Princes Risborough, Buckinghamshire

Out of the window, on to the track

As my Oxford to London Marylebone train approached Princes Risborough, I admired the impressive signal box, labelled ‘Princes Risbobo North’, and reflected that I never seem to take photographs of signal boxes, in spite of the fact that they can be interesting and useful buildings. I resolved to take another look on my return journey and as I did so I raised my mobile phone to the window and pressed the shutter as the train pulled out. There are a few reflections off the glass of the window, but on the whole it’s not a bad image, showing the box’s wood and brick construction and its large size. I couldn’t recall seeing a larger box on the train lines I travel on most frequently between the Cotswolds and London.

When I looked it up, I discovered that Princes Risborough North is indeed the largest surviving box on the lines of the old Great Western Railway. Why such a big box, which must have contained many signal levers, for a station serving a small town with, as far as I knew, a single line running through it? A look at an old railway map put me right. It showed lines from five different directions converging at Princes Risborough – to London (via High Wycombe), to Oxford, to Watlington, to Aylesbury, and towards Ashendon, another junction with lines leading hither and yon. The size of the building began to make sense.

Apart from its relative length, the Risborough box follows a standard traditional signal box design. On the upper floor is the row of levers that control the railway signals and move the points to ensure that each train joins the correct bit of line for its onward journey. This upper storey is timber-framed with windows all round, giving the signal operators a good view of the nearby signals and lines. The floor below (here built of brick though many smaller boxes are wholly timber-framed) houses the locking room, which contains mechanisms which ensure that signals and points interlock so that points cannot be moved without the appropriate signal being given to the train driver.

The signal box at Princes Risborough was built in 1904 and continued in use until 1991, when signalling on the line was handled from Marylebone station in London. After this the signal box began to fall into disrepair. However, the line in the direction of Chinnor is now used by a heritage railway called the Chinnor and Princes Risborough Railway, who are at work restoring and preserving the box, ensuring that this important bit of railway history has a future. 

Glentworth Street, London

Arriving in style

In its dozen or so years of existence, this blog has rarely been quiet for more than a week at a stretch. It’s not usually difficult keeping this up in quite a busy life of writing, teaching courses, working my way through piles of books that want to be read, having a social life, and helping the Resident Wise Woman sort out the implications of Brexit for a life that has been lived, for a decade and a half, in two European countries. Needless to say, in the face of such things blogging has to take second (or third, or. fourth) place and in the midst of such pressures the thought is apt to arise that I’m not sure I’ve seen any buildings recently that I want to share.

And then, I take a trip to London and start walking along a street and immediately see things that I want to engage with. Sometimes the thought is, ‘Blimey! I’d not noticed that before!’, sometimes it’s ‘Of course! I always wanted to look more closely at this.’ Here’s an example of the latter. I’ve posted before about the striking Art Deco apartment blocks on Marylebone Road. This time, a little early for my train, I walked around the block occupied by one of them, the huge Berkeley Court. It seemed too late in the day for photography, but modern mobile phones are very forgiving in low light, and here were two things I like: illuminated lettering and stylish ironwork.

This is the way out (there’s a matching way in) of a drive at street level. The idea is that your taxi* can turn off the street, sweep around a curve, deposit you at the entrance, and sweep out again, keeping you out of the rain and giving you the leisure to alight gracefully, without any of the fluster or disruption that can come when the vehicle blocks a busy street. Staircases and lift are nearby, allowing you to ascend to your flat with ease.

It is all very luxurious, like turning off the Strand to arrive at the door of the Savoy, but this was built to be no mean block of box-like pieds à terre. Some of the apartments on the plans have six bedrooms – I don’t know if they are still so large, or if they’ve been subdivided. And the finish reflects this. There’s pleasant illuminated lettering† for the name of the block – the colour seems to have faded irregularly, but never mind, this helps to make it more authentically period.§ The ironwork is wonderfully angular without being aggressive or unfriendly. This entrance is an asset to the street as well as to the people who use it.¶

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*I think this is the residents’ entrance. There is apparently a matching drive for service vehicles, but I didn’t see that.

† The stroke widths seem to me to be a bit uneven, but I’m not quibbling.

§ The date of the block is c. 1931, the architect W. E. Masters.

¶ My post about the neighbouring, slightly more ocean-linerish, Dorset House, is here.

Paddington Street, London

First and last

The background to this little building is outlined on a helpful board nearby. Paddington Street Gardens originated in the 18th century as a burial ground for the parish church of St Martylebone. The land was granted to the parish by Edward Harley, Earl of Oxford, in 1730 and the burial ground was opened in 1733. There were few burials after 1814, when the St John’s Wood burial ground was opened, and subsequently most of the headstones were removed and the land turned into a park. But this mausoleum was left in place. It was built by the Hon Richard Fitzpatrick for his wife, who died in 1759, aged just 30. Later his daughter was buried there too.

So much for the history. But what made me notice this small building, aside from its fine lines and the large urn acting as an outsize finial and funerary symbol, is the way it works in its setting. The pale stone building acts as a focus in this enclave of plane trees, lawns. and flowers. And as if to confirm that, the gardeners have attached hanging baskets, so that plants and stones, soft and hard landscaping, come together. This winning combination is typical of graveyards, where the seasonal round of flower and leaf acts in counterpoint to the theme of last things, turning our thoughts from death to the renewal of life. In Paddington Street Gardens, the mausoleum and its vivid flowers ensure that this process is re-enacted year by year.

Paddington Street, London

This is a former Church Institute and Club just off Marylebone High Street. The inscription above the entrance is a bit ambiguous – did the building accommodate the Church of the Good Shepherd as well as the club? The Good Shepherd himself is certainly there above the door.

The inscription gives the building’s date as 1898. and the slightly mixed-up Tudorish style is typical of the time. On either side of the panel containing the inscription are little attached columns with Ionic capitals and restless shafts that change width every few inches (if you click on the picture you can see these these more clearly). This is the kind of bizarre detail the Tudors loved (before English architecture became more chastely Classical under the influence of Palladianism) and that the late-Victorians loved to imitate. The Victorian builders added their own touches too, varying the glowing red brick with bands of paler terracotta.

But for all the weirdness of the detailing, buildings like this are eminently practical. Big windows and generous interior spaces mean a structure like this is unlikely to be short of users, ensuring its survival in all its red and stripy glory.