Towards a taxonomy of metro station names

Elephant & Castle station, London. Image: Prioryman/Wikimedia Commons.

In Synecdoche New York, Philip Seymour Hoffman plays Caden Cotard, a director attempting to create a genuinely truthful piece of theatre. But the work never feels quite real enough for him: he spends so long adding more and more detail to his fictional world, that the project can never be finished.

I have a similar story to tell about an unfinished piece of train nerdery. The names of a city’s metro stops do much to shape our perceptions of a city – and it strikes me that there are many different systems for choosing those names. Some networks prefer to name them for streets, others for landmarks; others still favour districts. American cities generally opt for the drab and functional: others, like Paris, tend more towards the whimsical. London, awkward in this as in all things, has gone for a slightly messy mix.

So for some years now I’ve been toying with the idea of putting together a sort of taxonomy of metro station names, because it seemed like the sort of thing that you lot might read. But, there’s a problem: like Cotard, I keep spotting details that it feels dishonest to leave out.

There is an obvious difference between, say, Cannon Street and Paddington. But then, were they named after a street and a district – or were both actually named after the mainline stations which preceded them? Or consider the neighbouring stations of Borough and Elephant & Castle. Both seem to be named after districts – but while Borough was a place first, the use of Elephant for a stretch of south London has its origins in the station which took its name from a junction which took its name from a pub. So are these two really the same sort of name or not?

And then there’s the fact there really aren’t that many metro systems where I actually know all the names. London I know backwards of course, and I’m familiar enough with a few others (Paris, Manchester, NYC) to draw at least some conclusions. 

But after that though I get hazy. I’ve been to Barcelona three times, but would struggle to name more than half a dozen stops on its metro without googling it – let alone tell you where all the names come from. Who knows what else there is out there in the big wide world that I’m missing? 

So for a long time now – literally years – I’ve been putting off the moment I start writing. There is always some sub category I need to add, some detail I’ve missed. I’ve been failing to write this article since David Cameron was prime minister and the word Brexit was a joke. 

Which is, quite obviously ridiculous.

So: I’m just going to do it. What follows is not, after all, a definitive attempt to produce a taxonomy, merely a sort of first draft. Please do write in with feedback – let me know what I got wrong, and what sorts of names and fine subdivisions I have missed. And definitely feel free to offer names from cities I may not even have considered, because I love this stuff and almost literally everything else going on in the world right now is awful.

Right. On with the show.


1. Place names 

In a pattern that will swiftly become familiar, there are several different types of these. Sometimes they overlap – but it’s not always clear where.

Firstly, there are the names of quarters of the city that got attached to stations: Southwark, say, or Whitechapel. Then there are the names of whole settlements that were places in their own right have since been swallowed: Uxbridge feels to me like a different sort of place to Holborn because it was a place in its own right, rather than just a corner of London. And it’s not always clear where the line is. What’s Westminster?

Then there are district names that came from the station, rather than the other way around. Waterloo is an area of South London named after the station named after a bridge which was named after a battle. So where would the name fit in our putative taxonomy? Or what about Angel, an area named for a station named for a pub?

I’m only one category through and already I’m getting a migraine.

2. Streets

I’ve never been wild about naming metro stations after streets, for reasons I’ve bored on about before. I can see why they’re popular – a station may not clearly belong to one specific district, or sit next to one obvious landmark, but there will always be a nearby street name to hand. 

Nonetheless, it strikes me that there are two problems with using street names for stations Firstly, not all streets are famous names, so the station name may not tell you anything about where in a city it is (Warren Street, to pick one, would be entirely obscure were it not for the tube station).

Secondly, a street is a line, not a point, and some streets will be served by multiple stations – so calling just one of the four stations on Holloway Road “Holloway Road” doesn’t feel very useful. Then again, calling three different stations on the Chicago L network “Chicago” on the grounds that they serve different bits of Chicago Avenue doesn’t feel very useful either. 

Chicago station, Chicago. Not to be confused with Chicago or Chicago. Image: Graham Garfield/Wikimedia Commons.

Street-based names are stupid, is what I’m saying here.

