It is a curious thing that, often when you recall events or places from the past, the sun always seems to be shining. Yet, when I look back at events at London Yard (or Badcock's as everyone called it then) it always appears to my mind to be shrouded in heavy river mists, or, wet, or a combination of these - always accompanied by a chill, biting wind. London Yard was obviously a place I did not like!

I recall London Yard from the dying days of the Second World War when I used to sail past, as a barge boy, aboard one of the Thames Sailing Barges which used to work the river and East Coast ports then. At the time many of the river wharves, most of them badly damaged from the Blitz, were getting back to normal working, and London Yard was one.

Throughout the war I believe, parts of the Mulberry Harbour installation that proved so crucial in the D Day landings were constructed at London Yard, and launched, like great square floating blocks, from the slipway and transported down river by tugs. But, from my memory, I only recall seeing two Motor Torpedo Boats on the slipways being repaired, and after they had gone, barges being on the slipway or foreshore being repaired or repainted.

The barges (or, properly, lighters) would be taken in from the "barge roads", great rafts of barges moored (twenty or thirty of them), in the river just by London Yard. On occasions, when it was slack time for us, the Guv'nor would send me down to Badcock's to check on the progress on one of the many barges he owned - I hated the job!

Most of the land at London Yard sloped gently towards the river with a steeper slope at the foreshore. I think there were two slipways running up the slope into the great cavernous building, rather like aircraft hangers, which covered most of the wharf. The roof was supported by iron girders on which a variety of winches or mobile cranes were suspended - their chains and cables hanging down like garlands at a New Years Eve party. Over the slipways two gantries carried heavy duty mobile cranes, whilst, at the base of each slipway, a powerful hauling hoist was bolted down, its chains, when fixed to the barge, would winch it up the slipway into position for the men to work on it.

The ground of London Yard always seemed full of tar, pitch, greases, red lead paint, and other muck. There was a constant clattering of chains, hammering, a whirring of the overhead cranes, flashes from the welding rods, and great showers of sparks from the arc burners - and the language would have made any drill Sergeant Major blanche! And, always, that biting wind, blowing in the drizzle from the river! I really hated that place!

In the mid-sixties, Badcock's closed down, and London Yard fell silent. The Greater London Council had proposals for building housing on the site, but, it was discovered that the land was heavily polluted, and the scheme was held up until the GLC could get enough money together to clear the area. We all know now the outcome of that!

I went back to London Yard on a number of occasions in the mid-seventies. Once was to work with John Westfallen on his task to covert a dumb barge (a barge without a motor) into a floating youth club. Johnny Westfallen, a lighterman, believed that the youngsters would row the barge up and down the river, as thousands of apprentice watermen and lightermen had to do (and still do today), and he wanted to keep that tradition alive. The barge is rowed by thirty foot long oars, a back-breaking, heart-bursting task, over a set distance, and, we found, when the barge was ready, that the youngsters on board, did row the barge in the same way as we had had to do in our youth.

But, before we got the barge ready, we had to scull the thing from its moorings at Folly Wall and bring it to the slipway at London Yard. There, by using the oars, we held the barge in position until the high tide carried it up the slipway and onto the rollers we had laid earlier, so we pushed and tugged until it was clear of the tide. We didn't have permission of course to use the Yard, but, as most of us were watermen, lightermen, or dockers, we felt that we had a right to the land (many of us still do). We worked on the barge for about four weeks here, painting and repairing the plates, but, none of us felt happy in the Yard (perhaps it was too quiet, perhaps there were too may ghosts) and, eventually, we got a friendly tug skipper to tow the barge into West India Dock.

There is a postscript to this episode. After the barge was equipped (and named the "Westfallen J") we used to use the slipway and foreshore at London Yard to moor the craft and take on supplies and embark/disembark the youngsters. We had had several successful trips up and down the river when Johnny got the crazy idea of rowing the thing across the channel to France! Most rivermen thought he was mad, but wished him well. Then, one day, returning from a trip up river, we were shooting Chelsea Bridge, when a man leaned over and shouted, "Are you the guy who’s taking this to France?" "Yes", shouted back Johnny, clearly expecting an awe-struck, praising compliment. "Silly bastard", said the man emphatically and walked away. We had to stop Johnny from jumping from the barge to "give that geezer a few slaps", and once he calmed down, we laughed all the way home.

Another time I went back to London Yard, again with John Westfallen, was in 1976 when we were working on a proposal to retain the foreshore and slipway for community use, against a then GLC plan simply to build a river wall right across the front. The plans we had, which I worked on with a group of community architects and set up a community group to carry them through, was for a boat repair workshop run as a co-operative; a marina for small craft; a boat house, and a community centre to be jointly used by the Samuda and London Yard Estates, (we fancifully called the scheme "Bermuda for Samuda"). By 1979 we had actually got the GLC to agree that they would endorse our plans, but, by 1980, and the advent of the London Docklands Development Corporation, the land was taken from the public sector and sold by the LDDC (at a discount price which represented a subsidy of over £1 million) to a private developer. Sadly, John Westfallen did not live to battle on. After years of postponing a vital heart operation so that he could continue his youth barge dream, he collapsed in his Samuda Estate home and died at the age of 42. Fortunately, the LDDC did keep the notion of the slipway and foreshore as a public open space, but we lost everything else, and London Yard turned its back on its, and the Island's past, and became a little bit of Holland on the bank of the once mighty River Thames.

22 January 1996