The Illusory Gas Holder of North London

I had seen it, several times out of the window as the train passed through the Northern outskirts of London. Somewhere near New Southgate, or so I thought. Its not easy to read the station signs in the run up to Finsbury Park. The distances between the stations at train speed is short. A less than rigorous internet search mentioned the last gas holder in New Southgate as if it was a thing of the past. New flats had been approved, according to the Enfield Independent in December 2021. But soon after reading that, on another trip to London I saw the gasholder again looming up briefly as the train sped past. 

I made a subsequent trip to see if I could find the gas holder. I didn't see it from the train window on the way towards London. I got distracted whilst in the vicinity and forgot to look. The search for the gasholder was the catapult (or excuse) for a wander around an area I used to pass through a lot and live not far from when I was a student. When viewed through the lens of hindsight mixed with a weird sort of nostalgia for the places I'd never been, I saw the area as somewhere I hadn't explored nearly as much as I should have at the time. There was, thirty odd years later, still much uncharted territory to traverse and get lost in. The plan, such as it was, involved finding the gasholder and then meandering to The Fishmongers Arms near Wood Green, a former pub which was still open when I was a student.  Like many of the streets in the surrounding area, the pub was never visited by me at the time. There is no explanation I can think of as to why. But we mainly slept in Wood Green and rarely went out in it, instead heading further South for beer and entertainment. The Fishmongers Arms must have been the nearest pub to Arcadian Gardens, which was where  I shared a house at the time. Just off the High Road, which is what Green Lanes briefly turns into along that stretch. 

After emerging at Bounds Green and taking a reasonable breakfast at the Sunrise Cafe nearby, I headed towards New Southgate Station across 'The Green', an elongated green corridor sandwiched between the houses of Tewkesbury Terrace and The Bounds Green Road. This threw me out the other end near the junction with the North Circular Road. The junction was immediately disorientating. I could remember coming across it on the bus from North Finchley, another place I lived as a student. I had taken the bus journey most days for about a year in order to catch the tube at Bounds Green down to Finsbury Park. But my memories of the place from that time were so vague and distorted that they were counterproductive. Having decided that I wanted to walk free of google maps, and only refer to the paper A-Z if absolutely necessary, I turned right onto the North Circular in the mistaken belief I was on the road to New Southgate Station. I followed the road to my right and an  unidentified water course to my left flowing through an inaccessible vegetated area. Away from the vortex of the junction, my sense of direction partially returned. I turned off at the first opportunity into a a series of streets named after poets; Chaucer Close, Milton Grove and Shakespeare Avenue. The last of these flung me into a passage which emerged onto a main road, featuring Arnos Grove Tube station. When I lived in Wood Green, I had imagined Arnos Grove as somewhere far more distant from Bounds Green. This only added to my current sense of disorientation and promoted a sense of freeness from the constraints of set routes, phone checking and worrying about destination. I began to think if I didn't get to New Southgate (the place I'd planned to properly start drifting) anytime soon, or indeed at all, then it wouldn't really matter. But Charles Holden's iconic tube station design design resembled, in my current obsessed state, a gas ring. An optimistic sign that I was on the right track.

After following the main road for a bit, I veered off left and after wandering through a small and detritus infested park opposite a church, I found myself among the passages of a small housing estate behind some shops. I soon emerged onto the main road opposite New Southgate Station, the road I thought I was on about 20 minutes before.

I crossed the bridge over the railway tracks and emerged into a zone between the station and a wall that was clearly the remnants of a previous age. The wall had become colonised with street art and graffiti. The message on the wall directly in front of me was 'rest in peace'. My immediate thought was that this was a lament for the gas holder and I really was too late. Maybe the vision from the train window had been a mirage all along.

The wall stretched onwards but these days was an ineffective barrier between the station and what sits other side. Previously behind the wall had been large Victorian lunatic asylum, The Friern  Hospital. But the vast site has since been turned to residential use. I walked through the archway where a door would have once blocked my way and onto the fringe of the still new(ish) looking housing development.

I followed a path along the other side of the wall which turned into a park. When presented with a junction, I took the path to the left which led to a green space with a circle of bushes and vegetation surrounding a dip in the ground, presumably an old pit of some type. There was no-one around. But evidence of people being here in the form of a discarded crisp, chocolate and coke picnic in one corner and a housing estate on the other side, demonstrated the area was far from a secret. But it  felt off the beaten track despite the proximity of housing. I decide to walk around the circle, but as I got a quarter of a way around I saw what I first thought was someone's dog staring at me. But no person emerged and I realised it was a fox. Quite a big one. The creature stood still for what seemed a long time staring at me before turning and running off into the undergrowth. I decided to abandon my circuit and leave the fox in peace. Its sudden appearance had been slightly unnerving and the atmosphere of the space was somewhat off-kilter, in a 70s public information film sort of way.

I went back to the right hand path and soon emerged alongside a retail park. I decide to stop for some light refreshment, more due to the need to a wee than being thirsty. The best of very few options  available was Costa Coffee where I sat outside and took in the view. I was glad I had taken breakfast at the Sunrise Cafe earlier since there appeared to be no decent breakfast options in the retail park, which I suppose is typical of these sorts of places.

I left the retail park and after crossing a bridge over a small lake, I emerged onto Atlas Road, which ran parallel to the North Circular. The road appeared deserted. It was only the sound of the traffic hidden by the trees to the left that reminded me I was in London, but otherwise I could have been walking through farflung peripheral region. The road's purpose had presumably become largely redundant once the North Circular had been built, other than to get to the retail park. But there was no sign of any retail park traffic, which presumably preferred Orion Road, on the other side of the North Circular. The names of the two roads brought about images of the titanic and galactic, but Atlas Road at least was the antithesis of those things. It did though have a strange and eerie feel to it.

