How many railway terminals does London have?

Liverpool Street: definitely a real, proper terminus. Image: Diliff/Wikipedia Commons.

Paris has seven mainline railway terminals still in operation. Manchester and Birmingham have two apiece, plus a few others which get through services. New York has the two that everyone’s heard of (Grand Central and Pennsylvania), but also two more in the outer boroughs, and a fifth across the Hudson in Hoboken, New Jersey.

And London has... well. It’s complicated.

A touch of Victoriana

Let’s start with the history part. At the point the railways started arriving, in the late 1830s, London was already the largest city in the world, with a population not much shy of 2m.

Greenwood’map of London in 1827, just 10 years before the railways began to arrive. Click to expand. Image: Public domain.

Knocking down people’s homes and commercial properties to build new railway lines was likely to be both expensive and unpopular – so by and large those building the new railways preferred not to do it. A few drove their new lines through the poorer suburbs to the east and south. But those coming into the north and west of the city, where the population was richer and more powerful, preferred to stop at the edge of the built up area.

That’s one reason London ended up with so many rail terminals: lines coming from different directions arrived at the city at different points. Just as important, though, was that the railways were funded and built by private companies – and each wanted their own terminal.

So it was that the Great Northern Railway opened its terminal on northern edge of the city in 1852, and named it Kings Cross (after a monument to King George IV that had stood in the area until 1845). Sixteen years later, the Midland Railway opened a whole new terminal literally across the road, and named it St Pancras (a historic name for the area). Both stations were well under half a mile from Euston, which the London & Birmingham Railway company had opened in 1837. (Euston Hall in Suffolk was the ancestral home of the local landowners, the Dukes of Grafton.)

The upshot of this is that London’s three main railways to the north were all built in the same 30 year period, and all ended up in the same bit of London. Yet they ended up with three different terminals. Private sector efficiency in action.

You can probably already get some sense already that London is going to end up with an unfeasibly high number of railway terminals.


The ends of the lines

How many, though, is harder to tot up than one might imagine. We’ve already counted three that absolutely, definitely count. Let’s dash through the others whose claims are equally firm:

Paddington – The terminus of the Great Western Railway, built in the city’s western suburbs in 1838.

Waterloo – Opened as Waterloo Bridge station by the London & South Western Railway in 1848. Plans to continue on to the City of London never came to fruition; we got the Waterloo & City line of the tube instead.

Victoria – A co-production between the London Brighton & South Coast Railway and the London, Chatham & Dover Railway, first opened in 1860, to bring trains closer to the West End.

Liverpool Street – Opened in 1874 by the Great Eastern Railway, replacing the nearby Bishopsgate station that it had served since 1840. Confusingly, while Liverpool Street station is on Bishopsgate, Bishopsgate station was not. London is stupid.

So: we’re up to seven. That’s the same number as Paris already, and we’ve only counted the big ones.

Except there are two more, which also definitely count, even if they are, relatively speaking, tiny:

Fenchurch Street – Opened in 1841 by the London & Blackwall Railway, as a way of getting trains between the City and the docks. (It was very much the DLR of its time.) In 1854, it was rebuilt by the London, Tilbury & Southend Railway, with services extended onwards to southern Essex.

Even today, though, it still has the smallest catchment area of the London rail terminals, with its tentacles stretching only as far as Shoeburyness, a mere 40 miles away. On some of the more expansive definitions of metropolitan London – that is, the commuter belt, rather than the built up area – none of its trains get outside the city’s footprint at all. This feels to me like a different role from something like Euston or Kings Cross, but maybe I’m overthinking this.

Marylebone had bigger ambitions. The last of the proper golden age rail terminals to be built, it opened in 1899 as the London terminus of the Great Central Main Line (GCML), which ran services as far as Nottingham, Sheffield and Manchester.

There was one tiny problem with this plan: there already were trains between the capital and Nottingham, Sheffield and Manchester. Consequently, the GCML never made any money, and of the eight planned platforms in its station – whose tube platforms were originally known, optimistically, as Grand Central – money was only found for four. Despite surviving Dr Beeching, the station was threatened with closure in 1984.

It’s since had a bit of a revival, thanks to (no, really) the care and investment that a private train operating company, Chiltern Railways, has poured into it since 1996. It now has six platforms, and recently opened a new route to Oxford.

Anyway. That’s nine. If you’ve been paying attention, though, you’ll know that I’ve missed a big one.

