October 17, 1999: West Ham to Plumstead
Woolwich Market welcomes you.
Some seven weeks passed before the Lees and I found the time to continue our walk on the Green London Way. We did not decide to make a start, indeed, until the previous night, when there was a department party (also celebrating Dorothy’s birthday) at 100 Morshead Mansions. Tosh assured me that we would have fine weather but when I accompanied Dorothy to the newsagents at 9:00 I could tell immediately that, though sunny, we would have colder temperatures than those we had experienced recently – and quite a wind in our faces.
As soon as I arrived at the Maida Vale tube station I noticed a warning about difficulties in approaching West Ham station. Nevertheless this was our rendezvous point – and I had to continue. There weren’t many people about as I read the relevant sections of Bob Gilbert’s book while the Bakerloo line inched towards the Embankment. The first train that came in on the eastbound District Line here was marked Upminster, the end of the line, but, in fact, we got no further than Tower Hill, where it ended its run, and eastbound passengers had to switch platforms for a Barking train. This sped by West Ham, as I had expected, and I had to get off at Plaistow, change platforms, and wait some time in the cool breezes for a westbound train. This, indeed, stopped at West Ham and I strolled through the station, looking for my walking partners. It was 10:05.
The Lees were not in evidence but a few minutes later they appeared, having made the same strange roundabout journey via Plaistow. Tosh found a way of penetrating the recesses of the station loo (after having been told there was none by helpful staff at the ticket window) and we each took a turn. A sign above the toilet asked men to lift the lid. “If you like pee all over the seat and the floor do this at home. If you persist in doing it here the toilet will be restricted to staff only.”
Chastened, we began our walk about 10:20, turning right onto Manor Road and soon finding our way back up to the top of the sewer embankment for a lengthy two and a half mile stroll in a southeasterly direction. There was the occasional whiff of stench from below but the breezes soon dispersed these. I had brought my wool cap but Tosh hadn’t, so I had to loan her mine. Canary Wharf was now off to our right and we also had good views of the Millennium Dome on this stretch. Roads crossed our path on a number of occasions but we were usually assisted across the busy intersection by pelican crossings. Joggers and cyclists made life a little hazardous as we continued forward on level ground, a cemetery appearing at last on our right and trees hanging over the paved path. I used this hour or so to bring the Lees up to date on the latest local gossip.
The sewer embankment ended as we reached High Street South and we detoured briefly to the north to enter the precincts of St. Mary Magdalene and the East Ham Nature Reserve. A red-clad lady vicar was out in front of the Norman church talking to parishioners. We didn’t linger long, returning to High Street South and crossing under a flyover to what was supposed to be East Ham Manor Way – though now clearly marked as Woolwich Manor Way. Nevertheless our next goal was easy to keep in sight, the famous Beckton Alps, a man-made hill (why Alps?) – a landscaped 246 foot high slag heap left by the former gas works which now supported, on its south side, an artificial ski slope, with a tow rope and all. This was clanking away merrily as we puffed up to the viewing platform; it was a very clear day and the views were splendid in all directions.
Then we descended slowly and continued south along Woolwich Manor Way, disdaining a modern ersatz pub and circling around some roundabout, crossing the main road and entering suburbia. At Cyprus Place we turned left (a local lad was seeing how much rubber he could burn off his tires by a rapid acceleration from a standing start) and I spotted the advertised pub, The Ferndale. It was only about 12:30. They offered no food, to our disappointment, but we had a brief drink (I had a Diet Coke) and used the loos. A gent at the bar quizzed us intently on our walking plans and offered suggestions about where we might get something to eat – but, as usual, it was advice that only someone in a car could use.
After our rest we continued forward on a path behind some council flats and reached a large roundabout. Here we headed south again, crossing two roads carefully and inching our way around the fencing of a construction site, but at this point it was clear that Gilbert’s way forward, along a third road, was no longer available in the churned earth of redevelopment. So I knew we had to choose another way into North Woolwich and we set out to cross a long bridge, still on Woolwich Manor Way. We would miss some wandering around in the docks on our left, but the views to our right were superb: the Royal Albert and King George the V Docks and between them the runway of the City Airport.
