RIP The Big Smoke

It was a few weeks back that a heavy-hearted e-mail came thudding into my inbox from Peter Watts, the visionary editor of Time Out's Big Smoke, harbingering the news that the section was to be axed from the magazine. And this week it has finally come to pass: the Big Smoke has dissipated into the early autumn air and will now exist only in our hearts and memories (and on the internet), which also sadly means that Stall Stories shall no longer exist in printed form. In a strange piece of reverse symmetry, the final column to appear (recalling the legend of how the toilets in Kensington Gardens were built as a memorial to Prince Albert) was, I believe, the first one I ever wrote.

But the adventure is far from over. As with the Big Smoke, I intend to keep Stall Stories alive here on the internet, and to continue uncovering the hidden histories of London's public conveniences. As long as the capital's toilets have stories to tell, I shall keep on telling them...

Baker Street, W1

Originally Published in Time Out London, Aug 20-26 2009

On a road made famous by Sherlock Holmes it is fitting that even the public toilets on Baker Street have links with the great detective, as recently discovered papers reveal that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle originally planned to have Holmes pondering complicated cases whilst sitting on the lavatory rather than smoking the pipe that would become his trademark. It was not until friends suggested the public would not take to a detective who spent his time grunting and straining on the toilet that Conan Doyle reluctantly rewrote the story.

     The nearby public toilets did, however, appear in two Holmes tales: in the first, Holmes is pursuing Professor Moriarty only for him to vanish into thin air. Puzzled, Holmes returns to his flat, unaware that his nemesis is hiding in the toilets directly underneath him, crouched between the hand dryer and the condom machine. In the second, Dr Watson is caught short as he and Holmes are on their way to Scotland Yard and uses the toilet whilst Holmes waits impatiently outside, spending the rest of their journey complaining that he should have gone before they left the flat. The toilets' appearance in these stories has made them a favourite of Holmes enthusiasts ever since.

Bishop's Park, SW6

Originally Published in Time Out London, August 13-19 2009

This toilet earned its place in cinema history when it was used during the filming of the 1976 horror classic The Omen; the scene in question featured a priest running through the park as he is pursued by Satan but after several takes the director became concerned that the actor playing the priest was failing to convey the level of fear expected of someone being hounded by Beelzebub. One of the crew members, however, noticed the nearby toilet and had an idea: he told the actor to have a rest before the next take, gave him a large pot of coffee and led him to a trailer, telling him he would be called for in half an hour, then locked him inside.

     Four hours later the cameras were set up and the trailer (which had no toilet) was unlocked; moments later the unfortunate actor burst out of the door and raced to the toilet in a blind panic, all of which was captured on film, and to this day film fans are largely unaware that the priest’s terrified expression, apparently one of someone in mortal fear of the Dark Lord, is in fact that of a man with a almost uncontrollable need to relieve himself.

Leicester Square, WC2H

Despite its location opposite a cinema famous for film premieres, this toilet is perhaps best known for its connections to the theatrical world as the result of an incident that took place in 1955 during the first English production of Samuel Becket’s Waiting for Godot at the nearby Arts Theatre. Two days before it was due to open, a major problem became apparent: the set designer had mistakenly been given a copy of the play in its original French and, not understanding it, assumed from the title, Un Attendant Godot, that it was about two toilet attendants so constructed on stage an elaborate copy of the nearest public lavatories.

When the mistake came to light an emergency meeting was held, during which Becket offered to write several new, toilet-specific scenes, but it was decided that it was too late to make any major changes so the stage was stripped almost bare and the production went ahead with hardly any props or scenery. The audience and critics, however, were deeply impressed with the way the minimalist set reflected the play’s lyrical spareness and themes of emptiness; the production was hailed as one of the best of its time, and the play’s status as a 20th century classic was assured.

London Bridge, SE1

Originally Published in Time Out London, August 6-12, 2009

In recent years an argument has raged between historians regarding who invented the flushing toilet, with some attributing it to Thomas Crapper and some arguing that it was actually invented by his great rival, Sir Henry Shitter. Others, however, say the credit should in fact go to Dick Whittington, the four-time Lord Mayor of London, who had the capital's first ever public toilet built on London Bridge in 1421 and which was said to have employed a primitive mechanism that used the Thames to flush away waste.

     The Whittington Longhouse, as it became known, was a 128-seat facility but, like so much of what we known about Whittington, the exact truth has long since been obscured by centuries of pantomime-related myth. For example, in the mid 1950s some academics claimed that not only was the flushing toilet invented by Whittington but that the litter tray was invented by his famous talking cat, although others argued that the litter tray was a much later invention, and also that the cat's linguistic abilities had been greatly exaggerated over the years. Nonetheless, whilst London's first public toilet is no longer there, its creation stands in testimony to the vital role that Whittington played in the history of London's public conveniences.