Shorter days, train strikes and the cosiness of staying in bed for a bit longer in the morning kept me local, literally across the road or out east in the Thames estuary.
I’ll never look at Tower Bridge in the same way after a visit to the bascule’s chambers, underneath the roadway. I sense that Eddie, a long standing technical assistant, knows every bolt and rivet as he eloquently explains how it all works. Simply put, it’s where the back-end counterweights of the bridge roadway go down, as the visible front end goes up.
Standing in for scale is the technical assistant Eddie, a longstanding member of staff, inside one of the bascule chambers of Tower Bridge.
The controls to lift the bridge in the south control cabin of Tower Bridge, still polished and shining after 137 years. Right: Original water pressure gauges in the south control cabin of Tower Bridge.
The bridge is raised about 1,000 times a year and there is no charge. Astonishingly, the main bearings on the pivot shaft are still the original ones made in 1894. The Victorian landmark would need to close for months if they were replaced.
Visitors braving the glass floor in the high-level walkway on Tower Bridge. It provides a fantastic view to the road and river thames below, particularly when a bridge lift is scheduled.
Certainly, the steam-cleaning job looks a lot more accessible, if not for the fainthearted. No need for Spider-Man when you’ve got Dan Cole, welding a “grab chain” while hanging six metres out over the capricious Thames.
Tower Bridge getting a steam clean from Dan Cole in early spring sunshine. The steam cleaning work is timed for low tide. At high tide Dan’s legs would be in the river. The difference after the clean up is amazing.
Staff remain for decades. Mandy has worked there for 33 years. “I have worked all over the bridge,” she told me, “but my favourite place is the shop. My best memory is meeting the Queen, which was very special. It’s a bit of a love bridge, too. There are quite a few couples who have got together here. I met my husband. He worked at Tower Bridge for 36 years. We have been married for 19 years now.”
Mandy has worked at Tower Bridge for 33 years. Her favourite place is the shop.
The high-level walkways, my favourite place, used to be open air, only accessible by stairs and frequented mainly by sex workers and pickpockets. They closed in 1910 but reopened again in 1982. Today, it’s warm and dry inside with sliding windows so it’s easy to photograph the view. There’s a glass floor in the west walkway enabling visitors, and dogs, to watch in awe during a bridge lift, test their head for heights or spot excited children following the blue line of fame, 80 bronze plaques immortalising workers of Tower Bridge. I’m a bit sad that I missed meeting “rivet boy” John Chalk but I can honestly say that a few hours inside Tower Bridge should be mandatory on a trip to London. There’s a bonus for Southwark residents too: it’s only £1. That’s got to be the deal of the century to visit one of most recognisable places on Earth.
The annual London sheep drive over London Bridge. A long-established charity event, celebrating the freemen’s ancient ‘right’ to bring sheep to market over the Thames.
The annual London Sheep Drive over London Bridge is a unique event to photograph. This sheep is called Chino, a pet lamb and fortunately never sent to slaughter. She’s wearing a GoPro. Can’t compete with that.
The annual London sheep drive over London Bridge takes place on a stunning September morning. It celebrates the freemen of the City of London’s ancient right to bring sheep to market over the Thames. The sheep, all north of England mules, seem pretty chilled on their urban sojourn, enjoying digestive biscuits and one is even wearing a GoPro.
Shouting distance away, the old fish market of Billingsgate now sits empty. I’ve seen soulless corporate events and lavish weddings held there but it was once the centre of London’s fish trade and by the 1800s it was the largest fish market in the world.
Michael Thacker worked as a fish porter at Old Billingsgate in 1966-68. The cafe regularly used by the fish market workers was in One Tree Park. The original entrance to One Tree Park still stands today.
My friend, Michael, worked there for Baxter’s in 1966-68. He explained: “On rainy, icy or snowy mornings, us Billingsgate porters shouted out ‘up the hill!’ and the down-and-outs would leave the braziers and help us push the heavy barrow loads of fish up the steep, narrow, cobbled streets of Lovat Lane, Botolph Lane and Pudding Lane to Eastcheap to the waiting vans delivering fish to hotels and restaurants. They’d receive a few pennies for their help and sometimes a smoke. If we pulled a muscle lifting heavy crates of fish, we’d go to the Billingsgate Christian Mission for heat treatment on our backs. No payment changed hands; you just walked in. I personally packed a dozen kippers for the Queen Mum every Friday.”
An incredible seafood display at the annual harvest of the sea festival in the Christopher Wren church of St Mary-at-Hill church.
