In the transport industry it’s not everyday that one of your projects opens to the public and when they do, it’s always nice when they look and work just as you intended.

The new entrance at Bank station in London has, since 2003, been the peripheral L-shaped box in the bottom left hand corner of my Bank station masterplans. Even back then, when the assessment of capacity and risk was embryonic at best, it was evident that even the most extensive of our underground stations was beginning to creak at the seams.   I had already established that the long-feted Pedroute programme had a fatal flaw, and the capacities of our computers were insufficient for the potential of the emerging Legion dynamic modelling programme. So down went 100+ students armed with coloured monopoly cards to establish the flows, and from that we developed ambitious solutions to spread the people more evenly through what was left of the clay in this part of the city.


Of course the focus was on the heart of the station, where layers of underground tunnels jostle for space between the buildings above, overlapping and consolidating their passengers in ever more complex conduits. And all the while, my little box in the bottom left hand corner sat waiting patiently for attention.

It was not until one Sunday morning that those in power closed the City to test the effectiveness of evacuation from the Waterloo and City line platforms. The results were never published, and the Walbrook project quietly rose to the top of the priority list.

Naturally, the grand gesture of the Northern line solution made the magazines, it was where the big money lay and the swanky new tendering method was devised, tested and enthusiastically promoted to showcase the new value driven approach of the industry.  But all the while, down in the bottom left hand corner, the Walbrook team were quietly getting on with establishing the developer sponsored approach to infrastructure enhancement, agreeing the funding methods and the interfaces, the legal structure and the coordination strategy that would foretell London’s transport development approach in future periods of government austerity and beyond.

This is not to say the process was without its difficulties; this was new ground for the LU and developer teams and their station box, and the challenges were physical and emotional as only those projects whose protagonists truly care about the results can be.

It is now 15 years since those first masterplan sketches and 10 years since the LU/TMA team was established to push ahead with what more latterly became known as the Bloomberg entrance. All of the struggle and strife is now past and the number of participants who rightly feel responsible for and proud of the new entrance has grown exponentially. And after 15 years and in keeping with it’s nurturing, the new Waterloo and City line entrance has opened quietly and effectively, no trumpets, no showmanship, simply getting on with its job of increasing safety and capacity in the system, in a manner that is as engaging in its spatial generosity as it is in its cost effective delivery.

the moscow metro

The Moscow metro is well known in transport design circles, often quoted but I suspect, rarely visited. I for one shared the guilt.


So in my quest to know all those things that I have often referenced but never closely examined I find myself with a graphically satisfying limitless travel ticket in one hand and a camera in the other, searching out the classically exuberant stations beneath Moscow.

As in Amsterdam I am immediately intrigued by the ease with which this system can be navigated with limited signage, and in a country with a more than usually impervious language. The simple and occasional use of colour and numbers gets me around rather easily, while I am astonished and gratified by all announcements in Russian and English as the stations approach.

Throughout the journey I enjoy the absence of cables and boxes and associated paraphernalia that minimal or well-concealed communications and power systems allow, and I don’t much mind the long interchanges when the consequent ambience is uncluttered, grand and stately.


I am impressed at the depth of the stations, and at the capability and fortitude of the 126m long seemingly retail spec. escalators; while we in London are most often limited to a quarter of that and with expansive hidden motor rooms.

I appreciate the absence of handrails on the wide stairs, and the ability of the sudden crowds to then move more flexibly within a given space. And there is the intriguing approach to the bottom step of the stately pitched flights, with its discernable-to-all smaller riser – which British Standards refers to as a trip hazard.

What I am rather more ambivalent about is the decoration that I have come to see. It is evidently magnificent in its exuberance, amusing and perplexing in equal measure, but in the end it is what it is and not much more. Unlike the functional detail of the stations I am no wiser or better informed for seeing it in the flesh. Surprisingly it is only found on the grand concourses between the platforms. Elsewhere the stations are stripped to the bone and devoid of adverts – an absence of distraction that suits me fine while I’m on the move – and with entrances that are quite hard to see among the strong city architecture – which I also wouldn’t mind if this metro had a logo as good as that of London Underground.

