The Royal Arsenal was, of course, the beating heart of Woolwich.
For centuries it was far more than a collection of factories and warehouses. It was almost a city within a city. It employed thousands of people and shaped the lives of generations of families. It represented Britain’s military and industrial power—from the age of empire through the two world wars—and its presence dominated every aspect of the town.
Walking through Woolwich, one was constantly reminded of this history. The enormous stores, workshops, gates and industrial buildings created a landscape unlike anywhere else in London. The scale and seriousness of the Arsenal reflected the importance of the work carried out there. Luckily the gateway to the Arsenal still stands. Here are some photos I took dating back to 1984 when it was being isolated from the wall it defended.

Today, parts of the Arsenal have thankfully been preserved. The historic buildings that remain still give some impression of what this extraordinary place once was. However, its character has inevitably changed. The Arsenal is no longer a centre of production and military activity but a residential and commercial development. This has brought investment, new housing and new life, but it has also meant the loss of much of the atmosphere that once made the place unique.
The Arsenal was also much larger than the area now familiar to visitors. To the east lay the vast armaments testing grounds, extending across former marshland towards what would later become Thamesmead. In my early years in Woolwich, I was fascinated by this forgotten landscape. I would explore the area, often entering places that felt like a lost world.
There were still substantial industrial buildings, remnants of the railway system that had once served the Arsenal, mysterious earthworks, ponds and even an island where explosive materials had once been stored: the tumps. I took photographs of this extraordinary landscape, which combined the remains of Britain’s industrial past with some of the richest wildlife to be found anywhere in London. This forgotten side of the Arsenal showed another aspect of Woolwich’s history: not only the grand buildings and official monuments, but also the hidden spaces where nature had reclaimed former industrial land.

I particularly love the photos I took regarding the remains of a local railway system. What locomotives did they use? Was there a fixed timetable?. When did it close down? What an attrative tourist and educational would the railway have made today had it been preserved!

The casements built to protect the Arsenal from attack by the enemy on the river side were also noteworthy. Goodness knows what life must have been like for the forces manning them.

The challenge with regeneration is always the same. A place must adapt if it is to survive, but if too much of its physical memory disappears, the connection with previous generations becomes weaker.
The same applies to ordinary streets and everyday buildings. In the 1970s, Woolwich still contained many glimpses of its older character: Victorian houses, small shops, local businesses and pubs where people knew one another. It was not a perfect world—no historic London neighbourhood ever was—but it possessed a strong identity.
The architectural historian Nikolaus Pevsner, writing in his 1966 guide to London buildings, noted the presence of numerous modest Georgian and early Victorian houses in Woolwich. Many of these ordinary buildings were not grand monuments, but they contributed enormously to the atmosphere of the town. Their loss was therefore just as significant as the demolition of more famous landmarks.
The Victorians generally built with the expectation that their buildings would last for generations. Much twentieth-century redevelopment was designed with a shorter lifespan in mind. Woolwich Swimming Centre, for example, survived for less than thirty years before being demolished and replaced. The college in Woolwich I taught as a lecturer of further education for over twenty years was recently demolished with many of its buildings only erected this century!
This is not to say that every new building is unsuccessful or that towns should remain frozen in time. The issue is one of balance. Good regeneration should add to a place’s history rather than erase it.
The loss of the small details of everyday life was particularly damaging. Corner shops, local pubs, modest terraces and familiar buildings created the character of the streets. They were the places where people met, shopped, talked and built communities.
The pubs deserve special mention because they were much more than places to drink. They were social centres, meeting places and part of the fabric of neighbourhood life. Woolwich once had many small pubs serving local communities. Some have been converted into houses, which at least allows the buildings to survive, but others have disappeared completely. The disappearance of pubs in the UK has been on a large scale; in Woolwich it has been on an even larger scale.
The destruction of places like the Director General near the Town Hall (with the false promise that it would be rebuilt) reminds us that history is not only found in grand churches and famous monuments. Ordinary buildings also tell the story of a place. And there’s a rather extraordinary point here: the building was locally listed, the preservation campaign was active, Historic England was documenting its interior in July 2007, and the council nevertheless proceeded with its demolition after the planning permission was upheld!
Woolwich also had moments of great confidence and optimism. The cinemas of the 1930s are among the best examples. The Granada and Odeon were not simply buildings containing screens; they were entertainment palaces, designed to make an ordinary visit to the cinema feel like a special occasion.
The Granada, in particular, represented an age when architecture was used to inspire the imagination. Its lavish interiors transported audiences into another world. It reminds us that Woolwich was not always regarded as a declining area. It was once a place of ambition, pride and confidence.

This is why Woolwich’s story is so important. It is not simply a story of decline. It is the story of a place that played a major role in Britain’s history but failed, at too many times, to protect the physical evidence of that history.
Woolwich had the potential to become one of London’s great heritage destinations. Greenwich preserves and celebrates Britain’s naval history; Woolwich could have done the same for Britain’s military and industrial past. The Royal Arsenal, the barracks, the churches and the surviving historic buildings together represented a story of national importance.
Some changes were inevitable. The closure of the Arsenal and the withdrawal of the military presence transformed the town. Economic forces affected Woolwich just as they affected many industrial communities. But the loss of so many important buildings was not inevitable. It was the result of decisions made at a time when conservation was not given the importance it receives today and a town council with myopic vision.
When I arrived in the Greenwich area in 1979, much of old Woolwich had already disappeared. Yet enough remained for me to experience something of its character: the military presence, the historic churches, the cinemas, the streets, the pubs and the atmosphere of a town with a remarkable past.
I was fortunate to have at least known that transitional moment—not the complete historic Woolwich that earlier generations experienced, but a place where traces of the old world could still be found.
Today Woolwich is a different place. Some changes have been positive, and new communities have brought new energy. A living town must always evolve. But when too much of the physical memory of a place is removed, something important is lost. Unfortunately it is often the case that the increasing number of new ethnicities entering urban areas may not have the same viewpoint regarding buildings and places reflecting English heritage and culture and will therefore not give the same care to them as previous generations did.
A town is not only made of buildings. It is made of the people who lived there, the sounds and smells of everyday life, the places where memories were created and the stories passed from one generation to another.
Buildings are the visible expression of those memories. Once they disappear, the memories become harder to see.
And sometimes, those memories are all that remain.

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