How did the tube lines get their colours?

The original Harry Beck map, from 1933. The artistry astounds. Image: Clarksbury Tube Map Archive

What if the Central line were blue? Or the Piccadilly was a lurid yellow?

Just for fun, let’s make the Metropolitan line red, too. Spice things up a bit.

If you’re not screaming in anguish by this point, I suggest you shut your laptop and continue with your day.

But if you are, it’s a vital question. Each tube line has its own colour; clear, defined, immutable.

So how did the tube lines get their colours?

The Beck Revolution

Harry Beck is the undisputed master of the tube map. In 1933 he changed the transport world – and, arguably, the design world, too – with his geometrically laid out map of the London Underground network.

Whereas all previous maps had been geographical representations of London, with the lines drawn between the stations actual locations, Beck understood that the above-surface geography cluttered the picture, providing the transport with unnecessary information that needlessly complicated a journey.

So he just eradicated it. Instead, he designed a clean, clear, crisp map. Each line charted a course of straight lines wherever possible, with interchanges between lines shown as hollow geometric diamonds, and the snaking of the Thames providing the only meaningful geographical marker.

The principles that guided his first map still govern the Underground network today, and have been adopted (often very closely) by almost every urban transport network in the world.

Image: TfL.

Much of his map is familiar to us, particularly in terms of colours and the basis of the network, which was reasonably well established by the 1930s.

The Metropolitan line floats off into the top left hand corner of the map in a deep purple, as it does today. The District line dominates the western stretch of the River Thames in its snaking green, and pushes out east from Whitechapel into the ether.

The Northern line straddles central London, with its two branches through Bank and Charing Cross in the black that we still use today. The Piccadilly runs in a deep blue U-shape from South Harrow to Cockfosters.

But other aspects are less familiar.

The Central line is a Trump-esque orange, and the Bakerloo, running all the way to Watford Junction, is in Central line red.

Weird, huh?

But the offensively wrong colours didn’t last long. By 1938, the Central line was in today’s red, and the Bakerloo line – the brown line – had taken on its right and proper hue.

Before introducing the lines that have been built or introduced since, however, it’s worth peering a little further back.

The earliest tube maps

One of the first tube maps you can find online these days is from 1908. And for today’s tube users, it is entirely horrifying.

The District line is still green, sure, and the Northern line (then only from South London to Euston via Bank) is black. Other than that, pretty much everything is wrong.

A 1908 geographical tube map. Image: Clarksbury Tube Map Archive.

The Charing Cross branch of today’s Northern line, from Charing Cross to Highgate and Golders Green, is a deep greyish blue, and today’s Piccadilly (from Hammersmith to Finsbury Park) is a putrid yellow.

The Metropolitan Railway is in red, and – most horrifyingly of all – the Central line is in Victoria line blue.

Weirdly, though, the Bakerloo (then running only from Edgware Road to Elephant and Castle) is brown. Despite the fact it would later stop being brown, for a bit.

Fixing the palette

The District line is the most colour-stable of them all. In every map I’ve seen – and that’s an awful lot of maps – it’s coloured green.

While there’s no set established historical reason for this, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that it’s one of the primary colours (of light, if not of paint), and therefore a good choice. Its also nicely emblematic of the leafy pastures of the pleasant west London suburbs from which it brought commuters to the centre of the gritty city.

The District line also has a lot of green on it. Though now only Turnham Green and Parsons Green survive, Fulham Broadway used to be called Walham Green. And with Chiswick Park, Wimbledon Park, Southfields, and Kew Gardens all along the line, it’s all pretty... green-sounding.

Scientific stuff.

The Metropolitan line has stayed resolutely purple since the first Beck map in 1933. It’s a similar colour in this rather overly artistic map from 1921.

A very art-deco looking tube, in 1921. Image: Clarksbury Tube Map Archive.

Again, there’s no historical decree as to why purple was the anointed hue, but many of the Metropolitan Railway’s locomotives – in its steam days – were painted purple. So it’s likely that the private railway company, as it was in those days, used purple as a company livery of sorts. This then got transferred over to the line when it became part of the wider London Underground network.

Plus, it contrasts pretty nicely with the green of the District line, which helps tell the two apart – especially as, in the early days of the underground, they spent a lot of time jostling against one another, both figuratively and literally.

The City and South London Railway was the first deep-level tube line to open, and was also the first electric railway in England, opened by the Prince of Wales (Edward VII) in 1890. The fact it was the deepest, darkest line seems as good an explanation as any for why today’s Northern line is black.


The Piccadilly line is also one of the oldest, which is why it was also gifted with a primary colour – blue. The 1920s seems to be when the Piccadilly and Central made the switch, with Piccadilly taking over a mid-blue that would later shift to our current dark blue, and Central occupying the hearty red we have today. Beck’s first map is a bit of a blip for the Central line.

The Circle line is an early entry to the map, and given its proximity to the Metropolitan and District lines was an obvious choice for yellow – it contrasts well with both, helping the visibility of the lines on the map, and making it much more intuitive for passengers.

As mentioned earlier, the Bakerloo flirted with various colours before settling on the brown. Perhaps that just made alliterative sense.

More interesting are the newer lines. Despite the fact that Queen Victoria’s favourite colour was almost certainly purple, the 60s-built line is a light blue. This, if you look at the other colours already in use, seems a logical distinction – but it did mean that the Piccadilly line’s darker hue had to be formalised as a darker blue, rather than the mid blue used in some of Beck’s maps.

The Jubilee line, carved out of a branch of the Bakerloo with an extension to Charing Cross in the 1970s, has the most definitive story behind its colour.

Originally intended to be called the Fleet line – as it was supposed to have connected north-west with south-east London over the subterranean River Fleet – the planned colour was a steely grey to make a clever pun on fleet, the river, and fleet, as in ships.