A sign featured an image of a spectral bison, hinting that the fauna to be found behind the fence was probably something to beware of.

Similarly spectral was the advertising board. I wondered how long it was since anyone was tempted to advertise there. I reckoned I was the first person to see the board that morning judging by the number of people or cars I had seen along the road (none).

After a walk that was beginning to seem endless, I turned back to investigate an opening in the vegetation. This lead to a footpath that followed the Bounds Green brook. The path was as deserted as Atlas Road. Although netting supporting the banks of the brook from collapse showed that the watercourse was one not left to its own devices and carefully managed.

The path turned off into a residential area, the brook going its own way, impossible to follow. The residential area was non-descript and soon led to a main road. This road, for once, was not the North Circular or any of the other roads emanating from the vortex of the earlier junction. After crossing over and following the road beyond the large Tesco Extra to my left, I discovered I was on Colney Hatch Road.  

The name Colney Hatch was both familiar and meaningless. I had no conception of it as a place. I was curious enough to break the rules and check the ordinance survey app. The name Colney Hatch appeared over an area not too far away, until I zoomed in a bit then it disappeared. Colney Hatch was both on and off the map. Wikipedia calls it 'loosely defined'. Further along the road, after crossing the North Circular, I encountered the crumbling edifice of Colney Food and Wine. The building seemed to me to be the most defined manifestation of the place 'Colney Hatch' I would find. The previously mentioned Friern Hospital asylum grounds extended to and was associated with Colney Hatch, the place name being  used as an abusive term for madness as a result.  The food and wine building looked like it might be one of the few surviving along this stretch contemporary to the asylum. 

Colney Hatch is a place on the border of Haringey and Barnet.  I had already traversed between the two boroughs, a fact only really noticeable by the local authority symbols on road signs. This part of Barnet was far removed from the Northern area where it merges with Hertfordshire. Here instead, it blends in with Haringey and Enfield to form an almost amorphous and extensive part of outer North London.

I turned down Albion Avenue. Although the battered street sign appeared at odds with any Arthurian or Blakean connections the name might have suggested, there was a definite change in atmosphere as soon as I entered the street. It had been another dry day and getting hotter. But as I passed the sign a very welcome light rain shower suddenly started. Attached to a wall on one of the houses was a brown terracotta sun, its alchemaic expression ambiguous.

At the end of the Avenue, which was not a long distance, was Halliwick Recreation Ground. I sat on one of the benches surrounding the grassy expanse. I looked at the A-Z to recalibrate and get my bearings. I soon realised that I would be going completely the wrong way if I carried on out the other side of the rec, in relation to the suspected site of the Gas Holder around New Southgate Station. I'd come way off course.  I retracted my steps and instead followed the road down the side of Colney Food and Wine.

I passed through a residential area with a mix of housing types and at least two MOT garages. This eventually led me to an opening to a park or green space of some kind. Somehow I then ended up back on the North Circular. A complex pedestrian footbridge led over to the other side and I decided to cross. From the bridge I could see the towering adverts from the retail park I had sat in earlier. The realisation that I had walked in essentially a large semi-circle, when the journey had felt far more erratic, was discombobulating.

Walking along the path alongside the North Circular felt odd. Although the path existed, it didn't appear to be very well used. Probably not surprising given the volume of traffic which seemed relentless. I approached a bridge, which featured the mark of the mysterious 'Ouch' emblazoned in black paint. The two crows circling overhead, vulture like, adding to the ominous atmosphere. Once under the bridge I was suddenly engulfed in a concentration of exhaust fumes and pigeon shit. The pigeon detritus and  vehicle pollution had coalesced into a noxious tar-like murky film on top of the asphalt. This 'enhanced' the  stench in the air and made walking feel like a significantly less than healthy activity for the duration of the underpass. 

I was not sorry to emerge the other side, where I realised I was back at the junction that had confused me earlier. I stopped to take stock and noticed on the A-Z that not far from where I stood there was a large circle depicted which was presumably a site of gasholder. The A-Z I had was not current. No Gas Holder loomed over the fence, only an ariel mast. It was clear, however, that I stood on the other side of the wall from the former site of one of the New Southgate Gas Holders and knew that the one I had seen out of the train window was not sited here.

Around the corner was the road leading back to New Southgate Station. Across the road the new development included a Premier Inn and other buildings that looked almost identical to it but were probably flats. I speculated that they stood on the site where other gas holders had stood.

I crossed the road, and found myself as confused by the junction as I was the first time. I had assumed the road ahead lead to Bounds Green but soon realised I was wrong. The traffic was a relentless jam in all directions. An old lady was begging at the traffic lights of one of the junctions. It was an effective but dangerous looking strategy. The cars could go nowhere once the lights turned red and she approached them. I'd seen a younger woman doing the same earlier at another part of the junction. I somehow got sucked into the vortex of the junction again, and managed to find myself on the exact opposite side from where I realised I wanted to be. It took some time to get back to the right place, where I managed to orientate myself again on the road towards New Southgate Station and the newly developed area, which was presumably the one where flats had replaced gasholders.

Just before that I can remember the scene below which I think was across the road from the new development, on the still semi-industrial side where the large gasholder shown on the A-Z had been. But I couldn't swear to it.

But I recall with much more clarity seeing the enormous blue edifice of builderdepot.co.uk a little further along. The giant blue wall didn't look quite real, as if it had been superimposed by a computer graphic. It was hiding the railway line behind.  I couldn't quite fathom the enormity of it.

I crossed the road and made towards the new development, which had been called Montgomery Park. An online search after the walk revealed nothing of the origins of this name, only that the place was a 'new chapter of city living'.

