23 November 2023

'Hidden London'

Friday 20 October

I had been aware for a while of the ‘Hidden London’ tours run by the London Transport Museum, as part of general interest in disused stuff, as per this walk with Ray in 2019 spotting former tube stations. Ruth offered to treat me to one as this year’s birthday gift, so I had a bit of a peruse and picked ‘Euston: the Lost Tunnels’. The earliest date we could get was in October, so we booked it in.

We were asked to meet at the south entrance of Euston Square station, on the corner of Euston Road and Gower Street and to be carrying photo ID, wearing sensible shoes and not carrying any enormous and oddly-shapen items of luggage. About 15-20 of us mustered for the tour, led by an exuberantly camp young man with two colleagues there for backup and to stop us wandering off and falling over things. We all showed our ID and said where we’d come from and were issued with lanyards – I was a bit disappointed with this as I’d been hoping for hi-vis vests as per pictures online. Maybe they’d lost too many through people making off with them afterwards.

Me making the best of my lanyard

People in 'Hidden London' hi-vis vests
Courtesy of BusAndTrainUser
We were initially led down into a room within Euston Square station for a bit of PowerPoint and an inspection of our shoes, which were duly pronounced extremely sensible. Then we were led through the subway under Euston Road and up North Gower Street. Our first stop was the Leslie Green dark-red-tiled building on the corner of Melton Street and Drummond Street. I don’t think I’d ever clocked this before, but in any case it’s now fenced off and scheduled for demolition as part of the HS2 debacle project. The building has been closed since 1914 but was formerly the entrance building for the Euston underground station – in fact one of two, as there used to be another, strikingly ornate and long since demolished, over the other side of Euston mainline station. The presence of two buildings was explained by the presence of two rival train companies operating at the time; all is explained on Wikipedia.
Former Charing Cross, Euston & Hampstead Railway station building at Euston

After that we walked into Euston station and down to the Northern Line platforms. We were taken first to be shown what's now the extra-wide platform resulting from filling in of redundant Northern Line trackbed when reconstruction took place in the 1960s to incorporate the new Victoria Line. Prior to this, there had been an island platform here in between the two tracks of the Northern Line City branch. Island platforms are evidently a dying breed - there are currently only two remaining on the tube network (at Clapham North and Clapham Common) and I gathered from our tour guides that both these are due to be got rid of. They're evidently regarded as dangerous when crowded, which I can kind of see.

Our tour proceeding along the platform
The really wide platform

There used to be two separate sets of underground platforms at Euston for the two separate train companies (the City & South London Railway and the Charing Cross, Euston & Hampstead Railway) that both used to run Underground services here. The island platform was on the C&SLR section. It’s now the Northern Line Bank branch southbound platform. Platform 6, I think (we were given the platform number before descending in case we got lost).

After this we were led down to the end of the same platform and, excitingly, through a locked door and up a flight of steps. This fantastic page has a photo from 1979 showing a grilled gate, but this has evidently been replaced with something a bit more opaque. The steps lead up to what was the connecting passageway between the two rival companies' platforms. The connecting passageway closed in 1962 as part of work on the new Victoria Line, and a big draw of the tour are the vintage advertising posters dating from when the tunnels were closed. The posters are all dirty and tatty to varying degrees, but as they've never been papered over they're still readable enough to be interesting.

Another draw of the tour is this darling little deep level ticket office, apparently the only one of its kind on the whole underground network. If you wanted to use the other train company’s services, you had to buy a different ticket here before proceeding. Curiously, in the 2009 photos at this link, the ticket office window looks blocked up, whereas it was open at the time we saw it, allowing us to pose for a photo if we wished, as several of us did.

Other stuff we saw: this former lift shaft, now a ventilation shaft:

Some tunnel views:

A former door - I forget where they said it led to

We got to look down on the Victoria Line platforms. We were warned not to drop our phones or they'd risk being carried off to Brixton or to Walthamstow Central:

Looking down on a Victoria Line train

The whole thing was fascinating. These tours seem a real winning idea for the LTM – our tickets cost us £44 each and clearly there’s no shortage of vaguely geeky types wanting to be allowed into dusty old tunnels for an hour. The tunnels are hot and dimly lit in parts. I found a number of blog posts by people (e.g. here and here) who’ve done this tour, plus an episode of Yesterday’s ‘Secrets of the Underground’ covers roughly the same ground. Also this page has some interesting photos.

Emerging back onto the platform

The PowerPoint at the start of the tour showed us some of the architecture of Euston overground station before the wholesale 1960s rebuild. Unlike, seemingly, most people, I don't actually hate the 60s building, though the concourse has often been unappealingly crowded when I've taken trains to Milton Keynes from it and it feels more hemmed-in than e.g. Paddington's concourse does. I quite like the ceiling effect though. I asked Dad last weekend if he remembered seeing the Doric Arch at Euston. He did. Given that almost all the comment you see online is along the lines of how criminal it was to demolish it and how there’s nothing nice been built since (which for some is then a short step to It Was All Much Better Back Then), Dad voiced some amusingly unexpected comments on it. I think the gist was: “Ridiculous thing. It was massive and in the middle of the bloody road.” Followed by something about how the Victorians did a lot of this extravagant show off stuff.


