By George Berger.
THE ORPINGTON-VICTORIA LINE
#5 / SHORTLANDS
Being the fifth in a series of psychogeographical memories of the trainline that took me from nowhere & nothing to somewhere and …something.
I came straight up from nowhere, I’m not going straight back there.
* * *
When I was at school, as a result of some minor misdemeanor, I was told to write an essay about the inside of a ping pong ball. That’s the first thought that comes up when it comes to writing about Shortlands.
Because Shortlands isn’t really a place so much as a gap betwixt Bromley and Beckenham. The geographical inside of a ping pong ball. The gap between the gaps.
Is it immoral or even just a bit crap to copy & paste from Wikipedia? I suppose it is, but — fuck it — I’m going to do it anyway. The most interesting things about Shortlands according to wiki:
“The earliest known settlement in the area was an Iron Age hillfort at Toots Wood, where traces of a Roman Camp and pottery has also been found.
Historically, Shortlands was known as Clay Hill. In medieval times the areas consisted of sets of long and short fields, called Longelonds and Shortelonds, the latter ultimately giving its name to Shortlands House (later converted into a hotel, and now a part of Bishop Challoner School) which was built at the start of the 18th century. The house with its extensive farmland was acquired in 1848 by a railway magnate William Wilkinson, who also built several cottages for his farm labourers. Housing development began in the 1860s with the sale of the Shortlands House estate, spurred by the opening of Shortlands railway station in 1858. The housing along Westmoreland Road largely dates to the 1880s, with further development occurring in the 20th century.”
Monumentally boring stuff, eh? Somebody actually bothered to write that. Like I’m actually bothering to write this. About Shortlands. Basically a gap with a station to give the illusion of a place. People live there because of the station, fulfilling the cliché that the best thing about the place is the road (or in this case the train) out of there. Even for the residents.
When I posted on Facebook about a previous station article, I was congratulated about finding something to write about a perceived boring place. “Wait until Shortlands!” I replied.
Helpful suggestions came in – there’s a stream! Someone has a large chess set in their front garden! The Shortlands Tavern was apparently a great pub that various friends frequented, all somehow completely without my knowledge of it even existing. Max Splodge used to drink in there! Hmmm…
The trainline coming into Shortlands also featured in the intro to the televised series of the Buddha of Suburbia. I don’t think that’s even on YouTube so you’ll have to take my word. You’re not missing much.
(I remember the chess set in the garden though, that was actually brilliant. It’s the exception that proves the rule)
It’s surely a failure of town planning to leave a sprawl of suburb with no redeeming features whatsoever. It’s not even bad, just featureless. A face without eyes, nose or a mouth. A book with no text or pictures. Or cover. A road of semi-detacheds on a permanent loop, like a merry go round you can never get off. With the music playing louder and louder until your ears start bleeding, and the attendant grinning maniacally like he’s about to stab you to death with a rolled up copy of the Daily Mail.
Then you notice the kid on the horse in front is Tristram from George & Mildred. He’s turning round and smiling at you in a way that somehow manages to be more nightmarish than the Daily Mail stabber. His eyes go demon-red as he slowly turns smiling towards the semi-detacheds. The houses all have faces and they’re all laughing insanely at the existential pointlessness of it all. Tristram nods approvingly and you realise he’s actually the antichrist and this is what hell looks like. The pressure in your head makes it feel like it’s going to burst. And it is. Not long now. The music gets even louder. You may have to go out and commit mass-murder just to cleanse your soul. You’re actually begging the Daily Mail stabber to put you out of your misery…
Remember George & Mildred? The spin off from Man About The House? Well, George Roper actor Brian Murphy lives in Shortlands. Or did for a long time anyway. I’ve actually seen him a couple of times on the train, which ties in nicely with the theme of these articles. This was Shortlands’ claim to fame.
OK that’s the final straw clutched at. The outer echelons of the inside of a ping pong ball explored and mapped for future psychonauts. The psychogeography of an empty space.
I’ve struggled for weeks with guilt and doubt over writing this, like this. Been haunted by thoughts that I should be more positive, dig deeper and pore for hours over obscure websites that may furnish me with something interesting to say about Shortlands. I really have (thought about it, not done it). That something feels intrinsically wrong with the disrespect I’m paying an area, and by extension its inhabitants.
But, once more, fuck it…
Goodbye Shortlands. I would say it was fun, but it wasn’t.
An archive of all the articles in this series can be found here.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
George Berger has resumed this 3:AM column after a 15 year hiatus. He’s written the official biographies of Crass and The Levellers, a book on mindfulness and various other books that can be found here. He’s also the singer in Flowers in the Dustbin. He’s recently finished his memoirs In Case Of Dementia, Break Glass.