I followed what looked like the obvious route into the site, despite the 'no entry' sign on the floor. There was still development going on but some of the blocks appeared finished and occupied. These blocks were non-descript typical 21st Century. A sign told me 'City Living and a vibrant Community are right on your doorstep'. I can't say I noticed anything particularly vibrant, nor much living going on. But maybe I'd arrived too soon.

I emerged out the other side of Montgomery Park into a road belonging to an earlier era. I passed an older block, from a time when such places were called  flats rather than 'apartments'. The car park/waste ground behind the fence was a much larger open space than any I'd noticed in the new development and looked like a prime place for football games and other 'vibrant' but possibly more dangerous social activities.

Less social was what would have been the only place to stop for a sit down near Arnos Grove Tube station, were it not for the potentially arse injuring spikes. The small corner, with it's no parking sign,  was resolutely anti-social.

I had emerged back at Arnos Grove by accident and it was getting warmer. The unwelcoming 'seat', combined with the equally unwelcome increasingly intense sun, helped convinced me that the nearby Arnos Arms might provide a much needed respite.

Feeling replenished after a sit in the darkest corner of the pub I could find and a couple of refreshing weak rhubarb beers, I braved the heat of the sun again. It was even depicted on an electricity utilities box, it's intensity represented by size and its effect on a being standing below. A Ludwig/Mr Potato Head hybrid with a demented sunstroke grin hovered above grass that was too pointy to stand on and probably about to catch fire. 

I found myself in Arnos Park and being offered a choice of destinations. I was not heading to any of the places on offer but took the left turn.

The park offered shade alongside the course of the Pymmes Brook, which I followed as closely as possible.  Across the brook was a cut off and private area containing what looked like allotments and an area used by park maintenance people.  Drifting through the green corridor of the park afforded a pause from suburban housing, arterial roads and intense heat and sunlight. It was over all too soon, and I was thrust back out into streets of houses and the blazing sun, a week too early for the 6th Enfield Gin and Rum festival.

Not too much later I escaped from the streets again into another park.  Broomfield Park was much busier than Arnos and there was more going on. Or at least evidence that there once had been. A boarded up kiosk has been closed long enough for graffiti to develop.

Not very far away a much larger dilapidated building was being slowly renovated. Broomfield House was surrounded by boards design to both keep out intruders and to inform visitors about it's history.  As well as some history of the building I learned that progress with the repairs was likely to be slow due to lack of funding.

 

Beyond the house a large concrete plain expanded across the park. This was also dilapidated, and had been colonised by grassy tufts wherever there was a crack in the surface. I imagined it must have had fountains dotted around in the past. But now resembled a bit of abandoned World War 2 airfield.

From Broomfield park I emerged into Palmer's Green. I remembered this as being the next place up from Wood Green along Green Lanes, the other side of the North Circular. I had only passed through it on a bus once when I lived in Wood Green when I'd forgotten to get off. Another time I got off train at Palmers Green station in the dark. So had little knowledge or memory of it. 

Once I reached Green Lanes, I found myself in a place sort of parallel to the part of the road South of Turnpike Lane, but much less intense and with a more suburban range of shops. But there was a very similar atmosphere. A building with a large ghost sign above a nail bar provided an image which perhaps captured this best.

I headed North beyond where the shops gave way to the between space leading to Winchmore Hill. The most notable sight in this zone was the Parish  Church of St John The Evangelist. The building featured unusual green topped twin turrets each side of the large arched window at the front.

A little further along a green beared face confronted me from a lamppost. In place of eyes some sort of  incomprehensible symbol or hieroglyph stared at me from the face. The visage was of a similar green hue to that of the turrets of the church. I wondered if it was a depiction of the head of St John the Evangelist in a hip mode, notifying passers by that they walked in his parish.

 

Not long after this encounter, an ornate brown and white curved and bay windowed facade above a parade of shops marked my arrival at Winchmore Hill. The impressive sight was only slightly marred by a massive Paddy Power logo

Beyond this a stretch similar to, but shorter than, the Palmers Green bit of Green Lanes gave way to a turn in the road, near the point where a Waitrose now occupied the former Green Dragon pub. The pub had closed in 2015. But a bit further along, at the start of a parade of shops was the Little Dragon, a micropub named in tribute that opened in 2017. I had noted earlier the heraldic symbol of Enfield Borough Council on the street signs of Green Lanes which I mistook for a Red Dragon, but in fact is a Red Enfield, a mythical beast that is an amalgam of fox, lion, eagle, wolf and greyhound. The creature is used in the heraldry of Enfield Borough as well as the emblem of some local schools, football clubs and other organisations. The Enfield is associated with the mythology of the O'Kelly family in Ireland but its not clear what the connection is between the beast and Enfield Borough. The Green Dragon, as a pub symbol, is associated with loyalty to the Earl of Pembroke, so connected to Wales. So although Winchmore Hill was physically heading towards and contained a slight whiff of Hertfordshire about it, there appeared to be a hidden Celtic connection somewhere below the surface.

 

By this point, I was hot and in need of refreshment. I bought water and ice cream from a shop on the parade and sat on the bench near to the sign which told me I was patronising Masons Corner Shopping Centre. The row of five of six shops curved around the corner and felt like somewhere on the periphery, a small haven slightly removed from the rest of Winchmore Hill. The sign felt defiant, these shops existed in their own right and were their own centre. Feeling a bit refreshed but too exposed to the Sun I decided ot would be sensible to pop into the Little Dragon for a swift half and some shade. The beer was good  and I felt ready to head back out into the Sun after half an hour of respite. 