A 1985 map, showing the Jubilee line to Charing Cross. Image: Clarksbury Tube Map Archive

But when the Queen’s Silver Jubilee came around, and the Conservatives won the Greater London Council election of 1977, the line was renamed the Jubilee Line. The colour was accordingly adjusted – with just a few shades of lightening, it transformed from a steely, Labour, hardworking sort of grey to a bougie, Conservative, metro-liberal-elite sort of silver. Or something.

The last formal entry to the tube map, the Hammersmith & City line, came along in 1990 and rather aptly demonstrates the problem of having too many lines: it’s salmon pink.

But having said that, it works. It contrasts enough with the lines that it straddles from Barking to Hammersmith, and doesn’t really come into enough contact with the lines it might clash with – namely, the Central – for that to be a problem.

Essentially, the tube map is a hodge-podge of colours that accidentally fell into place over decades, many of them for no good reason, and are now so resolutely stuck that changing one would probably incite a revolution. 

So, there we go.

Jack May is a regular contributor to CityMetric and tweets as @JackO_May.

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How can we stop city breaks killing our cities?

This couple may look happy, but they’re destroying Barcelona. Image: Getty.

Can’t wait to pack your bags and head off on holiday again? It used to be that people would look forward to a long break in summer – but now tourists have got used to regular short breaks through the year. We love to jet off to the world’s glittering cities, even if only for a day or two. The trouble is, binge travelling may be killing the places we visit.

You may even have seen some “tourists go home” graffiti on your last trip, and it’s not hard to see why. Barcelona is a good example of how a city can groan under the weight of its popularity. It now has the busiest cruise port, and the second fastest growing airport in Europe. Walking through the Barcelona streets at peak season (which now never seems to end) flings you into a relentless stream of tourists. They fill the city’s hot spots in search of “authentic” tapas and sangria, and a bit of culture under the sun. The mayor has echoed residents’ concerns over the impact of tourism; a strategic plan has been put in place.

It is true though, that cities tend to start managing the impact of tourism only when it is already too late. It creeps up on them. Unlike visitors to purpose-built beach destinations and national parks, city-break tourists use the same infrastructure as the locals: existing systems start slowly to stretch at the seams. Business travellers, stag parties and museum visitors will all use existing leisure facilities.

‘Meet the friendly locals’, they said. Image: Sterling Ely/Flickrcreative commons.

Barcelona may only be the 59th largest city in the world, but it is the 12th most popular with international visitors. Compared to London or Paris, it is small, and tourism has spiked sharply since the 1992 Olympics rather than grown steadily as in other European favourites like Rome.

Growth is relentless. The UN World Tourism Organisation (UNWTO) even speaks about tourism as a right for all citizens, and citizens are increasingly exercising that right: from 1bn international travellers today, we will grow to 1.8bn by 2030, according to UNWTO forecasts.

Faced with this gathering storm, just who is tourism supposed to benefit? Travellers, cities, residents or the tourism industry?

Market forces

Managing the impact of tourism starts by changing the way destinations market themselves: once the tourists arrive, it’s too late. Tourism authorities need to understand that they are accountable to the city, not to the tourism industry. When the city of Barcelona commissioned the University of Surrey to look into how it might best promote sustainable development, we found a series of techniques which have been incorporated, at least in part, into the city’s 2020 Tourism Strategy.

In the simplest terms, the trick is to cajole tourists into city breaks which are far less of a burden on the urban infrastructure. In other words, normalising the consumption of sustainable tourism products and services. In Copenhagen, 70 per cent of the hotels are certified as sustainable and the municipal authority demands sustainability from its suppliers.

Higher than the sun. A primal scream from the world’s cities? Image: Josep Tomàs/Flickr/creative commons.

Destinations must also be accountable for the transport impact of their visitors. The marketing department might prefer a Japanese tourist to Barcelona because on average they will spend €40 more than a French tourist – according to unpublished data from the Barcelona Tourist Board – but the carbon footprint we collectively pay for is not taken into account.

Crucially, for the kind of city breaks we might enjoy in Barcelona, most of the carbon footprint from your holiday is from your transport. Short breaks therefore pollute more per night, and so destinations ought to be fighting tooth and nail to get you to stay longer. It seems like a win for tourists too: a few extra days in the Spanish sun, a more relaxing break, and all accompanied by the warm glow of self-satisfaction and a gold star for sustainability.


Destinations can also target customers that behave the most like locals. Japanese first-time visitors to Barcelona will crowd the Sagrada Familia cathedral, while most French tourists are repeat visitors that will spread out to lesser-known parts of the city. Reducing seasonality by emphasising activities that can be done in winter or at less crowded times, and geographically spreading tourism by improving less popular areas and communicating their particular charms can also help reduce pressure on hot spots, much like Amsterdam is doing.

Turnover is vanity, and profit margins are sanity. No city should smugly crow about the sheer volume of visitors through its gates. If tourism is here to stay, then the least cities can do is to sell products that will have the greatest benefit for society. Whether it’s Barcelona, Berlin, Bologna or Bognor, there should be a focus on locally and ethically produced products and services which residents are proud to sell. Tourist boards should work with small businesses that offer creative and original things to do and places to stay, adding breadth to the city’s offering.

The ConversationWhether Barcelona will introduce these ideas will depend on the bravery of politicians and buy-in from the powerful businesses which are happily making short-term profits at the expense of residents and the planet. It is possible to do things differently, and for everyone to benefit more. It may be that the tipping point lies in the age-old mechanics of supply and demand: bear that in mind next time you’re booking a quick city break that looks like it’s only adding to the problem.

Xavier Font is professor of marketing at the University of Surrey.

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.