Here is a view looking into Basel old town. The house is number 49 Spalenberg. At street level is a goldsmith: Goldschmiede Spalenberg (https://goldschmiede-basel.ch).
Spalenberg 49, Altstadt Basel, CH-4051 sketched 30 August 2026 in Sketchbook 17
Spalenberg slopes downhill to the left, towards Marktplatz and the river Rhine. Here’s a map:
Map showing the location of 49 Spalenberg, and the sketch sightline.
This was a quick sketch on location, pen and ink, finished later in my hotel room.
Basel is a historic town. The old town retains its medieval street pattern. As well as the ancient streets, there is much to admire elsewhere.
There is a huge underground bicycle car park next to the main railway station. beautifully clean, dust free and quiet.
21st century bike parking near the train station
The glorious kinetic fountains next to the Theatre are still working. This chap has been scooping water for fifty years.
All of Tinguely’s kinetic works of art require ongoing care and maintenance. «All that is fixed decays – all that is movement endures.» Jean Tinguely
Fountain character by Jean Tinguely, created 1975 to 1977
And, amazingly, swimming is not only allowed in the Rhine, it is actively encouraged! Here is the sign outside the Tourist Office. Barfüsserplatz and the Old Town are in the background.
Rent your swimming float here. Float down the Rhine, under bridges and past the Old Town. The tourist shop also sells waterproof bags to put your clothes in.
And, still, the old city retains its calmness.
“In Basel, you can hear your footsteps”
Someone said this to me over twenty years ago, and it is my abiding memory of Basel. Metaphorically, and in reality, I can hear my footsteps in Basel.
Hebelstrasse, University area, Basel. August 2026
Click a button below to share this post online, email it, or print it:
The Royal Oak Borough, 44 Tabard Street, SE1 4JU, sketched 25 August 2026 in Sketchbook 17
This pub serves Harvey’s beer and is listed in the Campaign for Real Ale (CAMRA) guide.
According to the landlord, the pub was built in 1825. The wooden bar inside is newer, but retains the old design. Outside there are fun Victorian architectural features. See the highly original “keystone” arrangement on the first floor window, and the flourishes around the chimney.
Keystone arrangementChimney with flourishesFront door and lamp
The chimney flourishes are useful because they enable the pub to be easily identified on old photos. See for example this one, which is in the London Picture Archive (click the picture to go to the London Picture Archive). The Royal Oak is the only building surviving from this 1913 view.
In that 1913 picture you can see the huge sign on the angle at the corner of the pub, advertising “Courage” ales. This was a Courage pub up to 19971 when it became the first Harvey’s tied pub in London.
The Royal Oak is near Borough Underground Station.
Location of The Royal Oak Borough, near Borough Underground Station (Northern Line, Bank Branch)
As I was sketching, people walked past, deep in conversation.
Worldly wisdom: “Your options are limited without Maths and English Grade 4 or 5. That’s just the way the world works.”
And running. “He runs on his toes. Maybe I’m running wrong?” “No, bro, you’re not running wrong.”
It’s endlessly fascinating, just standing, looking and listening, on London streets.
Here are some snapshots from my sketching expedition, Thank you to the landlord Mike, who kindly brought me a chair, and welcomed me into the pub for a very welcome drink on that hot day.
Thirsty work, sketching.Sketchbook 17 page spread
Harvey’s took over the pub in 1997 according to https://www.spbw.beer/lpoty-2/. The current landlord told me that the Royal Oak was Harvey’s first tied pub in London. ↩︎
Click a button below to share this post online, email it, or print it:
I sketched this block of flats in Southwark, towards the end of an afternoon.
Albury Buildings1, Boyfield Street, Southwark, London SE1 0SD, sketched 24 August 2026 in Sketchbook 17
This block, and the block opposite, Clandon House, were completed in 1897.
Pevsner2describes these buildings as “noteworthy early L.C.C. [London County Council] housing of 1896-7” with “quirky Arts and Crafts details”. These, and nearby blocks between Rushworth Street and King’s Bench Street, were designed by R.M. Taylor for the L.C.C.’s housing branch. They are listed Grade II, listing entry 13783763.
