In the Shadow of the Castle of Otranto.

"This life is a pilgrimage" - Horace Walpole, The Castle of Otranto

 

"My life abhors a falsehood" Walpole wrote, also in The Castle of Otranto - so here's something that is anything but a falsehood. London, a city I have now lived in for over twenty-five years and have known for many more before that, remains an endlessly fascinating place. No matter how much I explore the city there always seems to be something new to intrigue me, to fascinate me, to amuse me, to confuse me, and, sometimes, to frustrate me.

It's why arranging my London by Foot walks these last four or five years has been such fun. The fact I've been able to share these walks with a rotating, but growing, cast of friends old and new have made this 'job' even more of a pleasure and yesterday's walk, In the Shadow of the Castle of Otranto, was no different in that respect. Even if it was, in some respects, different to any walk we've done before.

All walks are. That's the nature of them. Even if we pass through some of the same places there are always new things to see, new stories to hear, and new perspectives to be had when newcomers join the walk. Or when old timers change and see things with different eyes.

I'd been to Eel Pie Island once before (about twenty years ago), I'd been to Syon Park the same number of times (though far more recently), I'd somehow contrived never to visit Strawberry Hill itself - or Gunnersbury Park, I hardly know Acton, and Brentford, following my second ever visit there, remains a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.

As Winston Churchill once said (admittedly of Russia, rather than Brentford). I'll explain why later but the day, as so often, began with hope and it began early. I'd gone to bed, nice and sober, very early on Friday night so was up super early on Saturday and from Honor Oak Park I took the Overground to Surrey Quays, another Overground to Clapham Junction, and, finally, the normal train to Strawberry Hill.

Bee joined me at Richmond and we parked ourselves in the friendly Strawberry Hill Cafe (well, the staff were friendly, one of the customers asked if she could take one of our chairs to which I said yes but she took as no and then got annoyed about). Soon we were joined by Pam, Mo, Sanda, first time LbF walker Naomi, and, finally, Colin and Patricia. I had a cappuccino, a Coke, and a brie and cranberry ciabatta (like it was Xmas or something) and it was a pretty good brunch.

All very satisfying. Fed and watered, we headed down Waldegrave Gardens and Waldegrave Road until the Gothic Revival villa of Strawberry Hill House began to loom up in front of us. Just as I was preparing to launch into my first prepared spiel of the day, I was approached by a lady who asked if I was leading a walk to Acton.

I was. I asked if she would like to join us. She did. Vicky, for that was her name, was knowledgeable, friendly, and a great addition to the walk. It turned out that Colin and Patricia had not been the last arrivals after all. With a couple of last minute drop outs (for health reasons, neither Kathy nor Shep were able to join us) I'd been worried about low attendance but now with nine of us milling around Strawberry Hill I felt as if the king of the London Borough of Richmond upon Thames.

As you can see from the photos above, Strawberry Hill House is a pretty impressive pile. Built between 1749 & 1776 it's not only Gothic Revival in style, it actually launched that style (other examples can be seen at Braziers Park in Oxfordshire, Donnington Park near Newbury (where previous LbF walkers Neil and Tina got married back in 2014), Houghton Lodge between Winchester and Salisbury, and The Priory in Roehampton which, all being well, will feature on an already twice postponed LbF walk next spring.

When Walpole took a lease on a small cottage on the site here in 1747 he decided its name, Chopped Straw Hall, and its modest size simply would not do. In fact he considered the name 'intolerable'. His grand design incorporated styles borrowed from early Gothic architecture. He stole ideas from the catherdral in Canterbury and based the chimney on a design from Edward the Confessor's tomb in Westminster Abbey.

His architecture and artistic sensibility inspired him, in 1764, to write the first ever Gothic novel:- The Castle of Otranto. A novel that tells the story of Manfred, lord of said castle, and his family. Manfred's sickly son Conrad is crushed to death by a giant helmet (!) and Manfred sees this as an omen, a bad one, and so, for some reason, marries Conrad's fiance.

The story evolves to take in ghosts, knights, underground churches, mistaken identities, and trumpets. Trumpets and giant helmets have pretty much fallen by the wayside in modern Gothic fiction but The Castle of Otranto went on to inspire such disparate talents as Edgar Allan Poe, Mary Shelley, Bram Stoker, Stephen King, and even The Sisters of Mercy.

Walpole himself was born in 1717, four years before his father Robert became Britain's first ever, and longest serving, Prime Minister. He was educated at Bexley, Eton (of course), and King's College, Cambridge but he left before even taking a degree. It was at Cambridge that he developed a healthy lifelong suspicion of superstition and bigotry.

