Saturday, 30 October 2021

The statues now departed



For some time now, the dishevelled, windblown promenades of Brixton station have been distinguished by items that are noticeable by their absence. On each of the three platforms, north, south and abandoned, familiar faces to regulars are no longer greeting travellers, despite having stoically braved whatever conditions have been thrown at them since they first appeared in 1986, after being selected by a panel including architect Sir Hugh Casson.

Kevin Atherton's Platforms Piece - his three bronze statues of figures associated with Brixton, Peter Lloyd on platform one, mother Joy Battick on the unused platform three and a white German woman called Karin Heistermann on platform two - has been removed pending restoration. But the process has dragged on painfully slowly with no timetable, amended or otherwise, as to when they might return.

No plaque or explanation plate has ever accompanied the statues as they have waited in their spots. Anonymous, unmistakably urban characters, they have stood, like everyone, impassively, waiting, hoping, for their train finally to arrive. Their continual presence has been strangely reassuring, anchors of serenity, ignoring the hubhub that has swirled around them. Their removal from service, therefore, was something of a shock.

They were only listed in 2016, with Historic England noting that the statues of Mr Lloyd and Ms Battick are:

'believed to be the first sculptural representation of British black people in England in a public art context, created for Brixton which is synonymous with the historical development of black British culture in the post-war period'.

First to leave - now for at least two years - was the statue of Karin, carrying a bag, taken from platform two. For a time, Southeastern put a sign up near her position saying she had been 'temporarily removed... for careful restoration'. The company added:

'We know how important these listed statues are to Brixton and to the community, and we'll replace the statue as soon as we can'.

I took a photograph of that sign on October 19, 2019. It has vanished leaving nothing in its stead, the statue hasn't reappeared and subsequently the other two figures have been removed too.

Considering how anxious some have recently been about the preservation of statues and some of the frankly embarrassing stuff said about their potential removal, with politicians absurdly warning against the 'rewriting of history', eager to protect whatever they hope is a popular conception of what is Britain's heritage, the lack of concern of the whereabouts of these geninely significant pieces, is something of a mystery.

The need for conservation is, of course, appreciated, but the apparent lack of urgency to reinstall the works, the paucity of information over what it actually happening and lack of a timetable for what can be expected, is very concerning. It may, of course, simply be that the pandemic has thrown whatever schedule that did exist into chaos.

Southeastern have said this last week: 'They were removed last year, and we've since engaged a specialist contractor to scope and undertake any repairs, plus carry out a full restoration so they can be reinstated in their right place at the station'.

Adding: 'We'll have more to say on this very soon'.

I can't wait. 

But, in the way passengers fear a train might never arrive when their services are disrupted, the complete absence of the information on the future of these statues feeds fears they may never return.

Note: This excellent piece on Brixton Blog has more on Platforms Piece and the Historic England entry can be read here


Wednesday, 9 June 2021

On writer's block

There is an obstacle in my mind around which I’m struggling to negotiate.

It’s quite hard to positively identify.  A combination of tiredness, a lack of patience and discipline, an imagination that struggles to spark and a fear of inadequacy, perhaps, all coagulating to clot my brain, severely hampering my ability to write critically or for pleasure.  And it’s becoming a matter of huge disappointment and frustration.

Hilary Mantel recommends getting away from the desk to ‘take a walk, take a bath, go to sleep, make a pie’ but not to ‘go to a party’.  Walks I can do, parties I already evade.  Kurt Vonnegut wondered about the fate of a writer living in ‘perfect freedom who has nothing more to say’; it’s not a lack of a things to say, it’s the ability to do so.

This piece, in itself, is a hopeful attempt to puncture the embolism.

To an extent, it is to be expected. I have two young children, six and eight, with all the inevitable demands that entails.  Fitting a full-time job around their agendas fills much of the day. For too long – especially in the early days of the coronavirus pandemic – simply reading for pleasure was something of challenge.  Even with commuting being something of a rarity – almost 50 minutes of guaranteed reading time a day – that mountain has been conquered.

