Category Archives: history

Necropolis Railway

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From the archives, the fourth of our month of best history posts

If you’ve ever spotted this rather grand looking building at 121 Westminster Bridge Road you might have wondered what function it once served. For the first half of the 20th century, dear reader, this was the London Necropolis railway station and has been referred to as ‘the strangest and spookiest railway line in British history’.  

In the first half of the 19th  century London’s population surged from one million to almost 2 1/2 million. Churchyards were running out of space to bury the dead and something had to be done, so a plan was hatched by two enterprising men to purchase land near Woking for an enormous cemetery. The idea was that it was far enough away to prevent the bodies from posing a threat to public health, but close enough to let grieving relatives attend funerals without too much hassle. The icing on the cake being that a Waterloo to Woking line had just opened up. 

As you can imagine, people at Waterloo were none too keen on seeing corpses and mourners whizz by as they sat in their 19th century Starbucks, so a separate train station was built behind Waterloo in what is now Leake St. The building was specially designed for mourners and had private waiting rooms, restaurants, and first to third class services. One could depart with their recently departed in the morning, attend a weepy funeral midday, and be back by teatime.  Talk about Victorian multitasking.

The Original

By the end of the 19th century Waterloo station was expanding and  Necropolis station had to be moved. In 1902 the station found it’s present home and out of respect to the dearly departed the builders wanted to make it as attractive as a funeral director’s office, so few expenses were spared. The line was eventually shifting almost 2000 corpses a year until the line was damaged in WW2, and a decision was made to consign it to history, like the many souls it escorted. 

The railway service proved so popular that it even had it’s own rolling stock. However, the reason for this could actually be that if folks knew they had bought a ticket for a train used to carry dead people they could feel like they’d been, well, ‘stiffed’. 

And if you’re still curious, someone has even found enough time to write a book about our little railway to the other side.

The Great Conjurer of Kennington

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From the archives, the third of our month of best history posts

Greater Kennington has always had its share of eccentrics, and a prime Victorian example can be found in magician, humourist and collector Henry Evanion (1832-1905) who lived his entire life in Kennington and Oval. During its dying decades Henry’s family sold sweets and tickets at Vauxhall Gardens, and it was there that he came into contact with mimes, jugglers, clowns and tight rope walkers. Supported by his wife Mary Ann and extended family who ran a sweet shop business at 221 Kennington Rd, he began to develop tricks of illusion and ventriloquism that evolved into a rather elaborate show. Delivered, no less, with a fake French accent. 

As Henry’s act evolved he began to tour the southeast and even performed for the royal family on three occasions, with the gig at Sandringham billed as ‘The Grand Feat of the Globes of  Fire, Fish and Birds’. Henry seriously milked this royal connection and it helped with bookings, but there were long stretches where our local boy had no work. He used this time to furiously research new ways to diversify his act, coming up with tricks such as ‘Vulcan’s Chain’, ‘The Mystic Parrot’ and ‘The Japanese Lady’s Reception’. At the time he was living in what is now Montford Place behind the present day Pilgrim pub. 

Henry’s long suffering and very patient wife would sometimes perform as his assistant (a kind of Victorian Debbie McGee) but she had a proper job running a sweet shop so this didn’t last very long. Henry decided to drag people in the crowd onto the stage to act as assistance, which was made easier by his jokiness and quick wit.  His shows were an assortment of magical effects, illusions, juggling and ventriloquism presented rapidly with trick following trick. Henry was also an avid collector of playbills, posters and items associated with magic and other forms of entertainment.

While working with mystic parrots, setting things on fire, and sawing people in half might sound very glamorous, it isn’t the most lucrative of professions and later in life Henry and Mary Ann fell on hard times. Living in the basement flat at 12 Methley Street, at the end of his life Henry befriended no other than the great Harry Houdini while he was in the UK. Houdini was fascinated and inspired by Henry, and on their first meeting spent almost 24 hours with Henry in Methley St. Houdini ended up purchasing some of Henry’s collection of magical ephemera. The rest of his collection was endowed to the British Museum, and gives us a fascinating insight into late Victorian light entertainment. 

St. Agnes Place, London’s Longest Running Squat

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From the archives, the second of our month of best history posts

For a period of over 35 years London’s longest running squat was to be found in our very own beloved Kennington Park. In 1969 Lambeth purchased a beautiful terrace of Victorian properties in St. Agnes Place with the intention of demolishing them to extend the park southwards. As the plans sputtered and the council changed hands the buildings became derelict and occupied by squatters, who over the years made the buildings secure and liveable. 

