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Restoration At Wilton’s Music Hall

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Yesterday, I spent the morning exploring Wilton’s Music Hall and visiting all the secret corners to record the progress of the major restoration project which aims to preserve as much of the original fabric and patina as possible, whilst also securing the building and delivering the requirements of a working theatre to ensure the long-term future of this magnificently atmospheric survival.

Where Champagne Charlie once played

Marc Almond lingers in the foyer

In a secret workshop in the basement

The space between the former terrace of houses and the music hall that was built behind them

Old lamp stored in the cellar

Nineteenth century boiler beneath the auditorium

In the Mahogany Bar

Visit Wilton’s Music Hall, Grace’s Alley, E1 8JB

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Frances Mayhew, Wilton’s Music Hall

David Mason, Wilton’s Music Hall


Visit Norton Folgate’s Victorian Warehouses

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This weekend, Norton Folgate hosts Best of Britannia, a pop-up department store showcasing the best of British manufacturing and permitting the opportunity to visit the wonderful nineteenth century warehouse interiors that British Land want to destroy.

This event illustrates the flexibility of the existing spaces and proposes one possible use for the buildings if they can escape demolition. Tower Hamlets Planning Committee vote on British Land’s proposal to obliterate Norton Folgate under a hideous corporate plaza on July 21st, so there is still time to object – and you have until 8pm today and 6pm this Sunday to take a look for yourself at what could be lost.

In 2010, Photographer Rachael Marshall took these atmospheric pictures of the buildings which were the headquarters of Nicholls & Clarke from 1875 until quite recently, supplying hardware and ironmongery of all kinds.

Photographs copyright © Rachael Marshall.

Follow the Campaign at facebook/savenortonfolgate

Follow Spitalfields Trust on twitter @SpitalfieldsT

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Dan Cruikshank in Norton Folgate

Stories of Norton Folgate Old & New

The Return of British Land

Save Norton Folgate

A Petition Against The Goodsyard Towers

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Just recently, Hammerson & Ballymore, who want to build the monster development on the Bishopsgate Goodsyard that threatens to blight the neighbourhood for generations to come, have submitted their revised proposals which make only token response to concerns about the overblown height of the towers, the pitiful amount of social housing and lack of any real commitment to provision for smaller businesses. In response, More Light More Power have launched a petition against the scheme which has already gained a thousand signatures and you can sign it by clicking here.

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Objecting to the Goodsyard Proposals

On The Bishopsgate Goodsyard

Towers Over The Goodsyard

A Brief History of the Bishopsgate Goodsyard

Ancient Arches

David Garrick In The East End

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There are just a few tickets left for the rare opportunity of a tour of the Garrick Club tomorrow, Wednesday 1st July, as part of the HUGUENOT SUMMER Festival. Click here to book yours.

“Have mercy, Heaven” – David Garrick as Richard III

This modest Staffordshire figure of c.1840 upon my dresser illustrates a pivotal moment in British theatre, when David Garrick made his debut aged twenty-four as Richard III at Goodman’s Fields Theatre in Aldgate on Monday 19th October 1741. Based upon William Hogarth’s painting, it shows Garrick in the momentous scene on the night before the battle of Bosworth Field when those Richard has killed appear to him in a dream foretelling his death and defeat next day.

The equivocal nature of the image fascinates me, simultaneously incarnating the startling ascendancy of David Garrick, a new force in the British theatre who was to end up enshrined in Westminster Abbey, and the sudden descent of Richard III, a spent force in British monarchy who ended up buried in a car park in Leicester. You can interpret the gesture of Garrick’s right hand as attention seeking, inviting you to “Look at my acting” or, equally, it can be Richard’s defensive move, snatching at the air with fingers stretched out in horror. It is, perhaps, both at once. Yet my interest is in Garrick and how he became an overnight sensation, introducing a more naturalistic acting style to the London stage and leading the Shakespearean revival in the eighteenth century. And it all started here in the East End, just a mile south of Shakespeare’s first theatre up the road in Shoreditch.

Garrick’s family were Huguenots. His grandparents fled to London in 1685 and David was born in 1717 as the third of five children while his father Captain Garrick was travelling the country with a recruiting party. Suitably enough, at the age of eleven, David played the part of Kite in George Farquhar’s The Recruiting Officer. Then, in 1737, since there was no money to pay for university, David and his literary classmate Samuel Johnson left their school in Lichfield to walk to London and seek their fortunes. But the sudden death of Captain Garrick within a month delivered an unexpected legacy that permitted David to set up a wine business in the Strand with his brother Peter.

In that same year, the Licensing Act closed all the playhouses in London except Drury Lane and Covent Garden, yet the management of the unlicenced Goodman’s Fields Theatre managed to get a dispensation to present concerts. Far enough east to avoid the eye of the Lord Chamberlain, they bent the rules with posters declaring concerts – even if the performances they advertised were actually plays. Thus Richard III is advertised as a “A concert of vocal and instrumental music” at “the late theatre in Goodman’s Fields.” David Garrick’s name as the leading actor is not given, he is merely referred to as “A GENTLEMAN (Who never appeared on any stage)” - a common practice at this theatre.

Next day, the London Post & General Advertiser reported that Garrick’s “Reception was most extraordinary and the greatest that was ever known upon such an occasion.” And he wrote to his brother Peter immediately, quitting the wine business,“Last night, I play’d Richard ye Third, to ye Surprize of Every Body & as I shall make near £300 p Annum by It & as it is really what I doat upon I am resolv’d to pursue it.”

Garrick continued playing Richard throughout his career, essaying the role as many as ninety times, and this account written years later for The Gentlemen’s Magazine may give us some notion of his performance. “His soliloquy in the tent scene discovered the inward man. Everything he described was almost reality, the spectator thought he heard the hum of either army from camp to camp. When he started from his dream, he was a spectacle of horror. He called out in a manly tone, ‘Give me another horse.’ He paused, and, with a countenance of dismay, advanced, crying out in a tone of distress, ‘Bind up my wounds,’ and then falling on his knees, said in a most piteous voice, ‘Have mercy, Heaven.’ In all this, the audience saw the exact imitation of nature.”

By 27th November 1741, Garrick’s performance had turned into a phenomenon which all of London had to see, as The London Daily Post described, “Last night there was a great number of Persons of Quality and Distinction at the Theatre in Goodman’s Fields to see the Play of Richard the Third who express’d the highest Satisfaction at the whole Performance, several hundred Persons were obliged to return for want of room, the house being full soon after Five o’Clock.”

Yet the success that Garrick brought to the Goodman’s Fields drew attention to the unlicensed theatre – forcing its closure within six months by the authorities, encouraged by the managements of Drury Lane and Covent Garden who were losing custom to their East End rival. Meanwhile, Garrick considered his options and, after a triumphant summer season in Dublin, he walked onto the stage of Drury Lane as an actor for the first time on October 5th 1742 and he had found his spiritual home.

The myth of Garrick as the gentleman who stepped onto the stage, drawn magnetically by his powerful talent and declared a genius of theatre upon his first appearance, concealed a more complicated truth. In fact, Garrick had taken his first professional speaking role on the stage that summer in Ipswich, appearing under the name Lyddall. His own play, Lethe or Aesop in the Shades, had been produced at Drury Lane the year before. And, having played Harlequin in an amateur performance in the room above St John’s Gate in Clerkenwell, he took over at Goodman’s Fields Theatre one night when the actor performing the role became sick. So Richard III was far from Garrick’s first time in front of an audience, although it was the moment he chose to declare his talent, and it is likely that he made significant preparation.

Whenever I look at my Staffordshire figure of Garrick, whether he appears to be waving joyfully or reaching out in despair at the universe is an unfailing indicator of my state of mind. Ironically, Garrick’s monument in Westminster Abbey follows a similar design with a tent rising to a central apex, surrounding an effigy of the great actor making his final curtain call, yet here the proud gesture is entirely unambiguous, he’s saying “Look at me!”

William Hogarth’s painting of David Garrick as Richard III, 1745.

The playbill for David Garrick’s debut at Goodman’s Fields Theatre.

The Goodman’s Fields Theatre, Ayliffe St.

William Hogarth’s painting of The Beggar’s Opera by John Gay, performed as the closing production at Goodman’s Fields Theatre on May 27th 1742.

David Garrick’s monument in Westminster Abbey is to be seen on the top right of this glass slide.

Watercolour of Goodman’s Fields Theatre copyright © Victoria & Albert Museum

Glass slide of Garrick’s monument copyright © Bishopsgate Institute

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At Shakespeare’s First Theatre

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At Tim Hunkin’s Novelty Automation

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Contributing film-maker Sebastian Sharples took his children along to visit Tim Hunkin’s NOVELTY AUTOMATION in Princeton St, off Red Lion Sq in Holborn, and this film is the result

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Tim Hunkin, Cartoonist & Engineer

At Tim Hunkin’s Workshop

and watch these other films by Sebastian Sharples

Dan Cruikshank in Norton Folgate

Spitalfields Nippers

Bob Mazzer and Underground

The East End Preservation Society Launch

The Gentle Author’s London Album

Colin O’Brien & the Travellers Children in London Fields

Clive Murphy, Up in Lights

The Book of Spitalfields Life

Unveiling the Map of Spitalfields Life

Mike Henbrey’s Vinegar Valentines

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Inveterate collector, Mike Henbrey has been acquiring harshly-comic nineteenth century Valentines for more than twenty years.