I found the building dignified and beautiful, with its arches, railings, and plant pots. The buildings are interesting because they represent the beginnings of the state taking some responsibility for people’s housing4.
During the 19th century, the industrial revolution drew many workers to London. By the middle of the century many of these workers were living in appalling conditions. The government of the day did not see housing as any part of its role. Social reformers such as Octavia Hill made valiant attempts to provide better housing, by raising money from investors. The Peabody Trust, funded from the fortune of a London-based American banker George Peabody, was also building what we would now call social housing. But the rents were too high for the poorest Londoners, who continued to live in unsanitary and crowded conditions. Members of the clergy, reformers and politicians wrote articles drawing attention to this misery.5
By 1890 the government was starting to take positive action. A “Housing of the Working Classes Act” (1890) gave London County Council the power and the duty to replace at least half of the housing that was demolished in improvement schemes for roads and railways. Only half of the housing is to be replaced by the council, note. In his book “Metropolitan Dreams” John Boughton notes that this Act “provided the basis of the relative surge in council house building that followed.” Council house building was controversial. Conservative politicians in power at the time “saw it [the Act], at most, as a small shift towards increased state responsibility but retained their basic belief in the efficacy of the free market and fear (to use a later idiom) of a ‘dependency culture’ fostered by state provision.”6
The London County Council was formed by the Local Government Act of 1888, and the first elections in 1889, just 7 years before Albury Buildings were completed. A subset of the LCC was the “Housing of the Working Classes” branch. This group was influenced by socialist thinkers including William Morris, who is now remembered for his textile designs but who, in his time, was a campaigner for the dignity of working people. So the Arts and Crafts movement, through William Morris and others, was influential at the time of the construction of Albury Buildings. Hence the ornamental railings, the arches, and the balconies.
The arches are open: I could have walked in and along the balconies.
Arches to stairwaysWiring
Albury Buildings is now part of the Boyfield Street Estate managed by Southwark Borough Council, who own the freehold. Some are social rent dwellings7, and others are privately owned leaseholds, selling on platforms such as “Rightmove”.
As I sketched people were walking home from work. A passing man asked me, “Is it an architectural drawing, or just for fun?”
“Just for fun”, I replied.
“Good!” he declared, and walked on.
“Albury Buildings” is the name written on the building. In some references it is called “Albury House”. ↩︎
LONDON 2: SOUTH by Nikolaus Pevsner and Bridget Cherry ISBN 0 14 0710.47 7 2001 reprint, page 591 ↩︎
Another early example of social housing is the Boundary Estate, Arnold Circus which I have sketched previously . ↩︎
For example,”The Bitter Cry of Outcast London” by Rev. ANDREW MEARNS, London Congregational Union, Memorial Hall, Farringdon Street, E.C., and William C. Preston (1883) https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/55316/pg55316-images.html This pamphlet describes the appalling conditions in graphic detail, and also gives a sense of the moral panic that was felt by this clergyman and others. In the crowded conditions, incest was all but inevitable, and people could not go to church. Here’s an extract [all quotes are from the pamphlet reproduced online by Project Gutenberg]: “Whilst we have been building our churches and solacing ourselves with our religion and dreaming that the millennium was coming, the poor have been growing poorer, the wretched more miserable, and the immoral more corrupt; the gulf has been daily widening which separates the lowest classes of the community from our churches and chapels, and from all decency and civilization….“ The authors go on to describe the conditions. Here is one description [page 9]: “Every room in these rotten and reeking tenements houses a family, often two. In one cellar a sanitary inspector reports finding a father, mother, three children and four pigs! In another room a missionary found a man ill with small pox, his wife just recovering from her eighth confinement, and the children running about half naked and covered with dirt. Here are seven people living in one underground kitchen, and a little dead child lying in the same room. Elsewhere is a poor widow, her three children, and a child who had been dead thirteen days.” The authors propose state intervention [page 24]: “Large spaces have been cleared of fever-breeding rookeries, to make way for the building of decent habitations, but the rents of these are far beyond the means of the abject poor. They are driven to crowd more closely together in the few stifling places still left to them; and so Dives makes a richer harvest out of their misery, buying up property condemned as unfit for habitation, and turning it into a gold-mine because the poor must have shelter somewhere, even though it be the shelter of a living tomb. The State must make short work of this iniquitous traffic, and secure for the poorest the rights of citizenship; the right to live in something better than fever dens; the right to live as something better than the uncleanest of brute beasts.” ↩︎
The history of social housing is from John Bougham’s book “Metropolitan Dreams” ISBN978-1-78478-739-4. The parts I’ve quoted here are from Chapter 1: “How to provide Housing for the People”. ↩︎
Social rent houses in “Albury Buildings” are listed on “https://uksocialhousing.com” under postcode SE1 0SD as council rents. ↩︎
Click a button below to share this post online, email it, or print it:
This unassuming door leads to a spectacular hall. This is 8 Ayres Street, the entrance to Bishops Hall, formerly known as Redcross Hall.
