COMMENT

I’ve always been fascinated by bridges. Perhaps it’s because I grew up in a town with a bridge that was notorious. Staines bridge carried the A30 main road over the River Thames. Even as early as the 1950s, on summer Saturdays, with holidaymakers heading for the West of England, its traffic jams were legendary. It had been a crossing place since Roman times, when it was called Pontes, meaning bridges. When I was a kid, there was a war-time Bailey bridge in addition to the road and rail crossings of the river.

There was, however, nothing spectacular about the bridges at Staines. ‘Spectacular’ meant the