Our lifeline, pride and joy and link with the past – how the River Thames made Southwark

Things come and go in the borough of Southwark. Right through time beautiful buildings have been erected, only to be demolished again by some fanciful architect of the day. Green space has been built over, meadows lost, wildlife driven out .

Theatres have thrived and died but are now re-appearing. Important ecclesiastical monuments are buried under tar, the thundering traffic overhead rocking their foundations.

Much of our history has been lost, either through greedy developers who can't see the bigger picture, or by Hitler who most certainly could. But one thing that never changes, that we all take for granted, that easily ebbs and flows through time is the good old Thames.

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No one can alter that distinctive smell of the river; a tinge of algae mixed with salt and just a dash of oil - the smell of home. Any map of London is dominated by that big blue ribbon that twists and turns through the capital - all those satellites gliding round the earth can see it.

And while it may not be the picturesque Thames of Kenneth Graham's Wind in the Willows, our end certainly reflects the people of Southwark - at times a little rough with hidden depths which can be both beautiful and dangerous. It is our lifeline, our pride and joy, our link with the past.

However you describe it, one thing is for sure; it has dominated Southwark for time immemorial and is the backbone of our heritage.

Long before Southwark was inhabited the river lazily flowed through the land, branching off into little tributaries and ponds, home to all manner of wildlife long extinct. Early man lived on its banks and fished, drank and washed from the waters. And since then the Thames has continually had a starring part in the history of Southwark.

The buildings that have stood upon its shores are well documented; St Saviour's Dock is mentioned in the Domesday Book as a little harbour and it still is really - nothing much has changed there.

It's recorded that in the year 1114 a freak ebb tide took all the water from the Thames, revealing the riverbed and a host of floundering fish. Apparently men could cross it by either walking or riding across. Nothing like it has ever happened since. Imagine if it did - the amount of mudlarks with their metal detectors trudging through the mud!

In Tudor times it must have been a disconcerting sight for all those Southwark residents standing on the banks of the Thames as they watched a Queen sail downstream to her death.

Ann Boleyn, dressed in the latest French fashion, solemn and dignified, floated past her subjects to keep her date with the executioner's axe.

In fact, one of the river's tributaries was the Neckinger Stream, also associated with execution. The name Neckinger means the Devil's neckcloth, otherwise known as the Hangman's Noose. Apparently river pirates were strung up along the stream.

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Until the 1930s the river was still overground and generations of Bermondsey kids would fish for tiddlers there. The Neckinger still flows beneath Bermondsey - it follows the course of Spa Road.

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Back in Elizabethan Bankside the river served as a superhighway for those going to the theatres. The watermen were then the cab drivers of their day (no doubt they charged waiting time too) and would ferry the top brass of the day down from Chelsea and the City to Southwark.

People would come ashore via the steps placed right along the riverfront, which are still there waiting to be used again.

Just along from theatreland, right by London Bridge was Montague House, home to Lord Montague. A noble sort, he was sitting at home one night minding his own business when someone banged on his door. When he answered it he found some seventeenth century rozzers outside, who promptly arrested him and bundled him off to the Tower.

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After being roughed up a bit, the bewildered peer was released by some rather red-faced coppers who'd mistaken him for one Lord Monteagle who'd been involved in the Gunpowder Plot. Wonder if he sued for false arrest? One little spelling mistake and the constabulary gets taken to the cleaners.

Strolling through Hay's Galleria on a sunny day is a rather pleasant experience. But if you'd done it in the nineteenth century you'd have soggy socks. Tea clippers used to sail right into Hay's Wharf (yes, that bit where you eat your sandwiches and look at the sculpture) where they'd be unloaded and the stock put straight into the warehouses of London's Larder.

It's now a tranquil tourist sight but back then it was bustling with porters, cranes and tall ships. In later years the sooty, dumpy steamships replaced the romantic clippers.

If you look high up on the wall of 15 Tooley Street there's a fab sculpture of a steamship put there by the company that traded there. Built in 1856, Hay's Wharf was where cold storage was pioneered.

The Thames has given so much work to so many people. Ships from across the globe have sailed into our gracious borough dropping off butter from New Zealand, bulbs from Holland, spices from the West Indies, tea from China and India, silks from the Far East, timber from the Baltic and fruit from Jamaica (and rum - yippee).

There had to be plenty of labour to unload all these delights so the locals were always in gainful employment. Plus, there were the watermen and lightermen who'd sail out to the bigger ships, unload and then ferry all the goodies back to the wharves.