After the tour finished, I had been intending to drag Ruth over to the newish branch of Kimchee behind Kings Cross, but we were waylaid by a darling little row of places on Chalton Street, including Cheezelo, a cheese-themed deli, where we ended up having lunch. For such a little place it had an impressively extensive wine list, though we didn't indulge at lunchtime.

Cheezelo, our lunch spot

27 October 2023

And some more books

'The Queen's Gambit' by Walter Tevis

Eight-year-old Beth Harmon is sent to live in a children’s home after her mother is killed in a road accident. At the home, each child is given a tranquilizer twice a day, to calm them down. Beth learns to save hers up, to help her sleep. An older girl, Jolene, befriends her, after a fashion. One day Beth discovers the janitor, Mr Shaibel, playing chess in the basement. He shows her various moves and Beth practises in bed at night, visualizing the whole chess board in her mind. Mr Shaibel gives her a book of chess moves, which she studies under the desk in class. She eventually gets permission from the headteacher to play chess at a local high school. At the same time, Beth becomes increasingly obsessed with having access to more of the little green tranquillizing pills, and, after the home is told to stop giving them to the children, gets caught breaking in to the room where they’re kept. She is punished by, among other things, being forbidden to play chess any more.

When she is twelve, Beth is adopted by a Mr and Mrs Wheatley. Mr Wheatley disappears off to Denver “on business” shortly after Beth moves in to their home, and never comes back. Mrs Wheatley is quite kind to Beth but often appears distracted. She spends a good amount of time sipping beer and popping tranquillisers. With no access to chess at the Wheatleys’ home, Beth shoplifts a copy of Chess Review magazine, where she learns about the upcoming Kentucky State Championship. To cover expenses, she steals some money from Mrs Wheatley and from a girl at school. At the tournament, she manages to persuade the organisers to enter her in the Open not the beginners’ section. She blitzes the competition and beats the State Champion.

On learning that Beth has won 100 dollars in prize money, Mrs Wheatley’s interest in chess suddenly increases, and she starts regularly travelling to chess tournaments with Beth. Beth’s reputation spreads; she becomes an officially rated player, and is featured in media articles as a girl chess prodigy. She plays in the US Open in Las Vegas, where she meets and plays the defending champion Benny Watts, another former child chess prodigy. She loses to Benny in the final but on overall scores they share the Open Championship prize. At her first international tournament, in Mexico City, she plays the World Champion, a Russian named Vasily Borgov. Beth does well in the tournament, but is defeated by Borgov. At the next US Open Championship, she defeats Benny Watts for the title. This turns her focus internationally, to a tournament in Paris and to the Moscow Invitational, where she will play against the top Russian players.

Beth’s given to taking refuge in “helpful” substances and there’s a point at which you wonder whether her drinking and pill-taking is going to take her over, but thankfully she appears to have put herself on a more encouraging trajectory by the end of the novel. I have a slight suspicion that if this book were being written today it would wang on about Beth’s traumatic childhood experiences and adult semi-addictions at the expense of the chess – but thankfully it doesn’t do that; Tevis centres the drama in the chess, and on Beth’s struggle to master herself as well as the game. I wasn’t surprised that Beth and Jolene ended up meeting again, though I couldn’t warm to Jolene as I’d always suspected her (correctly, it turns out) of spitefully nicking Beth’s treasured copy of Modern Chess Openings just before Beth leaves the children’s home.

This novel was a much more absorbing read than the subject matter would lead you to expect. I know little about chess; I remember learning the names of the pieces and their permitted moves as a child – I guess Dad must have showed us – but have never attempted to play seriously, and the technicalities related in this novel were lost on me. However, it’s a tribute to Tevis’ writing that that didn’t matter, and that he makes the chess exciting even for a non-player, in the tactics Beth employs and her struggles to get under the skin of, and hence ahead of, other highly rated players. It’s interesting to watch Beth’s ego and competitiveness come up against the same qualities in other young-ish players, especially Harry Beltik, the previous Kentucky State Champion with whom she has a summer chess/sex interlude, and the former US Champion Benny Watts, with whom she has a somewhat longer such interlude. At one point, Beltik acknowledges to her that “we’re all prima donnas”. The last couple of pages – Beth’s final game against Borgov at the Moscow Invitational, Borgov's unexpected sportsmanship, and Beth's approaching the old man in the park and offering to play chess with him – a clear nod to Mr Shaibel – are magic.

