I’ve been in Toronto for four and a half months now. It’s a strange limbo existence much of the time and I’m tempted to say I’ve done nothing. I have, of course. There are far too many photos to share, things to say, so I’ll simply have to abbreviate the whole thing.
We moved to Bloordale into an Airbnb for two months in the middle of November. It’s not an area I have spent any time in so it was all new.
Bloordale – pink marks the spot where we stayed
We had two rooms upstairs – a kitchen and living room, and downstairs was a bedroom and bathroom. It was nicely done but we had some issues. Mostly with the downstairs – there was no rail and I often felt very unsafe and scared. Secondly, it was freezing down there. Krish’s parents gave us a little heater and a rug for the cold tiled bathroom. We had a washer and no dryer (we spent a while feeling sure it must be there but no) so all the washing had to be done and hung across some cleverly installed clotheslines that ran across both floors from wall to wall. I’d laugh at how that looked and would say, this is our luxurious accommodation!
We did have a bit of an oasis there for a while, though. It was nice to have our own space. There was a decent couch and a TV and I set about decorating a little for Christmas, not spending much but borrowing lights from my sister and a few dollar store items to round it out. I was actually looking forward to Christmas and having people over.
Then Covid hit me. It was out of the blue. I’d been careful but I had been on public transit more than usual and in more restaurants than usual and, of course, I was somewhat run down so that was that. And it hit on a Friday. There was no way to get to the doctor, and the walk-in clinics were all closing early. I was advised to take Paxlovid but again it would have to wait till Monday when a doctor could see me. I’d be out of commission until the 28th. Skipping over these details, of course I recovered, and I had my Christmas dinner with Robin and Jennifer – a meat pie, not turkey, that’s all – just a bit late.
Bloordale is in the west end of the city, a bit north of the centre. It’s six kilometres from the centre of town and it is a relatively easy journey to Robin’s place. Bloor Street, that gives Bloordale its name, has no bus or streetcar but is on one of the two main subway lines . It takes less than ten minutes to reach Yonge Street, the main Toronto street that divides Toronto east from west. They’ve called it the longest street in the world at 56 km. Toronto lays claim to a lot of ‘biggest,’ ‘longest,’ ‘first,’ etc. Who knows how many of these are real?
Bloordale, though, is an area that’s considered up and coming. These days every city seems to want to name its separate areas into village names. Bloordale a highly diverse, mixed-income community of Portuguese, Caribbean, Italian, Bangladeshi, Latin American, Pakistani, Sri Lankan, Burmese, Chinese, and Vietnamese people, many of whom speak a different native language than English. What we noticed most was Latin American and Portuguese. We could have tacos every night if we wanted and we liked getting the boulinhos de bacalhau and pada. We tried not to eat all the pasteis de nata, though. Many nights we would get the little $1 tacos of the day – five to eight of them – and I determined again to learn to make horchata. There were thrift stores and a vintage record store. There were two health food stores.
The health food store, The Nut House. We were in there a lotOne-dollar tacos. They were nice to grab on busy evenings
On our very first night we looked for something that was open and discovered Latin World. We shared a really large plate of something
What there wasn’t: a supermarket, a little grocery store. That made things hard. We also had Dufferin Mall, with two supermarkets – Walmart and No Frills. We didn’t like either but we’d go there sometimes, and my friend Leslie would drive me to the bigger store every couple of weeks so I didn’t have to struggle home in the snow.
And, yes, now we had cold temperatures with snow and ice. It made walking harder. I started to hate the subway which had no escalator or elevator in the entrance closest to us. I moaned about there being no seats on the platform as I waited for my train after navigating three sets of stairs with my winter clothing and cane.
We did find the neighbourhood colourful and quirky in its own way. The streets had those typical Toronto houses you find in Little Italy and Little Portugal. Semi-detached, two storeys with a basement and backyard, and little porches to the front door. Every now and again I’d come across some crazy Christmas illuminations. In typical Canadian fashion, the storekeepers were cheerful and friendly for the most part. We were quickly remembering that customer service here is a different level than we had become used to in London.
