google.com, pub-8350223094718257, DIRECT, f08c47fec0942fa0 Hidden in Plain Sight: London's WWII Stretcher Railings
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Hidden in Plain Sight: London's WWII Stretcher Railings

  • Writer: Jess Bardin
    Jess Bardin
  • Apr 24
  • 3 min read

No matter where you go in London, you’re surrounded by history. It peeks out at you from the tops of ancient churches, the soot-stained bricks of old warehouses, and — if you know where to look — from the very fence railings themselves.


London’s history stretches back long before the Romans set up camp here, and sometimes, those thousands of years of history are grand and unmistakable — think the Tower of London, built in 1078, or Westminster Abbey, whose foundations were laid in 1245. But not all of London’s stories announce themselves so loudly. Some are hidden in plain sight, woven quietly into the fabric of everyday life.


I want to introduce you to one of my favourite hidden relics of World War II London: the stretcher railings. Yes, you read that right. Some of the humble iron fences lining London’s council estates and public spaces are made from old stretchers — the very ones used during the Blitz to carry the injured to safety.


railings in London made from recycled WWII-era metal stretchers
Photo by Yersinia: https://www.flickr.com/photos/yersinia/

A Nation on Alert: London and the Blitz


The story of these unique fences begins during World War II, in one of London’s darkest hours.


Picture it: 1939. Britain is bracing for aerial bombardment, the government, in a moment of commendable forward-thinking, commissions around 600,000 stretchers for civilian use. They’re designed to be cheap, durable, and easy to clean — simple metal frames with taut wire mesh. Not particularly glamorous, but very, very necessary.


And then came the Blitz.


From September 1940 to May 1941, night after night, waves of Luftwaffe bombers battered London in a relentless campaign to cripple Britain’s infrastructure and shatter civilian morale. Thousands of Londoners took refuge in underground stations and makeshift shelters while their homes and neighborhoods were reduced to rubble.


Even Buckingham Palace wasn't spared; when it was bombed, Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother, famously remarked that she was glad — because it meant she could "look the East End in the face" and share the hardships of ordinary Londoners.


Throughout this chaos, those humble steel stretchers played a crucial role. They carried countless Londoners — dust-covered, bleeding, but alive — out of the ruins and into safety. Many who survived the Blitz owed their lives to these unassuming frames of metal and mesh.


Waste Not, Want Not: Recycling the Stretchers


After the war, however, Britain faced a rather different crisis: a crippling shortage of building materials. Rationing didn’t stop with sugar and eggs — it extended to steel and iron, too. Rather than scrap the now surplus stretchers, the ever-resourceful London County Council decided to upcycle them into railings to replace the miles of fencing lost during the bombings.


If you know where to look, you can spot them: railings made of two parallel steel poles with distinctive rounded handles at the top — a silent, everyday memorial to the resilience of wartime London.



Where To Find The Stretcher Railings


Today, these stretcher railings are quietly woven into the city’s landscape, mostly around council estates built in the late 1940s and early 1950s. Some particularly good examples can be found in:

  • Hillingdon

  • East London (especially around Bethnal Green)

  • Southwark

  • Camberwell


There’s even a plaque commemorating them on the Providence Place Estate near Islington.



A Living Memorial


Next time you’re strolling through London, take a moment to glance at the railings. They’re not just practical barriers; they’re history you can reach out and touch — remnants of bravery, loss, ingenuity, and that classic British knack for making do and carrying on.


It’s just another reason why I’ll always argue that London isn’t just a city — it’s a living museum. And sometimes, the best exhibits are the ones hiding right under your nose.

Ulriken, Bergen, Norway.jpe
About Jess Bardin

Jess Bardin is a linguist, writer, traveller, nerd, and obsessive reader. She writes about her experiences in travelling and learning languages. One time, she pet a deer. Several, in fact. 

 

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