The MP’s grandfather worked as a dairyman and lorry driver, but this does not fit his carefully cultivated public image
Just to the south of London’s great stations for the north – Euston, St Pancras and King’s Cross – an old and rather careworn neighbourhood serves the traveller’s needs. Cheap beds, cheap food and drink, drugs probably, sex formerly. Finer amusements had been planned for the site: in 1830 a project known as the Royal Panharmonium Pleasure Gardens, which was to include a theatre, ballroom and music gallery, went bankrupt before it was finished. In its place came a square and a few streets of modest brown-brick houses, built just before flat-fronted Georgian went out of fashion.
Knowing no better, I stayed in a comfortless room there on a winter’s night in the 1960s. Shillings fed the meter for the gas fire, a light bulb hung from the ceiling, and in the early hours of the morning the door shook with a tremendous banging as a man’s slurred voice called out for a woman. The area is more respectable now, but in some ways nicely unchanged. True, there’s a Travelodge and a Comfort Inn, but also a Macdonald hotel and a Jesmond Dene hotel, which speak of a time when travellers coming or going from stations north of the Tyne liked to be reminded of home.
Ian Jack is a Guardian columnist