Nestled behind Billingsgate, the Christopher Wren church of St-Mary-at-Hill, holds a harvest of the sea festival in October. The seafood is all generously donated by Billingsgate market fishmongers and magnificently displayed like a painting by an old master. Ice slides on the engraved church slabs and once it’s discarded outside afterwards, it doesn’t take much imagination to conjure up images of Michael and the porters pushing barrows.
After the service, the enthusiastic congregation are offered the chance to fill their plastic bags with all manner of slippery things, donations kindly made to the church and there are sure to be a few delicious meals enjoyed after the traditional delivery of seafood to the Queen Victoria Seaman’s Rest (QVSR)in Poplar.
Ruth Campbell, the port chaplain at Tilbury, delivering Christmas presents to seafarers at the grain terminal.
During the Covid pandemic QVSR led the way in an initiative to vaccinate visiting seafarers in the UK. Assisted by the dynamic logistical efforts of Tilbury’s port chaplain, Ruth Campbell, thousands were vaccinated on board ships and could safely continue in their keyworker roles, supplying goods to the UK.
I’m thrilled to be warmly invited to help Ruth deliver some Christmas presents to Tilbury port. Ruth makes a hard hat and high viz jacket look glamorous and has a wonderful rapport with everyone. I think she’s the least “jobsworth” person I’ve ever met. More than 2,500 seafarers visit the Port of London during Christmas and they all receive a gift. Behind this initiative there is an army of local volunteers knitting hats, scarfs and gloves. Apparently Haribo sweets are a favourite.
Our Christmas turkey is due to be delivered in a kayak by our friend Harry. “The river’s full of shit,” he messages, “I’m coming on the train.” Let’s hope the new Super Sewer lives up to its name when it’s finally finished in 2025.
Undeterred by the icy water, dozens of people took part in the annual Royal National Lifeboat Institute Boxing Day dip in Southend.
The Southend RNLI keeps a watchful eye as the annual Boxing Day dip attracts the knitted hat brigade. Right: Boxing Day dippers charge into the sea.
A Boxing Day dip beckons and we watch the traditional spectacle of fancy dressed – or hardly dressed – RNLI fundraisers brave the freezing water in Southend.
I’m definitely a warm weather wuss and with a hot soup, love watching six seals playfully bobbing about at the end of the pier. Two even kiss for my camera. I overhear a young couple: “Why aren’t they leaping and jumping?”
“You’re thinking of dolphins,” he replies.
Ticketholders on New Year’s Eve queueing for party boats on Westminster pier. Ghost boats are a regular scam, leaving dozens of people stranded.
Over three decades living in London and I’ve never been to the New Year’s Eve celebrations. So, it’s a real treat to get a ringside seat on Westminster pier. I like to mooch and mingle as a photographer so I’d wondered if being stuck in one place would be tricky. Far from it. The pier plays host to the party people, dressed to the hilt, all ducking and diving on to party boats. As counting clickers reach maximum, boats become oversubscribed. Ghost boats that don’t actually exist are an annual scam. Joe, the sniffer dog, is hard at work. He is a pro at drugs, but scams are harder to detect.
Joe, the sniffer dog, was working hard on New Year’s Eve but still had time for a bit of affection from waiting partygoers on Westminster pier.
Tensions run high at 10pm on New Year’s Eve as some ticketholders realise there isn’t a party boat for them and waiting boats are full. Right: A gentleman gets ready to see in the new year in style.
New Year’s Eve revellers wait patiently to board a party boat on the River Thames. Right: Happy new year headwear and matching earrings.
Only the kindness of a pier controller allows four friends to share their New Year’s Eve on a pier pontoon with four photographers and a TikToker. About 20 others are stranded, two hours from countdown. I hope they get refunds on their tickets, some to the tune of £500.
The firework display is sensational, better than I’d ever imagined. I’m even treated to a glass of prosecco by a family who meet there every year.
New Year’s Eve firework display at the London Eye.
I followed the wise advice of Maurice, another photographer. Shoot wide, stay calm, there will be time to sort out the shutter speed. Above all, take it all in. It does last longer than you expect. Happy new year, 2023.
The second Sunday in January sees the annual blessing of the Thames. Clergy and congregation from St Magnus the Martyr and Southwark Cathedral dodge downpours as they file across London Bridge to meet in the middle. Religious scripts are used to keep heads dry, dogs huddle into armpits and a biodegradable cross is hurled into the river. The ceremony began only two decades ago and aside from the mobile phones and the dominating skyscrapers, it looks like an early 60s film set.
