Kings Cross, for anyone who knows London, has got to be the capital’s busiest station. It’s a hub for trains that leave for northern England and Scotland. It connects the capital to Gatwick and Luton airports via its Thameslink, it’s the gateway to Paris and Brussels, with its Eurostar link, and it’s home to several of the Underground’s lines.
Trust me, I’ve never seen it quiet - it’s a 24/7 kinda place.
I felt the need to see it in lockdown so took a long walk from the leafy Hampstead suburbs, along the Regent’s Canal, aware (as I walked along York Way, home to the Guardian newspapers HQ, some cultural venues and a few small boutique stores) of how few cars were on the road. A solitary bus passed me by - I counted two passengers upon its seats.
The station complex itself is enormous - there’s Kings Cross and then St. Pancras. Trust me, I’m a Londoner and I get lost trying to find my way around here! Outside, there are usually thousands of people in the immediate area - working, shopping, driving past in cars, changing modes of transport. Usually, you’ll see here buskers, hobos, locals and commuters….not to mention the endless tourists arriving and departing.
Today it is almost deserted.
The streets are almost empty of cars (the roads are usually packed bumper to bumper).
Occasionally, a bus drives past (they are transporting key workers to hospitals and places of work). But they have few passengers.
I can actually count the number of people on the street!
The air isn’t clogged with smoke…the sky is a clear blue.
I can hear the beep of the traffic light siren, as clear as day, as it tells pedestrians that it is safe to cross. But there are so few cars on the street, it’s almost as if you don’t have to wait for the beep.
I step inside. The quiet is astonishing.
What can I hear?
The whirring of a fan, breathing air into the station.
The departure board holds no information, for there is none to be had. No trains will leave here today. trains that would normally be bearing thousands of people.
The click clack of another person’s shoes, as they walk in the opposite direction to me.
The swish of a rotating cleaning machine, wiping floors down, operated by a lone cleaner.
The clank of the elevators, moving on up to the next floor.
Empty, of course.
This is nothing like I could have imagined in my wildest dreams.
I have the strange sense that I am dreaming - that at any moment I will wake, with a start, and rub my eyes.
But, no, this is no dream.
Far from it. I walk, silently, through the concourse, listening to my own footsteps. My eyes search hungrily for other people but I see almost none. The only noise is the occasional announcement from the tannoy.
Welcome to London. Welcome to lockdown.