From the clues given in the novel, I’d guess it’s supposed to be set in the early 1960s, but unless I missed it, I don’t think the date is explicitly stated. It was published in 1983. Tevis’ other works include The Hustler, The Color of Money (both about pool, I believe – I haven’t seen the films) and The Man Who Fell to Earth.

'The Wool-Pack' by Cynthia Harnett

It’s 1493. Nicholas Fetterlock is the son of a wealthy Cotswold wool merchant and lives at Burford. The story opens with Nicholas and his best friend Hal, the shepherd’s son, out in the fields with the sheep after a day’s sheep-washing.

That evening Nicholas’ father entertains at dinner two Italians – ‘Lombards’ – a banker from Florence who is an agent of the house of Medici, and the banker’s secretary. Nicholas dislikes the secretary, with whom he and Hal had a brief ill-tempered encounter earlier in the day, but is quite taken with the banker’s friendliness and elegant manners. Also at dinner – turned up unexpectedly – is Nicholas’ mother’s brother, John Stern, a former privateer but now a more respectable part-owner of a fleet of merchant ships based at Bristol. It becomes obvious that Stern does not like the Lombards, and later that evening he tells Nicholas that they are moneylenders – usurers – and a blight on the country. Nicholas has learned earlier in the day that Hal’s father, Giles the shepherd, also does not like Lombards, and was alarmed to learn from Nicholas that in the course of their meeting with Nicholas and Hal they had asked for directions to the house of Simon Leach, Master Fetterlock’s wool-packer. No one in the village likes Leach, and additionally he’s recently been observed to have built himself a suspiciously big barn in the middle of nowhere.

Shortly afterwards, Nicholas’ father shocks his son by informing him that he is soon going to be betrothed to the eleven-year-old daughter of a Newbury cloth merchant. While knowing that he must abide by his parents’ wishes, Nicholas inwardly reacts with horror to the news. Cloth is currently doing better than wool as a trade, as the wool merchants’ guild has been co-opted by a group of the biggest merchants who organize things to suit themselves. Master Fetterlock tells his son that many smaller merchants have been in difficulties, and his own business has only been kept afloat by borrowing money from the Lombards.

Nicholas and his father ride to Newbury to meet Cecily and her family, and stay for a week in order to see Master Bradshaw’s business and to attend the Newbury Cloth Fair. Luckily, Nicholas and Cecily like each other and the visit puts his mind at rest about his future bride – but there is a shadow as he is becoming more and more worried about how exactly his father is involved with the Lombards. He spots his father with them at Newbury Cloth Fair – despite their having announced that they were travelling to Southampton to pick up their ship – and notes that his father looks worried and browbeaten. After initially reacting angrily to being questioned by Nicholas about the Lombards, Master Fetterlock confides a certain amount in him, which worries Nicholas even more.

Back home in Burford, it’s sheep-shearing time. But there’s more worry for Nicholas, who is told by Giles the shepherd that he discovered several ‘sarplers’ that should have contained only clipped wool, actually filled with refuse. Around the same time, Thomas Fetterlock finds himself in trouble with the Staple – the wool merchants guild – after sarplers of Fetterlock wool were found at Bruges half filled with rubbish. A mystery opens up, not only re how the refuse got in there, but where the large amount of good wool that should have been in there has got to. Nicholas and his father travel to Southampton, where all the Fetterlock wool sold to the Lombards should have passed through, but after checking records there all appears in order. Trouble seems to be mounting for his father, who is now regretting his association with the sinister Lombard banker Messer Antonio Bari. From here on, it’s Nicholas on a mission to solve the mystery and save the day. Thanks to Nicholas, to Giles and Hal, and to a key role played by Cecily, all comes right in the end.

Cynthia Harnett wrote several historical novels for children. I did read The Wool-Pack as a child/early teen, but enjoyed it far more now than I remember enjoying it then (I think in those days I went into yawn mode at anything even vaguely historical). It’s a really good story. Even now I’m not all that interested in details of the fifteenth-century wool and cloth trades, but Harnett really brings to life the various characters and the details of village and domestic life. I don’t think it’s stated how old Nicholas is, but I’m guessing about fourteen, and as well as containing some enjoyable sleuthing and heroism, the story is also a coming of age story, as, in addition to becoming betrothed and being given his own horse, Nicholas’ friendship with Hal has to negotiate their class difference becoming more marked as they grow up: Hal starts to address Nicholas as “master” and Nicholas must spend time learning his father’s business rather than roaming the fields with Hal after the sheep flocks.

The Wool-Pack was published in 1951 and won the Carnegie Medal for children’s fiction in the same year.

'The Private Patient' by P D James

Never been a big reader of crime novels and this was my first P D James. It’s part of the Adam Dalgliesh series – in fact looking at James’ bibliography on Wikipedia, it looks to have been the last one James wrote in this series. Given that it includes Dalgliesh musing on whether he’s had enough of murder, and ends with him getting married, that probably makes sense.