Mischievously exploiting the anticipation of recipients on St Valentine’s Day, these grotesque insults couched in humorous style were sent to enemies and unwanted suitors, and to bad tradesmen by workmates and dissatisfied customers. Unsurprisingly, very few have survived which makes them incredibly rare and renders Mike’s collection all the more astonishing.

“I like them because they are nasty,” Mike admitted to me with a wicked grin, relishing the vigorous often surreal imagination at work in his cherished collection – of which a small selection are published here today for the  first time – revealing a strange sub-culture of the Victorian age.

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Images copyright © Mike Henbrey Collection

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The Trade Cards of Old London

Lottery Tickets of Old London

Cries of London Snap Cards

Happy Families

Vinegar Valentines For Bad Tradesmen

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This second selection from Mike Henbrey‘s extraordinary personal collection of mocking Valentines illustrates the range of tradespeople singled out for hate mail in the Victorian era. Nowadays we despise, Traffic Wardens, Estate Agents, Bankers, Cowboy Builders and Dodgy Plumbers but in the nineteenth century, judging from this collection, Bricklayers, Piemen, Postmen, Drunken Policemen and Cobblers were singled out for vitriol.

Bricklayer

Wood Carver

Drayman

Mason

Pieman

Tax Collector

Sailor

Bricklayer

Trunk Maker

Tailor

Omnibus Conductor

Peddler

Postman

Plumber

Soldier

Policeman

Pieman

Policeman

Cobbler

Railway Porter

House Painter

Haberdasher

Basket Maker

Baker

Housemaid

Guardsman

Chambermaid

Postman

Milliner

Carpenter

Cobbler

Images copyright © Mike Henbrey Collection

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Victorian Trades Scraps

Pictures of Real Life for Children

Modern Cries of London

From My Scrap Collection

Join Hands To Save Norton Folgate

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PLEASE COME AND JOIN HANDS WITH ME to create a circle around Norton Folgate as a symbolic gesture of our shared wish to see the buildings restored for new use instead of being demolished by British Land.

Three days before Tower Hamlets Planning Committee meet to decide the fate of Norton Folgate on July 21st, we want to show that large numbers of people care sufficiently to turn up and create a human chain around these beautiful buildings.

We hope this event will be a focus for everyone who believes old buildings should be repurposed rather than destroyed, as is happening across the London at this moment.

As you know, this is a subject close to my heart and so, as a gesture of gratitude to those who are willing to join hands with me on 19th July, I will give a copy of THE GENTLE AUTHOR’S LONDON ALBUM as a gift to the first five hundred people to turn up.

Registration will commence on Sunday July 19th at 2pm at a desk in Elder St, when you can sign in and be given a map of where to stand and a numbered ticket. At 3pm precisely, we ask everyone to join hands while a film camera travels the entire length of the circle around Norton Folgate. We are also keen that people take photos of themselves and share these through social media to publicise the event using the hashtag #savenortonfolgate

Afterwards, I shall be swapping the five hundred numbered tickets for copies of THE LONDON ALBUM and the event will be dispersed by 3:30pm.

If you care about the future of Spitalfields, if you care about the future of East End, if you care about the future of London, come to join hands in this historic event and bring your family, your friends and neighbours – and please spread the word.

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Click here for a simple guide to HOW TO OBJECT EFFECTIVELY prepared by The Spitalfields Trust (Objections close 20th July)

Follow the Campaign at facebook/savenortonfolgate

Follow Spitalfields Trust on twitter @SpitalfieldsT

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Taking Liberties in Norton Folgate

Inside the Nicholls & Clarke Buildings

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Mike Henbrey, Collector Of Books, Ephemera & Tools

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Mike Henbrey

On the outside, Mike Henbrey’s council flat looks like any other – but once you step inside and glimpse the shelves of fine eighteenth century leather bindings, you realise you are in the home of an extraordinarily knowledgeable collector. High up in the building, Mike sits peacefully in his nest of books, brooding and gazing out at the surrounding tree tops through his large round steel glasses and looking for all the world like a wise old owl.

Walls lined with a collection of pairs of steel dividers of all kinds and shelves of fat albums testify to his collections of tools and ephemera. It is all the outcome of a trained eye and a lifetime of curiosity seeking out wonders in the barrows, markets and salerooms of London, enabling Mike to amass a collection far greater than his means through persistence and knowledge.

The Vinegar Valentines I published earliest this week came from Mike’s albums of ephemera. “Of all my collections, they are the one that gives me the most pleasure,” he assured me with characteristic singularity, despite his obvious kind nature. Immensely knowledgeable yet almost entirely self-educated, Mike is drawn to neglected things that no-one else cares for and this is the genius of his collecting instinct.

Of course, I wanted to pore through all of Mike’s books and albums, but I had to resist this impulse in order to discover his own story and learn how it was that he came to gather his wonderful collection.

“I was born in Chingford in 1943 but, unfortunately, we moved to Norfolk when I was eight. I never liked it there, it was a lonely, cold and draughty place. My father James was a furrier and his father – who was also James – had been a furrier before him in the East End, but they moved out. My mother, Laura Lewis, was a machinist who worked for my father and I think she came from the East End too. I grew up playing in the furriers because my father had his factory in the back garden and the machinists gave me sweets. I think that’s where I got my love of tools.

There was quite a lot of bombing in Chingford during the war and the house next to us got a direct hit which left a great big crack in our wall. I played on bomb sites even though I was told not to, and somehow my mother always seemed to know. I think it must have been the mixture of brick dust and soot on my clothes.

It was a filthy dirty job, being a furrier, and, although my father was a good furrier, he wasn’t a good businessman and he ended up in bankruptcy when I was eight. So that’s how we ended up in Mundesley by the sea in North Norfolk in the early fifties.

As soon as I left school at sixteen, I headed back to London. Ostensibly, it was to complete my training in the catering trade but I hated it, I had already done a year at catering college in Norwich. In reality, I was taking lots of drugs – dope and speed mostly – and working at a night club. I got a job on the door of club called The Bedsitter in Holland Park Avenue. I actually had a bedsitter off Holland Park itself for five pounds a week with a gas ring was in the corner. That was a good time.

I worked at a hotel in Park Lane for a few months. The chef used to throw things at me. They fired me in the end for turning up late. I drifted through life by signing on and working on the side, and the club gave me a good social life. I’m a vicarious hedonist. I’ve always read a lot, I taught myself to read by reading my brother’s copies of Dandy and Beano. He was ten years older than me and he died in his early thirties.

A hippy friend of mine was a packer at a West End bookshop in Grafton St and he got me a job there. I worked for Mr Sawyer, he was a nice man. He employed hippies because they didn’t mind his cigar smoke and he never noticed the smell of pot in the packing room. He employed me as a porter but he told me to buy a suit and I got a job in the bookshop itself. I learnt such a lot while I was there. It was nice to be around books, so much better than working for a living.

Mr Gibbs was the shop manager, he taught me how to catalogue. He couldn’t understand why he kept finding more money in his pay packet. It was because we youngsters kept asking for a pay rise and Mt Sawyer couldn’t give it to us without giving it to Mr Gibbs too.

Mr Gibbs taught me not to speak to Mr Sawyer until he’d been around to Brown’s Hotel for his ‘breakfast’ and I presume this was because ‘breakfast’ consisted of at least three gin and tonics. He was a kind employer, he didn’t pay much but you learnt a lot. He had a tiny desk hidden behind a bookcase with two old spindly chairs that were permanently on the brink of collapse. The place was a university of sorts. I learnt so much so quickly. You can’t always recognise good stuff until you’ve had it pass through your hands.

Mr Sawyer would go through the auction catalogue of books and mark how much you were to bid and send you off to Sotheby’s. You had to stay on the ball, because sometimes he’d make an agreement with other booksellers not to let him get a lot below a certain price, because he’d be bidding for a customer and he’d be on commission. In those days, it was possible to make living by frequenting Sotheby’s and buying books. You learn a lot about the peculiarities of the bookselling trade. I think I was earning fourteen pounds a week. It was positively Dickensian.

By then I had met my wife Jeanna. We got married in 1965 and moved around between lots of flats we couldn’t afford. Jeanna & I started a book stall in Camden Passage called Icarus. I love the street markets like Portobello and Brick Lane. We made a lot of sales and I bought some wonderful stuff in street markets when you could discover things, and I’ve still got some of it.