I had reached the Northern peak of my journey. I decided to head back towards the North Circular and beyond to Bowes Park following the New River.  At the end of the parade of shops a short road, which turned out to be a dead end, featured  'Gasoline Alley' which I'm guessing is (or was) a secondhand car car dealer but there was no sign of life or any cars for sale. The double glazing, painted 'vintage' woman and sign all looked like they post-dated the rest of the white flakey painted building by some years, but despite that were sympathetic additions that enhanced rather than ruined the building. I left before I could be accosted by the proprietor, should they be inside doing some bookwork while waiting for prospective customers. I wasn't up to any kind of sales pitch, particularly from a skilled used car salesperson.

 

The next turn led me into a residential street that was heading back towards Winchmore Hill. The New River cross under the street about halfway along and I entered the gate to the footpath. The gate featured a Thames Water logo and stated that the path was a 'non-public right of way'.  While of course I knew what it meant, even in my by now sun-addled state having walked quite a few miles, I thought it was an odd way of saying it. It did have me wondering initially who exactly were the 'non-public' who had the right of way. I did know I wasn't one of them.  It went on to say that the owner allows the public to use the path at their own risk  'for the time being'. I set of along the path hoping that 'the time being' would be a sufficient period for me to reach the other end. It was unclear what would happen to me if not. The path and river  stretched in front of me, devoid of people or activity. The notice, and its public information film tone had unnerved me slightly. I wondered what or who I could expect to encounter ahead.

Soon I was provided with some 'New River Path Safety Precautions'  courtesy of an unmissable notice. The small print at the bottom pointed out that the New River brings fresh water from Hertfordshire into London and requested that people do not litter or let their dogs shit on the path. 

 

It wasn't long before I found myself leaving the path onto another street, as access under the bridge was not possible. Across the street, I could not rejoin the path. This was the first in a series of temporary departures from the path where parts of it were inaccessible.  I found myself at Stanbridge Place, marked by a round blue placque bearing its name. There was little of note, other than a Chinese takeaway that looked like it might have been frozen in time in the 1980s. It featured a faded plastic 'vintage' Pepsi sign attached at right angles to the contrasting grey concrete of the building.

I got back on and off the New River a few times, and the memory of which bit was which has become muddled in my miod since the walk. At some point I emerged back onto Green Lanes where the path separated the road from the river. Here a couple of engraved stones helpfully reminded passers by that the New River is neither new, nor a river. It was new once, when it was first opened but it was a choice of name that seems odd now. A bit like Sonic Youth. Although I  suppose Sonic Youth probably didn't think they would still be a concern in their 40s, but presumably the New River was supposed to last a lot longer. And it has.

Various streets seemed to bear names related to the river, including River Avenue which ked me back on to a stretch of the New River featuring a few floating footballs. This part of the route seemed particularly vibrant. I still had encountered no other people on the path but here the ominous public information film element had completely disappeared. The greenery was particularly fresh here and there was no hint of the industrialised nature of the watercourse found elsewhere along the path.

 

This was short lived. No much further along a discarded childs blow up horse lay in the path. There was something both melancholic and apocalyptic about the sight of the abandoned equine toy.

 

Here the River had also taken a turn for the worse, presumably due to the fallen tree laying across it. The tree appeared to be responsible for what looked like a midden of static sludge that had replaced the flowing water. There was an unpleasant whiff coming from the direction of the sludge. I couldn't be sure that it was silt due to the flow of water being restricted by the tree or the result of discharge into the river from an undisclosed source. Possibly dropped litter and dogshit were  a contributory factor.  Whatever the cause, the atmosphere was somewhat sinister and brought forth depressing thoughts of wider environmental degradation.

 

Attached to a nearby tree was what appeared to be a small spent plastic bottle that would have contained cleaning product of some sort. The sight seemed symbolic of a futile attempt to clear up the mess. The contents of the container was nowhere sufficient enough to combat the sludge in the New River. And it was made out of plastic itself so would become part of the problem itself. It seemed to be a metaphor for the apparent inability of humanity to do anything effective to prevent much of the world slipping into a similarly degraded state as this part of the river. A little further along I witnessed a cormorant display its distain at this state of affairs as it pointed its arse in my direction and let out a stream of liquid birdshit. It was too far away to do me any damage but the message conveyed seemed quite clear. 

I was forced to leave the path again for a short detour due to a 'danger keep out' sign and grey pointed metal fence prohibiting access to the next part of the New River. Eventually I rejoined it and walked alongside an extensive grey and graffitied warehouse of some kind. Again, there was no sign of any other human life. But the grim geeling brought on by the sludge had dissipated. I was enjoying the New River and its all but uninhabited low key mixture of greenery and low key defunct industrial structures.

I exited the New River path for the last time next to the building that fronted the long warehouse I had followed. The square brown premises of Chris & Sons Ltd did not look abandoned and although the shutters were down (it was Saturday) it appeared to be a going concern. A cursory glance at google while writing this confirms that it is, but what I hadn't realised was  the road I stood on to take the picture was Green Lanes. I had stuck to my not using the map rule. This and the combination of heat and the slightly off kilter state resulting from having now walked some miles had contributed to my sense of orientation being more vague than normal. Still good enough for me to know I was heading in the right direction, just not exactly how.

 

I headed down a road opposite and followed it to its conclusion, where I was spat out onto a main road. This time I knew I was back on the North Circular and that I needed to get across. 

 

A set of traffic lights futher up allowed easy passage over the North Circular and into a residential street that was heading (according to my wonky orientation) parallel to the New River and towards Bowes Park. I didn't check the map to find out but I was more or less on the right track. I soon found myself on Myddleton Road, having past Bowes Park Station and an entrance to the New river path, which I had hoped to have emerged from had I not lost the thread of the river at Chris And Sons Ltd.