And there has been wilful detachment.  For all the intensity of work, observing and writing about what has been going on over the last few tumultuous years – referendums on Scotland and the EU, political deadlock combined with rapidly changing governments, staggering incompetence, habitual lying, cartoonishly vain politicians – escaping to the family and quieter pursuits has proved something of a relief.

But, how to extract the thoughts welling up in my head and get them on to paper?

For me, the process of writing has always been about forming the first sentence.  Crafting that is the key to a whole piece.  Weighing ideas up in my mind, pacing back and forth, walking round the block, trying to construct the right opening, from which other ideas can flow and spark, that has always been my first step. 

Now though, ideas flit through my head like swallows skirting through a sunny sky, evasive, banking, fleeting.  Even grasping those thoughts for long enough to squeeze into 280 characters is frequently a step too far.

It also has become a self-fulfilled silence.  The more I dwell on it, the harder it becomes.

Just writing these few words seems absurdly self-indulgent and ridiculous but hopefully there’s an element of catharsis, the lancing of a troublesome intellectual boil. 

Sunday, 18 October 2020

From where did I catch this infernal virus?


After receiving some worrying and potentially serious health news, it is inevitable one casts a tired eye back over recent history and reviews what could have been done differently to avoid such an outcome.

Where on earth, for example, did I manage to pick up the blasted coronavirus having barely being out of my house for the last couple of weeks?

Apart from fleeting visits to shops and an occasional and brief trip to a pub – both with no or extremely fleeting social contact – trips out of the house have been little more than strolls in nearby parks with the family.  For much of the rest of the time – like so many others – I have been camping in my living room, working from home.

One can never be sure, of course, but after considering all the options, the overwhelmingly likely source is the school which my two daughters, eight and five, attend.

At first, I cast my curious eye upon the girls as the most likely culprits; both have had mild colds, was that the nascent virus in our house?

But, in a letter from Public Health England in September, distributed by our school, parents were told:

‘Your child does not need a test if they have a runny nose, are sneezing or feeling unwell but do not have a temperature, cough or loss of, or change in, sense of smell or taste because these are not normally symptoms of coronavirus’

The bold passage is PHE’s so, perhaps, after all, the girls are innocent; though it must be said that the symptoms of this virus seem to be multifarious and the list is augmented on a regular basis.

But what about the daily routine of taking them to school and collecting them afterwards, where scores of parents gather, most not wearing masks and with social distancing almost impossible to maintain?

We have tried to avoid the queues, arriving late both morning and afternoon to avoid the standing around in a line along the pavement; my wife and I have always worn masks during these trips and we try and stay two metres from other parents. But, with the nature of the buildings and busy roads and the behaviour of some other parents, sometimes getting closer to other people than one intends is unavoidable.

It is this gathering of people, the majority of whom we do not know – and we know even less about the risks to which they are exposed – that must be the mostly likely root of my infection.

I received my positive result 51 hours after an in-person test was taken on Friday 16th.  I had been feeling really unwell the day before – too unwell to walk uphill for ¾ of a mile – but was grateful that there was a testing site not too far away.  I was told that, if I received no results after 48 hours, to ring and chase.  And so I did.  During this phone call, I was informed that I need not try and pursue my result until 5 days had elapsed.  I had to wonder just how many people I might infect – and how many more might they infect – were I to get on with my life normally for those five days.  This certainly hammered home the uselessness of large-scale testing if obtaining results and tracing contacts lags so very far behind.

Fortunately, I did not have to wait for five days.  The next step, after receiving the bad news, was that I had to complete the government’s test and trace questionnaire. 

There seemed no obvious place to record ‘gathering at the school gates’ as a ‘new activity outside your home’. There is an ‘add workplace or school’ section but again, the inevitable gathering of crowds of parents outside school gates – visible close to so many primary schools in particular, whilst the children are being slowly and carefully funnelled into their classroom bubbles – is not mentioned.