Bloordale’s typical houses
There was a huge concentration of pot shops in Bloordale. I’ve forgotten how many – should I say cannabis dispensaries?I loved this little Italian shop. The owner was very friendly and we bought jams and panetttoneThere were two Latin World stores and in this bigger one I found this door and flowers. Like a shrine.On our first trip to Dufferin Mall Krish found this table hockey game and it’s now ours
A little street art. Never very clever but definitely colourful. Lots of it seemed Innuit-inspiredDuring our stay a sinkhole opened just south of us. It closed the road for some timeCanadiana at the local Tim Horton’s
Colourful doors all along Bloor Street
We made a little trip a few streets north and finally saw some buses. It was such a cold and snowy dayThis restaurant Sugo is probably the most popular Italian in Toronto – at least the trendiest. We didn’t eat there but I did buy some eggplant parmigiana. It was dry and awful so I didn’t bother going back
We decided not to renew our contract in Bloordale. The rent had been expensive and those stairs were a problem. So mid January we moved to our next destination, Parkdale. That’s another blog entry.
What does home mean? Easy question – until now, for me. Moving from Hackney was hard. Physically, there was so much to do and I’m not as strong or stable as I want to be. I’m also short, which has limited me all my life in a way other short people will understand – attitude and adaptability counts, but if you’re short you’re short and that’s that. Emotionally was probably harder. More than likely, once the work is finished the physicality of the thing will end. The emotional stuff heals only as quickly as you allow it to.
London was my first home. I loved it from the earliest days of my memory. It wasn’t just about my family or the people around me, it was a solid feeling of belonging. I remember events from around the age of two or earlier, just snippets. It’s true that photographs have helped this. Perhaps I have created my own memories from them, but I sincerely believe they are real, or as real as they can be considering how much time has passed. At any rate, I didn’t just exist within the space but embraced it, inhaled it, became it. I’ve always been an explorer and so I discovered many things along the way about this space. When I was old enough, I would walk great distances including the eight miles from my teenage home in West Dulwich into central London, often joining up with my friend in Herne Hill at the two mile mark. At 17 I’d sometimes go in by train and sleep overnight on a bench in Trafalgar Square so I could spend another day there.
Photos were so tiny in those days and so was I. It’s my second birthday, mum and nana dressed me all in white, and I’m standing on the windowsill of my first home.
Until I was 18 I lived in greater London (Bethnal Green, Essex, Bromley by Bow, West Dulwich) and Woking. We moved to Toronto – another long story – and my parents moved to the greater Los Angeles area after a couple of years. I contemplated where home was when they left. I’d not been mature enough to live alone in London when they’d left, but now I was more independent. Should I stay in Toronto, should I follow them to L.A, or was this my chance to go back to London. I flew to London (my first flight ever) but quickly discovered that I just couldn’t afford it. Toronto wasn’t really holding me and my two-year boyfriend wasn’t clinging, so L.A. it was. I lived there and in San Francisco for two years. Despite my aversion to the U.S. lifestyle, Id count those years as the most carefree of my life.
Then I left and went back to Toronto – I meant it to be a holiday really but I stayed. I had another boyfriend then and eventually we got married. After nine years together my son, Robin, came along. Toronto was sticking and he was the glue.
In my thirties, in Toronto. The only time I ever had a whole house (rented) and this is where I was when Robin was born
All this time I never lost my longing for London. My marriage ended, a new boyfriend came along – Krish – and somehow he too was from London and we formed our plan to some day be there. And then we were. How we made it happen still amazes me. I did, however, leave Robin in Toronto and this is the only reason I do believe home is as much about the who as the where. No matter where I was something was missing. In Toronto, I missed Krish. In London, I missed Robin. I used to, and still do, think about this quadrangle – Me, Krish, Robin, and London. This is in no way to make Krish less, but if life forced me to make a Sophie’s (Jan’s) choice it would be me with Robin and London. But me, London, that’s a no-brainer. Why can’t I make my life about me? Being a mother is hard. And wonderful.
