About where this old parish boundary marker is sited there once stood a gatehouse, exacting a toll for the use of the road across the park of Haringeye, or Hornsey that was, at the time, the property of the Bishops of London, bounded by hedges and accessed via a gate. This was the only route, so drovers and travellers going to and from London needed to pass by here. The toll collection task was leased out by the Bishops of London whose deer hunting estate it was. The package often included a messuage and a tenement, or a hermitage, along with pasturage in the park for the tax collector's animals.
One tale from the gatehouse tells of a vicar from St Pancras along with many of his parishioners 'beating the bounds', an ancient custom where folk went about checking their parish boundaries, doing good, praying for protection and blessings as they walked. Enroute, they came to blows with the hermit who held the lease for the collection of tolls. He accused them of trying to murder him with a paling from his orchard. He reported being so terrified he had to hide in St Michael's steeple to avoid their wrath. They, in turn, claimed they asked him courteously if they might pass, but that he would not allow it. So it all had to go to court to be resolved.
We chose to approach Highgate by a different route: the underground. Which interestingly, was also used, during the war as a bomb shelter. Our only toll would have been the uphill stair climb if the escalator had not been working today: luckily, it was. We came out at a great height and it was all rather charming, with a small village feel to it. Today, there is no gatehouse, only a pub, built behind the marker where the gate house once stood. The village is called Highgate, after the high gates that once used to protect the Bishop's hunting grounds; the village being at the north eastern edge of Hampstead Heath.
At The Woodman we ordered a Ploughman's lunch; which is becoming a lunch favourite for us. The amazing decor in the ladies loos was a luxury we had not anticipated: probably the smartest we have come across to date; and, no doubt, an indication of the deep pockets of many of the villagers.
Part of the hermit's job was to care for the road, and to accomplish this task, he dug gravel from a spot close by for repairs. The hole eventually became deep enough to be utilised as a pond and gave its name to the little 'green' at the heart of the village, called Pond Square, though the pond has long gone. About this square, and within a tiny 5 minute radius, much of Highgate village life has evolved over time. Here, for example, in 1722, a benevolent local named Edward Pauncfort, Esq, at his own expense, tore down six decayed almshouses and in their stead built twelve homes for Charity girls of the village.
Right next door is a school house. We walked to the front to learn its name: the Highgate School, with its own Chapel, right next door. A school has been on this site since 1565, thanks to a royal charter from Elizabeth 1, allowing one of her knights, Roger Cholmeley, Knight at Highgate, the right to establish a Free Grammar School here. Graduates of the school still call themselves Old Cholmelians, pronounced Chumleeans. Which is all very chummy but not exactly a charity school, which is how the school started out in truth. Today, school fees come in at around £20,000 per year, per child: so not all villagers could afford to send their children here: just the select few. Although, it is by no means a small school so must have pupils aplenty.
There are a few blue plaques with Samuel Taylor Coleridge's name on them in the village. He became quite a local figure around here after he was recommended to Dr James Gillman of Highgate, seeking help to overcome his opium addiction. His friend's book, Confessions of an English Opium Eater, was all about him. Coleridge moved in and virtually never left the Gillman family for the rest of his life. The building where he used to obtain his prescriptions, and at times his illicit drugs, is still in the village, albeit not a pharmacy these days. Coleridge became such a local that he was eventually buried in the school chapel grounds, though his grave was later moved down the road a few dozen metres to St Michael's, where the early hermit hid in the tall steeple, away from the clutches of the vicar and his men in their murderous mood. Charming houses adorn the village and the view down the hill to London was one that, even on his foggiest days, Coleridge might well have enjoyed from a seat in Pond Square.
On the route downhill, we came across a row of large terraced homes with a small green park in front of one of them heavily decorated with cards, candles, letters, photos and mementos: remembering George Michael, who died here last December. Four months have since gone, but the mourning has not stopped. In the short time we were there a steady stream of visitors came into the tiny park to pay their respects, to tidy up, or to add something new. All were very sombre.
This little street, like a branch off the main downhill route, is packed with homes of celebrities. Probably a sign of the price. Another blue plaque on one tells us that Coleridge died here, after moving to this home with the Gillman's after leaving their Pond Square house. It was also the home of the writer, J B Priestley. It then became home to the model, Kate Moss, and her husband.
The house between that and George Michael's was recently bought by Jamie Oliver as his London home for his family. To accompany their large country pile in Essex. This one set them back some £10 million. Which seems a lot for what looks on the outside like a 4-up 4-down terraced house, but that hides the Tardis that it really is: having 8 bedrooms, large reception rooms and a long extensive garden that rolls on forever down the back yard. Fun for the kids which this front park would not be.
Further along the downhill street, hidden behind tall trees and fences is The Lawns, a sleek modern construction that has won architectural accolades aplenty. Ironically, the owner is notorious for registering his objection to the next door neighbour's proposal for a futuristic extension to his house. Though, it looks like he may have lost that objection: there are futuristic extensions aplenty there. Such houses look more than a little odd in this relatively historic neighbourhood.
Not as odd as Witanhurst will look once it is completed, across the road and a little further along. Though it may never be seen, so fenced and guarded it is. Witanhurst, already a massive place, has been bought by a Russian oligarch seeking to park his money other than in Moscow where he, ofttimes, lives in a gated community. It has been undergoing construction to remodel it since 2008 so building dust has been a bother long enough, some of the locals think. Renovations include an entire subterranean section in front of the house and the orangery, housing a pool, a gym, a two tiered cinema, and car storage for dozens of vehicles, among many other much needed luxuries. Expenditure is roughly estimated to be in the vicinity of £2 million a week at the moment. It is anticipated that the place will be worth around £300 million once it is completed. More expensive than Buckingham Palace.
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