It is possible to work around these constrictions and, under ‘other’, I submitted the queue as the most likely source of the virus.

But without a dedicated channel, it surely makes it much harder to gather the statistics and  monitor whether schools are the likely source of infections?  This couldn't be a policy decision by any chance? 

 

We were thrilled when the children finally returned, full time, to school in September after six months of being stuck at home, but the potential risks of infection through school have been consistently downplayed by the government.

Test and trace boss, Baroness Dido Harding, told a Commons select committee, that no modelling had predicted there might be a surge in cases as schools went back in September.  Blaming the government advisory group SAGE for the modelling, Lady Harding told the science and technology committee:

'I don’t think anybody was expecting to see the really sizeable increase in demand that we’ve seen over the course of the last few weeks. In none of the modelling was that expected.'

At which point, a weary nation guffawed in unison.  Whoever imagined that, with hundreds of thousands of children and young people criss-crossing our roads and transport system, and flocking to new towns and cities around the country, there might be – there would inevitably be – an upsurge of infections?  

I am not suggesting that the great return to education should not have happened.  But, for many, it is hard to stomach that there sometimes appears to have been so very little planning for this exceptionally important and predictable development.

Daily risks have to be taken; schools and universities must stay open; but everything should be done to monitor the movement of Covid-19 if we are going to learn to live with it.  Unless test-trace-isolate works as a triumvirate – the three in one in indivisible union – then there will be no chance for us.  And unless we recognise that daily life – including the crowds gathering at the school gates – is, for many, a very likely source of infection, then we may as well give up.  

Surely we are weary of boasts about numbers of tests and panic about pubs and must recognise other obvious threats?  Otherwise, we are surely in danger of listing our possible sources of infection according to whether or not they might be politically awkward.

Note

I should say that it seems we have escaped with an exceedingly mild version of the virus as I suffered from unpleasant symptoms for just a day, have now only a slight cough and the rest of the family doing even better. 

Now we are planning lots of games, films and books for the next two weeks and thank you for all the lovely comments

Friday, 19 June 2020

Is it last orders for Britain's pubs?

Some may believe that the pattern of this government during the wretched coronavirus pandemic has been to announce measures with impressive vim and vigour only for their intentions to be let down by a failure of having done the vital legwork and consultation beforehand.

It’s not for me to make any judgement, but it is clear that the pub industry urgently needs a statement providing clarity and direction unless the entire sector is to be irredeemably damaged.

July 4 – the earliest date the government has said the hospitality sector could reopen – is just 16 days away yet operators are entirely in the dark as to whether they will be able to do so.

Pub operator Oakman Inns has today unilaterally decided it will reopen on this date as owner Peter Borg-Neal has clearly been driven to distraction by the complete failure of this administration to give him information.

If he is to open by this date, he knows he needs to make it Covid secure and that requires time and work.

The British Beer and Pub Association, alongside several pub operators, has pleaded with the government for a decision on reopening dates and the 2-metre rule by today – Friday June 18.
We know a person is more likely to catch the virus when closer than 2-metres yet most other countries have reduced this measure and are opening up. The number of cases in this country remains stubbornly high but is falling and deaths – especially in London and a couple of other areas – are very slight. There is obviously a balance of risk – this is well known; the lack of a decision, though, baffles many.


This evening, I’ve received a set of demands from the Campaign for Pubs - an organisation run by former Liberal Democrat MP, Greg Mulholland who has worked over many years fighting to keep pubs going.

Here are the demands - will the government help at all? One can only hope.