The Ayres Street entrance to Bishops Hall, 8 Ayres Street, sketched 22 August 2026, in Sketchbook 17
When I sketched this door I didn’t know about the surprising building behind it. I had just walked past the tiled frontage, and the pointed doors, and thought it dignified and unusual. I had seen the view from Redcross Gardens, but hadn’t connected the front to the back.
View of Bishops Hall from Redcross Gardens, photo credit unique property companySketch map showing Redcross Hall, marked in red.
There is an informative estate agents description online, undated. This praises the “brick arched windows, tiling, historically distressed herringbone parquet floor and the ingenious hammer-beamed roof joists that reach the apex of the internal roof line”. It sounds amazing.
The black door in my drawing threads through a passage into Bishops Hall at the back. In the front is a different building, number 8A Ayres Street, which is called “George Bell House”. Both are listed Grade II.1
Ayers Street numbers 8 and 8A
Redcross Hall was opened by the Archbishop of Canterbury in 1888. It was designed by Elijah Hoole, with interior decorations by Walter Crane. 2
Interior of Redcross Hall as designed, image from English Illustrated Magazine 1893 via Layers of London. You can see the pointed windows at the back, which give onto Redcross Garden. Ayres Street was called “Whitecross Street” at that time.
The development was influenced by the ideas of social reformer Octavia Hill. The hall was created as a community theatre and “living room” for people of the area, in conjunction with Redcross Gardens which adjoin. The cottages further north along Ayres Street, to the left of my drawing, were built at the same time. This was 19th century philanthropy in action.2
Redcross Gardens are still there: beautiful, tranquil and a community resource. Bishops Hall is now privately owned.
Number 8A, George Bell house, is a separate building from number 8. It is the studio for Whistledown Productions who make podcasts, and programmes for Radio 4.
This is a striking example of the surprises that abound in London. It’s amazing what you find simply by strolling about.
As I was sketching, members of staff emerged from the V&A onto the pavement to chat and to smoke. One of them came to look at the picture and told me “It used to be in the centre of the road you know. We all went over there.”
This shelter has been moved at least twice. It was originally in the middle of the road outside number 2-7.
Undated photo, probably 1920s or 30s, judging from the cars. This is a view looking East along Thurloe Place. The domed structure is on the corner of Thurloe Place and Brompton Road. It is still there. There is a long line of cabs in the road, leading to the shelter in the bottom left (arrowed). Image from Margaret Purnell on Facebook. Google Street view (September 2025), showing approximately the same view. The shelter is now on the pavement, arrowed, partly hidden by a bus stop. The trees have grown!
In the 1970s the shelter was moved southwest to be in the middle of the road outside number 112, the Rembrandt Hotel. A picture in the London Picture archive3 shows that it was still there in the middle of the road in 1977. Then some time later (after 1983 4 ) the shelter was moved to the pavement next to the Victoria and Albert Museum, which is where it is now (see Google Street view above).
