WATERLOO STATION

I was in the capital, traveling on the number 139 Bus, en route to London’s Borough market.  It required a  change at Waterloo, for the number 381.   For no particular reason I decided to go and have a look around Waterloo station, perhaps because, for me and thousands of other soldiers, it had been such a significant place on our military journeys through life.

Of course, it has all changed since those distant days.   The smell of the place is different, for back in the ’60s, as well as the electric trains there were still steam trains and their burning coals and often sulphurous smoke perfumed the concourse.   The sounds too were different. 

 The Chuff…Chuff…Chuff….chuff-chuff- chuff, as the engines built up steam; the constant slamming of those old railway coach doors, whistles blowing; the clatter of the destination boards and the cut-glass station announcements, it was a quite delightful soundtrack to your travels.

The destination boards are now all digital and while quite effective, they are somewhat boring.  Back in the day, there were hand-painted signs, often put in place by a man with a long stick.   When they changed there was a satisfying mechanical clatter that always caught your attention.

The concourse is now crowded with retail shops and cafes; Starbucks, Nero, Costa, Pret, sushi bars, Gregs, none of which even existed in my day.  All there was, if I remember correctly, was a large canteen-like café where you could buy a mug of tea and a processed cheese British Rail sandwich.  That was about it, although the café sent out trolley girls to the concourse with urns of lukewarm tea.      There was a bar as well, often full of soldiers and sailors much the worse for wear.

The only retail unit I recall was a W.H. Smiths outlet selling newspapers magazines and books.   The raciest magazine you could buy was Parade or Tit-Bits although I do remember buying a copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover at that kiosk..   It was not a purchase driven by literary appreciation, more a randy soldier looking for dirty books.   Mind you, later in life I studied D.H. Lawrence and he became, and still is, one of my favorite authors.  I even wrote some poetry in homage to Lady Chatterley.  You can read it here: Homage to Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

I seem to remember there was also a flower shop but little else in the retail way.   There was a military movements office I think, manned by the Royal Engineers, where you could get your travel warrant endorsed or renewed and where they would issue underground tickets to soldiers in transit.

At the back of the station, there was 24 hour 7 days a week cinema showing newsreels and black and white cartoons and occasional documentaries.   The three stooges is one I remember.    It was a bit of a haven that cinema. A place of shelter in the winter when the concourse became like a giant fridge.  You could go to sleep in the cinema and wake up to see the whole show again!  It’s long gone now. Today you can watch the latest movies on your phone.

Most of the British Rail staff were men, often quite mature men.   I think women were employed then as secretaries, telephonists, switchboard girls, and so on, but you hardly ever saw them on the concourse.    It was a woman’s voice that made the station announcements.   She had an immaculate absolutely cut-glass English accent and always sounded crystal clear.    Today when you hear a station announcement people look at each other and go “what did it say?”   “did you catch that?”      It seems as if the loudspeaker technology has deteriorated rather than improved.

One other thing I recall.  Maybe I shouldn’t.  But back then the only language you would hear at Waterloo was English and, predominantly, almost everyone was white.    I don’t say this to make any racist point, it’s just an honest mostly accurate historical recollection of the way it was.