We had two daughters, Samantha & Natasha, but Jeanna died young. We were living in Islington in Highbury Fields and I was left on my own to bring up the kids, who were eight and three years old at the time. That’s when I got this council flat, on account of being  a single parent, and I’ve been here thirty-eight years. I lived on benefits with bookselling on the side to bring in some extra money and brought up my kids with the help of girlfriends.

A friend of mine had a secondhand tool shop and I worked there for a while. You could buy old tools from the sixteenth and seventeenth century for not very much money then, and we had some that no-one ever wanted to buy, so I brought them home. I am fascinated by tools for specialist professions, each one opens a door to a particular world. I still have my father’s furriers’ tools and they pack into such a small box.

From then on I’ve been a book dealer. Once you fall out of having a regular job, it’s difficult to go back. I think my kids regard me with mixture of mild disappointment and tolerance. On occasion, they have generously put up with me spending money on books instead of dinner.

I’ve always been a collector, reference books mainly, and from there I’ve become a dealer. I’m not interested in fiction but I do love a good reference book.”

Sawyer, the bookseller in Grafton St where Mike Henbrey once worked

Mr Gibbs, bookshop manager

Mike Henbrey, Collector of books, ephemera and tools

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Mike Henbrey’s Collection Of Dividers

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A few smaller examples from Mike Henbrey’s collection

Yesterday, I went back to visit Mike Henbrey and we photographed his collection of pairs of dividers. “Once every trade needed dividers to make measurements,” Mike informed me, “but when I worked in the secondhand tool shop nobody was interested to buy them.”

Yet this neglect became Mike’s gain and now the walls of his flat are lined with beautiful pairs of dividers of all kinds. As you can see from the two thousand-year-old Roman pair, the design has barely changed over time and Mike was the first to admit that some of the examples he describes as ‘nineteenth century’ could be two hundred years earlier.

Once you start to compare dividers, you eye becomes attuned to the subtleties of design – whether the knops are octagonal or round, the tiny design flourishes, the marks that indicate ownership and, above all, the elegant sculptural forms and proportions. As I handled them, I became aware of the weight and balance of each pair, all designed to sit comfortably in the hand.

It is impossible not to recognise an anthropomorphic quality and gender in the forms of dividers too. Curvaceous ones for measuring outside of things appear undeniably feminine while the straight pairs for measuring inside of things appear masculine. The matching nineteenth century interior and exterior measuring dividers illustrated below even have the proportion of a human couple standing side by side.

There is a sense of power when you wield dividers and, most of all, I thought of William Blake and his magnificent illustrations of Newton and the Ancient of Days. Several of the dividers in Mike’s collection resemble those in Blake’s paintings and are contemporary with him, so it was a small wonder to see dividers as Blake would have known them.

The Ancient of Days from ‘Europe – A Prophecy’ by William Blake

Pair of Roman dividers – two and a half inches tall

Late eighteenth/early nineteenth century pair with hexagonal knop – five inches tall

Twentieth century dividers by Thewlis & Griffith for interior and exterior measurement – six inches tall

Nineteenth century pair for measuring pipes or rods – twelve inches tall

One of Mike’s favourites, a tiny eighteenth century brass pair with steel pins and octagonal knop – one and a half inches

Blacksmith made – thirteen inches tall

Blacksmith made, this pair are marked with the initial ‘W’ on the handle – seven and a half inches tall

Large-scale nineteenth century dividers, large enough to measure beams or a ship’s mast

‘Very pleasing and functional heavy-duty, general purpose engineer’s dividers with notches to indicate ownership’ - thirteen inches tall

Large, early nineteenth century pair in brass and steel – eighteen inches – ‘I bought these for the lovely shape’

Unusual early twentieth century pair – possibly workshop made

Late eighteenth, early nineteenth century pair – ‘I bought these from a cello-maker’s workshop and they fit inside a cello’

Pair with decorative detail and wing-nut bolt – eleven inches tall

Cartographers’ dividers designed to be used with one hand – early twentieth century – eight inches tall

Nineteenth century pair with filed blade used for marking circles in wood – seven inches tall

Small nineteenth century pair with decoration and marked with initials ‘W H’ – seven inches tall

Unusual nineteenth century dividers for both inside and outside measurements – three and a half inches tall

Early twentieth century for engineering use – a wing nut on one side extends the dividers and a wing nut on the other side locks them – seven and a half inches tall

Very crude blacksmith made nineteenth century dividers – four inches tall

Five inch pair for measuring inside a tube – nineteenth century

Five and half inches tall with initials WH and wing nut

‘Nicely-detailed nineteenth century pair’ - six inches tall

The largest in Mike’s collection – eighteen inches tall and blacksmith made

A couple of ‘female’ and ‘male’ dividers by the same maker

A collection of tiny twentieth century dividers

William Blake’s Newton

In Mike Henbrey’s flat

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Vinegar Valentines

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Dicky Lumskull’s Ramble Through London

Visit The Old Naval College At Greenwich

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As part of the HUGUENOT SUMMER festival you can visit the unseen spaces of the Old Naval College hosted by Curator, Will Palin, on Monday 20th July from 1:30-5pm. Click here for tickets

Water Gate at Greenwich

When Queen Mary commissioned Christopher Wren in 1694 to build the Royal Hospital for Seamen, offering sheltered housing to sailors who were invalid or retired, she instructed him to “build the Fabrick with Great Magnificence and Order” and there is no question his buildings at Greenwich fulfil this brief superlatively. Early on a summer morning, you may discover yourself the only visitor and stroll among these august structures as if they existed solely for your pleasure in savouring their ingenious geometry and dramatic spatial effects.

Since the fifteenth century, the Palace of Pleasaunce commanded the bend in the river here, where Henry VIII was born in 1491 and Elizabeth I in 1533. Yet Inigo Jones’ Queen’s House built for Anne of Denmark and the words ‘Carolus Rex’ upon the eastern extremity of the Admiral’s House, originally begun in 1660 as a palace for Charles I, are the only visible evidence today of this former royal residence abandoned at the time of the English Civil War.

It was Wren’s ingenuity to work with the existing buildings, sublimating them within the seamless unity of his own grandiose design by replicating the unfinished fragment of Charles’ palace to deliver magnificent symmetry, and enfolding Inigo Jones’ house within extended colonnades. The observant eye may also discern a dramatic overstatement of scale in architectural details that is characteristic of Nicholas Hawskmoor who was employed here as Wren’s Clerk of Works.

From 1705, the hospital for seamen provided modest, wood-lined cabins as a home-from-home for those who had spent their working lives at sea, reaching as many as two-thousand-seven-hundred residents at its peak in 1814, until superceded in 1869 by the Royal Naval College that left in 1995. Today the University of Greenwich and Trinity School of Music occupy these lofty halls but, in spite of its overly-demonstrative architecture, this has always been a working place inhabited by large numbers of people and the buildings suit their current purpose sympathetically .

The Painted Hall is the  tour-de-force of this complex, guaranteed to deliver a euphoric experience even to the idle visitor. Here the Greenwich Pensioners in their blue uniforms ate their dinners until James Thornhill spent eighteen years painting the walls and ceiling with epic scenes in the classical style celebrating British sea power and it was deemed too grand for anything but special occasions. Yet down below, the home-made skittles alley brings you closer to the domestic lives of the former residents – who once enjoyed fierce after-dinner contests here using practice cannon balls as bowling balls.

Exterior of the Painted Hall

The Chapel

King William Court

King William Court

The Admiral’s House was originally built as a residence for Charles I. Abandoned in the Civil War, Queen Anne commissioned Wren to rehabilitate the unfinished palace as part of his design for the Royal Hospital for Seaman which opened in 1705

Inspired by the Elgin marbles, the elaborate pediment in Coade stone is a tribute to Lord Nelson

Exterior of the Painted Hall

Pump and mounting block in Queen Anne Court

The chapel was completed to Wren’s design in 1751 and redesigned by James ‘Athenian’ Stuart in 1781

Plasterwork by John Papworth

Queen Anne Court

In the Painted Hall

Begun in 1708, Sir James Thornhill’s murals in the Painted Hall took nineteen years to complete

Man with a flagon of beer from Henry VIII’s Greenwich Palace

Man with a flask of gin from Henry VIII’s Greenwich Palace

The Skittles Alley of the eighteen-sixties, where practice cannon balls serve as bowling balls

Entrance to the Old Royal Naval College

The Old Royal Naval College, Greenwich, is open daily 11:00 – 5:00 Admission Free

A Portrait of Gary Arber by Sebastian Whyte

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A year after Gary Arber closed his print works and W.F. Arber & Co passed into East End legend, it is my pleasure to present this sympathetic portrait by Sebastian Whyte entitled, STATIONARY

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Photo of Gary Arber in his comp room in 2010 by The Gentle Author

Read my stories about Gary Arber

Gary Arber, Printer

Gary Arber’s Collection

Return to W.F.Arber & Co Ltd

At W.F.Arber & Co Ltd

James Brown at W.F.Arber & Co Ltd

Last Days at W.F.Arber & Co Ltd

Joining Hands On Sunday In Norton Folgate

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PLEASE COME AND JOIN HANDS WITH ME to create a circle around Norton Folgate as a symbolic gesture of our shared wish to see these buildings restored for new use instead of being demolished by British Land.