This cab drivers’ shelter is closed and no longer serves refreshments. However in a mysterious way it still exerts an attraction. While I sketched, people congregated there on their work breaks. Even though closed it offers some spirit of “shelter” it would seem.
A sheltering place – detail from the sketchPage spread sketchbook 17
Evidence that the shelter was moved southwest in the 1970s: Here’s an extract from footnote n15 in British History Online. This article was written in 1983 when the shelter was still in the middle of the road, opposite number 11.: “Opposite the Rembrandt Hotel, in the centre of the roadway of Thurloe Place, is a cabmen’s shelter (fig. 22) which was originally erected a little further to the east in 1897 and moved here in the 1970’s. Paid for by the Vicar of St. Jude’s Church, Courtfield Gardens, and the residents of Earl’s Court, it was evidently a replacement for an earlier shelter. The purpose of these shelters, for which a fund had been established in 1875 under the president of Lord Shaftesbury, was to supply cabmen ‘when on the rants, with a place of Shelter where they can obtain good and wholesome refreshments at very moderate prices ’. The shelters took various forms, but the best-known type, of which that in Thurloe Place is a good example, was designed by Maximilian Clarke, who was appointed joint honorary architect to the Cabmen’s Shelter Fund in I884.” This article in British History Online was edited in 1983. (Citation: ‘The Alexander Estate’, in Survey of London: Volume 41, Brompton, ed. F H W Sheppard (London, 1983), British History Online https://www.british-history.ac.uk/survey-london/vol41/pp58-86 [accessed 8 September 2026].) ↩︎
An article on the Historic England site says “The shelter once sat in the middle of the road on Thurloe Place but was moved to the side of the road due to local road widening for a nearby hotel”. But it doesn’t say when this happened. Historic England history of Cab drivers’ shelters: https://heritagecalling.com/2024/04/09/a-brief-introduction-to-cabmens-shelters/↩︎
Click a button below to share this post online, email it, or print it:
Strolling along the river bank I saw this quirky little temple on the other side of the river. It was afternoon, in the midst of a hot spell. A group of young girls were playing on paddle boards, standing up and jumping in the water, shrieking. A small motor boat came from the island “Garrick’s…
A short walk from Hampton Court Bridge is Molesey Boat Club. This is a lively place. I watched a group of school-age boys and girls competently lift a boat out of the water, and place it carefully on its stand. They then washed it with sponges. Boats were coming and going all the time, fours,…
Click a button below to share this post online, email it, or print it:
Molesey Boat Club, Barge Walk, East Molesey KT8 9AJ, sketched 7th August 2026 in Sketchbook 16Sketch map showing the location of Molesey Boat Club, a few minutes walk from Hampton Court Bridge and railway station.
This is a lively place. I watched a group of school-age boys and girls competently lift a boat out of the water, and place it carefully on its stand. They then washed it with sponges. Boats were coming and going all the time, fours, twos and single skulls, people of all ages. It all looked fun and made me want to have a go. A group of fit-looking young people set off, their instructor following in a motor boat. In a few moments they were rowing back the other way. Then they turned the boat and went back up the river at fantastic speed. Within half an hour then were back at the boat house, clambering out of the boat, and handing over to another group.
I did not follow the activities of the boat crews in great detail, however, as I was concentrating on those very complicated eaves and the carved woodwork of the boathouse.
Molesey Boat Club, detail.
The club was founded in 1866. This boathouse dates from 1901. It has been renovated and extended since, most recently in 2016, when a new rowing centre with a rowing tank was added.1
work in progress on the sketch
There is a café on the first floor, overlooking the river. It is called “Eight on the River“. The thing to watch is that it closes at 3pm on weekdays, so don’t hang around perfecting your drawing, but get up there.
Here is my shady sketching location seen from the balcony of the café. In the foreground are the seat-like stands where the crews place their boats after use.
My sketching location (arrowed) seen from “Eight on the River”
It’s a lovely place to sketch, and to watch the river.