Skip ahead to late last year. Leaving London was heartbreaking but necessary at the time. We arrived to stay at my friend Judy’s home near the lake but after only one day I woke in the night to sense something wasn’t right. Krish had a fever. He’s prone to them when he’s sick and burns hot and fast for a short time before recovering. ‘You’re burning up,’ I said – what a cliche. He needs to test, I thought. ‘I’ll do a test,’ he said next morning, surprising me. He’s usually unconventional about such things. Positive.
Inside Judy’s kitchenJudy’s neighbourhood at Bathurst and Lakeshore. A far cry from HackneyJudy walking Annie on Bishop Tutu Boulevard, HarboursideWalking in Judy’s neighbourhood near Lake OntarioOur room at Judy’s, We were in chaos from travellingMy test on the left, Krish’s on the right
Judy considered this but mostly considered how she couldn’t stay in the same space. She offered to go elsewhere and I insisted that we needed to go elsewhere. I remembered that Krish’s parents were on holiday and suggested we stay in their apartment. They agreed and so we gathered what we could for our ten-day stay and took an Uber to where they lived.
Driving up to Krish’s parents. This was nice, seeing all the Fall colours from the Don Valley Parkway (DVP)
Krish’s sister in law – I suppose mine too – met us there. She gave us some fruit, some leftover take away noodles, a huge sack of potatoes (that was weird!), and two packs of disinfectant wipes. And she left. Judy had pushed a bag into my hand earlier – she’d packed butter, cheese, milk, orange juice, bread…but we were on our own.
Where Krish’s parents live is in the suburbs about 18km from central Toronto. It’s a condo they’ve been in for a couple of years and we’d never seen it before. I actually loved the space. It wasn’t ours but it was bright and large and I mentally refurnished it. It was, however, isolated – too far from everything.
Nice Fall view from the long balcony
Halloween night arrived and Krish was feeling up to a walk so we had fun cruising down the street we could see from our balcony. I had looked forward to seeing the festivities and we took the scenes in.
After five days Krish complained about chest pains and off we went to the closest Emergency department. He had pneumonia. We were on our own, took buses and mostly walked to the hospital, to the drugstore the next day feeling the weight of it all. I’d hoped that help might be offered. We could do it alone but it was hard. And then his brother told us we had to go, that we were endangering his parents by staying. We despaired – his brothers hadn’t offered any help during our isolation, we felt very alone, and his parents hadn’t stepped in to defend us.
Things got foggier in more ways than one
Luckily, Judy agreed that we could return now that all tests were negative and my nephew in law (is that a thing?) voluntered to drive us back down to the lake. The temporary home was gone and so was the trust that Krish had hoped to rebuild with his family. I’ve deliberately skipped details out of respect for them, but I don’t suppose I will ever be able to forget the feeling of betrayal, abandonment, and lack of caring. In all our travel plans we had held tight to the idea of family support. We let go as best we could now.
Back at Judy’s house, Krish struggled. We’d always known that his psoriasis would be a problem wherever we went, but he wasn’t coping. So we looked for somewhere else to be. We found it in a new area of Bloordale, booked two months and packed our things once again.
Our third temporary home gave us a haven. It had issues – our bathroom and bedroom were in the basement, down some steepish stairs with no handrail. It was scary and sometimes I’d lose my nerve and bump down on my bum like a child. We knew we didn’t want to stay too long – it was expensive and the basement was getting very cold (with no heat) as the winter progressed.