Three days before Tower Hamlets Strategic Development Committee meet to decide the fate of Norton Folgate on July 21st, we want to show that large numbers of people care sufficiently to turn up and create a human chain around this historic neighbourhood.

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JOIN HANDS TO SAVE NORTON FOLGATE ON SUNDAY 19TH JULY 3PM

1. Please register at the desk in Elder St when you arrive. The desk will be open from 2pm.

2. Please join the line which will start forming from the corner of Elder St and Folgate St at 2:30pm, extending around Norton Folgate on the route shown on the map.

3. Please join hands at 3pm and stay holding hands while a camera travels the length of the line. Please tweet selfies of yourself while in the line #savenortonfolgate

4. Please stay on the pavement at all times and do not obstruct passage of traffic along Blossom St. Similarly, we ask you to show gracious respect to the residents of Norton Folgate, by permitting them access in and out of their homes and by not impeding customers at The Water Poet and Tune Hotel.

5. The Gentle Author would like to give you a copy of The Gentle Author’s London Album as a gesture of gratitude for your support of the campaign to SAVE NORTON FOLGATE. Numbered tickets will be given to the first 500 to sign in from 2pm and these can be exchanged for a copy at Batty Langley’s hotel in Folgate St shortly after 3pm, once the camera has passed along the line.

This event has the clearance of the Metropolitan Police and the City of London Police, reference number CAD 2631

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Please come to the meeting of the Tower Hamlets Strategic Development Committee when the fate of Norton Folgate will be decided on TUESDAY 21st JULY at 7pm at Town Hall, Mulberry Place, 5 Clove Crescent, E14 2BG

Click here for a simple guide to HOW TO OBJECT EFFECTIVELY prepared by The Spitalfields Trust (Objections close 20th July)

Follow the Campaign at facebook/savenortonfolgate

Follow Spitalfields Trust on twitter @SpitalfieldsT

You may also like to take a look at

Taking Liberties in Norton Folgate

Inside the Nicholls & Clarke Buildings

Stories of Norton Folgate

Save Norton Folgate

Kirby’s Eccentric Museum, 1820

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Each time, I visit collector Mike Henbrey, he shows me something extraordinary from his collections and he certainly did not disappoint yesterday when he pulled two volumes of Kirby’s Eccentric Museum from the shelf for me to take a look

John Biggs was born in 1629 and lived in Denton in the county of Bucks in a cave

This wonderful boy, who in early age outstripped all former calculators, was born in Morton Hampstead on 14th June 1806

In Mme Lefort the sexes are so equally blended that it is impossible to say which has predominance

This gentleman was a bookseller in Upper Marylebone St, remembered today as Shelley’s bookseller

The parachute here represented was used by Monsieur Garnerin at his ascension in London

Thomas Cooke was born in 1726 at Clewer near Windsor as the son of an itinerant fiddler

Robert Coates Esq, commonly called ‘The Amateur of Fashion’

The giant Basilio Huaylas came in May 1792 from the town of Joa to Lima and publicly exhibited himself.

Mr James Toller and Mr Simon Paap are presumed to be the tallest shortest men in the kingdom

Miss McAvoy, who distinguished colours by the touch, was born in Liverpool on 28th June 1800

Mr Hermans Bras, designated the gigantic Prussian Youth, was born at Tecklenbourg in 1801

Thomas Laugher, aged 111 years, and known by the name of Old Tommy

Petratsch Zortan in the 185th year of his age, he died on 5th January 1724

John Rovin in the 172nd & Sarah is wife in the 164th year of their respective ages

The turnip represented in the plate grew in 1628

The parsnip here represented grew in 1742

The radish here represented was  found in 1557 in Haarlem

You may also like to take a look at

Mike Henbrey, Collector of Books, Epherema & Tools

Vinegar Valentines

Vinegar Valentines for Bad Tradesmen

Mike Henbrey’s Collection of Dividers

Dicky Lumskull’s Ramble Through London

The Seven Ages Of Rodney Archer

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In Rodney’s study

I am sure you wish to join me in sending greetings to Rodney Archer the Aesthete for his seventy-fifth birthday today. To celebrate, he is opening an exhibition at his house which illustrates the Seven Ages of Rodney and also inaugurating the Oscar Wilde Room as a shrine to his favourite writer, supplementing the fireplace from Wilde’s house in Tite St, which was installed in Fournier St many years ago, with his prized collection of Wilde memorabilia.

For the last year, Rodney has been collaborating with Artist & Curator, Trevor Newton, to stage shows at his old house as a way to display and sell off some of his vast collections that he has acquired in Brick Lane and East End markets since he moved into Fournier St in the eighties. If you would like to explore the world of Rodney for yourself and wish him happy birthday in person then drop an email to info@31fournierstreet.london to arrange a visit.

At first, the infant…

Then the whining schoolboy…

And then the lover…

Then a soldier…

And then the justice…

Rodney as he will be in 2046

Rodney’s inner sanctum

Oscar Wilde’s fireplace takes the place of an altar in Rodney’s shrine

Rodney’s collection of Oscar Wilde memorabilia

In Rodney’s study

In Rodney’s garden

In Rodney’s arbour

THE SEVEN AGES OF RODNEY is at 31 Fournier St from Tuesday 28th July until Saturday 15th August at the following times - 10-4pm on Tuesday 28th & Thursday 30th July, 2-4pm on Saturday 1st August, 10-4pm on Tuesday 4th & Thursday 6th August, 2-4pm on Saturday 8th August, 10- 4pm on Tuesday 11th & Thursday 13th August & 2-4.00pm on Saturday 15th August.

Numbers are limited and visits are by appointment only.

To receive an invitation, please email info@31fournierstreet.london saying when exactly you would like to visit and how many will be in your party.

You may also like to read about

Rodney Archer, Aesthete

A Walk With Rodney Archer

At 31 Fournier St

Rodney Archer’s Scraps

Textile Designs at Rodney Archer’s House

Clare Winsten’s Drawings in Fournier St


D-Day For Norton Folgate

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Reflecting the wider significance of the battle for Norton Folgate, my post today is co-published with Guardian Cities

Please come to the meeting of Tower Hamlets Strategic Development Committee when the fate of Norton Folgate will be decided tonight, Tuesday 21st July at 7pm, at the Town Hall, Mulberry Place, 5 Clove Crescent, E14 2BG

[There is a video that cannot be displayed in this feed. Visit the blog entry to see the video.]

Some simply stepped out from their front doors into the street, but most came from around the capital and a few even travelled across the country to be there. More than five hundred people joined hands around Norton Folgate as a symbol of their wish to see the old buildings restored for reuse rather than demolished by British Land. There were young and old, there were families and dogs, and among them was Stanley Rondeau, whose Huguenot ancestor came to Spitalfields in 1685.

Across the capital, Londoners are growing increasingly frustrated at the wave of large developments which are being foisted upon them and this event permitted the opportunity of expression for those who feel disenfranchised. Most of the towers that are currently proposed for London have been devised to serve the international property investment market rather than provide genuinely affordable homes for Londoners, of which there is a chronic shortage.

Similarly, the vast floor plates of British Land’s development in Norton Folgate are best suited to the corporate financial industries of the City of London and are likely to be occupied by a single tenant. This is already the case with the Spitalfields Fruit & Wool Exchange development of which the entire office space has been leased to an international law firm. Significantly, this redevelopment was imposed upon Tower Hamlets by Boris Johnson, overruling the unanimous vote of the borough planning committee twice, and the fear is that he will act in the same undemocratic way to further the interests of British Land in Norton Folgate.

The Spitalfields Fruit & Wool Exchange was formerly home to several hundred small businesses for whom there is a lack of office space in the capital. If the nineteenth century warehouses of Norton Folgate are redeveloped and only their facades remain affixed like postage stamps onto the front of new buildings, the raised land value will ensure that the rental costs exclude all but large corporate tenants. But Tech City in Shoreditch evolved quite naturally in post-industrial buildings that once housed furniture factories and other small-scale manufacturing, and it would serve  locally-based businesses if the old warehouses in Norton Folgate could be restored in a similar fashion.

Thus Norton Folgate has emerged as a key battleground in the current conflict over the future of London, as the potential for the city to become an arid forest of perfume-bottle shaped towers serving the requirements of international capital supplants the historical continuum of the lively metropolis – where rich and poor live cheek by jowl, where newcomers can build a life, and where large and small businesses thrive side by side. This is the sense in which the current battle is one for the identity of London.

Sitting at the boundary of the City of London, Norton Folgate is a former medieval Liberty created when the Priory of St Mary Spittal was dissolved at the time of the Reformation. As an autonomous entity governed by its own residents, the Liberty of Norton Folgate was independent both of the rule of the City of London and of the Church. And, even though the Liberty was absorbed into the London Borough of Stepney in 1900, the spirit of independence is not forgotten and there are those who still claim that Norton Folgate’s autonomous political status was never formally abolished.