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Breweries such as Courage's and Anchor sprung up by the Thames. In 1745 Horselydown was an area of meadows where John Courage's shire horses would graze after a hard day pulling the barrels around town.

The name means 'Horse lie down' and if you go down to The Circle you'll see the magnificent statue of Jacob, the Shire horse that represents the area.

The Thames saw plenty of action during World War Two and was put to good use. Wooden-hulled tugs were used for minesweeping down at Rotherhithe. Numbers were painted on the balustrades of London Bridge and were used as points in a chain of smoke generators, positioned to blot out The Pool from the Luftwaffe.

In May 1945 the local kids couldn’t contain their excitement when U-boat 766, an Atlantic raider, was captured by the Navy and berthed at Battlebridge Pier - near where the Belfast is now docked.

In the summer of 1946 a Red cross ship, the Swedish Rosa Smith sailed into the pool to collect food parcels for our POWs. At the end of 1946 people welcomed the SS Baltannic when she docked as she brought the first post- war eggs from Poland. Finland sent ships bearing timber to rebuild the area after the war damage.

Of course, crime has always been rife along the riverfront, despite the best efforts of Neighbourhood Watch and the local copshop. At least nowadays they haven't got to worry too much about smugglers.

The Thames never used to have the dazzling array of lights sparkling in its waters that it does now. Oh no, it was all dark, murky and sinister before the luxury flats sprung up. Great conditions if you were planning to row out and get yourself a few tins of coffee and a sack of sugar.

By the eighteenth century the whole area was crowded with ships full of cargo and rich pickings for the light fingered - apparently one third of all river workers were known thieves or receivers.

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To curtail this crimewave a magistrate suggested building enclosed docks to control cargo, which resulted in the advent of the river police. Unfortunately, for the bobbies bobbing along on the beautiful briny it wasn't all plain sailing. They were regularly coshed, stabbed or thrown in the river and left to drown in its swirling eddies.

It would be some time however, before a Fire Brigade appeared. Fires were a way of life in Rotherhithe. The whole riverside was lined with warehouses full to the brim with flammables - tar, pitch, resin and rope were just sitting there waiting to be ignited.

In 1758 a fire broke out in the timber yard of one Mr Trinder who worked from Cuckold's Point, which is about half way round the loop. It started at one in the morning and quickly took hold of the neighbouring buildings, completely destroying all the wood, sail and cordage needed for his business. Apparently there were four suspicious characters hanging around just before the fire was discovered.

On the subject of Cuckold's Point it's a little-known fact that besides being the place where river pirates were hanged (blimey, they were swinging about all over the place wasn't they?) it was also where the first rhino was to be viewed in England.

In 1711 the paying public flocked to get a look at this magnificent beast, even though it had long ceased-to-be. The skeleton and skin were stuck together to resemble some kind of rhino-type thing.

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Our part of the Thames has been host to some distinguished people, albeit being dead at the time. On a dark, grey January day in 1806 the people of Southwark lined the banks of the river to solemnly watch the passing of Britain's greatest naval hero: Admiral Lord Horatio Nelson.

In December 1805 HMS Victory had dropped anchor in Portsmouth to bring his body home. He was in an iron coffin and transported to Greenwich where he lay in state until the day of the funeral. Thousands passed his coffin to pay their last respects. The whole nation was in mourning.

This was to be the first state funeral of a commoner and as the people of Southwark lined their riverfront they looked on as ten gun-boats, state barges and escorts passed them. As Nelson's coffin floated upstream it passed the Pool of London where cannon from the Tower fired a salute.

Distinguished naval people followed the coffin including Admiral Hood and Captain William Bligh. It was a solemn, poignant day, one that left those on the shore silent and sad.

Perhaps the next big state funeral that really touched the hearts of Bermondsey people was that of Winston Churchill. He'd led them through the dark days of the Blitz, never once faltering, always boosting his people's morale.

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On another grey January day in 1965 England's other great naval hero would be given an emotional send-off by his nation. After the funeral ceremony at St Paul's the coffin was taken to Tower Pier and sailed upstream to Festival Pier.

As the coffin passed Hay's Wharf all the crane heads were dipped, like a row of solemn dinosaurs. At the Tower ninety guns, one for each year of Churchill's life, were fired followed by an RAF flypast.

On arrival at Festival Pier the coffin was taken to Waterloo Station. How historic is that? Both Nelson and Churchill ended their days on our beautiful river, our lifeline, now and always.