Anyway, we’re stuck with them, so here are some different sub-categories. There are stations named after squares (Russell Square, St Peter’s Square). There are stations named after junctions: Oxford Circus is one of those; so are 14th St-Union Square and Réaumur-Sébastopol. Those avoid the problems I was bitching about above, because they refer to points rather than lines.

Then there are stations named after the street they sit on (Cannon Street); and – this feels subtly different to me – stations named after the street the line happens to be crossing at that point (let’s say, Baker Street). Something like Warren Street could be in either group.

Stations named after cross streets are particularly prevalent in cities with grid systems. This makes some sense – if you know you’re on the Lexington Avenue line, then knowing that the train is just crossing 86th Street does actually tell you how far up Manhattan you are. But this system is also responsible for absurdities like Tottenham Court Road or those three Chicago stations, so I’m sticking to my belief that anywhere outside Manhattan it’s a stupid system.

So, anyway, moving on.


3. Landmarks

London, famously, has five tube stations named after pubs (Angel, Elephant & Castle, Manor House, Royal Oak, Swiss Cottage). It also has stations named after parks (Regent’s Park), cathedrals (St Paul’s), docks (West India Quay), government buildings (Mansion House and, if you squint, Bank) and long dead gates in its long demolished walls (Moorgate, Aldgate).

You can find most of these in other cities. New York has Borough Hall in Brooklyn. In Manchester you’ll find Abraham Moss, which is named after a school named after a person. Paris and Brussels both have stations named Bourse, the continental name for the stock market. Barcelona has Ciutadella – Vila Olímpica which is named after the Parc de la Ciutadella, and the Vila Olímpica, which probably don’t take much explaining. (I was also going to accuse it of having Jaume I, named after a statue of a king, but it turns out it’s just named after a street named after a king which is much less interesting.)

Anyway, there’s loads of these, but all the ones I can think of fall into the same basic patterns, so let’s jump on to:

4. Bigger stations

Most cities have mainline railway termini, which are served by their metro networks. I’ve covered this before, and can’t be bothered doing it again. The only interesting points I can think of as they relate to metro systems is:

  • Some metro stations serve more than one main line station (Kings Cross St Pancras);
  • Some cities end up including other things in their metro station names other than the mainline station itself (Grand Central-42nd Street; Montparnasse–Bienvenüe);
  • Some cities use the word for railway station in the names of their metro stations to communicate the fact that the metro station serves a specific railway station, in a way that would feel bloody weird in British usage (Gare du Nord in Paris, Sants Estació in Barcelona).

Occasionally a metro station does more than one of these things, like 34th Street–Penn Station. The more you know.

5. Commemorative names

There are ostensibly loads of these in Paris. Stalingrad, for example, or Franklin D. Roosevelt, or George V. 

All of these admittedly share their names with streets – but those streets were actually renamed at the same time and for the same purpose as the station. So I think we can think of the stations as named to commemorate a person or event, rather than after the street.

Stalingrad station, Paris. Image: Pline/Wikimedia Commons.

It’s a similar story with one of my favourite Paris Metro names (yes, I have a favourite, so sue me). Fulgence Bienvenüe was a late 19th century civil engineer, responsible for the construction of much of the original metro system. In 1933, to commemorate his work as the father of the metro, both Avenue du Maine station and a nearby street were renamed Bienvenüe in his honour. A few years later the station was connected with another nearby to form the aforementioned Montparnasse–Bienvenüe. 

I’m sure there are loads of examples of stations named in this way from cities other than Paris, but the only one I can think of right now is not a metro station at all: Edinburgh Waverley, which is named after some novels by Sir Walter Scott. If you can think of others, please do write in.

6. Cash money

On Dubai’s fledgling metro system, you’ll find such stops as Nakheel, DAMAC Properties and Emirates. These are the results of a 2008 scheme in which the metro auctioned 19 of its station names, raising itself DH1.8bn. The ugly DAMAC Properties was previously the more geographic and explicable Dubai Marina.

London experimented with this in the dark days of the Boris Johnson era. Its cable car is the Emirates Airline; its two stops are named Emirates Greenwich Peninsula and Emirates Royal Docks, even though those two termini sit next to North Greenwich tube and Royal Victoria DLR station respectively.

This is horrible and we shouldn’t do any more of it.

On modifiers, and other thoughts

A lot of cities lumber individual stations with more than one name. We’ve already seen a couple of examples from Paris (Montparnasse–Bienvenüe, Réaumur-Sébastopol) and New York (14th St-Union Square). Manchester has Deansgate-Castlefield. In London, we have a few of these, but don’t go in for the dash, instead opting either for the ampersand (Caledonian Road & Barnsbury, Finchley Road & Frognal) or nothing at all (Kings Cross St Pancras).

Deansgate-Castlefield, Manchester. Image: Zack Hallam/Wikimedia Commons.

I may be misreading this, but my sense is that London is also bigger on modifiers than many other cities: Ruislip Gardens, Dagenham Heathway, Hackney Downs and so on. Acton famously – for a certain value of famous – has stations named for every point of the compass, plus a Central, a Town and a Main Line. 

It also feels to me that there’s a difference between putting the compass point before and after a place: West Hampstead is a place in its own right, Dagenham East is just the eastern bit of Dagenham. That said, East and West Croydon totally bugger this model up – they’re really just the eastern and western stations in the town centre – even though South Croydon is a place in its own right. (There is no North Croydon, thankfully.) So maybe I’m talking shite again.

Anyway, if the three Chicago Chicago stations adopted this system, or at least added the name of another nearby street to distinguish them from one another, that might be in some way kind of useful, don’t you think? 

One last thought. I said at the start that some systems had much more whimsical names than others. I was mostly thinking of Paris, and I stand by that.

But something I’ve realised in the writing of this is – a lot of Paris’ station names are really just street names, with the “Rue de” or “Place” bits knocked off. Les Gobelines sounds much more poetic than Avenue des Gobelins; Poissonnière better than Rue du Faubourg Poissonnière.

London has done this a little on the DLR, where you’ll find East India, Cyprus and Royal Albert, and very nice those names are too. But then again, while Holloway or Caledonian would work, stations called Baker or Bond would sound stupid in London, so.

I’m going to stop there. I’m aware I’ve only referenced half a dozen cities here, and focused heavily on London and Paris. So what have I missed? What other sources have cities found for station names?

Do write in, if you want to encourage this madness.

Jonn Elledge is the editor of CityMetric. He is on Twitter as @jonnelledge and Facebook as JonnElledgeWrites.

Want more of this stuff? Follow CityMetric on Twitter or Facebook.

 
 
 
 

Everybody hates the Midlands, and other lessons from YouGov’s latest spurious polling

Dorset, which people like, for some reason. Image: Getty.

Just because you’re paranoid, the old joke runs, doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you. By the same token: just because I’m an egomaniac, doesn’t mean that YouGov isn’t commissioning polls of upwards of 50,000 people aimed at me, personally.

Seriously, that particular pollster has form for this: almost exactly a year ago, it published the results of a poll about London’s tube network that I’m about 98 per cent certain* was inspired by an argument Stephen Bush and I had been having on Twitter, at least partly on the grounds that it was the sort of thing that muggins here would almost certainly write up. 

And, I did write it up – or, to put it another way, I fell for it. So when, 364 days later, the same pollster produces not one but two polls, ranking Britain’s cities and counties respectively, it’s hard to escape the suspicion that CityMetric and YouGuv are now locked in a co-dependent and potentially abusive relationship.

But never mind that now. What do the polls tell us?

Let’s start with the counties

Everybody loves the West Country

YouGov invited 42,000 people to tell it whether or not they liked England’s 47 ceremonial counties for some reason. The top five, which got good reviews from between 86 and 92 per cent of respondents, were, in order: Dorset, Devon, Cornwall, North Yorkshire and Somerset. That’s England’s four most south westerly counties. And North Yorkshire.

So: almost everyone likes the South West, though whether this is because they associate it with summer holidays or cider or what, the data doesn’t say. Perhaps, given the inclusion of North Yorkshire, people just like countryside. That would seem to be supported by the fact that...


Nobody really likes the metropolitan counties

Greater London was stitched together in 1965. Nine years later, more new counties were created to cover the metropolitan areas of Manchester, Liverpool (Merseyside), Birmingham (the West Midlands), Newcastle (Tyne&Wear), Leeds (West Yorkshire and Sheffield (South Yorkshire). Actually, there were also new counties covering Teesside (Cleveland) and Bristol/Bath (Avon), too, but those have since been scrapped, so let’s ignore them.

Not all of those seven counties still exist in any meaningful governmental sense – but they’re still there for ’ceremonial purposes’, whatever that means. And we now know, thanks to this poll, that – to the first approximation – nobody much likes any of them. The only one to make it into the top half of the ranking is West Yorkshire, which comes 12th (75 per cent approval); South Yorkshire (66 per cent) is next, at 27th. Both of those, it may be significant, have the name of a historic county in their name.

The ones without an ancient identity to fall back on are all clustered near the bottom. Tyne & Wear is 30th out of 47 (64 per cent), Greater London 38th (58 per cent), Merseyside 41st (55 per cent), Greater Manchester 42nd (53 per cent)... Not even half of people like the West Midlands (49 per cent, placing it 44th out of 47). Although it seems to suffer also from the fact that...

Everybody hates the Midlands

Honestly, look at that map:

 

Click to expand.

The three bottom rated counties, are all Midlands ones: Leicestershire, Northamptonshire and Bedfordshire – which, hilariously, with just 40 per cent approval, is a full seven points behind its nearest rival, the single biggest drop on the entire table.

What the hell did Bedfordshire ever do to you, England? Honestly, it makes Essex’s 50 per cent approval rate look pretty cheery.

While we’re talking about irrational differences:

There’s trouble brewing in Sussex

West Sussex ranks 21st, with a 71 per cent approval rating. But East Sussex is 29th, at just 65 per cent.

Honestly, what the fuck? Does the existence of Brighton piss people off that much?

Actually, we know it doesn’t because thanks to YouGov we have polling.

No, Brighton does not piss people off that much

Click to expand.

A respectable 18th out of 57, with a 74 per cent approval rating. I guess it could be dragged up by how much everyone loves Hove, but it doesn’t seem that likely.

London is surprisingly popular

Considering how much of the national debate on these things is dedicated to slagging off the capital – and who can blame people, really, given the state of British politics – I’m a bit surprised that London is not only in the top half but the top third. It ranks 22nd, with an approval rating of 73 per cent, higher than any other major city except Edinburgh.

But what people really want is somewhere pretty with a castle or cathedral

Honestly, look at the top 10:

City % who like the city Rank
York 92% 1
Bath 89% 2
Edinburgh 88% 3
Chester 83% 4
Durham 81% 5
Salisbury 80% 6
Truro 80% 7
Canterbury 79% 8
Wells 79% 9
Cambridge 78% 10

These people don’t want cities, they want Christmas cards.

No really, everyone hates the Midlands

Birmingham is the worst-rated big city, coming 47th with an approval rating of just 40 per cent. Leicester, Coventry and Wolverhampton fare even worse.

What did the Midlands ever do to you, Britain?

The least popular city is Bradford, which shows that people are awful

An approval rating of just 23 per cent. Given that Bradford is lovely, and has the best curries in Britain, I’m going to assume that

a) a lot of people haven’t been there, and

b) a lot of people have dodgy views on race relations.

Official city status is stupid

This isn’t something I learned from the polls exactly, but... Ripon? Ely? St David’s? Wells? These aren’t cities, they’re villages with ideas above their station.

By the same token, some places that very obviously should be cities are nowhere to be seen. Reading and Huddersfield are conspicuous by their absence. Middlesbrough and Teesside are nowhere to be seen.

I’ve ranted about this before – honestly, I don’t care if it’s how the queen likes it, it’s stupid. But what really bugs me is that YouGov haven’t even ranked all the official cities. Where’s Chelmsford, the county town of Essex, which attained the dignity of official city status in 2012? Or Perth, which managed at the same time? Or St Asaph, a Welsh village of 3,355 people? Did St Asaph mean nothing to you, YouGov?

Jonn Elledge is the editor of CityMetric. He is on Twitter as @jonnelledge and on Facebook as JonnElledgeWrites.

Want more of this stuff? Follow CityMetric on Twitter or Facebook.

*A YouGov employee I met in a pub later confirmed this, and I make a point of always believing things that people tell me in pubs.