While I reflected on the breadth of things that actually pleased me about these stations – and that I vow to plagiarize mercilessly – I was reminded of the much-respected Mr Feynman and his discussion with his friend the artist. As transport designers we own the visuals and promote the appearance of our stations, but our fuller satisfaction comes not just from the visible surfaces and forms we create, but also from our involvement in the multi-faceted details and processes that in combination provide the totality of ambience and function.



“I have a friend who’s an artist and has sometimes taken a view which I don’t agree with very well. He’ll hold up a flower and say “look how beautiful it is,” and I’ll agree. Then he says “I as an artist can see how beautiful this is but you as a scientist take this all apart and it becomes a dull thing,” and I think that he’s kind of nutty.


First of all, the beauty that he sees is available to other people and to me too, I believe. Although I may not be quite as refined aesthetically as he is … I can appreciate the beauty of a flower. At the same time, I see much more about the flower than he sees.

I could imagine the cells in there, the complicated actions inside, which also have a beauty. I mean it’s not just beauty at this dimension, at one centimetre; there’s also beauty at smaller dimensions, the inner structure, also the processes. The fact that the colours in the flower evolved in order to attract insects to pollinate it is interesting; it means that insects can see the colour. It adds a question: does this aesthetic sense also exist in the lower forms? Why is it aesthetic? All kinds of interesting questions which the science knowledge only adds to the excitement, the mystery and the awe of a flower. It only adds. I don’t understand how it subtracts.”

Richard Feynman


integrated station/development

There is a building that can’t help but catch your eye as you fly in and out of Frankfurt airport, marooned among the autobahns and looking for all the world like a sanitised Walking City.

While Ron Herron, teacher, mentor, friend and erstwhile colleague, had a more esoteric audience for his seminal piece of work, The Squaire has arrived some 50 years later, to teach a thing or two about Over Station Development. First it must be said that The Squaire is a not a perfect example of OSD, and where it is less than successful it provides lessons so that they may be avoided.

1806184Stylistically The Squaire is clean and crisp and emblematic of a certain commercial glamour beloved of the corporate world. Externally it squats formidably, exhibiting a strength and resilience aspired to by those companies that choose to inhabit these buildings. It squats over the railway; the fast trains to Hamburg and Berlin and Munich that speed from its underbelly placing it at the hub of German commerce. Filled with good intentions it is multi-use, with offices, hotels, shops and numerous restaurants clustered within. At its core is the original station roof, a captured glassy carapace that contains and separates the more grungy components of a station concourse from the corporate demeanour of the rest.


Yet as a ‘New Work City’ – their words not mine – the building is hollow, thin walled and uninviting and, on a Friday lunchtime in late September, largely devoid of life. Walking into and through this microcosm city offers little in the way of surprise and delight, it has space with little purpose, no way up or out, no through route to anywhere that isn’t an office or an exclusive hotel, little variety of space and no development of ambience. It is what it is, the biggest office block in Germany, with some platforms underneath.


The design of The Squaire evidently followed that of the station, which had been constructed with little ambition for a location next to one of Europe’s primary air hubs. The opportunities to bring down loads are limited, making the building spans formidable and the structures required to hang any internal commercial space gymnastic. The consequent balance of narrow office space and capacious empty concourses is socially and financially uncomfortable and, with public access limited to that of the original station, the ends of this 660m building are isolated and empty. Wikipedia advises that the construction of The Squaire was economically challenging, with a stop/start programme and ultimately 50% over budget for a building that became difficult to let.

The best of OSDs stem from considered planning and integration of complementary uses that are devised to enable an ebb and flow of people through and within, where the common location of functions can be planned to their mutual benefit and where the structures and services are derived for economy, flexibility and sustainability. Like any good city squa(i)re, the ideal is a destination in which to dwell, on route to somewhere else, at the crossroads of social engagement; a framework upon which public transport and private enterprise can benefit equally and each other.

