Better late than never! I completed my second walk some time ago, but time has eluded me and it's only now, over a month later, that I have time to collect my thoughts.
I'm still keeping things manageable at this stage, straying not far from my second home until I can gauge my pace. I've decided to push myself an extra 400 m, embarking on the 2.8 km walk of the former London Wall, following the original route laid out by the Museum of London. My route will take me from the Tower of London in the east to Ludgate in the west, via Bishopsgate, Moorgate and Cripplegate. Along the way, I'll try to spot the last remaining plaques from the original set of 21, mounted by the Museum on buildings and podiums.
Tower Hill to Aldgate
I emerge from the Underground at one of London's iconic site - the Tower of London. Still an official royal residence, and for a long time a prison, the Tower is actually a complex of buildings, including two curtain walls, numerous bastion towers, the central "White Tower" residence, a chapel and numerous former working buildings. Despite looking like one of the newer buildings, the White Tower is in fact the oldest part of the complex, built in 1078.
Nowdays the Tower is flanked on the north side by a slightly less picturesque trunk road, whose name - "Tower Hill" - conjures up images of daisy-spiked, verdant undulations. The reality is disappointing.
But part of the charm of London is that faddishly-popular modernist dalliances and out-of-favour brutalist constructions cradle pockets of ancient history.
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| The medieval postern |
Across the moat from the Tower, almost nestled in the underpass, lies the medieval postern, a gate that once gave access to the City of London from the east. The postern, which once housed two wooden gates and a portcullis, is the only surviving example of a large gate in the city wall. An irony that the gate, which now lies in ruin, was most likely built around 200 years after the Tower itself that still looms over London.
Wending my way through the underpass and the stench of drunkards' relief, I emerge on the other side of the concrete collar to another section of wall, somewhat anonymously dubbed "City Wall". The name does the relic no justice, because this section, which stands at no less than 35 feet (10.6 m) and is described by a nearby English Heritage plate as "one of the most impressive surviving sections of London's former city wall", has a more complex story to tell.
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| "City Wall" |
The lower part of the wall is characterised by typically Roman construction: large ragstone blocks sandwiched between striations of clay tile, so-called "bonding courses". This part of the wall was built around 200 AD and was around 6.4 m high. Into the 13th Century or so, the wall was heightened by the addition of the slightly more uniform upper section, taking it to around its current height.
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| A statue of a Roman, perhaps Emperor Trajan |
Before the wall now stands a statue of a Roman warrior. His identity is unknown, though he might be Trajan, Emperor of the Romans from 98 to 177 AD whose supervision of the greatest military expansion of the Empire in recorded history and mass institution of social welfare policies led to him being bestowed the title optimus princeps.
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| An incomplete inscription found at the site |
A nearby wall bears a plaque with parts of a mostly lost inscription laying praise to Classicianus, procurator of Britain from 61 to 65 AD.
DĪS MANIBVS C IVL C F FAB ALPINI CLASSICIANĪ
PROC PROVINC BRITANNIAE
ĪVLIA INDĪ FĪLIA PACATA INDIANA
VXOR F
"In memory of Gaius Julius Alpinus Classicianus, Procurator of Britain, erected by his wife, Julia Pacata, daughter of Julius Indus". The transcription is in places guesswork, and does not marry with the replica held in the Museum of London.
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| Cooper's Row |
Continuing up modern streets, I pass through Trinity Square, which houses Trinity House, the official lighthouse authority for England and Wales, towards the hotels and serviced apartments of Cooper's Row, before heading off east into a small courtyard. In this small enclave, sandwiched between offices and bars, lies another fragment of London's former fortified perimeter.
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| Roman wall at The Crescent |
Here the wall stands proudly and gracefully, juxtaposed with the modern fittings in the courtyard in a scene reminiscent of Granada or Split. This part of the wall was built between 190 and 200 AD. Like the "City Wall" to the south, there are both Roman parts with bonding courses at the bottom and medieval additions on top. The wall was refurbished with funding from Grange Hotels.
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| The walkway through the wall |
The wall is studded with large openings, some seemingly used as windows, others as sockets to hold wooden supports that have long since eroded away. These portals all form part of the medieval wall, a proof of the wall's enduring utility to the citizens of London. And it's the wall itself that provides the route forward. Through an arch in the structure I venture forth to Crescent, a shabby little side street beneath the lines that see commuters home to Southend and Tilbury.
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| Crescent |
I like these raw corners of London - bare, unmanicured tributes to utilitarianism, no glamour but real, the darkness of sooty walls lifted only by the white and red emblems of the City of London and lurid dumpsters. But the modern backdrop is no more function than its Roman forerunner. Where once stood towering brick and stone to divert commerce now lie steel rail and riveted girder.
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| St Botolph without Aldgate |
My walk continues north down America Square and onto Vine Street. Here, on Emperor House, is the fourth plaque in the series, but currently building works prevent access. So my journey continues on north, dog-legging across India Street and down Jewry Street until I hit Aldgate.