South of the river

London Bridge was actually London’s first rail terminal, opened in December 1836, by the London & Greenwich Railway. Over the next few decades, several other rail companies added to it, and new lines poured out of the place to the south and south east of London.

Two London Bridges: the South Eastern Station (left) and the temporary Brighton station c.1850 after the demolition of the Joint station. Image: Wikipedia.

So why have I held it back for so long? Because this is where the definition of “terminal” starts to get complicated. Sure, it opened as the end of the line. And for some services – mostly terminating in South London suburbia; a few heading further on, to the south coast – it still is. If Fenchurch Street is in, then London Bridge, which is much, much bigger, surely should be too.

But it isn’t just a terminal station. Many trains continue beyond, to either

Charing Cross – Opened as a West End terminal by the South Eastern Railway (SER) in 1864; or

Cannon Street – Opened by the same company as the City equivalent in 1866.

So while London Bridge is still a terminal station, the SER, at least, clearly didn’t see it as such.

All these count, I suppose: that means we’re now up to 12 terminal stations. Except divisions are starting to appear, between proper, grand terminals and relatively tiny stations which just happened to be the end of the line; and between those that are pure terminals and those which also include onward services. In important ways, Waterloo, Fenchurch Street and London Bridge feel like different kinds of thing

It gets worse.

I’ve already mentioned the London, Chatham & Dover, one of the companies that gave us Victoria. It also built what is today Blackfriars – then named St Paul’s – in 1886. (Confusingly, there was also a Blackfriars Bridge station, south of the river.)

Except the LC&D also continued the line beyond Blackfriars; to Ludgate Hill, then Holborn Viaduct, and then on to Snow Hill and Farringdon Street, where it connected up with other lines entirely. Most of this is today part of the cross-city Thameslink – the first two stations have been replaced by the double-entrance-d City Thameslink, which is of course the worst-named station in London. And some services terminate at Blackfriars but many other don’t.

So, is this Blackfriars a terminal? Yes. But also, sort of, no.

The final countdown

That’s 13. There is, sort of a 14th, except I’m not buying it. In fact, it was the experience of being on a train into the station in question, and realising I didn’t want to acknowledge it as a terminal, that made me write this blasted thing.

Suburban train services that come into north London on the East Coast Main Line diverge from it Finsbury Park. Instead of continuing onto Kings Cross with the big trains, they pootle down a little branch line through Drayton Park and disappear into a tunnel, ultimately terminating at Moorgate.

No way is this a proper rail terminal. Image: Chakorn1/Wikipedia Commons.

So, Moorgate is London’s 14th rail terminal, right? Well, sort of. The problem here is that Moorgate is only served by suburban rail services. More than that, while the line – the Northern City – was originally intended to be a way of getting big trains to from the north to the City (hence the name), that never really came off. When it opened in 1904, it was instead as part of the tube network, a state of affairs that persisted until 1975.

So, Moorgate is a rail terminal, in so far as a heavy rail line finishes there. But in functional terms – what services arrive there; what it actually looks like – it has more in common with the Bakerloo line platforms Elephant & Castle than it does with Euston.

What’s more, if we’re including Moorgate, there’s surely an argument for including Baker Street – which acts as a terminus for trains from Buckinghamshire and Hertfordshire – too. Okay, Moorgate is served by a private TOC and Baker Street by Transport for London (as part of the Metropolitan line). But if the latter gets its way, that might one day change. At that point – is Moorgate still a rail terminal? And if so, why?

When I started this thing, something odd struck me. Normally, no matter how obscure the subject, you can find a page on Wikipedia to explain it. Nerds gonna nerd.

But – there is no Wikipedia page on London Rail termini, only a category page listing other pages. There is, however, this page on the London Station Group: if you have a ticket which takes you to “London Terminals”, these are the stations you’re allowed to end up at.

We counted 14 terminals above. So, you’d imagine this group would contain 14 stations, right?

Wrong. It contains 18. All those we counted above – yes, including Moorgate – but also City Thameslink, Old Street, Vauxhall and Waterloo East. None of which are even slightly terminal-y. That’s almost every mainline station in zone 1. (Note: An earlier version of this article said it was every one. I forgot Farringdon, and Elephant & Castle.) 

The dead

The London Station Group doesn’t include Broad Street (opened in 1865 as the terminus of the North London Railway). That’s because, while that used to be one of London’s busiest stations, it was, unfortunately, demolished in 1986. The site, west of Liverpool Street, is now occupied by the Broadgate office complex.

