Old Kent Road in South East London is a place, which though steeped in history has seen better days. The road on which Chaucer’s pilgrims once passed through in The Canterbury Tales now has little more to its name than a few supermarkets, retail parks, and the obligatory McDonalds drive-in. There is however one curiosity worth a mention. Half way down the street in the second floor window of an old fire station stands a mechanically operated doll dressed in full fireman’s regalia. His jolting robotic spasms, visible to passers by on the street, have made him a local talking point, much to the delight of the stations new occupants, an antiques and fireplace retailer. Yet, an unusual sight such as this becomes largely overshadowed once you learn of the buildings colorful past. Between 1983 and 1987 the building was not a fire station or even a place to buy fireplaces but was in fact what is best described as an “autonomous cultural centre” that in its short life played host to such legendary bands as Pulp, The Jesus and Mary Chain, The Butthole Surfers and, Primal Scream.
Built in 1905 to house the newly formed London County Council city fire services the station was in use for nearly sixty-five years before its abandonment in 1969. Having left the building to rot it remained empty for over a decade until a group of anarchist-punks began squatting there in the early eighties. The expansive ground floor space was quickly cleared and turned into a music venue, which for reasons unknown was donned The Ambulance Station. As a member of the punk group Flowers in the Dustbin, Chas Loft played at the venue and recalls the atmosphere. “There was a stage arranged so that when you played you had your back to the Old Kent Road side of the building” Loft says. “What does stick in my mind is that the venue was always very hot and the packed, with sweat and naked torsos dancing in twilight and heat.” Gigs were often ramshackle affairs as Pete King, a young punk at the time, confirms. “I remember one night the sound was so distorted that nobody could hear what the singer was saying. It was so bad that upon completion of one bands set, the female bass player went round afterwards to apologise to every member of the audience.” Despite the technical difficulties, the venue provided a space for groups from a wide range of genres to perform on the same bill meaning there was an eclectic mix of three-chord punk, avant-garde electronic music, heavy industrial clattering, and twee indie-pop. Phil Wilson, the lead singer of cult indie-pop group The June Brides played at the venue on several occasions and remembers how the ‘melting pot’ mixture of different scenes was viewed as a bonus: “Nothing peps a young indie-pop band more than coming on stage to face a few hundred punks with Mohicans and having to try win them over!”
The musical styles were not the only thing that seemed to jar with each other, with the venues energetic mix of people a world away from the demographic of the area. At the time, London was still reeling from the social and political unrest of the late seventies and whilst acting as a cultural hotbed for movements such as Punk, larges areas of the city were suffering from neglect. Old Kent Road was, as Phil Wilson remembers: “Scary, decaying, and Poor. The Ambulance station seemed to be the only thing with any life in the entire area, other than the pubs. And the life there involved boxing, so it didn't really appeal to an indie group.” For Simon Crab, whose experimental group Bourbonese Qualk were one of the venues in house bands the tough location was a big influence. “I think that living in such a marginal area had a direct impact on our music and the imagery we used. It was often criticized as an “industrial” affectation but it was just everyday landscape to us.”
Acting as a beam of light in an area otherwise culturally starved the venue attracted the cream of the British indie music scene. Undeniably the most infamous gig held at the venue involved a then underground group called The Jesus and Mary Chain who had been recently billed as ‘the new Sex Pistols’ by the NME. The gig was one of the groups first major London shows and gained the venue huge notoriety going down in musical folklore as the “riot” gig. In attendance was fanzine writer and music journalist Kevin Pearce who recalls the tense atmosphere that evening: “There was a real sense of anticipation about the Mary Chain gig as there had been so much media coverage”. In a review of the event published in music magazine Zig Zag, Tony De Le Fou describes the pandemonium that ensued: “Those closest to the stage had a frantic, po-going time of it, continually getting up onstage to join in the mayhem as the force of the barrage unfolded.”
If the raucous behavior within the venue was not enough, the reception visitors would receive once outside the front gates would certainly get the heart racing. As Simon Crab explains: “The hostility came from local gangsters, pub owners, Millwall fans and Nazi skinheads. The building was quite heavily protected and hard to get into - the stairwell was sealed with metal gates and we generally went around armed. Despite this, I had a large bodyguard whenever I went out after receiving death threats from skinheads.” Finding it difficult to cope with some of the more hostile residents in the area the original settlers soon wanted out and decided to pass the baton to another group of south London based squatters known as the Recloose Organisation.
