Rory Walsh traces the route of one of London’s hidden rivers, the River Fleet
Discovering Britain
Walk • Urban • Greater London • Web Guide
Emerging from the London Underground at Angel station, regular Monopoly players will know exactly where we are. Across the road is the distinctive orange dome of The Angel, Islington. Turn left and Islington High Street meets the thundering traffic of Pentonville Road. Pentonville Road and The Angel are among the cheapest properties on the Monopoly board, but we’re looking for a different one: Water Works. Vehicles trundle by, shop radios blare, people tap at and talk into phones. ‘Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink.’
Coleridge’s words from The Rime of the Ancient Mariner often spring to mind during this walk. Writer Caroline Millar describes it as ‘walking on water without getting your feet wet. You’re surrounded by water throughout but hardly see any’. From Islington, the route flows south along the course of the hidden River Fleet. Along the way, it explores how water has shaped and influenced the capital. ‘This was the first walk we produced and it set the template for the series, finding the geographical stories in the places around you,’ says Millar, Discovering Britain’s former project manager.
From Pentonville Road, we enter quieter streets. At the end of a narrow alley, two metal gates appear. The farthest opens onto a viewing platform lined with information boards. A balcony surveys a scenic garden braided with stone paths. Dominating the scene, however, is a sound: running water. Through the other gate, a path leads down to a large, circular fountain, tiered like a wedding cake. Here are our water works. ‘Welcome to New River Head,’ says Millar.
At this urban oasis, Millar explains: ‘Before 1600, London’s water supply came from rivers, streams, wells and springs. Water was carried to, and sold in, places that were too far from a natural source. As London’s population grew, demand increased and the water table dropped. The New River was a 64-kilometre canal cut along the contours of the Lea Valley to take water into London from Hertfordshire springs. Initially, it was gravity-fed using hollowed out tree trunks. New River Head was the reservoir at the end.’
Besides topography above ground, local geology meant that water also emerged from the deep. ‘There are many wells and springs around here,’ Millar says, ‘because we’re in a part of London where two soil types meet.’ The terraces of the River Thames are lined with gravel, which is permeable allowing water to drain away. To the north of the river, the dominant ground is impermeable London clay. Where the clay forced water to the surface, springs erupted. Evidence of them endures in several road names and the famous Sadlers Wells theatre.
Past Sadlers Wells, we pause at a cattle trough on St John Street, once a droving road into Smithfield meat market. The market’s role in Millar’s tale becomes apparent later. First, we reach another watery place. Beyond St John’s Gate, the land rolls downhill towards a railway cutting. The trains are hidden behind high walls but their rumbling and roaring fills the air.
We stop outside Well Court. At first glimpse, the building looks like a high-end estate agent or an art gallery. The walls inside display old maps and a curious metal plaque with a spout. Way beneath our feet is a hole.
‘This is the Clerk’s Well,’ says Millar. ‘It was first recorded in 1183 and became an important water supply in medieval London. The surrounding area became known as Clerkenwell.’
The historic well isn’t the only water source here. The road climbs onto Ray Street Bridge, which straddles the railway cutting. On the horizon beyond the wall, the Shard nestles next to St Paul’s Cathedral: God and Mammon side by side. The walk, however, highlights something we can’t see. ‘The railway lines sit in the valley of the River Fleet,’ Millar reveals.
Across the road in Ray Street, Millar stops us by the Coach and Horses pub. We could almost be in the bottom of a giant saucer. The surrounding roads dip towards us. Outside the pub is a grate. Millar encourages me to step closer to it. ‘Can you hear water again?’ she asks. I can. ‘That’s the Fleet passing underneath us.’ A watering hole with a fleeting glimpse into a hidden waterway. ‘This is my favourite stop,’ Millar says. ‘At first glance, there’s nothing much to see but this unassuming grate is key to the story of the Fleet.’
Emerging from a spring on Hampstead Heath, the River Fleet flows downhill for 6.5 kilometres before entering the Thames at Blackfriars. Today, the Fleet is hidden underground, but for centuries it was a navigable open river.
The Fleet marked the western boundary of Roman London. The stone for the original St Paul’s Cathedral was carried along the river by boat. Mills lined the banks. By the early 18th century, pollution from various trades – including animal remains from Smithfield Market being dumped in the water – turned the river into a putrid open sewer. So, section by section, the Fleet was covered up.
Traces of its heyday can still be found. At Holborn Viaduct, we get a sense of the river’s sheer size. The Victorian viaduct, which replaced a medieval bridge, is 425 metres deep and 25 metres wide. The gorge underneath, Farringdon Road, is another section of the Fleet valley. In centuries past, boats instead of buses would waft below us. ‘This stretch of the Fleet was a busy port,’ says Millar. ‘Corn, hay, timber, cheese, oysters and herrings were loaded and unloaded on the wharves.’
Today, the river’s name lives on in Fleet Street, once the actual and now the metaphorical home of London’s press. ‘Printing required lots of water,’ Millar explains. ‘The Fleet provided an abundant supply.’ Off Fleet Street itself, we stop in St Bride’s churchyard. A plaque on the gates notes that they were erected by the Newspaper Society. Many journalists and printers attended St Bride’s. Many also worshipped at different spiritual homes – the nearby pubs. Brewing was another water-based industry supplied by the Fleet.
At Ludgate Circus, St Pauls reappears on top of its hill. On the way to the final stop, I ask Millar what inspired this walk. ‘There’s something satisfying about following a river, a completeness,’ she reflects. ‘Plus, we are all drawn to water in some way, whether staring out to sea or as kids splashing in puddles.’ For Millar, following the Fleet also highlights wider interests. ‘Walking can be so much richer when you ask questions about where you are. Keep your eyes open, look out for anomalies and peculiar features. Think about place names. And challenge yourself to explore.’
When we reach Blackfriars Bridge, the view is our first prolonged glimpse of water since the fountain at New River Head. ‘The Fleet enters the Thames through a drain in the wall, underneath the bridge,’ says Millar. ‘You can only really see it at low tide.’ Once more, the Fleet is out of sight. As we watch a passing river bus, more Coleridge lines emerge: ‘Through wood and dale the sacred river ran/Then reached the caverns measureless to man.’