The full list of the 10 Points to Save Pubs is: 
  1. definite date for opening NOW! (by Friday 19th June)

  1. Social distancing of 1 metre - not 2 metres (or most pubs simply cannot open)

  1. Clear full guidance for pubs and insurance companies to be issued by Friday 26th June – pubs need real clarity about any physical infrastructure requirements, and also about specific responsibilities and liability issues, so that they can be properly insured under fair policies which will be honoured 

  1. Relaxation of licensing restrictions where extra spaces would help smaller pubs operate more viably and safely 

  1. strong mandatory Covid-19 rent code of conduct including a statutory right to a rent review for all pub tenants 

  1. A rent-free period for all pubs, and an extended period of protection from landlords if rent cannot be paid

  1. Continued financial support for staff – extended fully-paid furlough where pubs are unable to viably/safely trade due to continued Government restrictions  

  1. VAT to 5% for at least 12 months - the only sensible way to help with reduced margins, as any price increases would reduce trade even further

  1. Business rates reform - announced now and implemented in April 2021 – and rates relief for all pubs until a reformed system comes in

  1. A 12 month ban on all change of use for pubs – pubs need protection in the planning system now even more than ever

Tuesday, 21 April 2020

Living and learning from lockdown


When the lockdown began, as the government instructed people to stay indoors but for fleeting occasions, the prospect of dark empty streets was somewhat unnerving.

It may have been a natural middle-class reaction, thinking that while I’d carefully obey instructions only the reckless and dangerous would flout such restrictions, given that the threat to our health comes in the shape of something as intangible as an invisible virus.



Fears of societal disintegration, as in Golding’s Lord of the Flies came to mind; or would the dystopian chaos of Cuaron’s Children of Men or even Mad Max – with marauding gangs of eco-warriors, freedom fighters and bounty hunters – be made flesh by the Covid-19 crisis?

Any such fears were not just misplaced, but wholly nonsensical of course. But, perhaps something more remarkable has occurred. Far from creaking and failing around us, social structures and the strengths of communities – at least from this corner of south east London – appear remarkably resilient.

The most obvious signal of this coherence is the week’s social highlight when neighbours emerge from their houses to clap the NHS each Thursday evening. It’s clearly not just our streets, the noise echoes all around. Indeed, every week, someone is, hopefully safely, setting off fireworks to celebrate the efforts of doctors and nurses. Despite my reticence towards such publicly emotional displays, it’s impossible not to be moved and get involved.

Support groups have spontaneously appeared in every community, offering the elderly and vulnerable support. Within minutes of signing up for one on behalf of some relatives who live elsewhere, we were inundated with messages offering to help with shopping, deliveries and other assistance from complete strangers.

This perspective, however, inevitably comes from something of a position of privilege. Our two daughters are young enough for their school absence not to be significantly detrimental. They have a garden in which to run around and we have secured relatively safe and secure ways of getting enough food. We are working from home and it is a tight squeeze; but we are still working.  As far as the girls are concerned, they can still construe these weeks – in the sunshine, with Spring emerging, with a smattering of school working continuing but not overwhelming and access to wider family and friends available via social media – almost as a holiday. It’s a time that may long linger in their memory with a fondness.

How one copes during the lockdown is a measure of entitlement. Less than a stone’s throw from my house, there are flats where the occupants have no garden at all, where venturing into the spring sunshine for anything other than exercise or dog walking risks at least a reprimand from the police. Unless one is living under such circumstances it is very hard to truly imagine how hard such conditions are.

Labour MP Karen Buck has regularly posted about the domestic challenges some of her constituents are facing. Just today she wrote about an appeal to her from an NHS hospital worker living in a one bad flat with her husband and three children

‘She can’t self isolate, she’s terrified for her family and it’s impacting on her mental health’.



It isn’t the fault of any cabinet minister that they may have more than one comfortable home and garden but instructing people such as those above, who are in such tight circumstances, to remain indoors, must be exasperating and angering.

At times police have appeared heavy-handed in their handling of the lockdown rules but they are learning how to operate in a strange new world as are we all.  But we haven’t seen great confrontations between the authorities and anti-lockdown protesters, as has been seen in the United States and Paris. The country has taken to the grim challenge with perhaps surprising success.