 

I had hoped to engineer the walk to take in Myddleton Road for two reasons. One was that I had seen a YouTube video posted on a thread connected  with the Mill Road Bridge closure plans in Cambridge. The video featured a local trader voicing concerns about the imposition of a Low Traffic Neighbourhood (LTN) on Myddleton Road where she had a shop. The concerns were the same ones Mill Road Traders had about reduced business and to some extent gentrification. The second and more pressing reason was that after having seen the video, I remembered walking down street of shops somewhere between Wood Green High Road and the back of Bounds Green Tube when I was at University. I only remember going their once and buying some chips. I couldn't recall how or why I had gone there and why it was only the once. The place had remained dormant half remembered in my mind ever since to the point where I thought I'd probably imagined or dreamt it. I was convinced it must have been Myddleton Road having seen the video.

I walked the length of Myddleton Road and although vaguely familiar it wasn't how I remembered the street I had bought my chips in. Maybe  the 'chip shop' street was a figment of my imagination, and I'd been here at some other point, possibly when a friend of mine briefly lived near Bounds Green. I cannot be certain.  Inevitably the street would have changed to some extent in thirty years, but I didn't recognise it at all.

What was certain was that the LTN had been implemented and judging by the posters stuck on the planters there was some resistance to the idea. Meanwhile, the official wording painted onto the planters is 'Haringey Streets for People'. The wording similar to the name of the pressure group 'Mill Road for People' who are on the side of closing Mill Road Bridge and creating an LTN as a result. Walking through the planters it was clear that the arguments and divisions the issue has caused here are exactly the same as in Cambridge and no doubt elsewhere. The video I had seen and a number of others can be found on YouTube and several threads on a local internet forum are like reruns of the 'discussions' found on 'Nextdoor' about Mill Road. 

 

It was apparent that Myddleton Road was undergoing a process of transition towards something more gentrified. Some newer cafes and vintage type shops were evident. But there were just as many empty or at least apparently empty shops. The process was slow and didn't seem guaranteed. The name of the street incorporated into the facades was an original relic from the past rather than a contrived attempt at authenticity.  

The same feel could be found in many of the other shop fronts, particularly the empty ones. The Lyons Cafe stood out in particular. The windows were covered in brown paper, but the signage did not look overly dilapidated, so much so that I wondered if it was in the process of being tarted up to be re-opened. After the walk, I found a Geograph post from 2015 showing a picture pretty much identical to the one I took below, 8 years later. Nothing had changed. A blog post I found called 'A Street in London' from 2018 by Cecily McNamara talks about Myddleton Road and the state of the street in the context of the predicament of high streets in general. Wood Green Shopping Centre, which opened in 1978, had a detrimental effect on Myddelton Road in the same way large shopping centres, in or out of town, have had on high streets across the UK. The papered up windows of some of the closed shops masked ongoing business still operating from within, just not the sort that relies on passing trade. Workshops  and recording studios operated hidden away. I don't know if Lyons concealed any ongoing operations behind its brown paper but it appears to have been closed as a cafe for some time. How long I haven't been able to find out.

I past a definitely opened and busy  cafe called New Salami FC. New Salami FC are a local football side, and the cafe caters to their supporters. Similar cafes/clubs exist along Green Lanes beyond Wood Green Shopping City dedicated to different FCs, linked to the Greek Cypriot community. New Salami FC currently play in something called the Isthmian League North, along with some other London based clubs as well as ones as far flung as Gorelston and Lowestoft.  New Salamis FC in Bowes Park is associated with a parent club,  New Salamis Famagusta FC which based Larnaca in Southern Cyprus. The parent club is a refugee club, forced to move South away from Famagusta following the Turkish occupation of Northern Cyprus in 1974. The club had originally been established in 1948 by left leaning athletes. At this time the Greek civil war between Leftists and Rightists determined the organisation of football in Cyprus with left leaning clubs forming a separate league. The wiki article about the history club is well worth a look, even for those like me who have little interest in the actual game of football.

I left Myddleton Road, still unsure as to whether it was the street I remembered buying chips in 30 years ago. I wondered how it will fair over the next thirty years and if the LTN will have much of a positive or negative effect either way. I followed the 'hidden river path' under which the New River flowed.

I had assumed it was flowing East in roughly the direction of the Fishmongers Arms which was going to be my final destination. The heat had not abated much and I was getting to the point where I was getting weary. I'd been walking since about 9am with only a couple of short stops and now it was probably about 3.30pm, maybe later. Unfortunately the river path was not a direct route and I ended up meandering somehow back onto a main road to Wood Green Station, so my imagined 'as the crow flies' route was not to be.

I followed the High Road which although a road I walked up countless times years ago, felt a lot less familiar than I thought it should have done. In particular, I was amazed that I had no recollection whatsoever of the Civic Centre, the headquarters of Haringey Borough Council. The building looked contemporary to 60s/70s postwar Newtown Architecture. It is listed and due for a revamp according to the information board that extended along the front.

I was too weary to appreciate the rest of the stretch up to the Fishmongers Arms and decided a return trip in the near future was needed to do the area justice. I was glad when the now closed pub emerged into view.  The pub had closed sometime in the 2000s and turned into flats. The building was not how i remembered it and had it not had the words 'Fishmongers Arms' still painted on it I would not have recognised it. I recalled it having a metal looking statue of John Lennon standing above the front door and I had no recollection of the wall and hedge separating the pub from the High Road. 

The pub was noted for hosting the Wood Green jazz club in the 50s. In the 60s the emphasis shifted to rock. There were early appearances by Graham Bond, Julie Driscoll, Fleetwood Max and Pink Floyd among others. I don't know if any music was still going on in the 90s but I can't recall anything being advertised at the time.  The John Lennon Statue was apparently sold off by the owner. Before that it had been moved to another pub he owned called 'Legends' further up Green Lanes near the North Circular. 