Clergy and congregations from St Magnus the Martyr and Southwark Cathedral meet in the middle of London Bridge for the annual blessing of the River Thames service. Prayers are read for lost lives and people working on the river and a wooden cross is cast into the water.
“Water is both live-giving and yet can be life-threatening,” Andrew Nunn, dean of Southwark, tells me. “Londoners live with both aspects of the Thames. Walking alongside the river, investigating the foreshore, navigating its waters, all give great joy. Yet its dark depths can prove fatally attractive. We must hold the river and its waters in respect.”
Wonderful red-coated Odette, a steward from the cathedral, skilfully keeps the orders of service dry in a cardboard box and then we, both soaked, go to warm up with a hot chocolate in the cathedral cafe. I’ve known Odette for a few years but I didn’t know she survived the Marchioness disaster in 1989, when 51 people lost their lives.
Grab chains hang along the riverbank as a direct result of the disaster. “I was lucky,” she says. “Five of my dearest friends died. I’m living my life for all of them.”
Odette Penwarden, a volunteer at Southwark Cathedral and survivor of the Marchioness disaster, helping with the annual blessing of the River Thames ceremony on London Bridge.
Odette spends a lot of time sitting or walking by the river and appreciates its beauty. But there is a wariness now, and although she does occasionally get a Clipper, wouldn’t attend an event on the water. Only a few days later as I attend a very moving ceremony for the unveiling of a plaque to commemorate the life of the Thames hero Folajimi Olubunmi-Adewole, known as Jimi. He drowned in a selfless and courageous act of bravery, jumping into the turbulent river to try to rescue a woman struggling in the water. His plaque bears a photograph of his kind, warm face.
A plaque is installed in honour of the Bermondsey hero Folajimi Olubunmi-Adewole, who selflessly jumped into the Thames, at this spot, to try to save a drowning woman.
The river carries another life away on a cold, damp morning in November. John Watson, owner of Lot’s Ait boatyard, is given an extraordinary send off. His coffin, on his workboat, draped in beautiful autumn foliage from the riverbank, makes its final voyage around Lot’s Ait.
Family and friends line the bridge to Lot’s Ait as John Watson’s coffin is slowly sailed around the island on his work boat for the final time.
Johns partner, Angie, and his family kindly agree to my presence and a balcony provides a perfect overview, without intrusion. A cannon salute fires as John passes under the pedestrian bridge, one he’s crossed thousands of times. Flowers are thrown by the mourners, marinated with tears and even the trees seemed to be weeping. On my way home I stop to watch as two boats head out for sculling practice and the towers of Hammersmith Bridge frame a classic, late November sky. I know I witnessed something very precious today.
The annual river Thames Draw off between Richmond and Teddington occurs when Richmond Lock remains open to allow river water to flow out with the tides to the mouth of the Thames – giving time for maintenance of the lock, weirs and sluices.
I also witnessed the annual, but little-known Thames Draw Off. Every year, the weirs are lifted for a few weeks, between Richmond and Teddington lock to allow the Port of London Authority (PLA) access for essential maintenance. It’s as if someone has pulled the plug as the river finds its natural level, and flows out eastwards towards the sea. The PLA marks the date with a walk from Richmond to Ham.
High tide means some of us get stranded in the White Cross pub, and a schoolboy, cycling home soaks his shoes, seemingly careless to the telling off he’ll no doubt get at home.
A schoolboy moments before his feet got soaked as he defiantly cycled through the high tide in Richmond.
It makes me think what a disaster it would be if we didn’t have the Thames Barrier. I’d watched the annual test there in October, amused by Instagram messages from upriver mudlarks wondering what the hell was going on with the tide. It is a monumental structure, built across a 520-metre stretch of river, protecting 1.25 million people.
Once a year, the Environment Agency holds a full tide test closure of the Thames Barrier. The gates rotate 90 degrees into the fully closed defence position, stopping the tide from entering London.
When the gates are raised, they are as tall as a five-storey building. The test run creates white water from a small gap at the bottom of the barrier and birds go crazy feeding on the small fish. Alan aka Flood Floodcaster, is laid back for a man with such responsibility but also incredibly reassuring. “When I last checked all the switches were working”.
The Thames disappears again, twice, in such freezing and dense fog that the mayor of London, Sadiq Khan, activates the severe weather emergency protocol for the third time this winter. I consider photographing Wapping in black and white, but it would look exactly the same in colour. It’s my favourite part of the river, the very definition of Dickensian.
Monochrome morning fog over the River Thames at Hermitage Community Moorings, Wapping.