It’s all the more imperative, then, to make the effort to recognise how exceptionally difficult life is for many at the moment; and to sympathise – even if we cannot truly empathise – with those whose lives have been thrown into chaos, confusion and desperation.  We must really work hard to ensure that, when these exceptionally strange times are over, we remember who kept our lives going, which roles are ‘key’, which workers underpin our sense of community and who are the most vulnerable people in our society.  Where would we be without doctors, nurses, healthcare assistants, carers, volunteers, transport workers, shop workers, rubbish collectors, delivery couriers? Our democracy is only as good as the lives of those who have not got sharp elbows, or a house and garden, or a supportive family, and who may not always be able to look after themselves.

Tuesday, 30 July 2019

Poisoned Egnep


Penge is a ‘local version of Chernobyl’.

Not, I’m relieved to say, the area of south London which has been my home for about 12 years, but a description of a township in South Africa which has been scarred by decades of asbestos mining.

What began as a bit of fun, discovering that London's Penge has a namesake more than 8,100 miles away – with its own makeshift cable car across a river – became more tragic as it became clear generations of families have suffered from poisoning in the filthy trade.

I’ve tried to find out who named the place but have had no success yet. The area was mapped by a geologist called Hall (again, I'm still struggling to establish his first name) in 1907 and it was he who located the brown asbestos which became the area’s main industry.

Mining began in either 1910 or 1914 by two companies, one called Asbestos Mines of South Africa (AMOSA), from which the word Amosite – the trade name for brown asbestos – derives, and Egnep Limited – obviously Penge spelt backwards. It seems reasonable to assume whoever set up Egnep Ltd had strong links to our area.

By 1925, the companies were incorporated into the Cape Asbestos Company Limited where they proved to be hugely profitable over successive decades.

The chairman of Cape, an L Breitmeyer, visited in 1929 and was clearly stirred by what he saw. At the AGM in Holborn, according to The Times, he said:



£30,000 is the equivalent to about £1.8million in today's money.

In 1959, its annual report found that ‘the successful outcome of our exertions at Penge is clearly of great importance to the Group’.

Even in 1970, the Transvaal Consolidated Land company, to which Cape gradually sold off its asbestos mining interests, reported that its ‘main source of royalty income is the amosite asbestos deposit at Penge in the northern Transvaal, which is expected to provide a satisfactory income for many years’.

On September 30, 1981, The Times reported that South African mining company Gencor had offered to buy the asbestos interests of Transvaal Consolidated Land in a deal worth about £12million noting that TCL had earned about £1.5m from the Penge mines and another site.

The mine finally closed in 1992, 24 years after Cape’s notorious Barking factory in London sealed its doors due to the levels of asbestos disease suffered by its workers.

Regulations on working with asbestos began in Britain in 1931 but workers Penge, South Africa, did not see any benefits and were sometimes were exposed to ‘up to thirty times the legal limit’ of asbestos in Britain.

A site visit in 1949 by the Silicosis Medical Bureau reported that:

‘Exposures were crude and unchecked. I found young children... in large shipping bags, trampling down fluffy amosite asbestos which all day long came cascading down over their heads. They were kept stepping lively by a burly supervisor with a hefty whip’. 

Several of these children later developed asbestosis before the age of 12.

A 1999 story in The Guardian said that by 1960 South African surveys ‘showed a link between asbestos exposure and mesothelioma, but circulation was restricted, seemingly with the connivance of the industry.

In 2007, Laurie Kazan-Allen, who has spent decades campaigning for those affected by asbestos poisoning noted:

'Before it was closed in 1992, the world's largest amosite asbestos mine had operated for over 90 years in Penge. When the mine was shut, thousands of local people occupied the mine's buildings and 250 houses previously inhabited by former workers'.

And she went on to quote Steven Donohue, the acting head of the Department of Community Health:

'Gross asbestos contamination is clearly not confined to the mine dumps. Penge is an ongoing environmental health disaster and should be deemed permanently uninhabitable... Asbestos waste is widespread around the village and is still detectable in water from the Olifants River, which flows past the village.'