The story opens with Rhoda Gradwyn, a 47-year-old investigative journalist, making her way to a Harley Street clinic to see plastic surgeon George Chandler-Powell to discuss the removal of a facial scar. We already know, from the novel’s opening sentence, that Rhoda is going to be murdered three weeks hence. The scar was inflicted when she was thirteen and her drunk father smashed a bottle in her face. Rhoda is anticipating that her life will change after the scar is removed, and in response to Mr Chandler-Powell’s question as to why she has waited thirty-four years to have something done about the scar, Rhoda responds that she no longer has need of it, which puzzles him.

Following the clinic appointment, she has lunch at The Ivy with Robin Boyton, a younger friend. Boyton is exercised at being excluded from inheriting any of the family fortune passed down from his grandfather Theodore via his recently deceased uncle Peregrine; all of it has been divided between his two cousins but Boyton’s view is that he deserves a share of it. Boyton’s uncle’s death followed his grandfather’s by only a few weeks, and Rhoda remarks in conversation that his cousins were lucky that their father successfully survived his own father by the twenty-eight days apparently required for a legatee to inherit. She makes a joke, referencing the plot of a novel she once read, that perhaps Boyton’s cousins popped their deceased father into the freezer to ensure that they could announce his death after the required time had elapsed. Rhoda doesn’t expect Boyton to take this seriously, but the story plants a seed in Boyton’s mind.

Rhoda chooses to have the operation done at Cheverell Manor, a Dorset country house purchased by Chandler-Powell to be run as a private clinic in the country. In the next few chapters a largish ensemble cast is introduced of people who live on the Cheverell Manor estate: Robin Boyton’s cousins Marcus Westhall, Chandler-Powell’s assistant surgeon and his sister Candace, an academic who has recently nursed her irascible father through a long final illness; the cooks, Dean Bostock and his wet wife Kimberley; Sharon Bateman, the somewhat odd and sullen general dogsbody who is strangely obsessed with the Cheverell Stones, a stone circle near the Manor reputed to be haunted; Helena Cressett, the general administrator, whose family owned Cheverell Manor for four hundred years before Helena’s father was forced to sell after losing all the family money in a banking crash; Flavia Holland, the head nurse who appears to be in a relationship of sorts with Chandler-Powell; Letitia Frensham, a 60-something widow who assists with the admin; and ‘Mog’, the attitudinous elderly groundsman. Once Rhoda Gradwyn’s body is discovered, that’s quite a list of potential suspects to work through.

The local Dorset constabulary is pulled off the case, and Scotland Yard pulled in, though the reasons for this are never entirely clear beyond the fact that Gradwyn was evidently a reasonably well-known journalist. Commander Adam Dalgliesh and his Special Investigation Squad of Detective Inspector Kate Miskin and Sergeant Francis Benton-Smith motor their way down to Dorset and settle themselves at Cheverell Manor to sort everything out.

This was an enjoyable read though I did get somewhat confused in the later stages of the novel as to the various iterations of Peregrine Westhall’s will and Candace’s motivation for killing her cousin. If I have it correct, the actual will did leave Robin Boyton half of the estate, and Candace faked a supposed later update that changed this to split the estate only between her and her brother. At the end of the novel, three people are dead, two murdered and one by suicide, but things have been satisfactorily resolved for most of those still living.

Also: I guess crime novels do throw out a whole bunch of red herrings that are actually irrelevant, to keep the reader wondering, but I guess I’m not sufficiently accustomed to them to not find that a bit frustrating. Things here: Rhoda’s scar and her issues around it; Sharon’s dark past; - and what’s with the hint of Number Ten involvement? The Met was pulled onto the case at the request of Number Ten, but this is never then revisited and we’re left wondering (or at least I was) what there was in the case that would have prompted this, given that it turns out to have been a revenge murder that reflected a private grudge and nothing at all to do with HM Government. There are the comments of Mrs Skeffington, the other patient at the Manor at the time of Rhoda’s death, who obliquely (to me, anyway) says to Dalgliesh that she’s glad he’s come, and that “Stuart said that … he’d get the best”. This leads to an “aha, so that’s why we’re here” moment on the part of Dalgliesh and DI Miskin, but left me absolutely none the wiser, unless I missed who “Stuart” was.

Anyway. Aside from all that, I enjoyed it well enough to probably read another one in this series.

'Darke' by Rick Gekoski

James Darke, a retired public school English master, has hired a handyman to remove both the knocker and the letterbox from his front door. To avoid having to speak to the handyman, he pretends to be deaf. He redirects his mail to his friend George’s address, and asks George to throw it all away and not to contact Darke himself, as he does not wish to be disturbed for the foreseeable future. All these are things on a list of “world-proofing chores” he is working through. He declares “I will never go out again.”