Once another derelict site, Aldgate Square, in the shadow of the Church of St Botolph, has been transformed into a tranquil open space, an oasis of calm among busy roads that lead into the City. The church itself is relatively modern by London ecclesiastical standards. Completed in 1744, it is dedicated to St Botwulf of Thorney, a 7th-century East Anglian saint and patron of travellers and farming. The tower is striking, with deep brown bricks held tight by brilliant white quoins.
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| Inside St Botolph without Aldgate |
Inside, the church is fresh, the bright white balustrades of the balconies drawing the eye down the isle of the altar, the rich gold plaques on the reredos an the dark black and midnight blue of the stained-glass window above. Thanks go to Rodney Tatchell, who oversaw the restoration work after the building was severely damaged during the Blitz.
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| Outside the churchyard of St Botolph without Aldgate |
A brief pause just outside the churchyard reveals two more points of interest. On the right in this photo above is one of the old City of London Police public call posts. One might be forgiven for being led to believe by the large word "POST" on the right of the black bar at the top that this is a postbox. In fact, it is an old telephone box police officers used to communicate with one another.
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| Memorial to Frederick Mocatta |
We are perhaps more familiar with the larger, Doctor Who-style tardis boxes, which the famous television show would have us believe boasted copious capacity. An exaggeration, yes, but these diminutive boxes did have enough space to hold not only a telephone, but also first aid kit and a fire extinguisher. They were eventually phased out from the 1960s when personal radios took off, but some have been retained ever since as mementos to a previous time.
On the left hand side of the entrance to the churchyard is a stone drinking fountain, erected in 1906 in memory of philanthropist Frederick David Mocatta. Mocatta was a buillion broker in London who, following his retirement in 1874, devoted his time and wealth to the public good, particularly the at-the-time deprived East End of London. The people of that area repaid his kindness by erecting the fountain to this memory on the edge of the churchyard. Like most old London drinking fountains, it is no longer functional.
Arriving at plaque #5, I learn a little of the history of the Aldgate. It's believed a gate already stood on the site, spanning the road from Londinium (London) to Camulodonum (Colchester), when the Roman walls of London were built. In fact, the Aldgate has been rebuilt several times, the first known time around the 4th Century.
By 1052, the gate had come to be known as the Æst geat, or "East Gate", representing its situation on the eastern boundary of the City. It was rebuilt again between 1108 and 1147, by which time it had gained the name Alegate or Algate. The meaning of the name is uncertain. It may well simply be an alternative spelling of Aeldgate (or "Old Gate"), as it was subsequently referred to in the mid-15th Century. Alternative interpretations including "All Gate" (denoting an open gate available for public use), "Ale Gate" (in connection with a nearby ale-house), "Foreigners' Gate" (from the Anglo-Saxon el) or "Oil Gate" (from the Anglo-Saxon ele). Whatever the real derivation, by the time of the Tudor period, the gate was assumed to be the "Old Gate" into London.
The gate was rebuilt for the last time between 1607 and 1609. It was subsequently dismantled in 1761 to improve access for traffic coming into the City. It was acquired by an antiquary by the name of Ebenezer Mussell, who had the gate re-erected alongside his mansion in Bethnal Green. Following his death, his widow remarried and her new husband cleared the site, with the remains of the gate becoming dispersed and no longer to be located.
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| Plaque to the Priory of the Holy Trinity, Aldgate |
A walk across the long end of the churchyard brings me to Dukes Place and the site of plaque #6. Here, just inside the wall, was the Augustinian Priory of the Holy Trinity. The Priory, known also as Christchurch Aldgate, was founded in 1108 by Queen Matilda of England, wife of King Henry I. Fittingly for a priory on the ancient route through the Aldgate, the priory was established with the assistance of St Botolph's Priory in Colchester. Following a spell as a distinguished centre of learning, the Priory was dissolved in 1532 by Henry VIII, a precursor to the wide dissolution of the monasteries.
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| Climb by Juliana Cerqueira Leite |
Across the garden from the plaque is a most interesting sculpture. Titled Climb, the plaster work was created by Brazilian sculptor Juliana Cerqueira Leite.
Juliana filled a tall wooden column with nearly three tons of wet clay. She then proceeded to dig her way upwards through the centre of the column, leaving behind her a tunnel shaped by her scrambling limbs. Once out, she filled the void with plaster and acrylic, which, once dried, was excavated out, leaving the sculpture we see today. The texture of the column is fascinating, studded with striations creating by Leite's pawing fingers and toes.
Leite, who studied at the Chelsea College of Art, is known for creating sizeable works that explore the physical presence of the human body. Climb was created in New York state, where Leite now resides. Its location in London is a homage to her place of study and also to Down and Up, two of Juliana's earlier works and forerunner to the sculpture, in which she dug downward and upward tunnels through clay.
Aldgate to Moorgate
Carrying on along the route takes me down the curiously named Bevis Marks. The street has enjoyed a variety of recorded names over the centuries, including Bewesmarkes (1407), Bevys Marke (1450), Bevesmarkes (1513), Bevers-market (1630) and Beavis Markes (1677). Its current name appears to have become settled by around 1720 and derives from the Abbots of Bury St Edmunds in Suffolk, who owned this part of London was until the dissolution of the monasteries, at which point ownership of the area passed to Sir Thomas Heneage, a gentleman of the Privy Chamber.
