Passage

Crossing over the road from the Powys Street car park to walk to the Waterfront leisure centre I discovered a new (to me) cut through via Mortgramit Square, just to the left of the Grade II listed Art Deco Emporium building.

At this moment I am not on one of my walks. I am in pursuit of a hot shower since the boiler has broken at home.

Yet, yet, as the narrow road weaves to the right, to the left, to the right again, I am in new walking territory.

Mindset shifts to curious, less directional. Walking pace slows.

I can now hear the traffic on the South Circular beyond the buildings to my left. And then, the buildings open up to reveal an alley. Blink and you’ll miss it.

I pause.

Two pigeons engage in what looks like a courting dance. Well, I think its courting. The male pigeon is strutting, flapping it’s determined wings in pursuit of the demure, aloof female. They seem unfazed by my presence. There is bird shit everywhere.

Hood up, I am compelled to walk through this monochrome, dingy, narrow passage that is decorated with splashes of colour; a yellow doorway, bright red discarded cup, faded teal painted wall and grafitti.

Midway through, mouth closed, I gingerly look up, shrinking slightly. An overbearing industrial maze of pipes, chimney flues and extractors lead you to the grey sky above. A romantic old lantern light confidently asserts the building’s past, “Plaisted’s Wine House” also known as The Coopers Arms, that closed in 2010.

The building is up for sale, most recently host to the Lantern Cafe and Laundrette. I recall drinking coffee in the cafe with Tina asleep on my lap, chatting to the generous columbian owner who gave me spanish omelette with chorizo on the house. I later contacted her about having a birthday party there but regrettably the business was closing.

And so the building’s identity will shift again. Its past will remain in the physical signs it leaves behind. and in the memories of the people who encountered it. In my brief, embodied encounter, I am reminded of Italo Calvino’s writing in Invisible Cities…

“The city, however, does not tell it’s past, but contains it like the lines of a hand, written in the corner of the streets, the gratings of windows, the banisters of the steps, the antennae of the lightning rods, the poles of the flags, every segment marked in turn with scratches, indentations, scrolls” (1972, 1997, p9)

In the palm of Woolwich’s hand are the stories it contains, written in its buildings and nooks and crannies if you look hard enough.

And the pigeons continue to dance and shit all over it.

I cross the road for a hot shower.

References:

Calvino, Italo. (1972, 1997) Invisible Cities. Vintage Classics