For the whole of Part I, we are given little idea of what has led to Darke choosing his current isolation. He is a challenging character, arrogant, unpleasant and almost unpalatably rude to those he has contact with – he refers to an email George sends him as “impertinent”, when its purpose is to plead with Darke to stop ignoring his daughter Lucy’s increasingly frantic attempts at communication: Darke emails back, telling him to throw Lucy’s letters away and “Never write to me like this again”. When George eventually brings the letters round, and Darke opens one of them, his first thought is “I do wish Lucy had learned to write properly”.

However, I pressed on, and Part II leads immediately in to the event that has triggered Darke’s isolation, the illness and death of his wife Suzy, whom he met when they were both students at Oxford. His reflections on the meaning of life and on Suzy’s death, are vivid and moving. Part III sees Darke starting to emerge from his isolation, having found some closure through his journal-writing, and making tentative steps to reconnect with Lucy and his grandson.

I liked it very much – the protagonist is certainly challenging but intriguing nonetheless, and there is plenty of humour woven in with Darke's general awfulness. The novel has quite a focus on ageing and of the decaying of the body, and there’s a moving passage about loss, which is what he has concluded old age is mainly about:

Loss of what we have been, loss of the history of our dear loved ones, loss of the incidents and narratives that have defined us.

This Guardian review is pretty good, though it puts too much emphasis on Darke’s reconnection with his young grandson, when the reconnection with his daughter is equally important and more difficult and complicated.

Darke was published in 2017 and was Gekoski’s first novel, though he has evidently written several non-fiction books. Gekoski has subsequently expanded Darke into a trilogy, with two further books Darke Matter and After Darke. I think I might have had my fill of James Darke as a character, but I’m glad to have read this one.

24 October 2023

The OU's outdoor art collection

In this crazy post-pandemic alternate universe, have more or less got into a routine of going up to Milton Keynes every other week to work Thursday and Friday on campus. I’m rarely in the company of anyone from my direct team, as they’re all firmly wedded to working at home, but there are usually varying numbers of other people from the wider unit there. A few months back I also elected to move to a condensed hour arrangement whereby I get Friday afternoons off in exchange for working slightly longer days on Monday to Thursday, which enables me to drive home to Reading on Friday afternoons while it’s still light and slightly less traffic-heavy.

Thanks to this arrangement, I chose to spend an hour on Friday afternoon a few weeks back going around the OU’s outdoor art collection, armed with this explanatory leaflet. The Walton Hall campus contains a number of outdoor artworks, of varying ages.

The trail starts with two alongside the Library: ‘Bounding Bull’ and ‘Modern Misses’ by the Zimbabwean sculptor Dominic Benhura.

'Bounding Bull'
'Modern Misses'

Staying by the Library but walking along to the end, there are two more: another one by Benhura, “Viper Sniper”, and “We walk our own path” by Richard Harris.

'Viper Sniper'
'We walk our own path'

Turning and looking across the road to the Perry Building, there are two by Ray Castell, “Learning Together” and “A Kind of Infinity”.

'Learning Together'
'A Kind of Infinity'

After that it’s over to the Cedar Lawn where there are two carvings made out of a 250-year-old cedar tree that apparently died due to an infestation by the Small Cedar Aphid. One is out of the trunk of the tree in situ – this fox is part of it – and the other is a bench beside it with a lovely carving of a rabbit (or poss hare) at one end. Annoyingly, there was someone sitting on the bench at the time I passed so I didn’t photograph it. I was surprised to learn that the sculptor, Tom Harvey, had made the carvings with a chainsaw. Not really what you imagine as a sculpting tool.

Part of 'Contemplation'

The next one was “e=mc2”, outside Christodoulou Meeting Room 1. This is by Scott Forrest and according to the trail leaflet, this stone sculpture “encapsulates an intellectual energy releasing from the unrefined mass”. Fair enough.

'e=mc2'

Nearby, outside the Alan Turing Building, is 'C4 in S4' by John Jaworski, designed in 1989 for a TV programme to accompany the OU module 'Introduction to Pure Mathematics'.

'C4 in S4'

On to one of my faves, ‘For and Against’ by Jane Muir. As this is built into the wall of the Central Walkway, I assume this was part of the original 1970s campus build.

'For and Against'

I didn’t go close up to ‘Squishy and Squashy’ - another one by Scott Forrest - as the Venables Courtyard Garden is a bit overgrown these days. It's made from local limestone, apparently.

'Squishy and Squashy'

Also in the Venables Courtyard Garden is my favourite OU sculpture, 'This land is our land' by Graham Mills. To reproduce the blurb:

This work in slate represents the pioneering spirit of all settlers who inhabit the most unlikely of spaces. This echoes our collective Milton Keynes experience in the early days.
'This land is our land'

'Star' by Anthony Hayes, outside the Wolfson Building, is "a simple shape of a six pointed star".

