Suicide Bridge

I  took  a  journey  into  the  past  early  this  evening,  up  the  hill  past  Archway  Station,  up  the    busy  Archway  Road.  Halfway  up  the  hill  you  will  see  a  century-old  bridge   which  is  notorious  throughout  London.

Suicide  Bridge.

Ever  since  I  came  to  live  in  this  part  of  town,  I  have  never  known  it  to  be  called  by  any  other  name.  Tucked  away  in  the  inner  pages  of  the  local  newspapers  , there  used  to  be  frequent  reports  of  people  who  had  jumped  to  their  death    by  scaling  the  railings...

Suicide  is  always  a  dreadful  way  to  die,  but  jumping  from  this  height  only  to  land  on  top  of ( or  in  front  of ) some  unsuspecting  motorist  on  this  busy  road  seems  such  a  public  way  of  declaring  despair  and  helplessness...

  I  lived  for  several  years  at  the  end  of  the  road  which  crosses  the  top  of  the  bridge---Hornsey  Lane.  On  a  couple of  occasions,  I  would  see  a  huddle  of  people  at  the  end  of  the    bridge,  placards  in  hand.  At  other  times,  there  would  be  a  clutch  of  bouquets---they  would  lie  there,  undisturbed  for  a  couple  of  weeks,  only  to  be  cleared  away  before  the  next  victim  decided  to  choose  the  darkness  over  the  half-light  of    life's  incessant  struggles.  Indeed,  my  elderly (late)  ex-landlady's  husband  lost  his  life  here.  It    is  rumoured  that  he  came  back  from  the  Second  World  War  a  broken  man .  He  went  out  one  night,  and  never  came  back.

    The  fence  around  the  bridge  has  been  thickened  ,  and  made  a  little  higher,  but  I  doubt  that  we  will  hear  the  last  of   Suicide  Bridge...