Just before Christmas I went to a pantomime with my niece and felt ill during the show. I’ll never know how I sat through the performance but I made it. We took a cab home afterwards and I vomited on the steps outside in the cold. The next morning it was my turn to test positive for Covid. Now those stairs were a bigger problem. I could either stay in the cold basement near the bathroom but without kitchen access or entertainment, or I could stay in the warm living room, with the distraction of Netflix and food close by, but no bathroom. I muddled through.
Christmas was cancelled! It would have been my first Christmas with Robin in six years. It felt like we couldn’t catch a break. We justified it all by saying how lucky we were overall. We had means, although they were gradually dwindling, we had a roof over our heads, we were eating regularly, we had friends, although not 100% we were relatively well. Blah blah blah.Of course I recovered – Paxlovid helped – we had a Christmas get together with Jenn and Robin, and we started looking for somewhere else to be.
I found a place being sublet until May. We’d save money and have a breathing space. We interviewed and got clearance to be here. We packed our bags again and slowly moved over in the first week of January. And here we are. Our fourth temporary home.
Is everything OK now? Well, the place is crammed with the owner’s belongings so we are living from cases and bags. We scattered our things around and Krish is part way through his usual cleaning and disinfecting frenzy. We will need to start thinking ahead to our next move in another four or five weeks and we still don’t know where that will be. Can we stick it out in Toronto, can we return to the UK. If so, where?
Our street in Parkdale. Winter has set in
The fourth temporary home will do for now. We are OK. Except for the bedbugs… Talking about them makes me itch so I won’t but…damn!
Our fourth temporary home in Parkdale
You can consider all of that. I feel too old to do this, certainly too tired and disheartened. I feel the years ahead are limited in more ways than one. I feel this pull and need for home again very strongly. So I keep coming back to the question – what is, where is home?
I’ll confess to daydreaming. In my daydream I am not somewhere new. I am sitting on the couch in Hackney and my TV is over there, my window is over there, all the artwork is on the wall, the sun is coming through the leaves of that wonderful tree and through the tissue paper tree on the window. Outside people are walking, traffic is passing, daily life goes on. But now it’s going on without me. I try to remember that I was lucky to have had it and that losing it means I had it in the first place. I philosophise and I rationalise, but I am also angry and heartbroken. Can I reconcile this? I have to.
Winter is hard. We tend to forget but it’s out there so it becomes top of mind very quickly
Our mutual love of food has helped us. Toronto is a wonderful cultural mix of people and customs. I want to blog about the food, but for now I’ll just add a cheerful note. Grocery shopping is horrible – more about that in time – but going to restaurants is fun and worthwhile, almost always. We’ve had good meals out and good meals in, helped along by that multiculture. I don’t want all our bright spots to be fattening but for now I’ll take it.
There’s so much else to say. As far as writing goes, I’ll talk about Bloordale, and I’ll talk about Parkdale, where we are now. I’ll talk about our explorations here. I’ll do all that. I want to minimise the misery but I also want to speak the truth. And with any luck, it won’t be too difficult or boring to write or to read.
I took a rest day on Valentine’s Day. It’s just a coincidence that I took that particular day. However, it occurred to me that if we did something we might end up eating something nice, somewhere.
The winter has been pretty grey with lots of rain, but on Valentine’s Day, although it wasn’t sunny, it wasn’t raining either. We decided that it might be a good day to take the number 38 bus all the way to the end – from Hackney to Victoria. It’s a well-known route. We’ve done it many times before, but typically we get off when we reach Shaftesbury Avenue, a street which runs parallel to Oxford Street – one one side is Soho, and on the other Chinatown. Lively in every direction. Going to Victoria takes you along fancy Piccadilly and past even fancier Park Lane, and into Buckingham Palace territory.
First off, the photos seem lacklustre – because of the grey – or maybe I’m wrong, They all I have so they’re going here anyway. Secondly, I thought it might be interesting to show how the terrain changes as you move west, and I’m not sure I achieved that but here goes, anyway. All taken from the top of the bus, through the dirty window, but not too bad!
