St Pancras regains the Gothic glamour
It’s been an awfully long time since British rail travel has been what you’d call alluring. Sleazy, filthy, cramped – maybe. But sophisticated, romantic, with a dash of Agatha Christie, a sparkle of Trevor Howard, finished off with an eccentric sprinkle of John Betjeman? Any relationship between the words “British trains” and “glamour” is long estranged.
But then there is St Pancras. I’d forgotten what it was like. As long as I’ve been alive the station’s famously phantasmagoric architecture has been veiled, cobwebbed, caked in soot and neglect. George Gilbert Scott’s gargantuan Midland Hotel out front has been derelict since I was in short trousers, haunting the Euston Road with its Gormenghast gloom and purposeless air. The hotel and the station werevictoriously snatched from British Rail’s demolition ball in the 1960s with the help of that great railway enthusiast Betjeman (unlike Euston down the road), but, for decades since, that victory has turned out to be a pyrrhic one.
Read the full article the Times here.
***
But then there is St Pancras. I’d forgotten what it was like. As long as I’ve been alive the station’s famously phantasmagoric architecture has been veiled, cobwebbed, caked in soot and neglect. George Gilbert Scott’s gargantuan Midland Hotel out front has been derelict since I was in short trousers, haunting the Euston Road with its Gormenghast gloom and purposeless air. The hotel and the station werevictoriously snatched from British Rail’s demolition ball in the 1960s with the help of that great railway enthusiast Betjeman (unlike Euston down the road), but, for decades since, that victory has turned out to be a pyrrhic one.
Read the full article the Times here.
***
posted by Ronnie Rocket @ 9:51 AM
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