I stood briefly in front of the Grade II listed cattle trough and drinking fountain that stands in front of the building on the High Road. This was constructed in 1901 for the Metropolitan Drinking Fountain and Cattle Trough Association. The bowl under the tap appeared to have been converted into an ashtray. I didn't try the tap, although I was thirsty, put off by the fag butts and assumed  that the drinking fountain was probably defunct in any case.

I headed for the tube, tired but glad I had reached the Fishmongers Arms and brought the walk to a proper conclusion. On the train home my thoughts returned to the gasholder. This time I made sure I kept an eye out. I saw the back view of the giant blue board of Builderdepot.co.uk. Then a bit further North, further than I had walked today, I saw it. The gasholder was there. Just not in New Southgate. A bit of googling revealed it is located in New Barnet, decommissioned but still standing in the site of the New Barnet Gas Works. Quite a bit further North on foot but a fleeting few seconds by non stopping train from New Southgate. I would have to make a return journey at some point. I part cursed myself for not bothering to find this out in advance but mostly congratulated myself. The expedition had been well worth it. That I did not find the gasholder was not really the point. It was the idea of it that had led me on a perambulation that otherwise would not have been. One afforded not by tiresome hours of screen time and  internet 'research', but  based on a whim following fleeting views of a random object out of a train window. 

Not really The Dollis Valley Green Walk

I'd had a vague idea of following the Dollis Brook for a while, and few months ago I thought I'd do a section along it's 'greenwalk' whilst killing time prior to a concert in the evening. Just a shortish walk, nothing epic. So this post recounts events from the Autumn as remembered 6 months later. I had last been in Finchley about 25 years ago when I lived there when I was a student at the Polytechnic (later University) of North London. Back then I wasn't even aware of the Dollis Brook or that it flowed through Finchley very near to where I had lived. I'd never explored the area very much at the time. Cursing the young Mr H's lack of perambulatory curiosity, I felt a need to revisit the area. I wanted to find the viaduct in nearby Mill Hill too.

Rather than catch the tube straight to Finchley Central I took the opportunity to have a preliminary drift between Kings Cross and Camden. It was just before midday so I had a good seven hours spare time. The development around Kings Cross has been relentless in the last few years but pockets of resistance and dissent still exist.

Up the road at Euston Station the forthcoming HS2 (High Speed 2) development is destined to have an even bigger and more negative local impact than that at Kings Cross. Residents will be displaced. Relocation is promised nearby but whether this will happen remains to be seen. The excellent Bel Poori restaurants of Drummond Street are under threat. Graves are being exhumed in a public garden destined to disappear and be buried itself under one of the new entrances.

Meanwhile, carrying on towards Somers Town I wasn't sure if this tailor had abandoned the premises or had barricaded him/herself inside.

At number 145 it looked like JR Pottery had discarded the kiln in order to supply emergency blankets. 

Not long after this I got to Camden and caught the tube to Finchley Central. I walked up the main drag, Ballards Lane, taking a diversion into Victoria Park to try and find a convenience. There was one but it was locked. I left the park being too distracted by natures call to explore it properly. I'd never been there when I lived in the area.

Back on the main road I was drawn into a side passage known as Lovers Walk. No sign of anything amorous occurring but maybe that only happens at night. It looked to be in the right direction for the Dollis Brook and there was a possibility of finding somewhere to have a pee.

Lovers Walk

I emerged onto a residential street. A bit further down it I followed the sign pointing down a pathway which was a continuation of Lovers Walk. I guessed this would lead me to the Dollis Brook. But by this point I'd decided I'd drift in whatever direction took my fancy, and if I found the  Brook it would be fortuitous but not longer essential.

Soon I did reach the brook and followed it along until taking a diversion past the Fursby Allotments: 'Best Kept Small Allotment in Barnet 2015'. A worthy accolade, but it was now 2016. Where was the  currently title holder I wondered? Maybe a future walk tracking the allotments of Barnet would be a good excuse to come back another day. As far as I am concerned allotments are magical spaces and in more ways than one. Anyone who has one will probably tell you that upon entering an allotment site you are instantly in a different place physically and mentally. Any stress and anxiety seems to dissipate as you pass through the gate as if you have entered parallel dimension of calm and equilibrium. They are also miraculous in their continued existence given the pressure from developers and land grabbers. But many have been lost including one recently in nearby(ish) Watford. They represent a healthy 'up yours' to the idea of  relentless property speculation as the best use of land...maybe that's another reason it feels good to have an allotment. The resurgence of interest in them among all sorts of people in recent years has been important in helping reduce their loss. It has also meant that they are no longer only inhabited by the stereotypical easy going old men in flat caps, although gladly they are still about to offer their wisdom. 

My memory of events here feels somewhat unreliable - there is a bit of a gap in the photographic record and a cheating look at google maps hasn't helped me really. So I will write as I remember. This might lead to an account not quite on par the reality of the route taken but the one that is in my brain a few months after the event. And therefore a more pure if distorted version of events. I emerged into a green space following the Dollis. This was clearly a popular place to bring children and walk dogs. Not really wanting to be surrounded by either I diverted down a side way leading to a road..possibly the one I had crossed earlier.

I had it in mind that this road would lead to Mill Hill East tube station. I passed a crossroads with a handful shops and a couple of busy cafes. I half recognised this from my Uni days of 25 years ago. The scene sparked a vague memory of trying to walk to Mill Hill East back then and never reaching it. I remembered these shops but never finding the tube station. Again when I got to this place I initially thought I might be at Mill Hill East. It wasn't of course and I carried along the road. Looking at the map now this was probably Lullington Garth but I'm not 100% sure.