I took this photo on Balls Pond Road in Dalston. A typical East end main road row of housesLeaving Balls Pond Road, the bus goes down Essex Road, where things start to space out a bit and there are more blocks of flats rather than just housesAt Angel the characteristic N1 Georgian architecture asserts itself. Things are looking more upscale alreadyLeaving Islington, you arrive on Rosebery Road, Clerkenwell, where you’ll see the art deco awning for the old Finsbury Town Hall. The inside is described as opulent, a mix of art nouveau, baroque and art deco. Building began in 1894.
With Mount Pleasant Post Office on one side and Exmouth Market on the other, this has always felt like the beginning of the west end, which is the centre of London. In fact it has a central post code, EC1Feeling more central now, as you pass Gray’s Inn, Gray’s Inn is one of the four Inns of Court which have the exclusive right to call men and women to the Bar of England and Wales. The inn has existed for more than 600 years, but these buildings date mostly from between 1669 and 1774. Now we’re officially west, post code WC1Leaving Gray’s Inn Road, you’re in Bloomsbury. It stands at the edge of the west end, just before you hit the shopping areasPassing Holborn Station, looking more like the west end now. Here’s where they announced bus stop closures and a diversion ahead.
The bus diversion announcement told us after our next stop, ,Tottenham Court Road, we’d be going down Charing Cross Road, around Trafalgar Square, and up to Piccadilly Circus. A detour can be annoying but this one was nice – a scenic route for once. I can’t promise the route is accurate on the map. Maps and I aren’t good friends.
Usual 38 bus routeOur detour – scenicAlong Charing Cross Road it feels very west-endishFeeling like a tourist as we pass Trafalgar SquareIn the very centre at the back of the photo is the very grand Admiralty Arch. It has some awful hoarding in front of it. One of my favourite views ruined…for nowWaterloo Place, as we passed by it. Always always impressive and grandSpeeding along Piccadilly and barely managed a photo of The Royal Academy
Google tells me that this is the Royal Air Force Club – we are by Marble Arch and Hyde Park
It seemed like the height of posh to be nearing a bus stop called Buckingham Palace. The bus doesn’t stop near there. Nothing does. But it did mean we were a hop away from our destination
And we were there. It had taken about an hour and a half, including the detour, but just one bus from door to door. We
were ready to explore Belgravia.
I suppose this happens in lots of urban areas, but walking in London can feel like you have a portable time machine or a holodeck. The mass of new and even futuristic, or otherworldly, buildings have replaced old London, but only in patches. Peeking out here and there and taking over in other patches buildings from older times stubbornly remain. I recently saw a photo called Layers of London and I understood that concept. I’ve also become aware of the layers that are underneath the layers we now live in, so while buildings are now reaching towards the sky, I also think of how below me it must reach. It all seems to live in harmony. On this Sunday I was very conscious of the harmonious contrast, then on the following day it came home to me once more. But I won’t jump ahead yet.
Krish had seen a structure from the bus that seemed worth a visit. At first we thought it was permanent, but then discovered it wouldn’t be staying so we set out to take a closer look. What he’d seen was an orb which cycles through an LED coloured sequence, called Singularity by Squidsoup – the name alone was intriguing enough. It sits in the front courtyard of a new complex called Principal Place in between Shoreditch High Street Station and Liverpool Street Station.
We started at the bottom of the map – and worked our way up to the top, small turns with big results
It was a clear, cold evening and the night before the wolf moon – the full moon of January. It already looked quite full and very bright. Here in London’s financial district, a wolf moon seemed appropriate.
