I’d not been to Charlton lido since 2010 when I wrote about that ravaged Kentish* beauty for the Londonist site. It’s now much more open and the water warm though has, unlike other lidos, a kind of utilitarian sporty focus and the speedway walzter style exercise bikes set up for spin where the caff should be is saddening. Great to see it used and really appreciated the warm swim and friendly staff.
Reason for trip to Hornfair Park was that one of the stories I’m working on, Dogter Jeckyll and Mr Hound, based on the Marshall and Millions incident in Limehouse, is set there and I wanted a look at the old Blue Cross animal cemetery. That’s sorta tucked away to the right as you enter from Shooters Hill and wasn’t quite what I expected. I wasn’t imagining (and don’t in the story) a sort of Stephen King style wild place but more the jumble that is the one in Kensington Gardens. It’s neither but rather a mostly concrete space interspersed by original gravestones, ‘Jimmy Boy 1936’ or ‘Bonnie 1943’.
That whole side of the park is the most attractive bit with the fountain (mot on when I went) s, play areas, paddling pool and, as you enter further, tennis courts. Beyond that it loses it’s focus in a treeless, football pitch expanse only relieved by the BMX track at the end and loved by dogwalkers. So I guess it’s as good a location as any for the story. Also at the BMX end are the (green) links to the London greenlink walk with routes to Woolwich Common and Charlton Park. The latter accessible via a short strip of housing estate.
I used the word strip there as a semi pun for one thing Hornfair Park lacks is any sense of sexuality or debauchery for which the former was named. It’s not like I was expecting the humping dunes of Fire Island, after all it is February on a windy hill in London, but I can’t help feeling some more shrubbery might encourage people a little bit/ the wildlife too come to that. Should probably gone on to nearby Maryon past Charlton Park to that bit of grass Antonini painted green in Blow Up.
*I know it’s not Kent. I’ve atoned for that by walking around south east London writers in apologetic fashion already.
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