Strolling along the river bank I saw this quirky little temple on the other side of the river.
Garrick’s Temple to Shakespeare TW12 2EN, sketched from Hurst Park on 6th August 2026 in Sketchbook 16
It was afternoon, in the midst of a hot spell.
A group of young girls were playing on paddle boards, standing up and jumping in the water, shrieking. A small motor boat came from the island “Garrick’s Ait” and moored to the bank nearby to where I was sketching. They loaded the boat with lengths of wood, and went off again. I had offered to move, but they said no, they could manage. They were polite, I was polite, and we all wished each other a pleasant afternoon.
Map showing the location of the Temple.
Later, my friend D kindly drove me over Hampton Court Bridge and dropped me off near the Temple so I could have a closer look.
There’s a lawn sloping to the river, and an information placard.
Garrick’s Temple, photographed August 2026 from the Hampton side of the river.
“Garrick’s Lawn is overlooked by the former home of the actor, manager and playwright David Garrick. The gardens were laid out by Capability Brown in the 1750s. The classical temple was built as a shrine to William Shakespeare. This site is managed by the London Borough of Richmond upon Thames and is covered by formal byelaws….”
According to the website of Garrick’s Temple (garrickstemple.org.uk) the building was commissioned by David Garrick in 1756 “to celebrate the genius of William Shakespeare”.
David Garrick (1716-1779) was an actor and theatre manager. The Garrick Theatre in London’s West End was named after David Garrick1. It opened in 1859, 80 years after Garrick’s death, and was financed by playwright W. S. Gilbert, of Gilbert and Sullivan operettas.
Garrick was a much acclaimed and successful actor, and owned a share of the Theatre Royal Drury Lane. He became wealthy, and had a villa constructed at Hampton. This is what it looks like now:
Garrick’s Villa, just above the Temple, photographed 2026
He built the “shrine to Shakespeare” nearer the river, and used it as a study, as a place to entertain friends and as a place to exhibit his collection of Shakespeare memorabilia.2
Now it is open to the public on Sundays from March to October, 2pm-5pm and houses an exhibition about Garrick. It is also used for arts and cultural events3
On a sunny day in April, I walked across London Fields. I had a paper bag in my hand containing a cheesy snack from E5 bakery.
I ate my snack on a bench, watching the people walk past on their way to Borough Market.
Then I thought I would draw some of the trees, and the people. Already translating the scene in front of me into ink sketches in my mind, I extracted from my bag the bottle of ink I had brought for this purpose. This ink bottle is a repurposed plastic shampoo bottle, small size, from a hotel.
I could not get the top off the ink bottle. The ink had dried. The top was stuck. My hands were not strong enough.
Help was needed. Fortunately, help was going to be readily available in the stream of passers-by. I waited. I discounted the slim woman in the smart white skirt. She would not want to engage with ink. Several older people, though probably interested and willing, would likely have the same issue I had. Then a young man came by. He had the physique of Jack Reacher: a blond man in a tight T-shirt, walking easily and with purpose. I smiled and I said, “You look like a strong guy. Can you get the top off my ink bottle?” I held out the small bottle. He stopped, and assessed the situation. He had not only the physique of Reacher, but also his attitude: never walk past a damsel in distress. Although I am hardly a damsel. “ I am a strong guy,” he told me with a smile. “You got the right man here!” In his muscular hand, the bottle looked tiny. “It’s ink,” I reminded him, “keep it the right way up.” “Got it”, he said, and applied himself to the problem.
The top did not move. “Hmmph” he said, and put down his carrier bag. Now he applied his muscular arms and his huge torso into the twisting movement. I had visions of the bottle bursting, ink going everywhere, including into his carrier bag. De Atramentis Document ink is notable for its intense blackness, and archival quality. That means you can’t wash it out. But within seconds he was handing me back the bottle and picking up his undamaged carrier bag. I thanked him and he went on his way, the action a small blip in his smooth stride across the park.