When he died in 1979, Strawberry Hill House was passed down through various family members before falling into the hands of the German banker Baron Hermann de Stern. It is now, and has been for a while, part of St Mary's University, Twickenham.

An inspiring place to study, one imagines. We took photos and passed on to Radnor Gardens which faces out to a delightful Thames aspect and includes a war memorial (to the unknown dead) and a bowling green as well as a walled garden and a rather curious looking piece of architecture which may, or may not, be a remnant from 17c Radnor House which once stood here.

The home of John Robartes, the 4th Earl of Radnor, it is said by some that it was built in a mock gothic style as if to tease his neighbour Walpole. That story is slightly undermined by accounts that Radnor House was built before Strawberry Hill House.

Another neighbour in this then exclusive area was Alexander Pope (who, like Robartes, had a private tunnel for river access). Pope was, and still is, known for his satirical and discursive poetry (eg; The Rape of the Lock) and is, after Shakespeare, the second most quoted author in The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations.

"Hope springs eternal", "damning with faint praise", "a little learning is a dangerous thing", and "fools rush in where angels fear to tread" - they're all Pope's. His grotto was, sadly, not open for us to visit though it occasionally is. We followed a road named Cross Deep for a while and then cut back to the Thames riverside before taking the footbridge (the only way in or out) across to Eel Pie Island.

Eel Pie Island is one of London's more fascinating curiosities. Named, it is believed, for the eel pies served by a former inn on the island in the 19c where steamer excursions would stop for presumably boozy repasts. Its notoriety as a destination for leisure and pleasure continued long into the 20c.

In the 20s and 30s, Eel Pie Island Hotel hosted ballroom dancing, in 1956 the trumpeter Brian Rutland started jazz sessions there, and in the sixties Arthur Chisnall added up and coming R&B and rock bands like The Rolling Stones, The Who, and The Yardbirds to a list of artists that already included Acker Bilk, Screaming Lord Sutch, Ivor Cutler, George Melly, and Long John Baldy's Hoochie Coochie Men.

The hotel closed in 1967 but briefly reopened two years later as Colonel Barefoot's Rock Garden when it hosted gigs by such luminaries as Black Sabbath, Hawkwind, Deep Purple, Genesis, Free, King Crimson, Mott the Hoople, Wishbone Ash, and The Edgar Broughton Band. It doesn't seem to have been a huge success financially (giving away free half pints of beer and Colonel Barefoot's killer punch - cider with cooking brandy and cinnamon) so when it was deemed a fire hazard and closed a year later it is nice to think Colonel Barefoot took alternative employment and was finally able to afford some shoes.

There was, however, one last brief coda for the hotel. In 1970 it was squatted by anarchists and became the UK's largest hippy commune. One year later it burned down in a mysterious fire and now, though it remains resolutely bohemian, it seems like a place you'd need money to live on. There are amazing clapboard cottages there, homes with mock ice cream on the roof and dolls planted in the garden, and even, weirdest of all to me, a small trading estate and a little block of flats.

They cram a lot of homes, and a lot of styles, into a very small place on Eel Pie Island. Back on the bank of the Thames, the Barmy Army pub (a reminder that this is very much rugby country) was doing good Saturday afternoon trade. We didn't stop there or the even more promising looking White Swan further along.

Instead we continued through York House Gardens and on to the former site of Orleans House. Orleans House was a Palladian villa built by the (possibly) Basingstoke born architect John James (who is responsible for St George's church in Hanover Square, Mayfair) for the Tory politician and former Secretary of State James Johnston in 1710.

When the Duc d'Orleans, Louis Philippe I - the penultimate King of France, stayed here in the 19c, it gained its name. There's not a lot left of it. Basically there is a large baroque octagonal room that was designed not by James but by James Gibbs (himself a big church builder:- St Martin-in-the-Fields, St Mary-le-Strand, as well as Oxford's Radcliffe Camera).

The next residence of our moneyed homestead tour was Marble Hill House. A Palladian villa that still stands and gave our walkers a very clear idea of what is meant by the term Palladian. To me the messy, irregular, and whimsical style of Strawberry Hill House is more in keeping with London's unplanned and spontaneous growth than these orderly and measured Palladian villas but they're still nice to look at.