In 1977 Lambeth made a concerted effort to evict the squatters and a large chunk of the properties were destroyed by the council. However, complete expulsion was successfully resisted by squatters refusing to leave by standing on the rooftops. A large and very high profile High Court battle ensued which garnered national attention. The court and the public were on the side of the squatters, and Lambeth were forced to stop pulling down the buildings. A much smaller but much more high profile terrace of homes survived. The conservative leader of Lambeth council, however, did not survive and was forced to step down.  

In the years that ensued the residents were mostly left to their own devices. They enhanced their autonomous community with a social centre, studios for musicians, a pirate radio station, and a separate Rastafarian temple (it was estimated that 1/3 of the residents were Rastafarian). A place of great religious significance for Rastafari, the great Bob Marley himself visited the temple several times when he was recording in London in the late ‘70’s. And far from being derelict, the residents renovated the flats by means of electricity, re – roofing and running water.

As the years progressed the squat became more well known and with the addition of people from Spain, Brazil and Portugal had a more cosmopolitain vibe. According to residents the community had little crime, folks knew one another, and people helped the most vulnerable residents. However, in 2005 Lambeth got its act together and the squatters were faced with the choice of either leaving or paying 30 years of council tax, so the police arrived to empty St. Agnes Place of it’s 150 strong community. For a couple of years after the building was occupied by a small group of various protestors but they soon acquiesced and the community and buildings were consigned to history. 

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40 Elephants

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From the archives, the first of our month of best history posts

Elephant and Castle has always been a haunt of the curious and suspicious type, and in the 19th was the home of several criminal gangs. The most fascinating was an all female crime syndicate who specialised in shoplifting and who existed for over a 100 years, 40 Elephants. A side hustle was blackmail and extortion, as you do.

In the 19th century, the 40 Elephant ladies were able to turn social mores distinctly to their advantage. The same outfits which were designed to conceal a scandalous bare ankle could also be cunningly deployed to conceal frocks, hats and scarves. And as they used their ill-gotten gains to ‘look the part’ in high end joints such as Selfridges, no one really questioned them when they came out of a changing room. They were also able to flout social mores in other ways, by supporting their husbands who were often idling away at home or weren’t quite as clever as the Elephants and ended up in prison. 

Unlike many unruly male gangs, 40 Elephants was a tightly run and neatly organised cell of gangs that operated out of E&C but extended beyond our fair area. Apart from shoplifting, the Elephants undertook daring and ferocious daytime raids which terrified both shopowners and customers. When they were not working clandestinely they would descend en masse on large stores and ransack the place, causing chaos and confusion by entering and leaving through various doors. The Elephants would escape on foot or later by fast cars, and if apprehended wouldn’t think twice about putting up a fight as formidable as any man. 

In the 20th century the most notable ‘Queen’ of the gang was Annie Diamond, below, who was raised in Lambeth Workhouse and was reportedly given the name for a predilection for punching police officers while wearing several diamond rings. She was also known for her ingenuity, for instance the gang never wore the clothes they nicked, but instead bought flashy new threads to minimise detection. While not punching officers, Diamond and her gang threw lavish parties with endless champagne and, in all likelihood, freebies liberated from Harrods. Some would call them entrepreneurs in a time when women had few options, others would call them criminals who frightened people. Either way, 40 Elephants knew how to take care of themselves. 

If you want to find out more about 40 Elephants, a very interesting YouTube clip can be found here. If that hasn’t calmed you down there is even a very posh bar called 40 Elephants in, believe it or not, Great Scotland Yard. 

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Ken Artspace

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In the midst of the Kennington Cross triangle nestles a quiet gallery that until last week the Runoff had never visited. Ken Artspace is run by artists Agalis and Rob, who live upstairs and decided to create a gallery space on the ground floor when the property beneath them became available. In the 1960’s the space was inhabited by a grocery/pet shop with a sign that read ‘Mixed Marvels’ at the upper level and this inspired the artistic duo to curate a show themed on the sign. 

Ken Artspace’s most recent exhibit is named after the aforementioned sign and features eight established artists, most of whom have had a solo show at  Artspace, working on small canvases. Microbial beings, cellular shapes, and dreamy Swedish landscapes fill the room as well as more figurative mixed media works about travel. A stand out for us was Jeffrey Dennis’s paintings inspired by 1970’s catalogues of home furnishings. We particularly enjoyed the series ‘Boxhead’ by London artist Jane Gifford, below, as it reminds us of the way that most of PR team feel the morning after the Runoff Christmas party at the Tommyfield pub. 

If this exhibit doesn’t tickle your artistic  fancy your artistic collarbone you might want to follow them on the socials as they have an intriguing mix of occasional pop up exhibitions and little events. The creative installations in the window also provide visual relief on a little street punctuated by a dry cleaner, a chippie, and a defunct Chinese joint. And of course, popping in by no means obliges to you buy anything or is even a statement that you’re an art fan.   Happy viewing! 

Mixed Marvels is exhibiting now until 22 December. The gallery is open Thursday to Saturday and like all tasty morsels in life, is totally free. 

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The Casual Ward of Kennington

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On a recent meander down Wincott Street in north Kennington we noticed an unusual Victorian building looking not unlike a prison, which prompted us to pull out (nerd alert!) an old Ordnance Survey map. This building was constructed to be a ‘casual ward’, or a very temporary home for homeless people passing through our manor. 

Before 1930 terminally homeless people were a not uncommon site in Greater Kennington. Casual wards were constructed close to workhouses, and we have written about the Lambeth workhouse before, which is around the corner from the casual ward and was once the home of Charlie Chaplin. While workhouses were places for local people (like the Chaplin family) to live while they got back on their feet and perhaps learned a trade, casual wards were intended for the totally destitute of no fixed address to stay for one night, so no one was committed to their help. 

Conditions in our Lambeth casual ward were pretty terrible and people had to work extremely hard for a night in conditions barely better than the street from where they came.  As their clothes were being fumigated, the inmates bathed collectively by gender and were then put to work. It is debateable as to what this work actually entailed, but was something like potato peeling for the frail or back breaking splitting of stones for the more able bodied. Folks didn’t even get to partake in the potatoes they were peeling, as dinner in the casual ward consisted of a kind of gruel made of dried oats, making the Lambeth Workhouse look comfortable by comparison. 

To gain insight for his seminal work ‘Down and Out in London and Paris’, George Orwell visited casual wards very similar to the one that remains in Kennington today, and specific excerpts from the book can be found here. These remnants of social history are evaporating in the mind boggling dynamic changes we are encountering in Greater Kennington (Nine Elms being a prime example). However, with a nose around our patch you might make some discoveries yourselves if you’re clever and observant. And of course you are, as you’re reading this. 

If rock splitting or potato peeling is a specific fetish of yours then you’re in luck. Casual wards, or ‘spikes’ as they were colloquially known, have their own Spike Heritage Centre in Guildford! Probably not the most cheery day out, but you can twin it with a local pub or a twirl around the Surrey Hills. 

Spies at The Imperial War Museum

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We recently visited the spanking new exhibit ‘Spies, Lies and Deception’ at our very own world class museum-that-you-probably-don’t-go-to, the Imperial War Museum. The exhibit covers the vast period from WW1 to deepfakes and AI, and like all good things in life is totally free. 

In this sprawling exhibit we initially learn that the fundamental goal of spying is to control a narrative to in order get the outcome you want. And what is on offer is the manifold ways in which this achieved, from pens that shoot teargas to ghetto blasters with hidden mics and fake airfields created by Shepperton Studios. The exhibit is broken down into smaller sections handily laid out as ‘Power of Persuasion’ (or the ability to control one’s mind), ‘Hiding Something’ (an Enigma machine features) and ‘Surprising the Enemy’ (eg camouflaged to look like a scary straw man). Now if only we could harness these skills to keep another estate agent from opening up in Kennington.

At its heart this is an exhibit about personal stories. These range from superspy Kim Philby to an unassuming middle aged couple who transformed their modest bungalow in Ruislip into a Russian spy HQ. And these stories continue to our present day, with a description of the Salisbury poisonings a few years ago. There are also stories on the home front about wireless operators and people sent covertly overseas and having to conceal this to their families. But our favourite display is the footprint overshoes used to create the illusion that the soldier was a local walking in the opposite direction. 

If over the years you’ve given the IWM a wide berth because you think it promotes or celebrates war, we can assure you that this is not the case. It’s much more about the consequences of conflict, how to avoid it, and human resilience in the face of it. For those reluctant a good starting are the galleries about women during wartime, who kept the country moving as the men folk were fighting. 

‘Spies, Lies and Deception is on now until 24 April so you have no excuse to not see it….Or just lie about seeing it to make you look clever and cultured.

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Free Vauxhall History Tours

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We here at Runoff Towers love nothing more that an old fashioned tour, and we’re here to tell you about no fewer than seven free tours taking place this weekend (7 October) in Vauxhall. OK, it’s the same tour done seven times, but it sounds very interesting for history buffs and others who are just generally curious.  

The theme of the tour is ‘influencers of Vauxhall’. This puzzled us at first as you don’t really need to go on a tour to see people under the influence in Vauxhall, you just need hang out in front of the station for about five seconds. What it actually is about is the people and industries that established Vauxhall and made it the place we all know and love. So expect some interesting natter about Vauxhall Motors, Doulton Pottery, LGBTQI+ culture, spies, etc. 

If you can’t make the walk but Vauxhall history is something that interests you, you really don’t even need to leave the Runoff. Just click on the links to know more about Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens. Or information about why so many train stations in Russia are named Vaxuhall. The iconic cold storage/cruising site at St. George Wharf. Royal Doulton and Victorian Pottery in Vauxhall. The history of Brunswick House. Or our dinner at Brunswick House and an encounter with a hair flicking minor celebrity. 

And please be aware that while these tours are technically free, they do appreciate a tip. So at the end don’t just walk blissfully into the ether (as we know what you lot are like) but pop them a fiver. Tickets can be booked by following the links on this website.

Brunswick House

The Railings That Saved Lives

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If you’re the observant or, in our case, intrusive sort you’ve probably noticed some unconventional appearing railings outside some estates in Greater Kennington. These didn’t start their life as estate railings, but rather as devices to save people’s lives. 

Our little railings atop an emergency vehicle

At the beginning of World War 2 London was stripped of many of its railings in order to be melted down for use as armaments. Whether they were actually used for this purpose or just an elaborate morale boosting PR stunt remains a point of debate. Ironically, the iron railings were removed at the same time as 600,000 iron stretchers were being mass produced in order to ferry away casualties from bombsites. Fortunately not nearly that many were ever needed or would be in future, so London had a whole lot of beds on her hands…. 

The WW2 stretchers produced during the war were cast iron and couldn’t be melted down into anything more practical afterwards, so in a rationed post war Britain someone devised the clever idea of sticking the stretchers on their sides, welding them together, and repurposing them for use as railings outside of public buildings. In this very early version of upcycling, they were reborn as fencing and exist to this day. Today our railings attract interest from around the world but sadly, like most of the staff here at the Runoff, are not being cared for properly and are in a sorry state of repair. 

  • Kennings Way, Kennington
  • Alverstone House, Oval

Stretcher railings are a very unique part of London’s quirky street furniture and we are fortunate to possess the lion’s share right here in our anointed patch. So next time you get a pesky little idea about going to the West End for a bit of culture, just pop over to your nearest estate. There is even a stretcher railing society for those of you who have a fence fetish. But if you do join, we suggest that you keep that one to yourself. 

Harleyford Road, Vauxhall

The Forgotten Zoo of Greater Kennington

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If you find yourself in Pasley Park in Walworth then you’re standing in the grounds of the Royal Surrey Zoological Gardens, London’s first ever public zoo. In 1831 a man named Edward Cross moved his private collection of animals from the Strand to Walworth to create what was a huge public spectacle covering 13 acres. Previous menageries, such as those poor animals on display for a select few at the Tower of London, were fortunately no longer profitable at the time and began to close. 

summer-of-fashion-1844

The Zoo was set in the grounds of Surrey Manor House (the street ‘Manor Place’ being a nod to this) and featured carnivores including lions, bears and baboons contained under a giant 300 foot glass conservatory, which was at the time the largest such structure in England.  A similar massive structure was erected for herbivores. Also featured were moveable aviaries, a three acre lake and a waterfall. While not quite as vast as the newer recruit in Regents Park, the Zoo was nevertheless insanely popular with the public. 

In the early 19th century competition for public diversions was fierce, and our zoo had to counter the attractions of the newly opened zoo in Regents Park and the more libidinal call from our own Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens. The zoo branched out and began to host historical re-enactments, such as the eruption of Mount Vesuvius and the Great Fire of London. These were highlighted by nightly fireworks which must have added an odd element of frivolity to depictions of destruction and ruin. Also added were assorted gardens with hanging plants where people could promenade. Today  this is better known as ‘cruising’.

Gardens1851

Sadly (well, not for the animals),  our own landmark zoo could not compete with two influences. One was the inexorable rise of its aforementioned cousin in Regent’s Park, the other was the general decline in Pleasure Gardens in mid Victorian times, which also saw off Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens. By 1857 (followed two years later by Vauxhall) and after just 26 years the Zoo ran out of money and was sold. It had a few incarnations after that, such as being the first home of St. Thomas’s hospital, but was effectively lost forever.

By the way, Pasley Park is a pint sized, petite and pristine little park and a delightful place to work, walk or wander.  Our team strolled over it on our way to review foodie hotspot Louie Louie  which we’ll be telling you about in a few days, you lucky devils.