The Bridge

on paste and paint ...

I live in Hampstead Garden Suburb, a leafy ‘Arts & Crafts’ enclave in North West London, close against the northward of extension of Hampstead Heath. The nearest tube station to where I live is Golders Green, the centre of Jewish North-West London. I was born and brought up not far away in, at least at that time equally Jewish, Hendon Central.

In the morning I walk to Golders Green, to take the tube, passing by the house where my grandfather, Alfred Wiener, lived. Alfred Wiener had devoted his life to the fight against hatred and antisemitism. The house had been packed with books and leaflets, the overflow to the Library he had established, in Manchester Square and then in Devonshire Street. He believed that hatred was best combatted by exposing that hatred, through acts of witness. That Nazis were best condemned by their words, as much as by the evidence of their actions.

To get to the tube station I go under the bridge that carries the Northern line. It is lined in part with bricks and tiles. On the morning of October 9th 2023, still struggling to absorb the events of the previous days, I approached the bridge. It was daubed with graffiti. It was not so much what the graffiti said but the fact of it, the intrusion. I recall thinking ‘that is near home’ and it was, physically and emotionally. Shortly thereafter, the graffiti was removed but its impact lingered.

I am not sure how long after this the hostage posters appeared. Not immediately I think, they followed the emergence of other stickers and graffiti across London. The side wall of the bridge was plastered with posters of the hostages taken on October 7th. Young and old, caught in holiday snaps and profile pictures, smiling. The posters had obviously been placed hurriedly, some were firmly pasted high on the wall, others lower down had exposed edges and sat askew.

Passing again a few days later these more vulnerable posters had been torn. A concerted attempt had been made to remove them. It was, for me, deeply disturbing, a violation. I cannot exactly understand why I should have felt this as I did ... but I did. Returning in the evening the ripped posters were still there, but the next morning fresh posters had been added, more paste had been applied and the damage in large part repaired. So started an extended cycle of destruction and renewal, reflected in personal feelings of hope and despair, anger and sadness. The bridge came to matter, a marker, a site of meaning.

The surviving hostages have been returned, bodies remain, cruelly withheld. And a few days ago, the wall under the bridge was cleared and repainted white. Who by, I do not know, perhaps London Transport. It could be hopeful, a fresh start and a break from the cycle. But, what will be written there next?

Bridges are powerful symbols. They connect and they stand above, they are strong and they are narrow. I am not sure that Golders Green railway bridge can withstand that metaphorical weight.

Postscript: I wrote this in 2014 https://profserious.substack.com/p/redemption

Today I received this: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/c2kp3yjy8q7o