He had released the top. I undid it cautiously and all was well. No leakage. But this incredibly strong individual had contorted the ink bottle. It now took on the irregular shape of a crumpled can: an art object, perhaps. It sits on my desk, testament to the extraordinary strength of this kind stranger in the park.
Later, I followed the stream of people towards Broadway Market. I procured coffee from Climpson Coffee and looked for a quiet place to drink it. Round a corner, down a side street, was the perfect place: a silent street, a stone step in the sun, and an interesting house to draw.
The Green Tiled House, 5 Croston Street, London Fields, E8 4PQ. Sketched 10 April 2026 in Sketchbook 16.
This building had clearly been something. Not a pub: the windows were too low. Pubs of that vintage were built with high windows and stained glass, so children (and others?) could not see the goings-on within1. Also, if it had been a pub, the door would have been on the corner. But the glazed green tiles spoke of a pub. It is apparently residential now. I saw three bell-pushes by the front door and there are three satellite dishes. The bars of the windows were dried up and flaking. That car outside was dented. A mystery.
I was sketching from a doorstep on Dericote Street. It was not so quiet as I had thought. Groups of people walked past. I received many encouraging comments on the picture, including from children. One passer-by asked me if I knew what the building was. I said I didn’t and asked if he knew. He didn’t know either.
Then the house behind me, which I had thought was boarded up and empty, turned out to contain building workers, who emerged from the front door into the sunlight and all around me. I apologised for sitting on their doorstep and made to leave, but they waved away my apologies, and examined my picture with interest. They spoke a language I did not recognise. I could not decipher exactly what they were saying, but they seemed to be comparing my work with another artist they knew. A fellow building worker drove up in his van, totally blocking my view. As politely as I could, I asked him if he would please consider parking elsewhere. This suggestion was reviewed in rapid conversation with his colleagues from indoors. He leapt back into the van, put it in gear, and moved up the street.
Then the photo shoot arrived. At first I saw a man standing in the middle of the road, shifting sideways, oddly. He was staring, not at me, but round about, in a peculiarly intense manner. He went away, and I thought no more about him. London is full of people moving oddly, myself included. Five minutes later, a whole group arrived, equipped with heavy cameras and silver umbrellas. They were all young and all beautiful. The man who had been moving oddly was amongst them. They took up a position exactly in my field of view. One of the beautiful people noticed me immediately and came across to assure me that “we will only be five minutes”. I said it was a great location, which it was. He agreed, and told me they were making pictures for a magazine.
I watched while one of the beautiful men leaned meaningfully on the railing and everyone else watched and commented.
Then, after five minutes as promised, they moved off around the corner and out of sight.
I finished the pen drawing. It was getting cold.
As I was packing up, the man who had approached me earlier, asking about the building, came back, walking briskly. He was flourishing his mobile phone. “It’s called ‘The Green Tiled Building’“, he told me triumphantly. Reading from his phone he continued “It was ‘The Dublin Bottling Company’, distributors of Guinness, 1875. There were stables round the back.” I wrote it all down. Having dispensed this information, he rushed off again before I could thank him. I looked around to say goodbye to the construction workers but they had gone, and the house behind me was silent.
Back at home, I finished the picture, and researched the Dublin Bottling Company2.
A building is shown at this position in the OS Map of 1891-5, with the same layout and plan as later maps of 5 Croston Street. At that time, Croston Street was called “Hamburg Street” and Dericote Street was “Breman Street”. A building whose roof is remarkably similar to the existing one is shown on the “RAF Aerial Map of London 1945-48”.
My researches took me to the London Archive, where I was able to trace some of the story of this building, via Planning Applications. In the marvellous “Archive Study Room” I spread out plans and saw architects’ drawings showing younger versions of the building I had sketched.3
1977 architects’ drawing for the GLC, Department of Architecture and City Design, Sir Roger Walters, KBE, FRIBA . Note the chimney stacks. None of the chimney stacks are there now in 2026. Image copyright: The London Archives, City of London, Reference: GLC/AR/DS/06/212. Reproduced under licence.
