My hometown, Chesham, is the station furthest from London on the entire tube network. This fabulous piece of trivia leaves many a Londoner marvelling, “what’s there, Narnia?” However, this small town was part of a 1900s social revolution known as ‘metro-land.’ As the ‘unprecedented times’ we inhabit today threaten to make catching the train to work a thing of the past, it’s amazing to be watching this new way of working unfold in a town where the commuter lifestyle first began.
In the 1800s, the Metropolitan Railway company purchased a huge stretch of land extending from Neasden to the Chiltern Hills, on which to build train lines and operate services. Though initially successful in their enterprises, by 1904, the Met was seriously struggling to meet its costs. A radical idea was born - if not enough demand existed, the train company must simply create it. In a dramatic change of direction, the Met began building homes around its stations. ‘Metro-land’ was born, and so was commuting to work.
The company’s marketing department went into over-drive. Bright, colourful posters advertised a blissful English suburbia of Mock-Tudor homes on leafy avenues. Londoners tired of the over-crowded city could now escape at the end of their day to an idyllic countryside. Its name, ‘Metro-land,’ captured the imagination of disgruntled city-dwellers. Baker Street was ‘the gateway to Metro-land’ and brass handles on the trains proclaimed, in proud, cursive letters, ‘Live In Metro-land.’ Though this Metropolitan Railway company no longer exists, its namesake lives on in the form of a purple squiggle on the tube map, known as the ‘Metropolitan line.’
It’s strange to think how, during my lifetime, Chesham has gradually reconnected to its Metro-land roots. For years, our station was threatened with closure due to insufficient travellers. However, around 2015, new station usage figures became the talk of the town when it was announced that the annual entry and exit figures of Chesham station had doubled in 8 years. This seems logical since London living costs had sky-rocketed in that time but, out in the countryside, we couldn’t believe it!
In a vivid resurgence of the past, the life of Chesham became once again pulled by the tide of commuters. A sudden flood of suits and briefcases in the town centre signalled that a train had just arrived, and a similar cohort running frantically up the hill signalled that one was soon leaving. When catching an evening train into London, I learned to loiter outside the station until the train arriving from the capital had emptied its hordes. My childhood home was a 20 minute walk away, yet a line of cars parked down our road would appear every morning and mysteriously vanish in the evening, each vehicle always occupying in the same space.
I have been a casual member of the commuter army from time to time myself, most recently to attend a training course in Southwark. At 7am, before the winter sun rose, I walked briskly to the station, heeding local warnings that getting a seat at Chesham required planning and preparation. Having beeped my Oyster card at the barrier, I looked for bundles of suited, well-heeled business-types stood close together; this was where the doors of the train would open. Despite the throngs of people that lined the platform, Metro-land was silent. A phone screen glowed under the nose of each person, immersed in their own little world yet travelling the same journey. We were all unknowingly a part of social history, minding the gap just like those who came before us.
As with all history, Metro-land is ever evolving and change is on the horizon. We’re yet to find out if the pandemic really will lead to the end of the daily commute. It seems that the lifestyle launched by the Metropolitan Railway may have had its time as a new work/life structure unfolds.
Nevertheless, I will always love lying in bed at night and hearing the soothing rumble of a nearby tube train.