'Star'

Almost at the end. Passing the Robert Hooke Building there's a lighting installation that just looks like regular lighting so is easily overlooked. It's by Simon Patterson, apparently a 1996 Turner Prize nominee, and is called 'Gort, Klaatu Barada Nikto' as per The Day the Earth stood still.

'Gort, Klaatu Barada Nikto'

The final piece on the trail is the Millennium Knot Garden in the Berrill Courtyard. This is a lovely piece comprised of four topiaries depicting the OU logo. It was the bright idea of the wife of a former Vice-Chancellor.

The Millennium Knot Garden, viewed from inside the Berrill Building
 

Back in April, the OU’s Estates department put on an interesting Showcase event – this self-guided Art Tour was part of that, though all I did then was pick up the leaflet rather than actually walk around the art trail. I also joined a Historic Buildings tour and a grounds tour, both led by people heartwarmingly keen on the OU's campus. Features of those tours included a look at a newly-commissioned memorial carving on the lawn to the rear of the Jennie Lee Building. This lawn had a couple of large cedar trees on it at one point, both of which have fallen - Matt reckons due to some wind tunnel effect created by the loss/rearrangement of buildings in this area, but I have no idea. Anyway: the aforementioned Tom Harvey was commissioned again to do the memorial carving. It's got a couple of little brass plaques on it, and I gather more will be added - though I can't remember what's written on them.

The memorial carving

Being a bit odd, I was interested to learn that this lawned area alongside Jennie Lee used to house a previous Geoffrey Crowther Building (there's a current, fairly new, Geoffrey Crowther building further over towards the Hub). Apparently it had various courtyards, which sounds rather nice. Unfortunately it also, allegedly, had some structural problems and got demolished as part of a new building programme on the campus. I'm not sure when. Update to that: this Digital Archive page says it was in 2011 - which was the year I started work at the OU, though I can't say I remember the demolition so it must have happened before I got there. Here's a picture of the original Crowther Building, taken around 1970.

I also hadn't realised that the original walled garden was much bigger than the current Legacy Garden - in fact, part of the walls must have been removed as a building has been built in the middle of it. The grounds tour chaps pointed out the bit of the end wall that you can still see when walking from the Hub to the Legacy Garden - never noticed it before.

The original end wall of the walled garden
The Legacy Garden today

And a final cute thing: the Vaughan Harley family were one of the last families to live in Walton Hall itself. One of their children carved an image of Yogi Bear into one of the flagstones outside Walton Hall. Another thing I'd never noticed before.

Yogi Bear

7 September 2023

More books I have read recently

'Where the Crawdads Sing' by Delia Owens

This book has rather a ‘Written For Book Groups’ stamp all over it. Or possibly I’m just being cynical – it was a book that Mum’s book group read a few years ago and one of our members more recently put it on our list.

From the age of ten, Catherine ‘Kya’ Clark has lived all by herself in a shack out in the marshlands by the North Carolina coast, following the departures of successively her mother, four older siblings and finally her drunk and abusive father. In the nearby town of Barkley Cove, she’s referred to as a ‘swamp rat’ and then later as the Marsh Girl. Aged six and fetched by the truant officer to be taken to school, she attends school for a single day, is mocked by some of the other children and never attends again, hiding in the marshes from the truant officers until they stop calling.

Aged fourteen, she’s befriended by Tate Walker, an older boy who lives in Barkley Cove with his widowed fisherman father. Tate shares Kya’s interest in the marsh and its wildlife, and teaches Kya to read. Inside her shack, Kya has built up a large and meticulously labelled and illustrated collection of feathers, shells, bones and other things she has found out on the marshes. When Tate goes to college to study to be a research biologist, he promises to come back soon to visit her, but finds himself becoming immersed in a different world into which he cannot see Kya fitting, and hating himself for it, breaks off contact with her.

Desperate for company, and concurrently having blossomed into a tall attractive young girl, Kya catches the eye of local high school alpha Chase Andrews, and they begin a relationship, though Chase is careful to keep his relationship with Kya entirely separate from his life in town. Musing: I thought there was some inconsistency in how Chase’s character was drawn. When Kya first meets him, although good-looking and socially blessed he doesn’t seem a particularly bad young man. He appreciates the shell necklace that Kya gifts him, and after initial over-enthusiasm he promises to wait until she’s ready before jumping her. However, we have already learned, right at the beginning of the book, that Chase is dead, his body discovered out in the marsh, and one strand of the story, set in the late 1960s, follows the Barkley Cove police as they try to solve the crime. The other strand of the story traces Kya’s life from when we meet her in 1952, aged six, through to adulthood.

Owens’ writing about nature and the marshlands is quite evocative. The story itself was a bit too stuffed with formulaic trauma – partway through reading it, I thought: right, now we’ve had domestic violence and some racism, how about an attempted rape to form a hat trick? Hop a few chapters on, and bingo. But having said all that, I did quite enjoy the book, and the ending packs a reasonable twist.

