Muswell Hill to Swiss Cottage Station
Monday February 11h 2013
With military-style precision planning we had got ourselves,
via two W route buses, to Muswell Hill so early (so perhaps not so precision )
that we had time for a leisurely pub lunch at the very Irish O’Neill’s on the
Broadway, which the chain had converted from a large and derelict church. Even
more of a treasure trove was the carefully preserved grocery store, opened 1897, selling a wonderful array of tea, coffee and dried fruits.
These passengers walked out with a Dundee cake for Valentine’s day, some
poppyseed, some Southern Hemisphere apricots, and a small packet of home-made
fudge.
The 603, according to the time-tables, runs 4 times a day,
in both directions at what one might loosely term school hours. I had to think
back to a friend of mine in the Sixties who used to endure 2 hour bus trips
between home (Muswell Hill) and school (Swiss Cottage, effectively) for whom
this route, however restricted, would have been a boon. So was it a boon?
Considering it supposedly runs to a tight time-table, it
seemed to be late but we uncomplainingly boarded our third double-decker of the
day to set off along Muswell Hill’s Broadway, followed by St James’ Parade
(named for the church). With small niche shops on one side and a fine parade of
Arts & Crafts flats on the other we left commerce behind and tangled with
some road works along Fortis Green . The houses seemed to be of all vintages
and included small workmen’s cottages and early Victorian villas and in fact
examples of just about every period and style of building.
We eked our way down into East Finchley (and Barnet borough)
passing the Phoenix Cinema, neon lit even during the day, though in fact today
was gloomier than some summer nights. East Finchley station is topped by its
very own marksman pointing somewhat strangely at the overhead Northern line
bridge.
By the time we had sneakled (yes it’s a typo but quite a
good one) our way round the one way system that gives you access to the A1 and
started climbing up towards Highgate we had re-entered Haringey. This was to be
a route of high points, having started from Muswell Hill and then dipped down we rose to 100 metres above sea level atop Highgate Hill,
which again is lined with a variety of vernacular building styles, and at this
point few commercial outlets. About halfway up on the right sits Highpoint
designed by Lubetkin and built by Arup for the Gestetner Family who planned to
house their workers there; it has been well maintained and like all good
buildings looks timeless.
Coming this way to the top of the hill, the 603 of course
passes Highgate School which triggered an animated conversation about the evils
of private (boarding) education and the evils that can be experienced there. Somewhere
close by one of the party spotted a Blue Plaque; as usual we have had some
difficulties in tracing for whom it might be. The nearest guess is for Mary
Kingsley a rather intrepid and surprisingly anti-colonial explorer and writer,
but we are not sure. Less controversially the Gatehouse pub and theatre
sits on the highest point of Highgate Hill, permitting the pun top
theatre.
The 603 was getting in its stride now, and bowled along
Hampstead Lane past even grander houses, playing fields and of course
ultimately Kenwood House, an Adam gem, which is currently closed for
refurbishment. In theory the views from any double-decker along here should be
superb, as eventually you get a sweeping vista over Central London and beyond.
However the weather was against us today and all we could see was blurry snow
covered trees, which you can probably get for free without boarding a bus. We
squeezed past The Spaniards' Inn, much to the delight of my fellow passengers
who remembered it fondly as a pub frequented in their student days – visiting a
Hampstead hostelry must be some kind of rite of passage and as the local I did
it before legally allowed, though I am not sure the food looked much like that!
It was hard not to reminisce as the snowy weather today
reminded me of skating parties on the Whitestone Pond during the hard winter of
1962-3 (the year it snowed on Boxing Day not to thaw much before Easter). The
pond today looked pretty but not frozen.
Rather harder for us local schoolgirls that year was the
weekly compulsory run UP Fitzjohns Avenue which replaced games afternoon as the
hockey fields remained under snow. The
descent through scenic, expensive and arty Hampstead starts very slowly – Heath
Street is narrow and not at all suited to double-deckers (no wonder they only
allow it twice a day) – so slowly in fact we were almost able to read the
prices in the shop windows. Once past the Everyman cinema the road widens,
bordered by those large red brick Victorian villas that once got turned into
schools. Accompanied primary school children boarded at several points along
here.
‘Don’t tell Mummy we came upstairs on the bus. She does not
allow it and does not think it is safe. But it is safe as daddy is here and of
course we don’t go downstairs while the bus is moving’… such parents would go
pale at the very thought of our journeys home from school, hanging off the back
platform on the open ended Routemasters. As Hampstead merges into Swiss Cottage
the bus passes the end of Maresfield Gardens, the home of Freud (and then his daughter) when he moved
to London and
continued to teach. Having the father of psycho-analysis in Hampstead
encouraged the growth of other clinics and today the Tavistock thrives here.
The bus stops (so that small boys can descend in the safety of a stationary
bus) just short of the Basil Spence Library and the newly built Hampstead
Theatre, and another more mainstream cinema.
Given the delights on this route it is hard not to
stereotype Hampstead as one of the arty and cultural hubs of London: the
reputation may be dated or may be thriving still, but unless you get on a 603
you will not get the full experience or judge for yourself.
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