It also doesn’t include the Bricklayers Arms, which opened at the top of Old Kent Road in 1844 as the “West End” terminus of the London & Greenwich; this was a bit optimistic, since it is the better part of two miles from the West End. Anyway, it stopped receiving passenger services except on special occasions in 1852, though it survived as a goods depot until 1981.

There’s no reason why the station group would include two long-dead stations of course: I just couldn’t get them in anywhere else.

Nonetheless: to sum up, London has 14 rail terminals, even though they’re of radically different sizes, are served by radically different types of train services, and not all of them are only terminal stations. This at least gives us twice as many as Paris.

I did warn you it was complicated.

Jonn Elledge is the editor of CityMetric. He is on Twitter, far too much, as @jonnelledge.

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Canada’s gay neighbourhoods are struggling. Can queer pop-ups plug the gap?

Vancouver. Image: Getty.

Queer life was highly visible in Western Canada last year. In May, Vancouver declared 2018 the “Year of the Queer,” celebrating decades of service that the city’s cultural organisations have provided for lesbian, bisexual, gay, transgender, queer and two-spirit (LGBTQ/2S) people across the region.

Yet 2018 also saw the loss of multiple queer venues and gay bars. While economic forces, such as rapacious gentrification are part of the story and struggle, our research shows that something creative and generative is happening in the city as well.

In the face of changing urban landscapes, economic hardships, and more straights moving into historically gay neighbourhoods, queer pop-ups — ephemeral gathering spaces whose impact lingers among revellers long after the night is over — now play a large role in the fight for LGBTQ/2S equality.

Scattered gay places became neighbourhoods

Queer life germinated in “scattered gay places” across cities in North America from the late 1800s to the Second World War. Inside cabarets, bars, theatres or outside in public parks, washrooms and city streets, queers found spaces which could hold and celebrate transgressive sexual connections while also providing respite from daily experiences of discrimination and social exclusion.

After the Second World War, scattered gay places congealed into permanent gay bars and residential “gaybourhoods” in a period anthropologist Kath Weston calls “the great gay migration.” Queer people flocked to urban centres and sexual subcultures flourished in cities like New York, Chicago, San Francisco, Los Angeles and Toronto.

The formation of queer community spaces has always been controversial. Cultural and legal backlashes marred early developments. A host of laws and regulations tried to suppress and contain homosexuality in North America by limiting its presence in the public sphere.

These measures resulted in frequent hostilities, police raids and violence. Queers congregated together not just to find love or community, but to protect themselves, to protect one another and to find refuge. Pride parades, now celebrated worldwide, commemorate these early turf wars.

Pop-ups revitalise queer spaces

Researchers have written a great deal on the cultural and political importance of gay districts in urban centres, and they have grappled with concerns that these areas, along with the establishments they house, are fading.

But innovative urban forms challenge arguments about the death and demise of queer spaces in the city. Our research suggests that queer pop-ups, or temporary cultural gathering spaces, cater to diverse and often marginalised queers.

Some gaybourhoods are dwindling in their residential concentration and gay bars are dropping like flies. But new queer place-making efforts are emerging.

Two of the authors at the queer pop-up in 2018 at East Side Studios in Vancouver. Ryan is on the far left, back row, Adriana is on the far right of the back row. Image: author provided.

Unlike gaybourhoods and gay bars, pop-ups are intentional in how they address persistent, intersectional forms of inequality. Queer pop-ups offer patrons a space to explore non-binary forms of gender and sexual identities, and especially a place to experience collective effervescence among queer people of colour, and femme lesbians.

Some pop-ups create environments that are explicitly trans-inclusive, consent-focused, and sex-positive. Pop-ups are not panaceas for queer life. Pop-ups can also be places where issues around socioeconomic status, gender identity and expression, and racial inequality are called out.

Yet these spaces directly and indirectly encourage dialogue on inequalities within the queer community, conversations that help produce safer spaces for marginalised queers to find each other and forge enduring queer consciousnesses.

Turf wars

Queer pop-ups show similar trajectories of infighting and compromise that the LGBT social movement encountered from the late 1970s through the early 2000s when trying to forge a collective consciousness, gain social visibility and win legal rights.