Principal Tower is tall for London, at 50 storeys. It’s residential, not commercial, and was completed in 2019. Principal Place office block is lower, with only 15 storeys. Both buildings were designed by the architects Foster and Partners. We’ve been hearing a lot about Richard Rogers lately so Foster’s name is top of mind. So there’s more Star Trek going on here – Singularity. ‘8m geodesic sphere with volumetric real time LED lighting’ – so there you go. My camera didn’t do it justice, so there’s a website here where you can see what it looks like. The video there shows the depth and detail of the lovely piece. It’s hard to capture a 3D object in a 2D format. and my own photos and videos are shallow by comparison so do take a look.
We wanted to drag a chair over but the security guard said no, so we sat in one of the large wooden chairs they’re kind enough to have over to the side of the building. The sphere, the almost-wolf moon, the clarity everywhere, and the fact we were mostly alone there made everything feel calm and reassuring. Cities have their own beauty.
The photo that didn’t work (I’m sure I took it but #fail) is the one that showed the moon framed within Singularity – that one would have been lovely, so you’ll have to imagine the contrast and harmony of that one.
In the same courtyard is another art installation of a person – like a sketch or outline for a drawing. James Burke did this giant blue steel work, which weighs 1.2 tonnes. It’s called In Anticipation since the character is stepping forward from its plinth (all difficult to see in that dark night so worth a daytime look – ‘the waiting figure appears to have descended from its plinth and is perched against it. Leaning forward expectantly with its head looking back towards the high street.
This wouldn’t be the end of the art, unsurprisingly in London and this area in particular, but there were hidden gems ahead. Once more we stepped away from the familiar and found ourselves in new territory with that mixed feeling that is surprise and ‘well, of course’ that comes with discovering streets we’ve somehow never walked down. The density is overwhelming. So I looked up the meaning of Singularity. It’s bandied about often on Star Trek but I’ve not thought much about what it meant – ‘a point at which a function takes an infinite value, especially in space–time when matter is infinitely dense, such as at the centre of a black hole.’
We thought at first we’d walk down just one street to see what was there and I was distracted by the thought that I’d never actually gone into the courtyard of Broadgate Tower. It was right in front of me now so up the stairs we went to look a bit more closely. I’ve always loved the geometric structure. It has very tall (functional) steel girders that reach diagonally – a very interesting design which was created to ‘reflect shadows and produce light that would change throughout the day.’) At night it’s dramatic.
And the old refrain of I must come back when it’s daytime. Both buildings have green credentials and I hear there’s an area for bees, birds, insects and butterflies on one tower roof, and a peregrine falcon bird box on the other. I wonder if they are open to the public.
We thought we would walk down the street towards Moorgate. We were on Worship Street. In the 1700s this was all fields apparently and was called Hog Lane. Today it’s a commercial area with warehouses, clubs and offices but also a very cool strip of listed Victorian workshops, artisan these days. Having just come from two monumentally modern and stylish steel and glass blocks, it was definitely a time warp. There was a film crew about so the buildings were obscured. Are you tired yet of me saying I must come back? We passed lots of clubs on the ground floor of converted warehouses and there was enough of a trickle of people heading towards them to keep them open.
We were still heading towards Moorgate, but to our right we saw a forked road and suddenly the thought of seeing something we hadn’t seen before was more appealing. We decided to take the left one, Clifton Street, with more warehouses.
A fork in the road – which way to go?‘Shine Your Light’ mural outside Zetland House by Luke Smile. Aptly named. His artwork always gives positive messagesZetland House was once a printing house for the Bank of England. The wall is painted by David Shillinglaw
As we passed the wall mural we thought we’d hit a dead end, but straight ahead of us was a gate. It felt a little dangerous to go through but we’d done well so far and went ahead. It wasn’t so scary once we were in there. In fact, there was a bit of a garden beside us, with another wall mural by Noir. What did seem a bit spooky was a large, gothic-looking church in a yard right ahead of us. We were both a bit surprised by it – a church that we’d never known was there before.
We walked beside Mark Street Gardens, apparently one of the youngest parks in London, created in the early 1980s. And once through, we found ourselves on Leonard Street. So many restaurants here and there, mostly closed, with an occasional pair of partyers wandering by. This was an area that we should know better but actually don’t.