Marble Hill House was built from 1724 to 1729 by Roger Morris (who's also responsible for the Column of Victory at Blenheim Palace) as a home for Henrietta Howard, the Countess of Suffolk. A mistress of George II. The grounds of Marble Hill House have suffered live concerts by Westlife and, many years ago, I accidentally passed by when Acker Bilk was launching into a live set. I had assumed him to be already dead. About a decade later, the jauntily waistcoated clarinet maestro had indeed passed away.

There were no strangers on the shore of the Thames for us though, just friends we hadn't met yet. Another Thames island, Glover's Island, I discovered, had once been owned by the Richmond businessman Joseph Glover who had tried to sell it to Pears' soap for advertising!

Through Cambridge Gardens, we arrived at Richmond Bridge (1774-1777, designed by Kenton Course and Andover's James Paine) and, then, Twickenham Bridge (1933, designed by Maxwell Ayrton who was also responsible for the old Wembley Stadium). More impressive than each of these bridges, and even competing with a nearby heron, was Richmond Lock and Footbridge which I had passed over with Pam and Shep during a stage of our Capital Ring walk last year.

We would, for the next few miles - until Brentford, be following that same route. But it was a good one and it was good to introduce to seven new people. Richmond Lock and Footbridge was built in 1894 with F.G.M (unfortunate initials) Stoney as chief engineer. Soon after we passed it we'd head, briefly, away from the river and take in the confluence of the Crane (which has flowed eight and half miles from Yeading Brook near Pinner and may well be the route of a future LbF walk) and the Thames.

Picturesqure Isleworth riverside has a villagey feel and was party to many many birds:- swans, Egyptian geese, crows, pigeons, and gulls all competed for the bread some visitors were, perhaps unwisely, lobbing them. We also had our own refuelling sessin in The London Apprentice pub.

As tradition has it, Colin bought me my first pint (a Timothy Taylor Landlord which he later topped up with another half), and others took pale ales, lagers, wine, and soft drinks. A few plates of chips appeared and Naomi trumped everyone food wise with a ginormous Scotch egg that we all agreed definitely constituted a substantial meal.

The London Apprentice is so famous a pub it has its own Wikipedia page. Recorded as a licensed inn from 1731 onwards, it overlooks the Isleworth Stairs which Henry VIII would use to take the ferry from Richmond Palace into London proper. Some years later, they were where Lady Jane Grey, the nine day Queen, boarded the royal barge to accept the throne.

From The London Apprentice, it's a short walk to Syon Park. Unlike other London parks there is little, or no, picnicking, kicking balls around or any other form of general jollity. Much of the park is given over to farmland and looking towards the river it is dominated by the large and stately Syon House.

Gardens landscaped by our old friend Capability Brown in the 18c, it is the London home of the former Duke of Northumberland who moved here from Northumberland House off The Strand. Presumably, for a quieter life. It was built, in 1712, by Robert Adam (see also, the Pulteney Bridge in Bath) - or at least the interior was. The exterior dates back to 1547 and Syon House has featured in The Madness of King George, Killing Eve, The Avengers, Poirot, Gosford Park, King Ralph, Bhaji on the Beach, and in keeping with the walk's vague gothic theme, Tim Pope's video for The Cure's Caterpillar.

Not long after leaving Syon Park you arrive in Brentford and the vibe changes quite dramatically. Brentford always feels, in my mind, as if it is much further out of London than it actually is. When Brentford FC were promoted to the Premier League earlier this year, it was remarked that even many Londoners could not find Brentford on a map.

That's odd because it's not a small place (and it has a Premier League football team). It is a confusing place though. It's where the Grand Union Canal and the River Brent flow in and out of each other and, eventually, in to the Thames. Bridges take you over and across these various waterways, paths lead to dead ends, there are rusty boats and discarded office furniture and even old double decker buses left rotting in boatsheds and yards and it has a feeling of a fascinating but infuriating maze.

Several times, I thought I was lost but we, somehow, kept roughly to the route despite advertised paths being impassable due to rubbish, weeds, or just general crap. Tyres, rusty ladders leading to nowhere, woody constructions whose purpose was unclear, and endless muddy banks gave the scene a strangely forlorn yet beautiful feel. An improbably powerful double waterfall only added to the charm.

We got a brief glimpse of Lot's Ait where, in 1951. Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman* filmed scenes from The African Queen and a slightly clearer look at Brentford Ait where once the notorious Three Swans (or simply Swan) pub stood. The ait looked so muddy and tree covered it is hard to imagine how anything could ever have been built there.

Brentford Waterman's Centre, situated in a former gas works, is the cultural hub of the area and features a cinema, a theatre, and two studio spaces. Ravi Shankar was the first ever musician to play there (which I can believe) and a griffin is said to have been spotted on its roof (which seems considerably less plausible). Robert Rankin was inspired to write his Brentford Trilogy while serving as writer in residence at the Waterman's.

We came off the river and followed the High Street down to Kew Bridge, past a Musical Museum and a large imposing water tower which is now part of the London Museum of Water & Steam. Brentford were due to kick off against Chelsea at 1730hrs and the pubs were emptying out in anticipation. We headed to One Over The Ait and by the time we arrived it had emptied out but most of the tables had still been cleared away to optimise space for thirsty and vertical football fans.

I had a London Pride, Vicky bade us farewell, and I read a little more spiel to the walkers before we departed for our final stretch. It was getting dark as we passed the Brentford Community Centre (they were playing Stevie Wonder's I Just Called To Say I Love You and fans were supping half-time pints in a game they would ultimately lose 1-0 to current league leaders Chelsea) and, after that, we passed under a raised section of the M4 and into Gunnersbury Park.

In the dark. I'm glad there were eight of us. Although, to be fair, it seemed safe enough. Plenty of dog walkers about. Gunnersbury Park was purchased for the nation from the Rothschild family and opened to the public in 1926 by Neville Chamberlain, then Minister of Health, in 1926 but its name goes back much further. It is named for Gunylola, the niece of King Canute, who lived there until her banishment from England in1044.

Daniel Defoe visited Gunnersbury Park in 1742 and described it as having "an exceeding fine prospect of the County of Surrey, the River Thames .... and a good prospect of London in fine weather". The large mansion in the park features in the 1951 Ealing comedy The Lavender Hill Mob and Liam Gallagher filmed a video to his 2020 single Once here.

It was dark and mysterious as we passed through yet fears we'd be locked in proved unfounded. The large gates were closed but a smaller gate to the side was open. I still squeezed through the iron bars anyway because I am essentially a child.

We headed on to Acton, departing with Mo, Sanda, and Bee at the lovely Art Deco Acton Town tube station and then Naomi in Acton itself (she had some supermarket shopping to do to prepare a tasty sounding feast for the evening). Acton, in our third borough of the day - Ealing, means 'oak farm' or 'farm by oak trees' and was once a hub of commerce on the Uxbridge Road between London and Oxford.

Many of its inns date back to Tudor times and notables associated with Acton include Emilia Fox, Adam Faith, Bill Owen, Alan Richman, Robin Friday, Lionel Bart, Eric Ravilious, Pete Townsend, Alan Wilder, and the first lady of Syria, Asma al-Assad. It was the site of the first Waitrose (then Waite, Rose, and Taylor) in the UK in 1904.

We were not to visit Waitrose or any of those Tudor inns but instead we bought some booze (for me, two bottles of Cobra) and headed to the BYO Anokha Indian- Bangla restaurant. I had paneer shashlik bhuna with a naan and pulao rice, Pam had another paneer dish, and Colin and Patricia shared a selection of reasonably tasty looking starters.

Anokha was good but the day had been even better. We considered, and then decided against, one final drink as Acton was a bit of a trek back home for all of us. Instead we headed to Acton Central station and all went our separate ways. I took the Overground to Highbury & Islington, the Victoria line to Brixton, and the P4 bus home. I'd had a busy day but I'd had a fun day and I hope I can say so did everyone else. The fact that, for the most part, they keep showing up suggests to me they do. I have to share credit for that with my fellow walkers but also with the 'muse' that makes these walks possible. That muse of course is London herself.

Thanks to Pam, Bee, Colin, and Sanda for the photographs and to them, Mo, Colin, Patricia, Naomi, and Vicky for joining me on this walk. Not just for joining me on it but for making it such an enjoyable day out. I can't wait to go again. TADS complete their, necessarily interrupted, 2021 season with a stroll from Woolwich to Waterloo in three weeks (I'm calling that one, lazily, Docklands Shite Trailway) and then LbF are back between Xmas and New Year (29th December) with a walk around the City of London proper. That one's called Domine Dirige Nos:The Higher the Buildings, The Lower the Morals. It'd be good to see you as we further unravel the mysteries of London.

*Within three hours of publishing this blog, Sanda contacted me to point out, quite correctly, that it was Katharine Hepburn and not Ingrid Bergman who appeared with Humphrey Bogart in The African Queen. I could have, quite easily, edited the blog to correct that error but I feel like it's more honourable to own your mistakes and give credit to those who point them out. Hence, this correction. Thanks to Sanda and apologies to anyone who has read this far and is thinking "this dick knows fuck all about classic movies".