Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been?
To London, to London, to look at the Queen.
Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you there?
I frightened a little mouse under her chair.
Before I retired a few years ago I used to be part of a team based in one of my firm's London offices, and I worked there two days a week, then at another location on the other days. In the '00s that meant getting from here in the south west of Hampshire to a building near Canary Wharf, which involved a 25 minute drive, a 90 or 100 minute train ride, followed by 20 minutes on the Underground and then a 10 minute walk. It made for a long day, but I was in my early 40s at the time and it was only twice a week so it was fine, even enjoyable. Later my team moved to an office near London Bridge, then to one near Holborn (where my career had started in the '80s) and finally to Embankment, just a short walk across the footbridge from Waterloo Station.
I always walked in London if I could, from Waterloo to London Bridge through the back streets, or to Holborn via the South Bank and Blackfriars Bridge, which on a sunny, cold, winter's morning gives beautiful views across the river to the dome of St. Paul's and on towards Tower Bridge. The river seems to absorb sound and the traffic noise appears quite distant there. The Thames is at the heart of the city and is the reason the Roman city was built here 1,900 years ago - the Thames could be forded and it also acted as a defensive feature:
Londinium article on Wikipedia
Living in a small country village, where the view from my kitchen window is a neighbour's paddock and horses, is such a huge contrast to the noise and busyness of London that I never really got over the feeling of being slightly overwhelmed by it, so the chance for a walk somewhere relatively quiet and especially by the water was very welcome. The way that most London commuters seem to deal with it is to operate on a kind of autopilot, head down, blinkered to everything and everyone around them.
I'm out of practice, so when I went to London yesterday for dinner with a couple of former colleagues I was quite taken aback by the crowds and the sound. I had some time to spare, so I took refuge upstairs in the Royal Festival Hall (top tip: there's a security check on bags but no entry charge, you can get a cup of tea and there are toilets on each floor). There is a big waiting area outside the auditorium entrances, with seats, and it was relatively quiet there.
I sat on the first floor (USian = second floor) as the sun started to go down and looked across Festival Terrace into the offices opposite. It looked a lot like the offices I used to work in, although with a lot more paper records by the look of it, like my office in the 2000s perhaps. The people were too far away to see their faces, but I imagined that they weren't having a fantastic time and I was glad that I no longer have to do that kind of thing.
It's the autumn half-term holiday and there were lots of families with children going to and coming from the direction of the Hungerford Bridge. When I walked the short distance to the restaurant where we were meeting it was early in the rush hour, and the crowds heading towards Waterloo weren't yet at their peak.
The restaurant is built inside the arches of the railway bridge which carries trains across the river, to and from Charing Cross. We were upstairs on the mezzanine floor, and every train rumbled just a few feet above our heads. Socialising with people from work means going out straight from the office, because people who work in offices in central London live all over the capital and beyond, so it's not practical to go home first. Even so, the place was quiet until 7pm when a large party, 40 or 50 strong, arrived and was shown to two long tables just behind us. The brick ceiling, the arch of the railway bridge itself, seemed to amplify the noise and direct it straight at us and soon the volume rose and rose, not quite to jet engine levels but uncomfortably loud. Conversation became nearly impossible, so it was fortunate that we were nearly finished and could leave.
I recall that once the busiest night of the week in London was Thursday, but it now seems that the social part of the week has extended and it's always busy. I got to Waterloo in time for the 8pm train and the concourse was busy, although not as busy as it can be. The train was, fortunately, not much more than half full - there have been times when I've had to stand as far as Winchester, an hour from London, or for even further. I was home a little after 10pm and when I got out of the car I stood and listened: there was no noise at all, except for a pair of Tawny owls toowhit toowooing to each other. That's better.
Email: kdan01 [at] posteo [dot] net