The “Dublin Bottling Company” owned the site by 1951. I know this because there was a building application dated 1951, for the proposed installation of a cold water tank, with the owner cited as the Dublin Bottling Company Ltd. By this time the address was 5 Croston Street. A plan of this date shows storage areas for Guinness, cider and “Bass” inside the building, and a big yard with sheds, accessed by a side road to the right of the building.
The Dublin Bottling Company continued to enhance its facilities. In October 1960 they paid a T Whyman and Sons £75 to “form a door through the existing brick wall from open yard store space to storage department and supply and fix rolling shutter.” Mr Wyman must have done a good job because in February the next year, for a fee of £375, he is erecting glazed partitions in the office and removing a “wrot iron gate” to fix another roller shutter.
However in 1964 they started to encounter problems. They applied to install a new steam boiler.
Letter from Mr Wright General Manager of the The City of Dublin Bottling Company Ltd to the London County Council District Surveyor in Hackney. This letter is in the London Archive ref GLC/AR/DS/06/212, and is reproduced here by kind permission of the Guinness Archive. The letter tells the Surveyor that they want to make some modifications to install a washing machine, and to install a hot water boiler. They claim there will be no structural modifications. But the annotations in red show that someone has a concern about the flue to the steam boiler. Image copyright: Guinness Archive
The proposed flue for this boiler was “asbestos cement”. The Superintending Architect at the London County Council did his homework. He told them: “It has been ascertained from the makers of the boiler (Berings, Ltd.) that the flue throat temperature is 550°-7000 F. which is 200°F. above the permitted maximum for asbestos cement.” 4
He demanded a cast iron flue. “Please re-submit your application”. I could find no such resubmitted application in the parcel of documents at the London Archive.
By 1975 they found themselves struggling to continue, as the area had been zoned for residential use, and they were not residential. They applied for:
“continued use as a depot for storage purposes and the retention of a storage shed”
However the council was reluctant.
“the building hereby permitted shall be removed at the expiration of the period ending 31st December 1976”
There were to be no vehicle repairs. They had to maintain an 8 foot fence all around the perimeter of this industrial activity.
“The proposal does not accord with the Initial Development Plan for Greater London in which the area is zoned for residential use”
commented the planning officer.
So then some change of ownership must have occurred, because in April 1978 someone, probably the Greater London Council (GLC), was submitting plans to redevelop the property into three residential flats. See the architects drawing above. This was approved on 3rd August 19785. But no redevelopment happened. There was a further application in 1983, now with a builder involved, Atristor Ltd. The planning officer at the time, like me today, wanted to find out who owned the site. In the “owner” field they wrote in red “GLC?” with a note “please try and ascertain”.
7 February 1983: part of the planning application correspondence between the builder, “Atristor Ltd” on behalf of (we assume) the GLC, and the district surveyor, regarding the conversion of the building into three flats. See the red annotations, where someone is querying the ownership. Image copyright: The London Archives, City of London, Reference: GLC/AR/DS/06/212. Reproduced under licence.
It seems that the owner was indeed the GLC, however, because in another bundle there were beautiful architectural drawings for the three flats, marked “GLC ILEA, DEPARTMENT OF ARCHITECTURE AND CIVIC DESIGN, County Hall SE1 7PB, Architect Sir Roger Walters KBE FRIBA FIStructE”.
Do we still have a “Department of Architecture and Civic Design”?
On 9th February 1983 Atristor Ltd notified the District Surveyor they were going to start work in two days. However something went wrong, because on 15th September 1983 the GLC was again submitting plans, this time for replacement of a “fire damaged roof”. They proposed to use steel beams to hold up the tiled roof. This time the work was to be done by the GLC Department of Architecture and design, Engineering Division.
At this point, the archive record stops.
I can only assume that the work to replace the fire-damaged roof went ahead, and that the conversion into flats was completed. Because here is the building, with a roof, and with three flats inside.
Page spread, Sketchbook 16
It’s a wonderful location, and an intriguing building. I’d love to hear from anyone who knows more about it.