I kept an eye open for when Gilbert’s route might rejoin us and it wasn’t long before his directions began to make sense again. We followed our road around to the right and took a left on Barge House Road. At the end of this street something quite surprising came into view: the Thames itself, sparkling in the sunlight, Woolwich on the opposite shore. It was a thrilling sight. We followed an embankment upriver, the Royal Victoria Gardens on our right, and I began to keep a wary eye open for the Royal Pavilion Hotel, whose pub now offered us our next best chance of some noontime refreshment. We found the hotel not far from the Woolwich Ferry landing but, boarded up, it had long ago ceased offering refreshment to anyone. Somewhat nonplussed we asked a chap about food and he pointed in the direction of downtown North Woolwich, just a block inland from our spot.
On the corner there was a grimy ancient pub, the Royal Standard, and it certainly didn’t look promising. A dozen men, shrouded in cigarette smoke, lined the bar with their backs to us while “I Get Knocked Down” blared from the jukebox. Tosh made her enquiries and the publican sent someone to the kitchen to ask if they would make some sandwiches for us. They would. We ordered our lager (I had a pint this time) and we bought some peanuts. We needn’t have bothered because the Royal Standard offered free bar snacks on the counter and on at least four occasions one of the locals got up and brought a bowl of these over to our table. Crab Sticks, clams, pickled onions and tomatoes, cheese and crackers, little roast potatoes – it was a very welcoming and generous gesture. We ate our sandwiches (I had liver sausage) and had quite a leisurely feed, charmed to see something of the famous East End hospitality at last. “I haven’t eaten this much butter in a year,” Tosh said as she chomped into her own sandwich. For most of our stay here she was the only woman in the place.
Eventually it was time for us to resume our walk, amid thanks on our part and best wishes from the pub regulars, and we walked back to the embankment to begin the next stage of our journey. I must say that it, too, was quite unique. We entered a building and pressed a button, summoning a lift from the depths of the Woolwich foot tunnel. The lift operator admitted us to his chamber and began his descent – I can’t think of another moment in my walking career when such a mode of transportation had been utilized, and we were soon walking in the pristine white-tiled tunnel beneath the river. Closed circuit TV tracked our progress. At the other end there was a second lift, its operator having installed a heater and a radio for his own comfort.
There was a good deal of confusion when we exited opposite the ferry terminal. Gilbert calls for an assault on the precincts of the Woolwich Arsenal but a new riverside park was being installed and our walk was blocked. We ended up doing a gigantic circle in the chill wind before circumnavigating the leisure center and approaching the high road on an avenue called Glass Yard. Here we paused while I consulted my A-Z (again a necessity today) and a gent in a car questioned me about the proximity of a flea market. I think we discovered it ourselves as we made our way eastward to Beresford Square in Woolwich, but the entrepreneurs were packing up for the day.
We headed around the Ordnance Arms and turned away from the river on Woolwich New Road. Across the street a pie and eel shop stood next to a noodle bar. Gordon Square (with the Woolwich Equitable Building presiding) came next and we continued on Angelsea and Brookhill Roads to turn left, east, up Sandy Hill. Tosh inquired if they had any Bramleys at a greengrocers, but they hadn’t “You’re in the wrong country,” I told her. We continued forward to reach Plumstead Common Road, Tosh crossing over before learning that we had to turn left on this street. Thereafter she walked the next five minutes on the opposite side of the street, but Harold got her to come over when it was time for us to follow lanes through Plumstead Common itself. I had been using his backpack to store my Gilbert much of the day but now I had to clutch both it and the A-Zed because after crossing a few streets it was time to leave the Green London Way (we had been on part of the Green Chain Walk too) to begin our descent to Plumstead Station. This is not mentioned in the guidebook but I had figured out how use of it would make the stages a bit more convenient for us. We followed Griffin Street downhill for not more than ten minutes and found the train station on our left at the bottom.
A Charing Cross train was due in twelve minutes (it was five minutes late) and in the interim Tosh befriended another of the world’s sad cases, a chap who had taken up residence on a platform bench in order to talk about his addiction to drugs, alcohol and cigarettes. It was only about 3:30. I called Dorothy, using the mobile, and then tried not to fall asleep on the short ride into London. Near the end we also got to see the recently erected Ferris wheel on the South Bank. I said goodbye to the Lees at the station and continued home on the Bakerloo line. I was home by 4:30 – plenty of time for a nap after a very successful eight-mile outing.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: