Why do the signs at King's Cross St Pancras, London's biggest tube station, seem to take you the long way round?

Get lost. Image: Oxyman at Wikimedia Commons.

Kings Cross St Pancras Underground station is, as you'll know if you've been inside it, a bit of a nightmare. The clue is in the name: the station serves two mainline stations which, while close together, cover a vast area above ground between them – and an even vaster network of underground tunnels. As a pedometer user, I can vouch for the fact that the walk from Thameslink to the Piccadilly line represents a good fifth of your daily steps. 

The six tube lines and two train stations also make the station very busy, which can make navigating its hundreds of metres of tunnels even more difficult. Even before you get inside, the station has 11 entrances.

This is the best overview map I've been able to find of the station: each entrance is marked with the Underground symbol: 

In the centre is the "Tube ticket hall", which is the older, original ticket hall. Over time, bits and pieces have been added to it: a western ticket hall, serving the front of St Pancras International; and more recently, the Northern ticket hall, which stretches out towards the main, non-Eurostar bit of St Pancras. 

But there's a minor controversy surrounding all these ticket halls. That's because the station's signage sometimes points you along a route that isn't necessarily fastest.

To reach the Piccadilly and Victoria lines, for example, the signage directs you to the northern ticket hall – when actually it is quicker to go via the older ticket hall for example (to do so, follow the signs for the Metropolitan, Circle, and Hammersmith & City lines). The internet is littered with "hacks" to make your trek between lines a little shorter. 

So is the station really designed to slow you down? Is there a conspiracy against the blue lines? And do those hacks really work?

I called up Mike Guy, station manager at Kings Cross St Pancras, to find out. 

CityMetric: So why is the station so complicated?

Mike Guy: It's worth looking at the background here. When the Underground was first built, the earliest platforms were those now served by the Circle, Hammersmith and Metropolitan lines, all of which are “sub surface” [much less deep than, say, the Northern line]. 

What's happened is that over the years, as different lines have been constructed, the station has expanded, especially at lower levels. Recently, it's expanding further for two reasons. One is the Eurostar and St Pancras station. Then, in 2012, there was the introduction of the northern ticketed hall. 

CM: What's the best way to navigate it?

MG: Customers who know our station will choose the entrance with the most direct route to their line – our commuters tend to know by now which one that is. But for customers who don't know the station, the sheer size and the number of lines can make it quite confusing.

CM: So ideally everyone would use the best entrance for their line?

Right. We've signed as best we can, but if you enter from the north of the station, say, the walk to the Victoria line is quite a distance.

As a rule of thumb, the western part of the station, near St Pancras, is a good place to enter for the Metropolitan, Circle, and Hammersmith Lines. The Pentonville Road entrance is quickest for the Victoria line, but only during its opening hours (07:00 to 20:00, Monday-Friday). At other times, use the Euston Road entrance for both Victoria and Piccadilly lines, which is the smallest entrance and was the main station entrance for a number of years.

And for the Northern line, it's best to go via the newest entrance, or the north ticket hall, right next to King's Cross main line station. 

In case that's hard to visualise, here's a map showing which entrance to use:

CM: Why do some routes seem to send you a less direct route – like those that send you away from the old ticket hall for the Victoria and Piccadilly lines?

MG: We encourage people to use the subway which is at a lower level [marked above as the long pinkish tunnel running from the Victoria line to the Northern ticket hall] for transfers between lines. In general, that's fairly reasonable.

CM: That does mean you'd be walking for longer, depending on the transfer you're making – but is that to try and alleviate crowding? 

MG: Yes. And occasionally, to avoid congestion, we will divert passengers onto a longer route. 


CM: What could be done to improve things?

MG: We're continually trying to improve our signage and looking for feedback as to what could be different. I've been here for about four years, and I'm still interested to hear peoples' views on what we could do differently.

But I'm also very cautious - it's important that we don't make our signage too busy. Hopefully, passengers do find their way raound the station, but they'll occasionally choose a route that's slightly longer.

If you were to design the station from scratch, it wouldn't look like it does today. It's huge – that's why I enjoy working here. But it can be very disorientating.

* * *

So there you have it. Mike is right about the entrances: the best way to avoid the snare of tunnels is to bypass them before you even descend.

But we'd like to add a rule of thumb of our own: if you're already underground, head to the old ticket hall (from where you can access all lines*) by following signs for the Metropolitan, Circle and Hammersmith & City lines to avoid the special congestion-reducing line-changing tunnel Mike mentioned. Though don't tell too many of your friends. 

 

*You can actually access the Northern line directly from this ticket hall using a lift, though the walking access is cut off at the moment.  But maybe still better to head to the north ticket hall for the Northern line. Probably. This is getting too confusing now. I'm out. 

 
 
 
 

In South Africa's cities, evictions are happening despite a national ban

An aerial view shows a destroyed house in Lawley, south of Johannesburg, on April 20, 2020. The city has been demolishing informal structures on vacant land despite a moratorium on evictions. (Marco Longari/AFP via Getty Images)

On the morning of 15 July, a South African High Court judge ruled that the city of Cape Town’s Anti-Land Invasion Unit had illegally evicted a man when it destroyed the shack where he was living.

That afternoon, the Anti-Land Invasion Unit was out again, removing shacks in another informal settlement.

Evictions were banned in South Africa for nine weeks, after the national government placed the country under a strict Covid-19 lockdown in late March. At present, eviction orders are automatically suspended until the country moves to a lower “alert level” and can only be carried out with a special order from a judge.

Yet major cities including Cape Town, Johannesburg and eThekwini (created through the merger of Durban with several surrounding communities), have continued to use municipal law enforcement agencies and private security companies to remove people from informal housing. In many cases those operations have been conducted without a court order – something required under regular South African law.

Around 900 people were evicted from three informal settlements in eThekwini during the eviction ban, according to the Church Land Programme, a local NGO. Its director, Graham Philpott, says it’s also aware of evictions in other informal settlements.

While evictions aren’t a “new experience” in these communities, the NGO released a report on lockdown evictions because they were “so explicitly illegal”. “There was a moratorium in place,” Philpott says, “and the local municipality acted quite flagrantly against it. There’s no confusion, there’s no doubt whatsoever, it is illegal. But it is part of a trend where the eThekwini municipality has acted illegally in evicting the poor from informal settlements.”

Evictions also took place in Cape Town and Johannesburg during so-called “hard lockdown” according to local activists. In eThekwini and other municipalities, the evictions have continued despite restrictions. In Cape Town, authorities pulled a naked man, Bulelani Qholani, from his shack. That incident, which was captured on video, drew condemnation from the national government and four members of the Anti-Land Invasion unit were suspended. 


The cities say they’re fighting “land invasions” – illegal occupations without permission from the land owner.

“Land invasions derail housing and service projects, lead to the pollution of waterways, severely prejudice deserving housing beneficiaries and cause property owners to lose their investments over night,” Cape Town’s executive mayor, Dan Plato said in a statement. (Plato has also claimed that Qholani did not live in the shack he was pulled from and that he disrobed when municipal authorities arrived.)

South African municipalities often claim that the shacks they destroy are unoccupied. 

If they were occupied, says Msawakhe Mayisela, a spokesman for the eThekwini municipality, the city would get a court order before conducting an eviction. “Everything we’re doing is within the ambit of the law,” Mayisela says. But “rogue elements” are taking advantage of Covid-19, he added.

“We fully understand that people are desperately in need of land, but the number of people that are flocking to the cities is too much, the city won’t be able to provide housing or accommodation for everyone overnight,” he says. 

While eThekwini claims to be a caring city, local activists say the evictions show otherwise.

In one case, 29 women were evicted from shacks during the hard lockdown. With nowhere to go, they slept in an open field and were arrested by the South African Police Service for violating the lockdown, Philpott says.

“These evictions are dehumanizing people whose dignity is already compromised in many ways,” says S’bu Zikode, the president of Abahlali baseMjondolo, a community organization whose Zulu name translates to “the people of the shacks”. 

“It has reminded us that we are the people that do not count in our society.”

Municipal law enforcement and private security contractors hired by cities regularly fire rubber bullets, or even live ammunition, at residents during evictions. Some 18 Abahlali baseMjondolo activists have been killed since the organization was founded in 2005, Zikode says, most by the eThekwini Land Invasion Unit and Metro Police.

(Mayisela says that if city employees have broken the law, Abahlali baseMjondolo can file a complaint with the police. “There is no conclusive evidence to the effect that our members have killed them,”  he says.)

Other Abahlali baseMjondolo activists have been killed by what Zikode calls “izinkabi,” hitmen hired by politicians. Two eThekwini city councillors were sentenced to life in prison 2016 after they organized the killing of Thuli Ndlovu, an Abahlali baseMjondolo organizer. A member of the Land Invasion Unit who is currently facing a charge of attempted murder after severely injuring a person during an eviction remains on the job, Zikode says.

South Africa’s 1996 constitution is intended to protect the public from arbitrary state violence and guarantees a right to housing, as well as due process in evictions. But for Zikode, the South African constitution is a “beautiful document on a shelf”.

“For the working class and the poor, it’s still difficult to have access to court. You’ve got to have money to get to court,” he says. 

The actions by municipal law enforcement are breaking down social trust, says Buhle Booi, a member of the Khayelitsha Community Action Network, a community group in the largest township in Cape Town.

“There’s a lack of police resources and those very few police resources that they have, they use to destroy people’s homes, to destroy people’s peace, rather than fighting crime, real criminal elements that we see in our society,” Booi says.

For him, it’s a continuation of the practices of the colonial and apartheid governments, pushing poor people, most of whom are Black, to the periphery of cities.

Around one-fifth of South Africa’s urban population live in shacks or informal dwellings, according to a 2018 report by SERI. Many more live in substandard housing. City governments maintain that the shacks destroyed during anti-land invasion operations are unfinished and unoccupied. But Edward Molopi, a research and advocacy officer at SERI, says that this claim is an attempt to escape their legal obligations to get a court order and to find alternative accommodation for affected people. 

The roots of the current eviction crisis go back to apartheid, which barred non-white people from living in cities. Between the 1940s and 1970s, tens of thousands of people were forcibly relocated from neighbourhoods like Johannesburg’s Sophiatown and Cape Town’s District Six to remote townships.

In the 26 years following the end of apartheid, deepening economic inequality and rampant unemployment have limited access to formal housing for millions of South Africans. Government housing programs have mostly focused on building small stand-alone homes, often on the peripheries of cities far from jobs and amenities.

While these well-intentioned projects have built millions of homes, they’ve failed to keep up with demand, says Marie Huchzermeyer, a professor at the Centre for Urbanism & Built Environment Studies at the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg. Government-funded housing projects “will never on it’s own be enough,” she says. “It has to be accompanied by land release.”

Government policies call for the “upgrading” of informal settlements and the formalization of residents’ occupation. But “there are still very, very, very few projects” of that nature in South Africa, Huchzermeyer says. “Even if it’s an informal settlement that’s been around for 20 years, there still seems to be a political wish to punish people for having done that.” The government wants people to go through the formal process of being given a house, she says – and for them to be thankful to the government for providing it.

At the municipal level, change will require “real leadership around informal settlement upgrading and around ensuring that land is available for people to occupy,” she says. 

Despite the end of enforced racial segregation, spacial apartheid remains a factor in South Africa. There are few mixed-income neighbourhoods. Those who can afford to often live behind walls in sprawling low-density suburbs, while the poor live in overcrowded slums and apartment buildings.

The creation of the apartheid city “didn't happen by chance,” says Amira Osman, a professor of architecture at the Tshwane University of Technology. “It was a deliberate, structured approach to the design of the city. We need a deliberate, structured approach that will undo that.”

Since last fall, Johannesburg’s Inclusionary Housing Policy has required developments of 20 or more units to set aside 30% of those units for low-income housing.

The policy, which faced significant opposition from private developers, won’t lead to dramatic change, says Sarah Charlton, a professor at the Centre for Urbanism and Built Environment Studies, but it is “an important and significant step.”

Zikode isn’t optimistic that change will come for shack dwellers, however.

“People in the high positions of authority pretend that everything is normal,” he says. “They pretend that everyone is treated justly, they pretend that everyone has homes with running water, that everyone has a piece of land – and hide the truth and the lies of our democracy.”

Jacob Serebrin is a freelance journalist currently based in Johannesburg. Follow him on Twitter.