Soon after their move in late 1984, the Recloose Organisation set about fixing-up those spaces that were still dilapidated. “A lot of manual work needed doing,” recalls Simon Crab. “With the top floors having been left untouched for so long, this included not only skilled work such as replacing piping, windows and tiles on the roof, but also removing one meter deep layers of dead pigeons from the floor”. Whilst the music venue was an integral part of the building, the work carried out by the Recloose Organisation not only rejuvenated those spaces which were still dilapidated but also redefined the purpose of the Ambulance Station. In addition to the music venue and bar the newly formed Ambulance Station co-operative built a recording studio, sculpture/screen-printing workshop, café, darkrooms, artist studios, and offices for S.N.O.W (Squatters network of Walworth & Southwark) who, according to sources close to the organization, in 1985 re-housed more people in the borough than Southwark council.
With so much happening the Ambulance Station began to gain increasing attention from the mainstream press. In 1984 the makers of a BBC Arena documentary focusing on the history of Old Kent Road decided to pay a visit. Simon Crab recalls that the program: “had quite a big effect on the local community – they had previously seen us as dirty squatters but were really impressed with what they saw on the TV - they all came round to have a look.” This was not the last time The Ambulance Station would be a focus of the press. A precursor to the anti globalization marches of the nineties, the famous ‘Stop the City’ protests were in part organised by anarchist groups within the squat and involved protestors blockading the streets of London’s financial district in a bid to halt trading. Reports from the time claim that one of the marches helped caused a one hundred million pound shortfall in trading on one day alone.
However, in many ways the Ambulance station was a victim of its own success. In part due to the disruption caused by the protests the government passed the Public Order Act of 1986 allowing the police to hold regular raids on the Ambulance Station often with little or no reason given to the residents. Yet, external pressure was not the only problem, with in fighting between the occupants quickening the Ambulance Station’s demise. Simon Crab recalls the tensions within the building at the time: “There was an increasing factional dispute between The Ambulance Station co-operative and what I would call the 'stoners' which often turned violent.” Frustrated by the breakdown in solidarity, many of the cooperatives members including the Recloose Organisation decided to move to new premises, leaving the building prey to junkies and dealers. Eventually, in 1987, the council evicted the remaining squatters and seized the building.
In many respects, it seems a waste that a building, which once was a thriving hub of cultural activity, is now home to a “fireplace showroom”. Perhaps even more tragic is the fact that no one in the area seems to have any knowledge that such a place once existed. On a recent visit to ‘The Blue Mantle’ as it is now known, I questioned one of the young salesmen as to whether anyone who worked there knew anything about the buildings history. The response was less than enthusiastic, with the telling remark: “To be honest mate, everyone who was around then is probably dead.” Once you manage to dodge past the salesman up the main stairway you can still access the top floors of the building where you will find the last remnants of painted murals and anarchy symbols flaking away on the walls. Other than this, the rooms are stripped bare housing little more than a few dusty covered mannequins who stand eerily in the corner of the room.
There have been a number of drastic improvements to Old Kent Road since the squat closed. Most notably, the Nazi skinheads that used to terrorize the residents have given way to a more diverse and co-operative community. In spite of this, nothing since has filled the cultural gap left by the Ambulance Station, and whether or not you agree with squatting, after hearing the stories of what was once here, it is hard not to feel a sense of loss. For Simon Crab going back to the building provides a chance for reflection. “I have mixed emotions about it,” Crab remarks. “On one hand it was a once in a lifetime experience of idealism realized. On the other it was a huge opportunity wasted.”
In many respects, it seems a waste that a building, which once was a thriving hub of cultural activity, is now home to a “fireplace showroom”. Perhaps even more tragic is the fact that no one in the area seems to have any knowledge that such a place once existed. On a recent visit to ‘The Blue Mantle’ as it is now known, I questioned one of the young salesmen as to whether anyone who worked there knew anything about the buildings history. The response was less than enthusiastic, with the telling remark: “To be honest mate, everyone who was around then is probably dead.” Once you manage to dodge past the salesman up the main stairway you can still access the top floors of the building where you will find the last remnants of painted murals and anarchy symbols flaking away on the walls. Other than this, the rooms are stripped bare housing little more than a few dusty covered mannequins who stand eerily in the corner of the room.
There have been a number of drastic improvements to Old Kent Road since the squat closed. Most notably, the Nazi skinheads that used to terrorize the residents have given way to a more diverse and co-operative community. In spite of this, nothing since has filled the cultural gap left by the Ambulance Station, and whether or not you agree with squatting, after hearing the stories of what was once here, it is hard not to feel a sense of loss. For Simon Crab going back to the building provides a chance for reflection. “I have mixed emotions about it,” Crab remarks. “On one hand it was a once in a lifetime experience of idealism realized. On the other it was a huge opportunity wasted.”
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