Bevis Marks is perhaps best known for two reasons. First, the street features frequently in Charles Dickens' The Old Curiosity Shop, named for the bric-a-brac outlet and home of orphaned teenager Nell Trent and her grandfather. In the novel, Bevis Marks houses the officers of Sampson Brass, an obsequious solicitor and employee of the tale's main villain, Mr Daniel Quilp.
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| Outside the Bevis Marks Synagogue |
The street's other claim to fame is as the location of the Bevis Marks Synagogue, the oldest synagogue in Britain in continuous use. Built in 1701 for the City's Sephardic community, the temple has held services now for more than 300 years. It was constructed on land owned by Joseph Avis, a Quaker, who reputedly declined to take payment for the site as the grounds it was wrong to profit from building a house of God.
The interior is built to resemble the great Portuguese Synagogue of Amsterdam, through which many of the Spanish and Portuguese Jews who came to London to found the synagogue travelled. It boasts a Renaissance-style ark containing the temple's sefarim (or Torah scrolls) and a reredos redolent of London churches built around the same time. The building is Grade I listed and open for visits by appointment through its website. I am fortunate to have visited the building, but photography is not permitted, so I can't provide pictures of the impressive interior.
Bevis Marks is now a far cry from Dickensian times, boasting an array of glittering and impressive, if somewhat less soulful, modern office buildings.
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| The office buildings of modern-day Bevis Marks |
Bevis Marks leads onto Bishopsgate and the intersection with Wormwood Street. Bishopsgate, as its name suggests, refers to an old gate in the Roman wall on the course of Ermine Street, which can from Londinium to Eburacum (York). The Roman gate was never been excavated, although more modern gates stood on the site from the mid-15th Century until 1760.
Crossing Bishopsgate brings me to the Church of St Botolph without Bishopsgate and its rather beautiful churchyard. Nestled among the towering commercial buildings of the heart of the financial district, the current church was built between 1724 and 1729, although the first written records of a church here date to 1212.
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| Church and churchyard of St Botolph without Bishopsgate |
The church is one of our dedicated to St Botolph, also known as St Botwulf of Thorney, a 7th Century East Anglian saint. Very little is known about St Botwulf, who died in 680, other than that he is known as the patron saint of boundaries trade and travel. He gives his name to the town of Boston, Lincolnshire (originally, Botulfeston) and, through it, the city of Boston, Massachusetts.
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| Interior of the Church of St Botolph without Bishopsgate |
The church is, of course, open to the public and the interior is striking. The church has a splendid barrel-vaulted nave with Corinthian columns and bridge, pastel ceilings and wood-panelled galleries. A chandelier hangs in the centre of the nave, providing light to the church due to the organ obscuring the light from the west window.
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| The former Turkish baths |
The church itself is impressive, but even more striking is a modest but gaudy little outbuilding. Next to the churchyard is an old Victorian bathhouse dating back to 1817. With a Middle Eastern feel, replete with octagonal and stained glass windows and tipped window frames, dressed in blue, crimson and mustard tiles and topped by a crescent moon on a minaret, the building is in fact merely the portal to a series of underground Turkish baths.
The baths were opened by Henry and James Forde Neville in 1895 as the fifth venue in the Nevill's Turkish Baths chain and soon became a popular third space for gentleman City workers.
The popularity of public baths fell into decline in the 1950s and Nevill's closed this venue. The former baths are now owned by a private company that makes the building available for weddings and corporate events.
From Bishopsgate, the line of the wall continues along the aptly named street London Wall. There is, however, no sign of the wall along the stretch of the road towards Moorgate. The Church of All Hallows on the Wall stands on the ancient boundary and is worth a cursory visit if open. Otherwise, the road projects straight through older parts of the City and out to the west.
The Moorgate itself was not Roman. Named because it provided access to the moors and marshes to the north of the City, it was built in the Middle Ages, then rebuilt in 1415 and again in 1672 after the marshes had been drained. As with the Aldgate, it was eventually demolished the improve traffic access. The surrounding wall suffered the same fate in 1817.
Moorgate to Aldersgate
By this point, I had begun to bore myself so much with this blog that I just gave up.
Carrying on along the route takes me down the curiously named Bevis Marks. The street has enjoyed a variety of recorded names over the centuries, including Bewesmarkes (1407), Bevys Marke (1450), Bevesmarkes (1513), Bevers-market (1630) and Beavis Markes (1677). Its current name appears to have become settled by around 1720 and derives from the Abbots of Bury St Edmunds in Suffolk, who owned this part of London was until the dissolution of the monasteries, at which point ownership of the area passed to Sir Thomas Heneage, a gentleman of the Privy Chamber.
Wending my way through the underpass and the stench of drunkards' relief, I emerge on the other side of the concrete collar to another section of wall, somewhat anonymously dubbed "City Wall". The name does the relic no justice, because this section, which stands at no less than 35 feet (10.6 m) and is described by a nearby English Heritage plate as "one of the most impressive surviving sections of London's former city wall", has a more complex story to tell.
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