But people still live there. Other forms of mining continue nearby and I'm very grateful to live in our lovely, friendly, neighbourhood, as, in comparison, its problems pale into insignificance.

Monday, 27 May 2019

London faces losing a vital link to its history

The history of a great city can be charted in its architecture and London is conspicuously fortunate to be awash with revered sites, to which thousands of tourists flock every year and which we can cherish as signs of the grand sweep and the incidental details of our history.

It isn’t just monuments like St Paul’s Cathedral, Westminster Abbey or the Tower of London – occupied and dominated across centuries by monarchs, power and wealth – which are crucial to understanding London’s long history; so too are smaller buildings and spaces, those of a domestic scale which reveal how people lived and the layers of society and which map the evolution of our social, economic and cultural lives. Market squares, cottages built for manual workers, weavers, servants and the growing population; alleyways, pubs, churches, chapels, hidden archways, riverside staircases, canals, docks:  all offer the corner of a veil which can be lifted, revealing how the common man and woman existed. More often than not, we can see aspects of our own lives in theirs and reflect how we might have struggled facing the every-day challenges in the environment of a huge, growing, turbulent capital city.

And it is these, perhaps less immediately appreciable, sometimes more anonymous, features which are confronted with the greatest threats to their existence.  As London grows into an ever bigger global city, inviting investors with big ambitions and bigger wallets from across the world, we sometimes fail to notice what we are losing before it is too late. A cursory glimpse of the City of London and one might still be able to delineate the pattern of alleyways that illuminates something  of an ancient past, but its buildings increasingly do not; skyscrapers grow higher and in ever more bold, unsympathetic, shapes.

In Spitalfields, despite a battle lasting years, the British Land development of Norton Folgate is going ahead – a result of then mayor of London, Boris Johnson, overturning a local planning decision – demolishing ‘more than 80% of the fabric’ of the site, despite being in a Conservation Area. Moreover, Mr Johnson’s decision appears to have alerted other developers that such a status offers little protection to the modest, but beautiful.

And now, planners are seeking to demolish an 18th century weavers’ cottage, No. 3 Club Row.

No. 3 Club Row
In his magisterial ‘Spitalfields’, published in 2017, Dan Cruickshank describes the legible history of the, ‘handful of streets that constitute’ the area, the, ‘religious strife, civil conflict, waves of immigration, the rise and fall of industry, great prosperity and grinding poverty.’   

In particular, Cruickshank highlights the survival of a pair of houses, ‘3 and 5 Club Row, dating from 1764-5’, describing them as ‘remarkable’. He adds: 

‘They are three storeys high above a basement, each presenting to the street one wide window per floor… they are little altered examples of the humble houses in which Georgian journeymen silk weavers lived and worked… The very few early buildings that survive on these small estates in north Spitalfields – notably the pairs of houses in Club Row and in [nearby] Redchurch Street – are the fragmentary remains of a lost Georgian Spitalfields.’

He says that these buildings were once in their thousands around Spitalfields, Bethnal Green and Shoreditch. And he adds:

‘Their architecture was humble and unglamorous – so in consequence unappreciated, undervalued and unprotected. Yet they were also fascinating social documents …. Now there are barely two dozen such buildings left in Spitalfields.’

One would have thought that the purpose of a Conservation Area designation would be to protect these rare insights into our past and into such a crucial London trade, but faced with powerful investors resistance can be difficult.

The backers of the redevelopment of 3 Club Row claim, in their heritage statement, that the building is ‘innocuous’ (whatever that means) and the ‘growing vacancy and derelict appearance of the building has made the corner site detrimental to the quality and character of the area’. Indeed, it argues that the building detracts from the Conservation Area itself and the setting of a nearby listed building, thus apparently pandering to the specious notion that ‘conservation’ should be concerned only with the great and showily glorious. It is further claimed that, the current building is ‘not suited to the uses of existing and forecast requirements of users/the community’ and the replacement, 5-storey building, will see the ‘active regeneration of this site’.