There is no doubt that the Squaire aspires to most of this – you only have to read the website – but the result appears to be a consequence of the fact that those who build our railway infrastructure and those that build our urban infrastructure are rarely aligned in process, ambition or economic cycle. Effective OSD is complex in timing, funding and risk sharing and requires a closely coordinated response. The Squaire shows what can result if the distinction is maintained.

crossrail sectionBy way of comparison and a bit of trumpet blowing – Crossrail Canary Wharf, with its similar form, purpose and isolation (in water rather than autobahns). Designed as a stepping-stone from the commerce in the south to the residential areas in the north, as a station, development and public space of equal importance, top-down and bottom-up, with many points of access, numerous routes from transport to garden through leisure and commerce, and already a public and commercial success.  A project taken on by the Canary Wharf Group, who saw the benefits, took the risk, and delivered it efficiently, economically and effectively, and all at once.


It is of course quite possible that the moniker ‘Over Station Development’ is imperfect, with its presumption of what comes first. I therefore offer you instead ISDIntegrated Station/Development – along the lines of the Canary Wharf success. I propose that ISD should be the next acronymic bandwagon on which we all jump, one on which each part has an equal status and in which we can all enjoy debating a new approach to OSD, TOD, or whatever – at least until someone builds Ron’s Walking City and puts us all out of a job.


the ger of Galaa and Oyunaa

From time to time over the past few years there have arisen calls-for-ideas that will solve a housing shortage in parts of the world quite remote from those of us lucky enough not to really understand the need.

On occasions the calls have gone out when some climatic turbulence decimates swathes of a remote community, or otherwise when some previously unreported inhuman condition has spurred our collective guilt into action.

And always, and particularly among our architectural schools* and the practices with a true social conscience, the response is sincere and resolute competition to design a readily deliverable quick fix, with a palette of lightweight materials that are deemed pertinent for short-term use in unknown climates, and a structure that requires little skill to create and even fewer tools.

Much earnest head scratching can be seen in the studios of the participants. There is a world to be saved from the climatic and economic ravages that our western lifestyle seeks to make worse, and the collective minds of well-trained architects and engineers are indisputably the crucible in which results will ferment and come forth.



So, far away from all that solemnity, it is a joy to be entertained by Galaa and Oyunaa’s family in Mongolia who, along with half a million not very near neighbours, come together four times a year to re-construct just such a device with good cheer and the nimble dexterity of a close knit group. And on this occasion, because they enjoy it and are proud, they build it up and take it down just for me.

300818930081883008184And this is no highfalutin architectural response. This is the Ger, a home that has been refined in detail and ritual over many millennia; made of materials that come to hand organically and that can be unrolled and tied together; that encompasses a reverential space with strict customs of circulation and heart/hearth; that stays cool in the +30deg summers and warm in the -40deg winters; that can be readily transported; that employs the principles of natural air-circulation and -insulation; that is waterproofed by the effect of heat on felt and made taught against the wind by a single rope; that while circular, always faces the same way, door towards the midday sun; that is kitchen, living room, bedroom in a single, womb-like space. It is the focus of fine singing, dexterous games, flowing mares milk vodka and common purpose.


This is no temporary measure, no short term fix, this is the consequence and harbour of a fervently defended nomadic lifestyle, where house and livestock and clothing are made of the same things, each moving from place to place to allow the land to refresh, the climatic response to be finessed and its benefits to be harnessed year on year. This is environmental, social and economic sustainability at its most pure.


*and, if doing these things is of interest, look no further than Paraguay….



transport for the responsible

While the number of transport designers with an enthusiasm and capability are less well represented in London now that TMA has packed its bags, it’s time to see how we can work with our neighbours.

One such made contact a short while ago with some intriguing thoughts and interesting pictures, so its off to the Netherlands to see what Group A are up to, how they get away with it, and whether opportunities exist to broaden all of our design horizons.


