Piccadilly Circus Station

Above ground, pigeons circle the statue everyone calls Eros while tourists do the same with cameras. Below, trains have been pulling in since 1906. The Bakerloo and Piccadilly lines opened within months of each other, and the street-level entrances were swamped almost at once. By the 1920s the whole station had gone fully underground, hidden under the square but moving more people than ever.

Charles Holden redesigned it in 1928. He gave the city a circular ticket hall directly below the Circus and swapped the old lifts for escalators. It was practical, not showy, but it worked. You could argue the real heart of the square has always been underground, running on a timetable instead of a clock tower.

The tiles are cream and green, nothing flashy, but they hold up. The tunnels split and bend in ways that feel deliberate. Many visitors claim they pop up blocks away from where they started. That is the point. The station was built to move crowds without letting them pile up. Confusion is part of the design.

During the Second World War, Piccadilly became a shelter. Londoners brought blankets and waited out air raids in the echo of trains and footsteps. The same space that carried them to work by day carried them through the Blitz by night. Survival disguised as routine.

Today more than 40 million people pass through each year. Tourists climb the escalators expecting neon. Commuters keep their heads down and move fast. The station absorbs both without ceremony. What started as two platforms under a roundabout is now one of London’s busiest crossroads. The glow above gets the attention. The work still happens below.