‘Where the Crawdads Sing’ was published in 2018. Delia Owens apparently grew up near rural wilderness of a similar type to the one she describes in the novel, and was formerly a zoologist.

What are crawdads, anyway? The word isn’t mentioned until page 111 – turns out it’s part of an expression meaning a remote part of the marsh, as in “way out there where the crawdads sing”. From skim-reading a few interviews, it’s evidently an expression that Owens’ mother used to use to her.

'The Power of Habit' by Charles Duhigg

I started reading this a while ago but didn’t get further than the first couple of chapters. Decided to give it another go. It’s about understanding how habits work, as a step to being able to change them. Which sounded quite useful, though like a lot of books of this type, particularly American ones (which most of them are), it does Go On A Bit. Even on this second go I didn’t find it exactly a page-turner.

The Prologue introduces the idea that habits show up in the brain as neurological patterns, and that it is possible to overlay these with new patterns. The book is then divided into three parts: habit formation within individuals; within companies, and within societies.

The first chapter talks about the basal ganglia, apparently an old, central, area of the brain that are key to habit formation. Duhigg relates the story of a man who lost his memory due to viral encephalitis, but was still able to form new habits as his basal ganglia were intact. In the chapter ‘The Craving Brain’, the book discusses the idea that habit formation is dependent on the establishment of a craving for some sort of reward. In the chapter ‘The Golden Rule of Habit Change’, this idea is developed into a claim that the key is to keep the same cue and the same reward, but insert a new routine. Duhigg illustrates this both in relation to the approach taken by the American football coach Tony Dungy, and the philosophy behind Alcoholics Anonymous.

I was initially less interested in the chapters about organizational habits, until Duhigg discusses the 1987 King’s Cross fire in the 'The Power of a Crisis', specifically the culture and working practices in the London Underground of the time which led to the fire being much more of a disaster than it potentially needed to be. Later in the book there’s some stuff about habits influencing shopping decisions, and how getting people to accept something new is easier if it’s dressed up as though it’s familiar. In the Appendix, Duhigg says that there isn’t a one size fits all formula for changing habits, as everyone’s habits are driven by different cravings. Which was a bit disappointing, as most readers would be picking up the book in the hope that it would give them a formula for changing habits.

I did find the idea of ‘keystone’ habits quite useful – habits that have the power to start a chain reaction. (Duhigg reckons that for many people, exercise is a keystone habit that triggers widespread change.) I’m not sure the book is one I’ll be referring back to though.

'The Hacker's Handbook' by Hugo Cornwall

Renewing my mandatory Data Protection and Information Security Awareness training for work recently got me wondering about the Computer Misuse Act 1990, as a message about not contravening this pops up every time I boot up my OU laptop. That led to reading about the 1980s hack of BT’s ‘Prestel’ service (and Prince Philip’s mailbox) by the journalists Stephen Gold and Robert Schifreen, which led to the Act being formed. (Gold & Schifreen themselves had to be charged under the Forgery & Counterfeiting Act 1981, because at that time there were no laws prohibiting computer hacking – and according to the link below that was partly why their prosecution didn’t stick as it was deemed that the “forgery” they were being charged with barely justified the name.) There’s lots online about the Gold and Schifreen hack e.g. this piece, which refers to it as a ‘historic techno romp’.

One of the sources referred to Hugo Cornwall’s book as writing about this hack as one of a number of examples of real-life hacks. I don’t know if THH has been updated over the years but the secondhand copy I bought appears to be an original 1985 copy, which doesn’t mention G and S by name but does refer to a ‘sensational’ hack of the BT Prestel service that happened in late 1984, which I would infer, from reading about it elsewhere, was the same one.

Cornwall’s book was written at an interesting historical point where high-speed (relatively speaking) data networks were taking over from the traditional telecommunications sytems of telegraphy and the telephone. (Never realized that the ‘telex’ was a direct successor of 19th-century telegraphic methods. Don’t think I ever used one – by the time I started work in the early 1990s they had been superseded by the fax.) I was fascinated to learn about “phone phreaking”, apparently a type of techno-romping involving telephone lines that preceded the age when home computers were a thing. Cornwall’s book doesn’t go into much detail about it but there’s information online and on YouTube. Because of its age the book refers to home PCs as “micros” throughout i.e. to contrast with mini-computers (what even were these?) and mainframes. I assume the latter was along the lines of what we had at my first job at ICI in The Computer Room, a hive of massive electronic chuggery managed by a specially dedicated chap. I was only required to type away at the little terminal on my desk so was never required to actually understand what happened within TCR.

