Charing Cross.

Charing Cross Station - Dave Pearce.

The silver frosty, chilly wind echoes a melancholy tune to the demise of so many rare bookshops here in Charing Cross Road. Not so long ago, these little jewels, so close to the neon bits of Leicester Square, harboured cloistered sanctuaries for rare books and maps, smelling of dust and dreamy stories.

Tourists came to find the bookshop that was ‘84 Charing Cross Road.’ Based on a novel by Helene Hanff, a souvenir plaque sits forlornly in its place. Marks & Co bookshop - no longer in business. The charming book tells the story of the author, in search of classic English novels, who began corresponding with the staff at the shop, and in particular a gentleman named, Frank Doel. Letters led to kinship, the intention to meet, but sadly she left it too late and by the time she did come to London, Doel had died and the bookshop was closed forever.

I love the sound of the name of this Charing Cross, as it rolls easily off my tongue, just as the road rolls down towards the Thames.

Charing Cross road. I buy my art supplies here, pass the National Portrait Gallery and then the National Gallery, and am always delighted at the reveal of Trafalgar Square. There are so many tales on these pavements, past St. Martin’s in the Fields, the statue of Edith Cavell and others, and the little café where a slap up breakfast is still cheap as chips. My early Saturday morning spot before a tour. The glinting Springbok at South Africa House, golden tipped by the weak sun, far from home. The Underground opens with darkening stairs, worlds separated above and below, some lines forgotten and I walk to the grandeur of the station across the road. Charing Cross Station, one of the many Grand Dames of Victorian London.

Charing Cross Station.

The name Charing comes from an Old English Word ‘cierrcing’, meaning ‘turning’ which referred to a bend in the river Thames. This was before Mr. Balzagette changed the layout of the river to create the Embankment. The ‘cross’ comes from a series of monuments, one can call them death makers, which lined the funeral path of the deceased Queen Eleanor of Castiles in 1290. All gone, but the Victorian replica stands before the Station entrance, once a place from where all roads to London were measured - this is now more correctly based at the foot of the statue of Charles I close by. Discovering all these snippets of history, stories from the 13th century falling like pages of a book into Charing Cross, is delicious. It does not end there, history has more to reveal.

The Grand Renaissance style of the Charing Cross Hotel that curtsey’s before you, was built in 1865, two years after the opening of the station, controlled by South Eastern Railways. Once upon a time, trains were connected to ships and the vision of The Grand Tour, puffs of steam, gorgeous suitcases and military trunks, quite fills the imagination. The mind can travel when you stand in front of the boards, thinking, shall I go here, or there, or to the seaside for the day? I admit to doing just that, more often than not, just wanting to step aboard. Commuters brush past me at haste, and I am still standing when the trains pull away.

Look for the plague below the clock commemorating the arrival of US President Woodrow Wilson to London.

Did you know that the steep slope beneath the station needed a network of huge barrel vaults to support the structure, forty feet below? Handy for storage, and anything from textiles to wine found a cool sanctuary there. Charing Cross Underground has a few secrets of its own. To think this all happens right below me as I walk towards Embankment.

From old bookshops to James Bond, war time Britain to Hungerford Market in the Middle 17th century. The land was initially owned by the wealthy Hungerfords, their name still honoured in Hungerford Bridge, where the Thames puts up a brilliant display. The view looking back to the Art Deco design that is the station and watching the trains leave, past you on the bridge, to destinations unknown, is a special part of London for me. The views are incredible, masterful, romantic. The meshing and weaving of lives and times and ages and architectural styles, mesmerising. And the rives talks.

I really love this area known as Charing Cross. So much has happened and keeps happening, but with a sense of classical grace and elegance, thrown in with a brush of ruffians and cheap chancers. Bustling with shops, cafes and wine bars. In the summer, beside the station, the Embankment gardens explode with colour, brighter than a macaw’s wing, and I know of the perfect place, to sit under the trees and welcome the evening while the trains cross the river beside me.

Images: Dave Pearce, A Reader’s Book of Days and Ian Visits.