In a strange precursor of the current situation, British Land attempted to demolish part of Norton Folgate in 1977 but were halted by a group of young Conservation activitists, including Dan Cruickshank, who squatted in the eighteenth century weavers’ houses to stop the bulldozers. The Spitalfields Historic Buildings Trust was born and with the help of Sir John Betjeman they saved the neighbourhood, emerging as one of Britain’s most-respected Conversation trusts through the following decades.

Now British Land faces the Spitalfields Trust in Norton Folgate again. Yet the Spitalfields Trust was essentially honed as a machine to stop British Land and many current members of the Trust took place in the first battle, only now they have forty years of experience challenging developers behind them and maintain close contacts with some of Britain’s foremost planning lawyers. Recently, multi-billionaire Troels Holch Povlsen stepped forward to support the Spitalfields Trust by providing significant funds as a war chest for any forthcoming legal battle with British Land. Thus the lines are drawn.

In the nineties, the City of London successfully extended its territory into Spitalfields when the former Spitalfields Fruit & Vegetable Market was redeveloped as a corporate plaza for the financial industries that is already looking dated and worn. This was followed by the redevelopment of the Spitafields Fruit & Wool Exchange which is currently underway, but – like a posse of old warriors – the Spitalfields Trust has chosen stand up at the boundary of the City to say, “Enough is Enough!” and they are better equipped than anyone else to take on the adversary.

The Spitalfields Trust’s defeat of British Land in Norton Folgate in 1977 was a seminal moment in British Conservation history when public opinion recognised the necessity to balance ‘progress’ in the form of new development against the need to preserve national heritage. With the wellspring of popular feeling against exploitative development at this moment, it is possible that Norton Folgate may become the testing ground yet again in which commercial imperative is set against cultural significance. Additionally, whatever happens in Norton Folgate will affect other looming developments such as the nearby Bishopsgate Goodsyard and – in this sense – it may also become a crossroads that defines direction of future policy in urban development.

British Land seek to demolish more than 72% of the fabric of their site in Norton Folgate which lies entirely within a Conservation Area. If this were to go ahead, then any Conservation Area might be at risk of similar treatment and the term risks losing its meaning. As with the proposed Smithfield Market redevelopment and the Strand terrace, that King’s College sought to demolish, English Heritage is also supporting the developers in Norton Folgate and finds itself on the wrong side of public opinion for the third high-profile case in London in a row. Yet the recent turnaround, when English Heritage changed opinions over the Strand, advocating the retention not the demolition of the buildings when the Secretary of State called a Public Enquiry, renders their advice of dubious currency.

The five hundred people who joined hands around Norton Folgate wanted to express their love of London and its history, of its diverse life and infinite variety. As more of the vast developments currently threatened in the capital are enacted, the passions of Londoners will continue to rise and prospective candidates for the next Mayor of London would do well to pay attention. Tonight, Tower Hamlets Strategic Development Committee meets to decide upon the British Land proposal for Norton Folgate but, whatever the outcome, it is unlikely to be the end of this story.

Sandra Esqulant of The Golden Heart & Robson Cezar, King of the Bottletops

Photographs by Sarah Ainslie, Colin O’Brien & Edie Sharples

Please come to the meeting of the Tower Hamlets Strategic Development Committee when the fate of Norton Folgate will be decided tonight, TUESDAY 21st JULY at 7pm at Town Hall, Mulberry Place, 5 Clove Crescent, E14 2BG

Follow the Campaign at facebook/savenortonfolgate

Follow Spitalfields Trust on twitter @SpitalfieldsT

You may also like to take a look at

Taking Liberties in Norton Folgate

Inside the Nicholls & Clarke Buildings

Stories of Norton Folgate

Save Norton Folgate

Norton Folgate Is Saved!

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It is with great joy I announce the good news to you that, thanks in no small measure to the readers of Spitalfields Life – the 576 letters of objection that you wrote and more than 500 of you who came to join hands – the Tower Hamlets Strategic Development Committee unanimously rejected British Land‘s proposals last night and Norton Folgate is saved.

Two years ago, we were able to save a pub – the Marquis of Lansdowne - from demolition, but now we have saved a whole neighbourhood!

In celebration, Contributing Artist Adam Dant has drawn this portrait of Mister Norton Folgate himself, constructed from details sketched in the streets and this is accompanied with a eulogy in verse.

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THE BALLAD OF NORTON FOLGATE

by Adam Dant

To show our respect for an elder
of stature assuredly great,
Let us toast all that’s human
In a noble and true man
The incomparable Norton Folgate.

For near and far his admirers
With spital-flecked passion all state,
That it is accorded
and he be rewarded
the respect due to Norton Folgate.

There are those who would see our man gutted,
Their curs bit his hand hard of late,
Now it’s  time that we ought
sort the Goodman from naught
as defenders of Norton Folgate.

Let his enterprise tastefully blossom
Let him fend off the ugly estate
of the anodyne face
who would seek to debase
the good person of Norton Folgate.

Princes and Bishops and ordinary folk
sing his praises, step up to the plate,
To despoilers, no quarter,
No lamb to the slaughter
Join the cause ‘ Save Norton Folgate.’

His stature is adequate lofty,
His height proved sufficiently great
For serving the needy
As opposed to the greedy,
Three cheers now for Norton Folgate!

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Click on the map to enlarge

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To purchase limited edition prints of Adam Dant’s Map of the Liberty of Norton Folgate as trophies for framing email Adam direct adamdant@me.com

Who Will Help Me Publish An Illustrated History Of The Cries Of London?

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Brushseller outside Shoreditch Church by William Marshall Craig, 1804

For centuries, the most popular prints in the capital were the Cries of London. From the Elizabethan era onwards, these lively images were treasured by Londoners, celebrating the familiar hawkers and pedlars of the city. Those who had no job or shop or market stall could always make a living by selling wares in the street and, by turning their presence into a performance through song, they won the hearts of generations and came to embody the spirit of London itself.

This November –  if I can gather enough investment from readers of Spitalfields Life - I plan to publish a beautiful book designed by David Pearson which will be the first major visual survey of this important cultural tradition of the London streets. The Gentle Author’s Cries of London will assemble a diverse selection of the best examples, telling the stories of the artists and the most celebrated traders, and revealing the unexpected social realities contained within these cheap colourful prints produced for the mass market.

To coincide with the publication of The Gentle Author’s Cries of London, I am delighted to be collaborating with Spitalfields Music who are opening their Winter Festival with a concert in St Leonard’s, Shoreditch, of music from old songbooks  of the Cries of London, while the Bishopsgate Institute will be be staging a cultural festival around the theme of street trading, including a pedlars’ conference and an exhibition of fine examples of Cries of London from their archive.

Samuel Pepys collected sets of Cries of London both from his own day and a century earlier, and I believe he was the first writer to recognise that they comprised a significant social record. Over the past five years, I have been publishing sets of Cries of London in the pages of Spitalfields Life and grown fascinated by these wonderful images and the stories they tell of the lives of Londoners down the centuries.

Drawing upon hundreds of interviews I have undertaken, The Gentle Author’s Cries of London concludes with a survey of the situation for traders and pedlars in London today, and reflects upon the aged-old ambivalence with which those who seek to make a living in the street are viewed.

Below, I publish my account of William Marshall Craig’s ‘Intinerant Traders in Their Ordinary Costume’ from 1804 as a taster of the book.

As with previous titles I have published, I need to gather enough readers who are willing to invest £1000 each to make it possible. Please email Spitalfieldslife@gmail.com if you would like to help me publish The Gentle Author’s Cries of London and I will send you further information.


As fresh as the day they were hand-tinted in 1804, these plates from William Marshall Craig’s “Itinerant Traders of London in their Ordinary Costume, with Notices of Remarkable Places given in the Background” were discovered bound into the back of another volume at the Bishopsgate Institute in Spitalfields, and the vibrancy of their pristine hues suggests they have never been exposed to daylight in two centuries.

Yet, in contrast to their colourful aesthetic, these fascinating prints are often unexpectedly revealing of the reality of the lives of the dispossessed and outcast poor who sought a living upon the streets as hawkers at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Look again at the showman in the gaudy uniform with the peep show in the turquoise box and the red squirrel in a wheel – in fact, this reserved gentleman is a veteran who has lost a leg in the war. Observe the plate below of the woman in Soho Square feeding her baby and minding a bundle of rushes while her husband seeks chairs to mend in the vicinity, she looks careworn.

A fashionable portrait artist who exhibited at the Royal Academy between 1788 and 1827, William Marshall Craig was appointed painter in watercolours to Queen Charlotte, and in this set of prints he dignifies the itinerant traders by including some unsentimental portraits of individuals, allowing them self-possession even as they proffer their wares in eager expectation of a sale. In his drawings, engraved onto thirty-one plates by Edward Edwards, he shows tenderness and human sympathy, acknowledging the dignity of working people in portrayals that admit the vulnerability and occasional weariness of those who woke in the dawn to spend their days trudging the streets, crying their wares in all weathers. Despite their representation with rosy cheeks and clothes of pantomime prettiness, we can see these are street-wise professionals – born survivors – who could turn a sixpence as easily as a penny and knew how to scratch a living out of little more than resourcefulness.