I hadn’t realized that modems were even available to home users in the 1980s, but evidently they were though I’ve no idea what the relative cost would have been (Cornwall advises budding hackers to make use of the secondhand market). Cornwall runs through an overview of what you might need to configure on your home PC to enable easier reading of whatever info you might receive from your chosen host PC. The book references a number of pieces of intriguing-sounding kit that I’d certainly never heard of e.g. acoustic coupler, terminal emulator, baud-rate generator. Also, ‘viewdata’ is referred to a lot – I wasn’t sure what this was but wondered if it was something like a Ceefax page. BT’s Prestel service was evidently a viewdata service, allowing home users to access pages of data via adapted TV sets and incorporated an electronic mail service plus the telebanking service Homelink. Cornwall spends quite a bit of time discussing Prestel, in part because it was evidently a bit of an open goal for hackers.

I enjoyed this little book as a piece of computing history, though the technicalities went over my head. It includes seven appendices aimed at providing assistance and tips for those doing a spot of hacking. In his final chapter, Cornwall opines that "we are on the threshold of a new age of opportunities for the hacker". I wondered whether these had been a bit curtailed by the Computer Misuse Act kicking in five years after this book was written - this made it illegal to gain unauthorized access to a computer, presumably ending the days of fear-free rummaging around organisations’ computer systems.

'Yong Kee of Korea' by Paul Anderson

Mum added this to a small pile of children’s books that she wanted me to look over on a recent visit. I don’t remember how our family came by this book and had no memory of ever reading it – I don’t think it can have been actually brought back from Korea as it’s got a stamp in the front to say that it was donated by the PTA of Oatlands County First School in Weybridge. Probably bought at a jumble sale or fête at some point.

It's a sweet story about a nine-year-old boy who lives in a village with his (nice) parents, and longs to be considered grown up enough to accompany his father up the nearby mountain to help him cut grass to sell/trade at market. In the meantime he has to help his mother do the laundry at a nearby stream, and occasionally gets teased by local girls. Yong Kee is sagely advised by a teacher at his school that wishing for something isn’t enough by itself, and that he has to take action to make it happen.

After pondering for a bit, Yong Kee helps out his father by tying up the grass he’s gathered into bundles. This results in his father making a boy-sized ‘jiggy’ for him from forked branches and, in due course, taking Yong Kee up the mountain to work with him.

(On ‘jiggies’: there’s a piece here on these traditional Korean carrying frames. I think Mum and Dad have a small model of a man with one on his back.)

The other thing I'd either forgotten about or never knew about was the traditional Korean system of birthdays whereby everyone becomes one year older on New Year’s Day, irrespective of what month they were actually born in. (Yong Kee is looking forward to turning nine on New Year's Day, even though he was actually born in May.) The system is explained here. The internet seems to suggest that this traditional system was only abandoned for official and legal documents in June of this year, which seems amazingly recent. Anyway, my calculated Korean age is 56 so I think I’ll be sticking with the Western system.

'Yong Kee of Korea' was first published in 1959. The copy I've got is from 1974.

26 August 2023

Walk from the new Green Park station back into Reading, 4.4 miles

Sunday 9 July 2023

Amazed that this new little railway station actually opened in May this year, as I’m sure it was proposed years ago but I’d started to assume that it wouldn’t actually happen.

The new Reading Green Park station

Green Park is a business park on the south side of Reading that opened in the late 1990s. Much more recently, a large amount of housing (being marketed as ‘Green Park Village’) has been built alongside. The business park is quite pleasant – landscaped around a lake, etc – but I’m not sure of its state of health since the big move to homeworking.

I had no particular reason to be going to Green Park but I had the free time on a Sunday in July and fancied a bit of a walk, so I took a train out to the new station. On the ticket machine and on rail apps, the new station is labelled ‘Reading Green Park’, I assume to avoid confusion with the London tube stop.

I walked from the station around the lake and stopped at Triple Two Coffee for a peach iced tea. Not the sort of thing I normally consume but it was a warm morning. The café looked to have quite a nice breakfast menu.

After leaving the café I walked through some of the new residential streets. Not really a fan of the ‘New England’-style boarded housing – and the streets felt very cramped – but I’m sure it’ll have its takers. I walked along Longwater Avenue out of Green Park to the A33. Crossed this and walked along Smallmead Road into the Kennet Island development, built a few years back on the site of the old sewage works. Came out onto the 'old' Basingstoke Road (the former A33) and turned left towards town.

This stretch of road has never been the smartest but I always find urban streets quite interesting. The picture is of the lingering pub sign outside what’s now flats. The former building was most recently a grotty-looking Chinese restaurant called the Eastern Pearl, which had been empty for some time, and was originally a pub called The Four Horseshoes.

Pub sign on the site of The Four Horseshoes

Followed the road to where it joins Christchurch Road at the Hindu temple and then turned down Southampton Street to the Oracle Riverside.

Old and new street signs

Route below. Start point in green bottom left.