Victorian pubs have high windows and stained glass to obscure the inside from the view of children and passers-by: I can’t find a reference for this. I have always assumed it is so. If anyone can confirm – please let me know. ↩︎
This is not the “Dublin Bottling Company” of Texas which makes drinks including “Dr. Pepper” ↩︎
All the quotations, documents and plans I have reproduced come from London Archive document packs with this reference: GLC/AR/DS/06/212, see this link – https://search.lma.gov.uk/scripts/mwimain.dll/144/LMA_OPAC/web_detail?SESSIONSEARCH&exp=refd%20GLC/AR/DS/06/212 The documents are not online, but are available for perusal at the London Archive Study Room. The London Archive kindly gave me permission to photograph the documents and publish them here. The letter from the Dublin Bottling Company appears by kind permission of the Guinness Archive (email from Sarah Mai Kavanagh, 20 My 2026) ↩︎
Letter in the London Archive pack GLC/AR/DS/06/212, dated 20 April 1964 from Hubert Bennet, Superintending Architect London County Council, to the Dublin Bottling Company, copied to the Hackney District Surveyor. Mr Hubert writes, “I would confirm my assistant’s telephone conversation with Mr. Wright on 19 March 1964, when the above matter was discussed and the installation of a cast iron flue pipe complying with By-law 10.05 agreed.I would be pleased to receive a reply confirming the installation of the cast iron flue pipe and the cancelling of the application at your earliest opportunity.” ↩︎
According to the cab driver sitting at one of the tables, this is “the oldest, and the last to be listed”. It was built in 1875, and listed in 2024 (listing ref 1488223).
“The Chapel” Cab Drivers’ shelter, Wellington Place, St John’s Wood, NW8 7PE Sketched 27 March 2026, in Sketchbook 16
As I was sketching, the manager of the shelter came out and kindly brought me a cup of tea. She was very welcoming, and interested in the drawing. She told me that the rail running round the shelter, shown in my drawing, was for drivers to tether their horses.
Cup of tea courtesy of the manager of the shelter.
A former cab driver came by in his mobility scooter. He evidently still had dining rights, as he was seated at the tables by the hut. Only cab drivers can sit there, I understood. Cab drivers also went inside the shelter, through the door which you see on the right of the hut, with a circular plate on it. The ex-Cab Driver told me he was a photographer now. “Street Photography”, he said. But he told me he was going to take up birdwatching. This was something it was convenient to do from a mobility scooter. He had no teeth, and it was hard to understand what he said. But nonetheless we enjoyed an extended conversation and listened to the birds we could hear in the park. He went off, waving from his vehicle, steering a confident route along the uneven pavement.
This shelter is called “the Chapel” because it is right next to St John’s Wood Chapel Gardens.
The St John’s Wood Cab Driver’s shelter is next to the Church
It started to rain and I stopped sketching. I bought a bacon sandwich from the woman in the shelter and went to eat it in the garden.
The gardens are the Chapel graveyard. The watercolour artist John Sell Cotman is buried there. I have seen a large exhibition of his work at the British Museum.
Back at my desk, trying to channel my inner John Sell Cotman, I struggled to match the green colour of the shelter. It is called “Dulux Buckingham Paradise Green I”. 1 It exists in the Dulux Trade Paint range2, but not as a watercolour.
I tried to mix it myself, with partial success. Any colour varies depending on the light conditions, and the surroundings, so I forgive myself for not making an exact technical match. My green is made from Serpentine Genuine (Daniel Smith watercolour ) with touches of Mars Yellow and Ultramarine Blue.
Equipment for this picture. The sponge is for making the tree. Serpentine Genuine is the colour in the palette at the bottom left. It looks quite similar to Dulux Paradise Green I.
When the picture was finished I ordered a digital print of it, and returned to the shelter to gift the print to the manager who had been so kind and welcoming. It will hang inside her shelter.
The St Johns Wood Cab Drivers’ Shelter, digital print (c) JaneSketching
