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After our swim, we made our way back to our blanket – squeezing past the metal crowd control barriers which now partition the meadow from the swimming area – and caught sight of the ruckus. There were birds squawking, flapping and… feasting on our börek.
‘That’s our lunch!’ I screamed as my (far more practical) friend rescued our gözleme, which was thankfully untouched. ‘Oh yes, they’re having a party!’ cackled a girl who was sitting on a nearby blanket watching the whole thing. I stared back at her blankly, unable to see the funny side.
The fact that the birds had eaten half our lunch was annoying (particularly as it was my fault for not packing it away more securely). But the fact that no one in a busy area had bothered to intervene felt bizarre. The ladies’ pond has always been a safe space. The safe space. How had they all just sat there, turning a blind eye, while our lunch had been ravaged? Who were these people?
We were still mourning our pastry when an older lady came over. She was the kind of woman I’d always hoped to mature into: a pond regular, completely comfortable in her well-worn skin. But if the birds had pecked away at the veneer of a convivial community, this woman ripped it off completely.
She started off by explaining that she hadn’t bothered to save our lunch because of an ongoing dispute she is having with ‘SOME AWFUL LESBIANS!’ regarding a juvenile fox who frequents the meadow (she’s a fan, they are not). She proceeded to fervently recount the ins and outs of the feud for the best part of 30 minutes, dropping a litany of almost comically un-PC comments as she went. It was excruciating.
When she finally left us in peace, we ate what was left of our lunch – and then I went to have a shower. I usually go straight home from the pond after swimming, but as the only time slot we’d been able to book was in the late afternoon and I was heading straight to a friend’s birthday party afterwards, I’d made an exception.
First, though, I had to get past the woman at the new ticket booth. You see, according to the new system, you aren’t allowed back through to the swimming area from the meadow once your time slot has finished. Not even for a shower. Yes, for 97 glorious years the ladies of the pond were at liberty to roam free as nature intended. Now, we pay for the privilege of being penned in. Aw, progress.
I managed it, eventually, after a tense back and forth. But I couldn’t wash away the feeling that the ladies’ pond has been well and truly screwed by the dark forces of capitalism. It’s not just the cost – which is a peevish, mean-spirited barrier to entry. There’s also the inconvenience, stress and spontaneity-killer of having to book.
Never before had I left the pond feeling anything other than ecstatic. I usually float home in a state of ethereal bliss: high off the thrill and exertion, while also feeling calm and clear-headed. I realise this means my expectations are ludicrously high, but I’ve never been disappointed before.
For the ladies who swim there – whether fair-weather swimmers such as myself, who rock up with a gaggle of friends as soon as the mercury hits 30°C, or the hardcore, all-weather women, who brave winter’s ice for their daily dip – the pond is so much more than just a body of water. It’s a sacred space, a state of mind, a garden of Eden, where for a few precious hours the rest of the world drifts away.
Are we seriously saying that London, one of the richest cities in the world, can no longer afford to keep the ponds free and open to all? Come on! That the CoLC clearly views the ponds as a money-sapping nuisance rather than a unique and wonderful jewel in the city’s crown is not only shameful, but really quite embarrassing.
Is this really what London stands for? Is this a sign of things to come? If so, you can count me out.
Because you read about coronavirus
Also by Siam Goorwich
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