William Marshall Craig’s itinerants exist in a popular tradition of illustrated prints of the Cries of London which began in the seventeenth century, preceded by verse such as “London Lackpenny,” attributed to the fifteenth century poet John Lydgate, recording an oral culture of hawkers’ cries that is as old as the city itself. In the twentieth century, the “Cries of London” found their way onto cigarette cards, chocolate boxes and, famously, tins of Yardley talcum powder, becoming divorced from the reality they once represented as time went by, copied and recopied by different artists.

The sentimentally cheerful tones applied by hand to William Marshall Craig’s prints, that were contrived to appeal to the casual purchaser, chime with the resilience required by traders selling in the street. And it is our respect for their spirit and resourcefulness which may account for the long lasting popularity of these poignant images of the self-respecting poor who turned their trades into performances. By making the streets their theatre, they won the lasting affections of generations of Londoners in the process, and came to manifest the very soul of the city itself. Even now, it is impossible to hear the cries of market traders and newspaper sellers without succumbing to their spell, as the last reverberations of a great cacophonous symphony echoing across time and through the streets of London.

Yet there is contradictory side to this affection. Equally, street traders have always been perceived as socially equivocal characters with an identity barely distinguished from vagabonds. The suspicion that their itinerant nature facilitated thieving and illicit dealing, or that women might be selling their bodies as as well as their legitimate wares, has never been dispelled. It is a tension institutionalised in this country through the issuing of licences, criminalising those denied such official endorsement, while on the continent of Europe the right to sell in the street is automatically granted to every citizen.

William Marshall Craig placed each of his itinerants within a picturesque view of London, thus giving extra value to the buyer by simultaneously celebrating the wonders of architectural development as well as the infinite variety of street traders. But there is a disparity between the modest humanity of the hawkers and the meticulously rendered monumentalism of the city. These characters are as out of place as those unreal figures in artists’ impressions of new developments, placed there to sell the latest scheme. Even as the noble buildings and squares of Georgian London speak of the collective desire for social order, the presence of the hawkers manifests a delight in human ingenuity and the playful anarchy of those who come singing through the streets. Depending upon your point of view, the itinerants are those who bring life to the city through their occupation of its streets or they are outcasts who have no place in a developed modern urban environment.

Yet none can resist the romance of the Cries of London and the raffish appeal of the liberty of vagabondage, of those who had no indenture or task master, and who travelled wide throughout the city, witnessing the spectacle of its streets, speaking with a wide variety of customers, and seeing life. In the densely-populated neighbourhoods, it was the itinerants’ cries that marked the times of day and announced the changing seasons of the year. Before the motorcar, their calls were a constant of street life in London. Before advertising, their songs were the announcement of the latest, freshest produce or appealing gimcrack. Before radio, and television, and internet, they were the harbingers of news, and gossip, and novelty ballads. These itinerants had nothing but they had possession of the city.

William Marshall Craig’s prints reveal that he understood the essential truth of London street traders, and it is one that still holds today – they do not need your sympathy, they only want your respect, and your money.

Chairs to mend. The business of mending chairs is generally conducted by a family or a partnership. One carries the bundle of rush and collects old chairs, while the workman seating himself in some convenient corner on the pavement, exercises his trade. For small repairs they charge from fourpence to one shilling, and for newly covering a chair from eighteen pence to half a crown, according to the fineness of the rush required and the neatness of the workmanship. It is necessary to bargain for price prior to the delivery of the chairs, or the chair mender will not fail to demand an exorbitant compensation for his time and labour.(Soho Sq, a square enclosure with shrubbery at the centre, begun in the time of Charles II.)

Band boxes. Generally made of pasteboard, and neatly covered with coloured papers, are of all sizes, and sold at every intermediate price between sixpence and three shillings. Some made of slight deal, covered like the others, but in addition to their greater strength having a lock and key, sell according to their size, from three shillings and sixpence to six shillings each. The crier of band boxes or his family manufacture them, and these cheap articles of convenience are only to be bought of the persons who cry them through the streets. (Bibliotheque d’Education or Tabart’s Juvenile Library is in New Bond St.)

Baskets. Market, fruit, bread, bird, work and many other kinds of baskets, the inferior rush, the better sort of osier, and some of them neatly coloured and adorned, are to be bought cheaply of the criers of baskets. (Whitfield’s Tabernacle, north of Finsbury Sq, is a large octagon building, the place of worship belonging to the Calvinistic methodists.)

Bellows to mend. The bellows mender carries his tools and apparatus buckled in a leather bag to his back, and, like the chair mender, exercises his occupation in any convenient corner of the street. The bellows mender sometimes professes the trade of the tinker. (Smithfield where the great cattle market of London is held, on which days it is disagreeable, if not dangerous to pass in the early part of the day on account of the oxen passing from the market, on whom the drovers sometimes exercise great cruelty.)

Brick Dust is carried about the metropolis in small sacks on the backs of asses, and is sold at one penny a quart. As brick dust is scarcely used in London for any other purpose than that of knife cleaning, the criers are not numerous, but they are remarkable for their fondness and their training of bull dogs. This prediliction they have in common with the lamp lighters of the metropolis. (Portman Sq stands in Marylebone. In the middle is an oval enclosure which is ornamented with clumps of trees, flowering shrubs and evergreens.)

Buy a bill of the play. The doors of the London theatres are surrounded each night, as soon as they open, with the criers of playbills. These are mostly women, who also carry baskets of fruit. The titles of the play and entertainment, and the name and character of every performer for the night, are found in the bills, which are printed at the expense of the theatre, and are sold by the hundred to the criers, who retail them at one penny a bill, unless fruit is bought, when with the sale of half a dozen oranges, they will present their customer a bill of the play gratis. (Drury Lane Theatre, part of the colonnade fronting to Russell St, Covent Garden.)

Cats’ & dogs’ meat, consisting of horse flesh, bullocks’ livers and tripe cuttings is carried to every part of the town. The two former are sold by weight at twopence per pound and the latter tied up in bunches of one penny each. Although this is the most disagreeable and offensive commodity cried for sale in London, the occupation seems to be engrossed by women. It frequently happens in the streets frequented by carriages that, as soon as one of these purveyors for cats and dogs arrives, she is surrounded by a crowd of animals, and were she not as severe as vigilant, could scarcely avoid the depredations of her hungry followers. (Bethlem Hospital stands on the south side of Moorfields. On each side of the iron gate is a figure, one of melancholy and the other of raging madness.)

Cherries appear in London markets early in June, and shortly afterwards become sufficiently abundant to be cried by the barrow women in the streets at sixpence, fourpence, and sometimes as low as threepence per pound. The May Duke and the White and Black Heart are succeeded by the Kentish Cherry which is more plentiful and cheaper than the former kinds and consequently most offered in the streets. Next follows the small black cherry called the Blackaroon, which is also a profitable commodity for the barrows. The barrow women undersell the shops by twopence or threepence per pound but their weights are generally to be questioned, and this is so notorious an objection that they universally add “full weight” to the cry of “cherries!” (Entrance to St James’ Palace, its external appearance does not convey any idea of its magnificence.)

Doormats, of all kinds, rush and rope, from sixpence to four shillings each, with table mats of various sorts are daily cried through the streets of London. (The equestrian statue in brass of Charles II in Whitehall, cast in 1635 by Grinling Gibbons, was erected upon its present pedestal in 1678)

Dust O! One of the most useful, among the numberless regulations that promote the cleanliness and comfort of the inhabitants of London, is that which relieves them from the encumbrance of their dust and ashes. Dust carts ply the streets through the morning in every part of the metropolis. Two men go with each cart, ringing a large bell and calling “Dust O!” Daily, they empty the dust bins of all the refuse that is thrown into them. The ashes are sold for manure, the cinders for fuel and the bones to the burning houses. (New Church in the Strand, contiguous to Somerset House and dividing the very street in two.)

Green Hastens! The earliest pea brought to the London market is distinguished by the name of “Hastens,” it belongs to the dwarf genus and is succeeded by the Hotspur. This early pea, the real Hastens, is raised in hotbeds and sold in the markets at the high price of a guinea  per quart. The name of Hastens is however indiscriminately used by all the vendors to all the peas, and the cry of “Green Hastens!” resounds through every street and alley of London to the very latest crop of the season. Peas become plentiful and cheap in June, and are retailed from carts in the streets at tenpence, eightpence, and sixpence per peck. (Newgate, on the north side of Ludgate Hill is built entirely of stone.)

