The Canal at Night
So a few days ago, I walked back from my escrima class along Regents Canal after the sun had set. I always walk along the canal to the class, when the sun’s up, but very rarely after dark. It wasn’t much past 8.30 p.m., so hardly the deepest hour of the night, but canal towpaths in London – indeed, perhaps, in most places – have a reputation. In the minds of most Londoners, I think it’s fair to say that after sunset, the canals are associated with crime and danger, ranging from your petty flasher, up to the most extreme violence.
But, having just come from a stick-hitting class, and with a bag of sticks on my back, and by now knowing every inch of the path very well indeed, I thought I’d have a walk down it and see for myself.
First thing that strikes you, as you step onto the path after dark, is that it’s really very, very dark in places. For one stretch, I pulled out my torch to walk along with, partially to illuminate my way, partially to warn any approaching cyclists or joggers of my presence. Thick bushes, budlia and scraggy, big-leaved shrubs grow on the side of the path, and at points it narrows, particularly under bridges, so that two people cannot comfortably or easily pass. It’s quiet on the towpath, an otherworldly quiet that you don’t get in London, even the sound of traffic vanishing. There are still a few joggers, a few cyclists, left-overs from the day, but they’re nothing compared to the constant stream of people you have when the sun is up. Sometimes as you walk, you think you see someone far ahead, and with no easy exit up either the steep walls on one side, nor into the still waters of the canal on the other, you have no real choice but to push on and encounter this stranger, a silhouette in black, whether you want to or no.
There’s alcohol on the towpath. In some places, it’s posh little bars showing indie movies on a projection screen, or serving expensive wine to its table-football-playing clientele. In others, it’s cheap six-packs of beer, the cans left empty on the benches, men leering down from the bridges or the stairs, swaying as they walk. Alcohol dulls the senses, including common sense.
Common sense defense, we were always taught at school. Use your common sense and avoid getting into a situation where you might wind up in trouble. In the case of the towpath, I’m not sure how much trouble is actually there. People live in the canal barges by the water; apartments look out from across the way; there’s some streetlighting in places that spills down, and still enough joggers and cyclists out about to provide a degree of security. More to the point, you can walk down it while being alert. No headphones, no day-dreaming, just say alert and use your common sense. It’s very easy, in a big city, to be afraid of nothing much at all, and for urban myths to blur the line between truth and fiction.
It’s very beautiful on the towpath at night. Proper quiet, and proper dark in the city are very hard to find, and when they occur they are undeniably beautiful. The anxiety you feel at walking through a lonely, dark place can also make you open your eyes and properly look at your surroundings. A fairly good rule of thumb for a lighting designer on the stage is that the best lighting is created through contrast. A shaft of light will seem the brighter if all that surrounds it is darkness; a colour will be enhanced it if emerges from something different. Walking through the canal, you move between light and dark constantly, and for those stretches when you are alone, the sound of your own footsteps on the changing mixture of cement and flagstone, suddenly seems the loudest sound in the world.
Will I walk down the towpath after dark again?
Probably. I do not actively seek the walk; enough common sense prevails in me to suggest that dark, lonely places in the dead of night is not a wise move for a self-respecting Londoner. But common sense is not the same as fear; I am cautious, but I also love the canal at night.