Directly across the river in Rotherhithe, Dr Salter’s cat crouches in frost and two school kids snog under a towel. I didn’t get a card on Valentine’s Day but that’s not why I think it’s the tackiest date ever invented. Watching it play out on the tackiest bridge in London, Westminster, seems appropriate. Red helium balloons make my heart sink, the Metropolitan police are stopping scammers and an underpass has a loved-up queue waiting their turn to frame Big Ben.
Valentine’s Day balloons for sale on Westminster Bridge.
Six people queued to take this famous view of Westminster Bridge and Big Ben.
Catching the dawn at 8am on the Isle of Grain is almost a lie-in. A mere hour drive from my home, in Bermondsey. It’s the most easterly point of the Hoo peninsula, in a time warp I’d quite like to inhabit.
The tide runs in and out at an astonishing speed at the mouth of the River Medway on the Isle of Grain. It’s easy to get cut off if you have walked across the causeway to Grain Tower.
Grain Tower is easily accessible at low tide but do make sure you know the tide times. It was only because, in haste to catch the sunrise, I’d left my waterproof boots in the car, that I didn’t venture further along its brick causeway.
An indistinct tinkling noise becomes louder and within minutes the causeway is covered. I think about my American friends, who spent the night there in July. It sounded tough. One forgot his sleeping bag. We’ve camped at the top of the Golden Gate Bridge together. Far more preferable. If slightly more terrifying. One kindly sent this: “The rising tide of the cold grey water was slowly separating me, and dozens of others from land. I stood atop an old stone fort gazing on the vast empty horizon where small steel scaffolds of the Channel forts punctuated the vast unwelcoming sea. I would spend the next eight hours entrapped in granite history.” I need to up my game in attempts at writing.
Martin’s village shop in Cliffe is a gem. All the essentials, newspapers, cash only in a wooden till, and no budging on my request to take photos. I hope the local celebrity, Jools Holland, buys his milk there, still wearing his slippers. It’s the only place I’d shop. Mead Wall (honestly) leads to the river through scenery so mesmerising yet hauntingly desolate I leave a message of my whereabouts for my friends in case I’m never seen again. The potholes are deep enough for a baby hippo to wallow in.
On his night hunt, a fox makes its way across RSPB Cliffe Pools in the the Hoo peninsula in Kent.
Cows, horses and sheep quietly graze against the industrial backdrop of the London Gateway. A fox intently traverses a raised track through an RSPB pool. It’s easy to believe that Pip encountered Magwitch near here. I feel like the sun was going down on a Kentish Serengeti.
Visible across the estuary is low-lying Canvey Island. The long, blue painted seawall almost merges into sea and sky. In January the sun rises and sets over the sea and as long it’s not lashing a gale, one of the many commemorative benches makes a fine place to sit and ponder. Its quirky old-fashioned charm makes me wish I’d visited at the height of summer. I will return.
There is a dramatic industrial backdrop of London Gateway on the walk from Benfleet to Leigh-on-Sea.
On a stunning cycle ride from Benfleet to Leigh-on-Sea I meet Peter, a milkman, walking Bella and Jess. “This is a lovely area to live with a lot of history and beautiful walks,” he tells me. “We have got the River Thames on our doorstep, which even with all the oil refineries around is still a beautiful area. I enjoy walking from Leigh train station to Benfleet. Hadleigh castle on the right and a nature reserve on the other side. It’s so peaceful.”
Serendipity plays its part in perfect timing to visit Two Tree Island in Essex, a place that not only sounds tropical but boasts sunsets to match.
Steve making his video blog Losing Faith for his YouTube Channel on Two Tree Island.
I prefer to watch a sunset rather than shoot one but I can’t resist and as I wait, a motorbike pulls up and its driver begins making a vlog. I overhear everything, and when he’s finished, I ask: “Do you need a hug?” He does and is happy to be included in this project.
It’s a long story, he’s due to be a dad, again, but in a relationship that seems over. He often comes to this place when he’s trying to fathom something out. Making his video, Losing Faith, the Thames is his audience. We chat for so long his motorbike battery dies, but somehow, we manage to push, and jump start it. My hands are so cold I struggle to unlock my bike, and it’s so dark that Steve guides me along the dirt track by his bike lights to the main road. He’s had lovely news since. Welcome little new person. I hope he’ll love the river as much as we do.
• The headline and text of this article were amended on 7 April 2023 because an earlier version, referring to an image of a fox making its way across the RSPB’s Cliffe Pools nature reserve on the Hoo peninsula, was likened it to “an Essex Serengeti”. The reserve is in Kent.