Carrying on I soon found myself in what was beginning to resemble countryside. I found a stile into a field and felt compelled to climb over it. There were several mushroom rings in the field, this being Autumn. In European and British Folklore these 'fairy rings' are usually considered dangerous if entered. One legend has it that  'someone who violates a fairy perimeter becomes invisible to mortals outside and may find it impossible to leave the circle. Often, the fairies force the mortal to dance to the point of exhaustion, death, or madness'. While the idea of becoming invisible is quite appealing when doing a walk, I was never much of a dancer to being with. I skirted round the rings just to be on the safe side.

Invisible dancefloor of death

In the distance I could see what thought was the Lloyds Bank buidling in Cockfosters. The tentacles of world finance are never far away even when dodging fairy rings in a field in Barnet. On an earlier walk I did with R, our destination had been East Barnet but we saw the looming white building in the distance and decided carry on until we reached it. It seemed like a beacon in the suburban hilliness of Barnet. It was less palatial and impressive close up than from a distance but still the dominant feature in the immediate environs of Cockfosters Tube. One which seemed to mock our vain efforts to find liquid refreshment at the end of our journey (we couldn't find a pub near the station).

I noticed some of the trees appeared petrified. Maybe they were cursed..by fairies or bankers. Or maybe dead. Or maybe they were supposed to look like that, I'm not much of an authority on trees.

Across the field I climbed another stile and entered what looked like a farmyard. I saw people with children on horses. I followed the footpath signs across another field and into a paddock. This contained a couple of large horses and no apparent way out the other side. Retreating from the paddock,  I retraced my steps as no other obvious pathway presented itself. I have a sort of unwritten rule never to double back on a walk unless there are exceptional circumstances. But horses can be dangerous and I'm a coward. This was an exceptional circumstance.

Back on the main road, I soon saw that the reason for the proliferation of all things horsey was the Frith Manor Equestrian Centre'. A bit further up the road I passed this mysterious obelisk.

Passing Finchely Golf Club I suddenly recalled this road from my attempt to walk to Mill Hill East in my student days. I remember at the time this being a seemingly endless road with trees and fields with an army base or shooting range and possibly a farm  My vague memory was at least part right. Inglis Barracks used to exist nearby but the site has since been given over to a fairly typical looking residential development only remarkable by it's non-remarkableness. Millbrook Park was a result of something called Project MoDel which basically involved the Ministry of Defence divesting itself of sites considered surplus by selling to housing developers. I guess houses are better than war.

It seems even manhole covers have to be called something. I came across this one labelled 'Warrior'. Other names for manhole covers include 'Saunders', 'Aptlas Double' and 'Bulleseye' although these ones are more subtle and dignified, not feeling the need to display their brand to the public. Those who need to identify and deal with the various Thames Water manhole covers safely have this booklet to refer to. These field officers hold the key to an unseen world of underground byways through these portals. Maybe they know the secret of the names given to the covers. But to me they remain as random sounding and unexplained as those given to different models of glasses in Specsavers.

Warrior

Eventually I arrived at a crossroads with some shops and soon after rejoined the Dollis Brook (I think.I didn't bother to check the map).

Probably not an official warning sign

Then I emerged into some streets and followed a footpath to Dollis Avenue.

Somewhere soon after this I passed through a small secluded churchyard  featuring an unusual urn type monument, possibly a grave, at it's centre. Symbolism in graveyards is something I ought to lean more about. According to the Graveyards of Scotland blog, 'An urn is the epitome of elegance, class and style and had soon replaced the skull and crossbones on many graveyards in Scotland and the world'. Not being one to care much for elegance, class and style I think that's something of a shame.

Rested I carried on. Soon I realised I was back not far from where I'd began at Finchley Central.

Rather than head back to Ballards Lane I took a pathway which ended at the entrance to Stephens House and Gardens, a place I'd never heard of. This contained a memorial to the comedian Spike Milligan who had lived in the area and been involved in the Finchley Society.

The statue is called 'a conversation with Spike' and you are encouraged to engage in one and while taking in the various elements of the bench. These include elephant heads, statues of characters from the Goon Show and fairies. Spike apparently had a fascination with fairies and convinced his children they lived at the bottom of his garden. Hopefully they didn't fall foul of the mushroom rings. I did sit for a few minutes and wondered what bizarre anecdotes he'd be able to tell me about the environs and characters of Finchley in the early 70s. I'm sure he had plenty but he remained silent.

Also in the gardens is 'the Bothy'. A Victorian folly under renovation. One of the first non-Roman concrete structures in Britain. I'd never really associated the Victorians with concrete but the view of one of its towers from outside the garden had a definite proto-brutalist feel to it.

Heading South, away from Finchley, I passed this green in what was otherwise quite a built up area on Regents Park Road. I was surprised to see cows in this setting but they were defiantly there.

Over the road this building featuring  'danger of death' dates from the days of Finchley Borough Council. This organisation disbanded in 1965 when the Borough of Barnet and swallowed up Finchley. I wondered what the faded white rectangle symbols represented. Had always only been an electricity room or had Finchley Borough Councillors had utilised it for other purposes.

After crossing the North Circular Road I realigned with the Greenwalk for a bit in the direction of Hampstead. Hampstead was my destination for the evening so I wanted to avoid going there for now.  I thought I might be able to skirt round it's edges and head towards Kentish Town to obtain liquid refreshment for the concert later. I had been advised there would be an interval and to 'bring what you like to drink'. I planned to visit the Clapton Craft beer shop to obtain supplies and visit the excellent Pineapple Pub for a relaxing post walk pint before heading to Hampstead, by bus or train.