Maarten and Maarten were found in the wood engraved halls of the 1e klas restaurant on platform 1, Amsterdam Central. Group A are collaborating in China with a long term colleague Evelein van Veen and collaboration, association, and just plain conversation seem to be the order of the day at the 1e klas restaurant.

Trisha teams up with Maartin and I team up with Maartin and Evelien herds us all into the underground and off we go, seven upgraded stations to explore and question, to enjoy the fresh openness created by rerouting systems cables (yes, moving cables), stripping out signage (yes..), taking away maps (yes…), installing new lighting above the tracks (yes…) and generally bringing a design ambition and freshness to those areas that we in the London system can only dream of. And with such elegant and effective results.

In the Netherlands the principles of personal responsibility, social respect and design appreciation are fundamental to decision taking. That is not to say the engineering, operations, and safety are not paramount, it is just that ‘paramount’ is more widely defined and so more effectively integrated.

And the client accepts all this because a) there is a fundamental acceptance and appreciation of the results, and b) the widening of the ambition doesn’t come at a cost. These are low cost, high value upgrades – little more than £6m per station – a budget that includes working around passengers and trains, new lifts, cable moving (yes…), invention, playfulness, and big new holes in the street to gather the natural light and project it into the underworld.

Aligned with social responsibility comes personal responsibility, and the standards that we adhere to in the UK – those that allow for anyone doing something self-destructive at any moment – are simply not present. This doubtless goes some way to explaining the low cost and the freedom to propose beneficial change, and as far as I’m aware no more Dutch people are hurt in the process.


As the public purse in the UK is put under still greater pressure, and as private enterprise is encouraged to become more responsible for the delivery of our infrastructure, it is good to have first hand experience of principles, approaches and ambitions that offer good quality transport for less money. It is also good to know that Group A – fresh, dynamic, responsible and enthusiastically immersed in these things – are willing to freely share their thoughts and experiences in developing the solutions.



the ambience of interchange


One of the long-held principles for encouraging the use of public transport is to minimise the number of interchanges, but in Luxembourg they can afford to do things differently.

When the aim is to ferry people in a more planet-preserving fashion to the mega-offices of the European parliament – that in political eagerness and without a great deal of environmental foresight were placed on top of a plateau on the opposite side of a deep ravine – it seems no money, and no opportunity for interchange, is spared.


In a moment of comparative and unusual spontaneity – taking only six years from conception to operation – a new railway station of substantial proportions has been opened on the precipitous ravine slope of the Pfaaffenthal valley, a pair of funicular tracks have been sliced through what remains of the hill flank, and a new tram has been popped on top to speed the traveler to their glass walled edifice on the wide but aimless Avenue John Fitzgerald Kennedy. And while the opportunities to protect one of the more pleasant parts of the planet appear to have been largely overlooked, the many opportunities for interchange that the journey involves are actually quite enjoyable.

There is a moderately funfair feel to this journey that makes the experience rather entertaining – different ways to move from one place to another, a lot of light and cleanliness on the way, acres of well-crafted simplicity, and elevated views to die for. Yes, there is a lot of interchange in a very short journey but, after a hard day maintaining some of the less exotic aspects of Europe, the experience may come as a welcome distraction of movement and variety.

The question this poses is whether interchange is really such a restriction to use or whether, if the experience, ambience and quality of the journey were more highly prized by those who provide our infrastructure, some of the more complex elements of fully integrated systems could simply be avoided.








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With tma nicely wrapped up there remains a passion for our infrastructure, and with a heightened ambition to expand the definition and the range.

While there is still much to do here in the UK, and there are exciting projects emerging which can not yet be discussed, the prospect of informing future design by reference to a better understanding of social, environmental and truly economic infrastructure from other places is too attractive.

There is functionality and purpose in infrastructure, and there is also delight, in the form, the ingenuity and the absolute appropriateness of the best of it.  This is not to say that it’s all mutually relevant, that would be idealistic, but there is a joy in observing, engaging and learning, and it’s about time time was found to fully appreciate it.