When we hit Great Eastern Street, I thought about going down New Inn Yard again to get the bus home on Shoreditch High Street but instead we chose a small road ahead of us. I was totally surprised to find myself beside Blacklock on Rivington Street, which is really close to Old Street. This was accidentally a better choice and a good reminder that the density of London means my mind can place something much further away than it actually is. It was just one bus home from Old Street, a perfect accidental discovery.
Writing things down is happening in my head again on an intangible surface, rarely making it into anyone else’s head. Sometimes there’s a narrative of what I’m seeing and how I feel about it, but it stays in there. It’s not that that isn’t valuable and even contributes to my sense of self and, therefore, my outward self. But inside it stays for the time being. If I post photos, most of those thoughts and feelings are just for the time I’m sharing them and just with myself. In December, two people close to me died. I suppose that such words come to me more often at times like this, when I ponder the fragility of life and all the questions that are unasked and unanswered.
So it was a bittersweet Christmas time and a bit hard to pull myself out of that heavy mood and get out there. By twelfth night I’d put away almost every Christmas item – a bit ahead of my usual schedule. The Museum of the Home had closed over Christmas for longer than expected and there would be no twelfth night burning of the holly and ivy, something I’d loved in the past. This year many public buildings and restaurants opted for a long break while Omicron kept people at home and staff numbers dwindled due to illness. It was a cold and grey day but it wasn’t raining and we decided to go out.
We took a bus to Fenchurch Street. The original plan was to go to Bow Lane and I confess to being motivated by an advertised cake at Konditor. From there we could walk over to 120 Fenchurch Street where they have a rooftop viewing garden. It didn’t go according to plan but it went well, anyway.
We got off the bus and decided that, since it was still light, we’d go to 120 first. I’d been there before without Krish but he’d never been so we wandered along the strangely quiet street. There was quite a queue to get into Skygarden, though, and I was glad that wasn’t our choice for the day.
The Garden at 120 isn’t very far from Skygarden. It’s also not as high, at 15 floors, but I’d liked it when I went. It’s the City of London’s largest roof top public space, is fully open air, quiet and the view is more intimate when you’re closer to everything. We were the only people heading for it. Even going through Security was quiet and fun. The person scanning our bags had a good chat with Krish comparing beard experiences. It felt friendly and personal.
I’ve not been in the warmer months but I’ve read it has wisteria trees, fruit trees and a 200ft-long water feature. None were apparent on this cold January day.
You can walk around the perimeter – the full 360 degrees of view. There are many seats to relax on and just enjoy the air and the surrounding buildings. There’s no space to stick a camera through for clear photos so all of them are taken through the thick safety glass. I’ve decided not to caption them. There are some iconic landmarks, but I’m not sure it matters. You can ask me in the comments if you need to know more. You may notice, however — St Paul’s, Hays Galleria, the Tower of London, and the Shard.
And up here you’re close to the cranes and construction. It fills the entire South side.
While we were there, two other people came up – only two. Note to ourselves to come back when it’s warm, to see the flowers and plants in bloom and the water feature flowing. I have a feeling it might still be quiet and peaceful.
We left the building and started to walk westward, through Star Alley, when we found this church – St Olave’s, which I’d heard of.
St Olave Hart Street is one of the few mediaeval churches to survive the Great Fire of London. Samuel Pepys and his wife are buried there.
Charles Dickens who lived close by, called St Olave’s ‘St Ghastly Grim’, referring to the gargoyles on the churchyard gate – if they’re still there, I didn’t notice them. St Olave’s has been a place of Christian worship and sanctuary for almost 1000 years, the first church dating from 1050, a simple timber structure. It was rebuilt in stone in the 13th century, and rebuilt again in 1450. The crypt dates from this period.