I was soon in Little Wood nature reserve..another place I had no idea existed. I'm not sure if I passed through Big Wood. I've since learned Little Wood contains an open air theatre, still in use. I missed that but did stumble upon evidence of  premature Halloween shenanigans -it was October 22nd, not the 31st.

Possibly the people of Hampstead Garden Suburb consider their Winter Fair of greater significance and Halloween is pushed back a week. I misread the notice below at the time. I thought it implied visiting the event would reduce stress which seemed a bit of a bold claim. It turns out Combat Stress is a charity for helping war veterans with post traumatic stress disorder and other stress related afflictions. 

This bizarre letter box was on  the wall surrounding a particularly big house, even for round these parts. The Lion is a symbol of 'strength, courage and majesty' used since Roman times and is  a popular design for door knockers in the UK. The letter box reminded  me of the Green Man or foliate head carvings found /in churches as much as a Lion.

Eventually I was out of Hampstead Garden Suburb and heading towards Swiss Cottage. I don't recall much of the walk between the two except that by this point I was beginning to regret wearing new boots. I had only planned a shortish walk but I hadn't turned out that way and my feet were beginning to feel it. I passed this ghost sign for an optician on the main street having left the foliate suburb to pass into a more down to earth albeit less leafy area.

I'd not anticipated passing through Swiss Cottage. I was an area I'd only ever really passed through by bus in the past. I often wondered what the Swiss Cottage building was that I could see from the top deck. I was happy to find it was a pub belonging to Sam Smith's Brewery- Ye Olde Swiss Cottage. Several years ago a friend suggested trying to visit all the Sam Smith's pubs in London over the course of a few visits. There are quite a number of them. We somehow never go round to that but someone else has done and also produced a map. It may or may not be complete and up to date..maybe a Sam Smiths walk is needed to find out...

At Swiss Cottage tube station it was nice to see that beverages were not being provided by the usual suspects. The Star Box Coffee stand, painted telephone/postbox red, seemed defiant to the blandification and homogenaity usually found.

From Swiss Cottage I headed towards Camden and Kentish Town. I passed this high rise in a street mainly made up of older houses. Having never been inside a high rise flat I wondered what it would be like..the higher floors of these flats must afford spectacular views across London, in the direction of Primrose Hill and Regents Park. I don't know the demographic of this particular block but, although this block is not quite Belfeon Tower or Trellick Tower and probably not a target for the National Trust, I would guess the story is (or will be) similar.  One of the original people it was built to house being displaced by those with more money.

After a while I found myself on Prince of Wales Road heading into Kentish Town. This vaguely familiar territory for me. The Polytechnic/University of North London had a building there..an ex school I think. This was a bit out of the way of the rest of the Poly/University based mostly in buildings on or near Holloway Road and I only went there about three times. Probably the most famous Alumni of the Poly is Jeremy Corbyn who left/got thrown out after several disagreements with his tutors before finishing his course. There was quite a bit of left wing student politics going on when I was there, so maybe he left his mark. The only other famous alumni I can think of were the band Lush who had left just before I arrived in 1991. It had been turned into flats by the time I next returned to the area just after the turn of the millennium, when I stayed in a B&B over the road. I'd picked Michael's guest house from the Yellow Pages. Can hotel booking really have not existed then? It is now called Camden B&B and it looks a lot smarter - if not a little odd-from the outside, painted white with coloured stripes.

I had not bargained on encountering the Drinkers Paradise shop. Here I stocked up on a couple of beverages for later. I was attracted by the display of decent beer in the window. The Fosters lager logo and 0171 number, displayed on the old sign,  would have been contemporary of  my time at the Poly.  The old and new signs seemed to represent both an increase in the availability of decent beer (hooray!) and rampant gentrification (boo!) that has happened since the era of the 0171 number - I suppose I have to grudgingly accept that the former is a symptom of the latter. 

As I'd reached Kentish Town with plenty of time. I headed to the aforementioned Pineapple for a pint and to rest my feet which were now feeling it, mostly because of my poor footwear choice. Following the side street off the main drag of Kentish Town brought me to the stark contrast of the quiet road of smartly and brightly decorated houses on which the pub is located. I found a quite corner and escaped from the world for a while.

I had intended to get a train from Kentish Town West but that seemed in the wrong direction, and I decided to walk towards Hampstead. This part of the walk was not that eventful..I was weary and was looking out for a bus to take me to Hampstead. I made it to Gospel Oak after passing through this tunnel and the dolls shop below. I'd been past the dolls shop before and had assumed it was closed up. The bizarre objects in the window looked like it had been abandoned years ago and were covered in dust. It was reminiscent of a combination of the shop from the children's TV programme Bagpuss and The Victor Wynd Museum of Curiosities. On that occasion it was Sunday but this time it was very much opened for business, although the cage was kept up on the window. I've since discovered a couple of short films about the shop and it's eccentic octogenarian owner, Kristin Baybars. 'The Little Shop in Gospel Oak' and this one from the London Film School show what I missed  by not going in.  'We do not exist, but of you think we do please knock' reads a sign on the door. I wish I had.

No sign of Professor Yaffle

I caught the overground train at Gospel Oak, a feeble one stop to Hampstead but I was knackered. I was a bit early so visited the White Horse pub. I remembered the name as a place that used to put on gigs back in the day by bands like Silverfish. There was no trace of anything as energentic and rawkus as that happening here now. I headed up to the Rosalyn Hill Chapel to the concert, and treated myself to a posh pork pie to go with by beer at the interval, from a posh deli/butcher shop nearby before going in.

28 days later...

The Dollis Brook Greenwalk would have to be done properly another day. Possibly.