These turf wars, expressed as contests over space and inclusion, are generally sparked over three perennial concerns: privilege, race and gender. One interviewee, a 20-year-old self-identified queer, trans person of colour (QTPoC), who spoke about Vancouver’s gay district told us:

“I tend to avoid the gay bars on Davie [because] a lot of the gay bars there have now been taken over by cis-gender, heterosexual people. I’ve [also] heard from a lot of QTPoC friends that they are often uncomfortable going to gay bars on Davie, because it’s usually very dominated by cis-gender, white gay men.”

A 28-year-old white, cisgender, queer male found pop-ups more politically and culturally radical than gay bars. He put it this way:

“It’s very rare that we’ll ever have a conversation about politics [in gay bars]. It’s just about partying and things that we kind of see as very stereotypical portrayals of gay culture: like going out, dancing, drinking, fucking.”

Historically, gaybourhoods have served an important role in the fight for LGBT rights, but they have also developed to cater to a specific cis-gender, white, middle-class, male sensibility. One 30-year-old, white, trans DJ put it bluntly, “the mainstream scene is just not welcoming to trans people, in my experience,” adding that verbal transphobic harassment is common in the streets of Vancouver’s gaybourhood.

At Vancouver Pride this year we were reminded of this schism at a local pop-up event. “Gay men won’t come here, it’s too trashy,” shouted a white Australian lesbian playfully to friends over loud music. We were at Eastside Studios, a large warehouse turned into the newest collaborative queer venue in Vancouver.


The comment was striking because it highlights the visible bifurcation occurring in queer life and queer consumption in Vancouver. Many gay men tend to patronise businesses and events in the West End, Vancouver’s official gaybourhood; whereas, other members of the LGBTQ community are scattered across the city at events and venues that are far less permanent. Eastside Studios attempts to break through the homonormative bent some gay bars perpetuate. It is a space that generously houses some of the struggling pop up events who lost space to gentrification in Vancouver’s out of control rental market.

Historically, pop-ups arose as the first signs of urban sexual transgression. They continue to emerge as spatial innovations which nurture transgressive queer diversities that do not have space or representation in the gaybourhood. Weekly social media blasts via Facebook or Instagram and word-of-mouth dissemination play an important role in linking queers around the city to these events. Pop-ups take different tones and establish different vibes among patrons. Collectively, pop-ups highlight the many important projects local queers are undertaking to increase the plurality of what queer life looks like and how it is expressed.

Struggles for equality

Marriage is the leading story in many headlines these days, but queer struggles for equality were never only about relationship recognition or acceptance into the mainstream.

Queer struggles are also fights to resist oppressive normativity, to end racial inequality and white supremacy, to end sexualised violence, to reconcile generational traumas associated with colonialism.

Continuing these fights is perhaps what makes queer pop-ups unique. Organisers of these events are intentional and responsive to such concerns. They seek to create new worlds that soften the impact of inequalities, both in gaybourhoods and in other parts of Canadian cities as well.

Pop-ups nourish queer lives; they emerge as temporary meeting grounds where diverse, oftentimes marginalised, queers flock for community and collective, momentary release. Here an image from a Man Up pop-up event in Vancouver. Image: Shot by Steph/Facebook/The Conversation.

Many of these spaces are an opportunity for patrons to travel in a re-imagined world, even if only for the night. While not all pop-ups that appear survive, the ones that do matter, fundamentally, because they create spaces that resist heteronormative culture and homonormativity, address intersecting inequalities, assert and anchor queer cultural and political identities, and promote well-being for a wider portion of the community in ways that gaybourhoods used to and have always had the potential to.

Pop-ups nourish queer lives in ways that gaybourhoods and gay bars historically had. They emerge as temporary meeting grounds where diverse, oftentimes marginalised, queers flock for community and collective, momentary release. They allow patrons to dance and comfortably explore the implications of their gender and sexual identities around like-minded individuals. At times they are more than friendly social gatherings, becoming sites where the moral arch of the community is shaped through demonstrations on urgent issues impacting queer lives and the surrounding community.

Queer pop-ups are vibrant locations that work to push forward the unfinished projects of social justice first envisioned during gay liberation.

The Conversation

Ryan Stillwagon, Ph.D. Student, Sociology, University of British Columbia; Adriana Brodyn, Ph.D. Candidate, University of British Columbia; Amin Ghaziani, Associate Professor of Sociology and Canada Research Chair in Sexuality and Urban Studies, University of British Columbia, and D. Kyle Sutherland, PhD Student, Department of Sociology, University of British Columbia.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.