Misty St Denys morning

A cold, damp blanket of fog hung over Southampton on 11 January. As I crossed Cobden Bridge, I heard the haunting sound of distant fog horns and watched a lone gull circling. It felt as if he and I were alone on the river. Of course, we were far from alone, but walking in the fog imparts a feeling of splendid isolation. The water hanging in the air muffles the hum of traffic, and fellow travellers appear, like spectres out of the gloom, then disappear again as soon as they’ve passed. I’d planned to walk along the river, but the lack of visibility made me change my mind. Instead, I thought I might check out a few locations from my work in progress. St Denys was a key feature, so I walked across the bridge.

Once, this was my walk to work, so I’ve come this way countless times in all weathers. I was unlikely to see anything new, but even familiar sights can sometimes trigger ideas. The houses on the riverbanks were cloaked in fog, and the little boats didn’t look as enticing as usual. Even the blue of Dyer’s Boatyard looked grey. Surprisingly, the boatyard has been there longer than the current bridge. The Dyer Brothers opened their first boatyard in 1856 near Northam Bridge. They built up a successful business, building and hiring rowing skiffs. In 1903, when the new Southampton to London railway line was built, they were forced to move to their current location. As tastes changed and rowing skiffs became less popular, they added pontoons, and created a small marina offering moorings and boat repairs.

The Dyer family still own the boatyard, and they’re still going strong today. In fact, Dyer’s may be the oldest boatyard in Southampton. Catching a glimpse of the big blue boat shed always made me smile on my walks to work. I’ve always loved its slightly dilapidated look, and it became the inspiration for Bert Porter’s boat shed in Plagued and Land Fit For Heroes, even though the setting was Shamrock Quay rather than St Denys.

Without really thinking about where I was going, I let my feet take me onto Priory Road. For a while, I walked mindlessly, thinking about the story I was in the middle of writing and not really taking any notice of my surroundings. Then I spotted a strange thing. A mass of pigeons had gathered on one particular section of the terrace roof near the railway bridge. As I watched, more pigeons joined the throng. I couldn’t help wondering what was so enticing about that particular bit of roof, as all the other roofs were pigeon free. I suppose I’ll never know the answer.

A while ago, I told the story of Norman Brewer and his friend Brian Vaughan rescuing a mother and child from a bombed house during the Southampton blitz. These modern terraces are built where the bombed houses would have been, so I imagine they were built to replace them.

Most of the houses in Priory Road are much older. The street is a strange mixture of large villas and humble cottages. A look at the old OS Maps tells me that most of them have been there since at least the 1890s. Horseshoe Bridge first appears on the 1910 map. Before then, there was a little stretch of shore between the end of Ivy Road and Adelaide Road. I wonder how the people living opposite felt about losing their river view?

There was also a boatyard, roughly where the Millennium Flats are today. It was called the Belsize Boatyard, and I planned to feature it in my work in progress. From what little information I can find, it was more scrap yard than boat yard, but, as I’m writing fiction, I suppose I can be allowed a little poetic licence.

There is nothing left of the Belsize Boatyard, so I contented myself with a photograph of the Junction Inn instead. This was the pub where Thomas, Joe and Bert drank in Plagued. I’m told the internal fixtures havent changed much since those days, although I’ve never been inside myself. It was built in the 1860s on the corner of Priory Road and Adelaide Road, and was originally called the Wareham Arms. In around 1878, the name was changed to the Junction Inn, probably because the nearby railway station is the junction of the London to Weymouth line and the Portsmouth line. There have been a few recent changes of ownership, but it is still a pub today. One of these days, I might even have a drink there.

Leaving the Junction Inn behind, I continued on to Horseshoe Bridge. The fog still hadn’t lifted, and when I looked out over the river, there was nothing much to see. At this point, I was tempted to abandon my walk and head back along the boardwalk towards home. There are some advantages to walking in the fog, but stunning river views are not one of them.

I dithered at the top of the slope. The cycleway sign seemed to be pointing out my options, but none of them was appealing. In the end, I decided to ignore the sign and keep going forwards. Horseshoe Bridge was set to feature in my work in progress, so maybe standing on it would inspire me?

As bridges go, it isn’t the prettiest, although I suppose there is a certain charm to the criss-cross struts and all those domed rivets. As a feat of engineering, it is something to be admired, even if it isn’t aesthetically pleasing. Today there were flowers tied to the middle of the bridge, probably a tribute to the young man whose body was found on the tracks below at the end of December. Looking down at the rails, I wondered how the unfortunate young man came to be there and why. The railway line is fenced off on both sides, so he can hardly have been taking a short cut.

A train came rumbling below, so I stayed a little longer to watch it. It was a long goods train filled with containers, probably heading for the docks. An interminable number of containers had passed beneath me, and I was thinking about moving again, when I saw a dim light coming towards me through the fog. It took a moment or two to work out that it was a train. This is a busy stretch of line.

Priory Road initially led directly to Dukes Road. When the railway came, the two were divided by a level crossing and a small footbridge. As far as I can tell by looking at the maps, it was similar to the arrangment at Mount Pleasant. As this route connected St Denys with Bevois Valley, the advent of the motorcar must have made it a busy crossing. I imagine this was why the road bridge was built.

Until the 1980s, Dukes Road remained much as it always had, terraced houses with a scrap yard and the ubiquitous pub on the corner. The pub was called the Waterloo Arms, and it first opened its doors in 1876. In the 1960s, the fortunes of the pub and the residents of Dukes Road changed. Southampton Council decided to build an extension to the M27. Twenty years of arguments, consultations and uncertainty for the residents followed. Eventually, the plans were downgraded, and the A335 was finally built. It was named Thomas Lewis Way after Tommy Lewis, Southampton’s first Labour Councillor. The houses of Dukes Road, along with many others along the route between Bevois Valley and Swaythling, were subject to compulsory purchase orders and demolished. The road opened in 1989. The Waterloo Arms limped on until 1992.

Today there is little left of Dukes Road. There are no houses and not much in the way of road. In fact, all that remains is a handful of small businesses, the name and a few memories. It seems a sad end to what was a typical working-class street. I can’t help wondering what Tommy Lewis, the son of a dock labourer from St Mary’s Street and a staunch supporter of the working classes, would make of it?

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