mention St Paul's Cathedral. The City had been awash with churches, but congregations had declined.
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| Helianthemum apennium |
Instead, the steeple was restored and, in 1989, a garden was planted where parishioners once prayed. The garden stands in for the ruined church's nave. The aisle is laid to paving, so the garden consists principally in borders and beds. Shrub and climbing roses abound, alongside tissue-like white rock roses (helianthemum apennium). Gaps in the borders are rammed with and plenty of catnip (nepeta cataria, perhaps x faassenii), giving the garden electric purple-blue overtones.
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| The statue outside Christ Church Greyfriars |
Outside the garden stands an unnamed bronze sculpture, created by renowned metalworker Andrew Brown. Unveiled in 2017, the statue is a monument to Christ's Hospital School, which stood on the site for 350 years. 2.4 metres long and 1.5 metres high, on the one side the piece depicts a line of schoolchildren, from youngest to oldest, entering the school. On the reverse is engraved a verse about the hospital, written by Samuel Coleridge Taylor, a pupil there for ten years.
The route continues to one last stop in St Paul's Churchyard, but my trail ends here. These are but a handful of the beautiful, cared-for and loved hidden spaces in the City of London. Others await eager visitors hungry for peace and quietude. They may form the subject of a future walk. But for now, I leave you with those words from Coleridge:
"Farewell! Parental scenes! a sad farewell / To you my grateful heart still fondly clings / Tho' fluttering round on Fancy's burnish'd wings / Her tales of future Joy Love hopes to tell. / Adieu, adieu! ye much-lov'd cloisters pale."
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