I got to do something I've wanted to do for a long time today.  I got to visit Aldwych Tube Station.  You'd think, in London, this would be a regular occurrence, but Aldwych Tube closed in 1994, when it became too expensive to maintain the lifts.  And, it's remained disused ever since.  Occasionally, someone will film down there, or it's used for training purposes.

 

Very, very rarely (certainly, not since I've been living in London - apparently, not in the last 10 years), it's possible to visit the station for a tour.  Today was a really special opportunity, unlikely to be repeated.  There were actors, as characters from London during the Blitz, directing us about the place.  

There was an ARP chap who sent us all down the spiral staircase as the sirens started, and the "Blitz" began: he was just getting into stride, telling us about the concert with George Formby that had gone on the night before, and we had to move on.  He also explained that the station was below the sewer lines: so if we needed to use the bucket, it would have to be carried up with us in the morning...  And that just being inside the station wasn't safe.  We had to go downstairs.  Aldwych was a tube station 'licensed' to be used as an air raid shelter: not all could be used.

At the bottom, a very witty and very bossy WVS lady organised us into groups.  There were up to 1500 sleeping in the station every night, between the tracks (which weren't electrified during the war), on the platforms, eventually in 200 bunk beds.  We were cautioned how cold it could get, and the men (who outnumbered the women on this tour about 10 to 1) were gently teased about being in reserved occupations. 

We shifted round four carriages (the tube geeks photographing enthusiastically).  

One had a recording of a chap talking about his experiences in the Blitz.  One had our WVS lady, whose husband was in submarines (and not very good at swimming), talking about keeping spirits up, and how, if it's our last night on earth, we should make sure we go out with a bang.  She was very worried about our blankets, and if we had a thermos.  But it was OK if we didn't: Ruth would be round with the tea trolley soon enough.

The next carriage along had Elsie, who told us about her friend Betty's experiences.  Betty was asleep between the tracks at Holborn, and woke up, and thought she had hair on her face.  But it moved a bit.  And it was a mouse running backwards and forwards and backwards and forwards over her forehead!  "And you know what, Elsie?  They micturate, do mice."  Betty's apparently a bit educated, you see.  "You what?" asked Elsie.  "They wee as they go along!"  And that mouse had been running back-and-forth-and-back-and-forth.  Elsie was knitting something nondescript for her boys.  Air Force Blue.  She had a blanket and a thermos, and an overnight case.

The last carriage had a Spiv.  He had nylons (five bob a pair).  He had (huge) silk french knickers.  He had chocolate, he had petrol coupons, he had oranges - but no bananas.  He had a natty tie, and a smart suit, and his wife had gone to Billericay to be out of the way of the bombs.  He would have been enjoying the peace and quiet but for the bombs.  Bloody Hitler!

The show ended up with how one imagines a bomb raid might have sounded from underground.  The sirens wailed, the bombs fell - the ground shook a bit (quite an impressive sound system) and the lights flickered.  It must have been terrifying: I'm quite glad Mum wasn't with me at that point, as I am pretty sure she'd have had some sort of a flashback, having told me tales of hiding under the kitchen table during bombing raids, aged 4.  The actors tried to lead community singing, but no-one knows the words to "It's a long way to Tipperary" nowadays, and half the geeks were taking advantage of the slight chaos to take pictures of signs, platforms, carriage door steps, windows etc etc etc.  Once it was all over, the WVS lady suggested something strong.  She had very wrinkled stockings (and the seams weren't straight either!), and I suspect she fancied a rum of her own.

Dozydormouse took a picture of me next to the train after I'd taken a picture up the tunnel.  She graciously paused while I took pictures of the disused lift shafts.  And the bottom of the staircase.  I'd almost run out of battery by the time we got to the top.  But I had enough left for a picture of the bus that was all painted up for the blackout.

Really.  Quite, quite awesome.

 

xxx

I have a pattern, from Folk Vests.  I have a sweater to copy measurements (well, I shall when Sir delivers it).  I have a colour palette.  I need to settle down with the colour pallette and work out the changes.

Sir shall have his knitted slipover.  I shall knit fair isle.  And the world shall be happy.

For, who could resist knitting a fair isle slipover for someone who intends to "wear it until it wears out, and then darn the holes and wear it some more"?  I like to knit things for people who will wear them.  I like that people wear the things so much, that they lose them, make holes in them, wear them out, disintegrate them, need them mended.  I love that someone wants to wear something that I've knitted, and wants to wear it for the next 30 or 40 years, until they're old and wrinkly and grey.  There's no sense in keeping things in a drawer, safe, until the moths get them.

Honestly.  It's as good as the time my Dad wanted to know where his latest knitted socks were, remarking that he'd been "hoping that [I'd] bring them early."

And no.  Sir is not the chap I met.  Sir is a morris dancer.  The chap I met is  and that's all I shall say.