The local community, however, appears not to agree. Already the application has received 140 comments and a vigorous campaign against the development has been launched. And their campaigning has been noticed locally, at least, as the local council, Tower Hamlets, has issued a temporary Building Preservation Notice for six months as Historic England decides whether or not to list the building.

As Historic England loudly proclaims ‘We protect, champion and save places that define who we are’; one hopes that local feelings will be heard.

What can be done to save what little is left of Chaucer’s London, huddled in the streets near Southwark Cathedral, Borough High Street and London Bridge, is less clear. Once the only crossing point into the City, the roads around Borough High Street became something of a wild border town; rowdy hostelries, brothels, inns and theatres emerged, offering entertainments and attractions forbidden on the other side of the Thames.
Spur Inn Yard today

Just one of London’s great gallery inns survives In Borough High Street, The George, now managed by the National Trust (Pete Brown’s excellent ‘Shakespeare’s Pub:  A BarstoolHistory of London’ offers a biography of the pub and a fascinating history of the surrounding area), but the memory of others lingers on in the names of alleyways. There’s Kings Head Yard, which weaves round into White Hart Yard, Spur Inn Yard and Talbot Yard, once home to the Tabard Inn, where Chaucer’s Pilgrims gathered on their way to Canterbury

In a recent article for ‘Country Life’, architect Ptolemy Dean appealed for the protection of the area as developers erase its character. He wrote:

‘Preserved by a mixture of decline and neglect, the distinctive character of this area has not been extinguished by the Great Southwark Fire of 1676, the imposition of Victorian railways and roads or later bomb damage… As a consequence Borough High Street has been a designated Conservation Area since 1968’.

But it seems that we can, today, wreak damage that none of our predecessors has managed.  King’s College London recently, ‘destroyed the intimate character of the former Spur Inn Yard’, despite its protective designation, with a development that included a supermarket and a hotel, with ‘the total loss of the old covered arch entrance to Spur Inn’.

Mr. Dean notes that the destruction does not stop here:

Now, KCL has further applied for permission to create a four-block “student village”. The tallest “village” building will rise 12 storeys. These will overshadow The George and destroy the neighbouring Talbot Yard where two 19th-century hop warehouses, much mutilated, but potentially recoverable, will be demolished in the process.’

And Mr Dean fears worse is to come. He notes that the, ‘enclosed intimacy of Kings Head Yard is one of the best surviving alleyways that also still contains an inn’. But, ambitious plans are being laid.

Great Portland Estates is planning ‘New City Court’, a 373,900 sq ft redevelopment that wants to ‘provide generous and accessible new public spaces and routes’ and a 139m purpose-built office block, ‘equivalent height to Guy’s Tower adjacent to our site’.  It will be the latest high rise building now dwarfing the low level heritage, The Shard being the most conspicuous example.

While an environmental impact assessment was put to planning last year, a full planning application has yet to be submitted though it is, reportedly, hoped that building will start in 2022.

To this development, Kings Head Yard is ‘little more than a service route for the site and other buildings along it…. Our proposal for the site includes reinstating the yard arrangement and to improve accessibility and journeys through the site’.

But for Mr Dean – and surely, for so many of us – the ‘street pattern of Southwark is intrinsic to its particular character and it’s sad to see it ignorantly, greedily and ineptly destroyed’.  Dean concludes, ruefully:

‘With such forces raised against it, however, only a miracle can save it now.’

The richness of our collective history owes so much to places and spaces such as 3 Club Row, The George and Kings Head Yard. It is crucial that Conservation Areas are enforced and organisations like Historic England must reflect and act upon their responsibilities and it remains up to society to remember and treasure these artefacts while we still can.  Whilst it might be much easier to recognise and enjoy ever-more ambitious – and often coarse – skyscrapers and showy developments, do we really want to efface, clean up, make more ‘useful’ – and otherwise destroy – all the history of our multifarious, picturesque, highly distinctive and complicated capital city?  There are powerful stories embodied in its modest buildings, streets and inconvenient corners.  We should relish them.