357 victims of the 1665 Plague were buried in the churchyard. Their names were marked with a ‘p’ in the church register. The church was heavily damaged during the Blitz of 1941, leaving just the arches and the tower and was restored in 1954. After looking around outside this surprisingly small building, we realised there was a lot to see if we stayed right where we were.
Along London Street we found Fenchurch Street Station, which had looked very small and interesting through the modern building maze below. I wanted to go inside as I’d never been. Immediately inside the station you’re faced with an up and a down escalator and one flight of stairs. So up we went.
At the top of the escalator I expected to see a station hall, but instead we saw gates right in front of us leading to only four platforms – quite the smallest train terminal I’d ever seen in London, every train heading through East London, and South Essex.
We headed back to Fenchurch Street and at the corner we came across a lovely old pub, the East India Arms. It’s been serving beer since 1829. The British East India Trading Company’s old premises are right next door. It traded until 1834 and in 1873 Lloyds took over the building.
Just beyond the pub was a gate and we could see a very modern building through it. The building had a look similar to the Lloyds so-called Inside Out building on Lime Street. Looking more closely, there was a good reason for that. It’s also designed by Richard Rogers. It was quite a lovely courtyard with a light-wrapped tree and some lovely benches where I could take a break.
Lloyds owned the land on which it had buildings and in the early 1990s, two unlisted ones were demolished to create a space to build something new. Work began in 1996 and was finished in 2000. Richard Rogers stamp is very clear.
On Fenchurch Street itself (71) is the original Lloyds Register building, called the Collcutt building. It is described as a classical stone palazzo in the 16th century Italian manner.
I hadn’t known a lot about Lloyds and its holdings and businesses before and I don’t know much know either. My wanderings are usually just that and I don’t do much research before I set out. I really can’t when I don’t have a specific target. When researching later, the details can feel overwhelming and make me want to go straight back to fill in the gaps. In this case I found out that the Richard Rogers Register building excavations uncovered Roman remains and reminders of other centuries. It’s a toss-up whether I’d like to reinvent myself as an archaeologist or a London guide!
Briefly, though, Lloyds Register was the world’s first marine classification society, created more than 260 years ago to improve the safety of ships. It began in 1760 in Edward Lloyd’s Coffee House in Lombard Street. While looking at the buildings and perhaps while you’ve been looking at them, there’s an assumption that this is part of Lloyds Bank. The fact that Richard Rogers designed both new buildings cements this assumption. In fact, Lloyd’s Register has no affiliation with Lloyd’s of London. And so I learned something new…again. And again, a half-promise to come back and see the Colcutt building and St Olave’s church gate some other time.
Talking of time, it was marching on and my knees told me to head home. We wanted to come home by Whitechapel and fix Krish’s samosa craving, so we continued along Fenchurch Street to find a bus. That’s when I discovered that Fenchurch Street becomes Aldgate and we were right at a familiar bus stop to take us the rest of the way. Before that though, and perhaps to compensate for missing Dickens’ ghastly gargoyle gate, I found the gate to St Botolph without Aldgate. I love a bit of gild. Of course, I’ve now discovered that the church has its own set of grisly and fascinating histories. Another time then… On the other hand, there are 48 churches in the square mile of the City of London and each one has a story. This is usually a multi-levelled story passing through centuries, often from Roman times, and it really would be a full-time job. For now, it’s samosas, kebabs, dhal with aubergine, naan, and Indian sweets to see us through more than a few post-Christmas meals.
Christmas was cancelled! It would have been my first Christmas with Robin in six years. It felt like we couldn’t catch a break. We justified it all by saying how lucky we were overall. We had means, although they were gradually dwindling, we had a roof over our heads, we were eating regularly, we had friends, although not 100% we were relatively well. Blah blah blah.Of course I recovered – Paxlovid helped – we had a Christmas get together with Jenn and Robin, and we started looking for somewhere else to be.