Hot loaves, for the breakfast and tea table, are cried at the hours of eight and nine in the morning, and from four to six in the afternoon, during the summer months. These loaves are made of the whitest flour and sold at one and two a penny. In winter, the crier of hot loaves substitutes muffins and crumpets, carrying them in the same manner, and in both instances carrying a little bell as he passes through the streets. (St Martin in the Fields, the design of this portico was taken from an ancient temple at Nismes in France and is particularly grand and beautiful.)

Hot Spiced Gingerbread, sold in oblong flat cakes of one halfpenny each, very well made, well baked and kept extremely hot is a very pleasing regale to the pedestrians of London in cold and gloomy evenings. This cheap luxury is only to be obtained in winter, and when that dreary season is supplanted by the long light days of summer, the well-known retailer of Hot Spiced Gingerbread, portrayed in the plate, takes his stand near the portico of the Pantheon, with a basket of Banbury and other cakes. (The Pantheon stands on Oxford St, originally designed for concerts, it is only used for masquerades in the winter season.)

Mackerel – More plentiful than any other fish in London, they are brought from the western coast and afford a livelihood to numbers of men and women who cry them through the streets every day in the week, not excepting Sunday. Mackerel boats being allowed by act of Parliament to dispose of their perishable cargo on Sunday morning, prior to the commencement of divine service. No other fish partake that privilege. (Billingsgate Market commences at three o’clock in the morning in summer and four in winter. Salesmen receive the cargo from the boats and announce by a crier of what kinds they consist. These salesmen have a great commission and generally make fortunes.)

Rhubarb! – The Turk, whose portrait is accurately given in this plate, has sold Rhubarb in the streets of the metropolis during many years. He constantly appears in his turban, trousers and mustachios and deals in no other article. As his drug has been found to be of the most genuine quality, the sale affords him a comfortable livelihood. (Russell Sq is one of the largest in London, broad streets intersect at its corners and in the middle, which add to its beauty and remove the general objection to squares by ventilating the air.)

Milk below! – Every day of the year, both morning and afternoon, milk is carried through each square, each street and alley of the metropolis in tin pails, suspended from a yoke placed on the shoulders of the crier. Milk is sold at fourpence per quart or fivepence for the better sort, yet the advance of price does not ensure its purity for it is generally mixed in a great proportion with water by the retailers before they leave the milk houses. The adulteration of the milk added to the wholesale cost leaves an average profit of cent per cent to the vendors of this useful article. Few retail traders are exercised with equal gain. (Cavendish Sq is in Marylebone. In the centre of the enclosure, erected on a lofty pedestal is a bronze statue of William Duke of Cumberland, all very richly gilded and burnished. In the background are two very elegant houses built by Mr Tufnell.)

Matches – The criers are very numerous and among the poorest inhabitants, subsisting more on the waste meats they receive from the kitchens where they sell their matches at six bunches per penny, than on the profits arising from their sale. Old women, crippled men, or a mother followed by three or four ragged children, and offering their matches for sale are often relieved when the importunity of the mere beggar is rejected. The elder child of a poor family, like the boy seen in the plate, are frequent traders in matches and generally sing a kind of song, and sell and beg alternately. (The Mansion House is a stone building of considerable magnitude standing at the west end of Cornhill, the residence of the Lord Mayor of London. Lord Burlington sent down an original design worthy of Palladio, but this was rejected and the plan of a freeman of the City adopted in its place. The man was originally a shipwright and the front of his Mansion House has all the resemblance possible to a deep-laden Indiaman.)

Strawberries – Brought fresh gathered to the markets in the height of their season, both morning and afternoon, they are sold in pottles containing something less than a quart each. The crier adds one penny to the price of the strawberries for the pottle which if returned by her customer, she abates. Great numbers of men and women are employed in crying strawberries during their season through the streets of London at sixpence per pottle. ( Covent Garden Market is entirely appropriated to fruit & vegetables. In the south side is a range of shops which contain the choicest produce and the most expensive productions of the hot house. The centre of the market, as shown in the plate, although less pleasing to the eye is more inviting to the general class of buyers.)

A Poor Sweep Sir! – In all the thoroughfares of the metropolis, boys and women employ themselves in dirty weather in sweeping crossings. The foot passenger is constantly importuned and frequently rewards the poor sweep with a halfpenny, which indeed he sometimes deserves for in the winter after fall of snow if a thaw should come before the scavengers have had time to remove it, many streets cannot be crossed without being up to the middle of the leg in dirt. Many of these sweepers who choose their station with judgement reap a plentiful harvest from their labours. (Blackfriars Bridge crosses the river from Bridge St to Surrey St where this view is taken. The width and loftiness of the arches and the whole light construction of this bridge is uncommonly pleasing to the eye and St Paul’s cathedral displays much of the grandeur of its extensive outline when viewed from Blackfriars Bridge.)

Knives to grind! – The apparatus of a knife grinder is accurately delineated in this plate. The same wheel turns his grinding and his whetting stone. On a smaller wheel, projecting beyond the other he trundles his commodious shop from street to street. He charges for grinding and setting scissors one penny or twopence per pair, for penknives one penny each and table knives one shilling and sixpence per dozen, according to the polish that is required. (Whitehall – this beautiful structure stands in Parliament St, begun in 1619 from a design by Inigo Jones in his purest manner and cost £17,000.  The northern end of the palace, to the left of the plate, is that through which King Charles stepped onto the scaffold.)

Lavender – “Six bunches a penny, sweet lavender!” is the cry that invites in the street the purchasers of this cheap and pleasant perfume. A considerable quantity of the shrub is sold to the middling-classes of the inhabitants, who are fond of placing lavender among their linen  - the scent of which conquers that of the soap used in washing. (Temple Bar was erected to divide the strand from Fleet St in 1670 after the Great Fire. On the top of this gate were exhibited the heads of the unfortunate victims to the justice of their country for the crime of high treason. The last sad mementos of this kind were the rebels of 1746.)

Sweep Soot O! – The occupation of chimney sweep begins with break of day. A master sweep patrols the street for custom attended by two or three boys, the taller ones carrying the bag of soot, and directing the diminutive creature who, stripped perfectly naked, ascends and cleans the chimney. The greatest profit arises from the sake of soot which is used for manure. The hard condition of the sweep devolves upon the smallest and feeblest of the children apprenticed from the parish workhouse. (Foundling Hospital, a handsome and commodious building in Guildford St, stands at the upper end of a large piece of ground in which the children of the foundation are allowed to play in fine weather.)

Sand O! – Sand is an article of general use in London, principally for cleaning kitchen utensils. Its greatest consumption is in the outskirts of the metropolis where the cleanly housewife strews sand plentifully over the floor to guard her newly scoured boards from dirty footsteps, a carpet of small expense and easy to be renewed. Sand is sold by measure, red sand twopence halfpenny and white five farthings per peck. (St Giles’ Church at the west end of Broad St Giles is a very handsome structure. Over the gate, entering the church yard is fixed a curious bass-relief representing the Last Judgement and containing a very great number of figures, set up in the 1686)

New potatoes – About the latter end of June and July, they become sufficiently plentiful to be cried at a tolerable rate in the streets. They are sold wholesale in markets by the bushel and retail by the pound. Three halfpence or a penny per pound is the average price from a barrow. (Middlesex Hospital at the northern end of Berners St is the county hospital for diseased persons. It stands in a large court with trees, covered by a wall in front with two gates, one of which is represented in the plate.)

Water Cresses – The crier of water cresses frequently travels seven or eight miles before the hour of breakfast to gather them fresh. There is a good supply in the Covent Garden Market brought along with other vegetables where they are cultivated like other garden stuff, but they are inferior to those grown in the natural state in a running brook, wanting that pungency of taste which makes them very wholesome. (Hanover Sq is on the south side of Oxford St, there is a circular enclosure in the middle with a plain grass plot. In George St, leading into the square, is the curious and extensive anatomical museum of Mr Heaviside the surgeon, to the inspection of which respectable persons are admitted, on application to Mr Heaviside, once a week.)

Slippers – The Turk is a portrait, habited in the costume of his nation, he has sold Morocco Slippers in the Strand, Cheapside and Cornhill, a great number of years. To these principal streets, he generally confines his walks. There are other sellers of slippers, particularly about the Royal Exchange who are very importunate for custom while the venerable Turk uses no solicitation beyond showing his slippers. They are sold at one shilling and sixpence per pair and are of all colours. (Somerset House is a noble structure built by the government for the offices of public business. The plate shows the west side of the entrance which contains a gate for carriages and two foot ways. A visit will amply repay the trouble of a stranger.)

Rabbits – The crier of rabbits in the plate is a portrait well known by persons who frequent the streets at the west end of town. Wild and tame rabbits are sold from ninepence to eighteen pence each, which is cheaper than they can be bought in the poulterers’ shops. (Portland Place is an elegant street to the north of Marylebone. From the opening at the upper end is a fine view of Harrow and the Hampstead and Highgate Hills, making it one of the airiest situations in town. The houses being of perfect uniformity and no shops or meaner buildings interrupting the regularity of the design, it is one of the finest street in London.)

Images courtesy Bishopsgate Institute

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Vote For The George Tavern!

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In recognition of the magnificent achievement of Pauline Forster, who has devoted the last ten years to restoring the George Tavern in Commercial Rd, she has been shortlisted for an Historic England Angel Award. Please CLICK HERE to vote for Pauline.

Let me admit, The George in Commercial Rd is one of my favourite pubs in the East End. From the first moment I walked through the door, I knew I had discovered somewhere special.

In the magnificently shabby bar room, with gleaming tiles and appealingly mismatched furniture all glowing in the afternoon light filtering through coloured glass windows, there was not a scrap of the tidying up and modernisation that blights the atmosphere of too many old pubs. There was no music and no advertising – it was peaceful, and I was smitten by the unique charisma of The George.

Curious to learn more, I paid a visit upon the owner, who has been described to me as one of the last great publicans of the East End, and I was far from disappointed to explore behind the scenes at this legendary institution because what I found was beyond what I ever imagined.

Pauline Forster, artist and publican of The George, brought up her five sons in a remote valley in Gloucestershire. It was more than ten years ago when she bought The George and her sons came up to London with her, then in the following decade they all met partners in the bar and moved out. Yet such a satisfactory outcome of events was not the result of any master-plan on Pauline’s part, merely the consequence of a fortuitous accident in which she stumbled upon The George when it was lying neglected and fell in love with it, buying it on impulse a week later, even though it had never been her intention to become a publican.

“It’s a beauty, this building!” she declared to me as I followed her along the dark passage from the barroom, up a winding stair and through innumerable doors to enter her kitchen upon the first floor. “When I came to view it, there were twenty others after it but they only wanted to know how many flats they could fit in, none of them were interested in it as a pub.” she informed me in response to my gasps of wonder as she led me through the vast stairwell with its wide staircase and a sequence of high-ceilinged rooms with old fireplaces, before we arrived at her office lined with crowded bookcases reaching towards the ceiling. “The interior was all very seventies but I was hooked, I could see the potential.” she confided, “I gravitated to the bar and I started possessing it. I sat and waited until everyone else had gone and then I told the agent I would buy it for cash if he called off the auction.”

With characteristic audacity, Pauline made this offer even though she did not have the cash but somehow she wrangled a means to borrow the money at short notice, boldly taking possession, exchanging contracts and moving in three days later, before finding a mortgage. It was due to her personal strength of purpose that The George survived as a pub, and thanks to her intelligence and flair that it has prospered in recent years.“I thought, ‘I’ve got to open the bar, it would be a sin not to,’” she assured me, widening her sharp grey eyes to emphasise such a self evident truth, “I decided to open it and that’s what I did.”

A decade of renovations later, the false ceilings and recently installed modern wall coverings have been stripped away to reveal the structure of the building, and this summer the early nineteenth stucco facade will be revealed in all its glory to the Commercial Rd. “I’m used to taking on challenges and I’m a hardworking person,” Pauline admitted, “I don’t mind doing quite a bit of work myself, you’ll see me up scaffolding chipping cement off and painting windows.”

Yet in parallel with the uncovering of the fabric of this magnificent old building – still harbouring the atmosphere of another age – has been the remarkable discovery of the long history of the pub which once stood here in the fields beside the Queen’s Highway to Essex before there were any other buildings nearby, more than seven hundred years ago. When Commercial Rd was cut through by the East India Company in the early nineteenth century, the orientation of the building changed and a new stuccoed frontage was added declaring a new name, The George. Before this it was known as The Halfway House, referenced by Geoffrey Chaucer in The Reeve’s Tale written in the thirteen eighties when he lived above the gate at Aldgate and by Samuel Pepys who recorded numerous visits during the sixteen sixties.

A narrow yard labelled Aylward St behind the pub, now used as a garden, is all that remains today of the old road which once brought all the trade to The Halfway House. In the eighteenth century, the inn became famous for its adjoining botanic garden where exotic plants imported from every corner of the globe through the London Docks were cultivated. John Roque’s map of 1742 shows the garden extending as far as the Ratcliffe Highway. At this time, William Bennett – cornfactor and biscuit baker of Whitechapel Fields - is recorded as gardener, cultivating as many as three hundred and fifty pineapples in lush gardens that served as a popular destination for Londoners seeking an excursion beyond the city. As further evidence of the drawing power of the The Halfway House, the celebrated maritime painter Robert Dodd was commissioned to paint a canvas of “The Glorious Battle of the Fifth of June” for the dining room, a picture that now resides in the Maritime Museum in Greenwich.

When you have ascended through all the diverse spaces of The George to reach the attic, you almost expect to look from the dormer windows and see green fields with masts of ships on the river beyond, as you once could. I was filled with wonder to learn just a few of the secrets of this ancient coaching inn that predates the East End, yet thanks to Pauline Forster has survived to adorn the East End today, and I know I shall return because there are so many more stories to be uncovered here. I left Pauline mixing pure pigments with lime wash to arrive at the ideal tint for the facade. “I don’t get time to do my own paintings anymore,” she confessed, “This is my work of art now.”

Nineteenth century tiling in the bar.

A ceramic mural illustrates The George in its earlier incarnation as The Halfway House.

Stepney in 1600 showing The Halfway House and botanic garden on White Horse Lane, long before Commercial Rd was cut through by the East India Company in the early nineteenth century.

The Halfway House in the seventeenth century.

The Halfway House became The George and the orientation of the building was changed in the nineteenth century when Commercial Rd was cut through. Note the toll booth and early telegraph mast.

Detail of the stucco facade before restoration.

In the attic, where Pauline lived when she first moved in

Pauline’s collection includes the dried-out carcass of a rat from Brick Lane.

Entrance to the attic

Living room

Living room with view down Commercial Rd

Dining Room

Wide eighteenth century staircase.

Pauline’s bathroom with matching telephone, the last fragment of the nineteen seventies interior that once extended throughout the building.

Pauline Forster, Artist & Publican.

Kitchen looking out onto the former Queen’s Highway, now the pub garden

Pauline’s dresser

Pauline hits the light-up dancefloor at “Stepney’s” nightclub next door.

The George Tavern, 373 Commercial Rd, E1 0LA (corner of Jubilee St).

Click here for more information about Pauline Forster’s crowd-funding for her legal battle to prevent redevelopment of Stepney’s Nightclub next door to the George Tavern

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The Huguenots of Rochester

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In celebration of the opening of the new Huguenot Museum in Rochester, I publish these portraits by Contributing Photographer Lucinda Douglas-Menzies (who is of Huguenot descent) taken at the French Hospital there which has offered accommodation for Huguenots since 1718.

La Providence, Rochester

“An interesting community of Huguenot refugees had its centre in Spitalfields. Their forebears had come over from France in the years following the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685.  They had become naturalized in England yet their descendants still formed a foreign community – a closed society with the intelligence that accompanies the easy use of two languages, along with the piety of a persecuted race and with the frugal wealth of Frenchmen who are, or have been, dependent upon their own exertions for a living.” – from ‘Time and Chance. The Story of Arthur Evans and his forebears’ by Joan Evans, Lucinda Douglas-Menzies’ great-great-aunt.

Jane Brown

“I am descended from Rev Francois Guillaume Durand who married Anne de Brueys de Fontcourverte. He was captured by soldiers and imprisoned in the castle in Sommieres with other pastors, but he managed to escape and lived in the woods where his parishioners brought him food and clothing. Eventually he left to Savoy and helped raise two Huguenot regiments to fight for William III, and he became the first pastor of the Walloon Church in Nijmegen – but his wife, Anne, was captured and put in a convent and died there, and his three children were seized by Jesuits and brought up as Roman Catholic. He made a bargain with God that if he got out of France alive, he’d devote his sons to the church and subsequently his grandson became a clergymen. Eventually, he came to England and was the first pastor at the Dutch Church in Norwich and then in Canterbury.

It was my grandmother, Helen Durand who was the Huguenot and I was brought up on it. I thought I had better put my name down for the French Hospital, so I sent an enquiry and got a reply back within half an hour saying we’ve got a flat for you. I was a Public Relations practitioner in race relations for a long time and I learnt that knowing your roots is quite important. My husband was from Jamaica and was very proud of his background. I teach journalism and publishing, and I edit the quarterly magazine ‘Rotary in London.’”

Jack Minett & Poppy

“I’m seventy-five, I haven’t got my teeth in and I’m not going to put them in because I am an old fellow. I’ve always known I was a Huguenot, but I didn’t know what it meant. My Huguenot ancestry was researched by my aunt – I believe there were two brothers who came over as refugees before all the chopping went on. One went to Gloucestershire and became a farmer, and the other was a doctor who set up a clinic in Camberwell.

My grandfather was a butcher in Forest Hill and I was born in Peckham. I’ve been very poorly and they sent me home to die – that was seventeen years ago when I came here to the Hospital with my wife Maureen, and I am still alive! I have two sons and a grandson, so the name continues. The founder of the Huguenot Society was a Minett and Charles Dickens has a Dr Manet in ‘Tale of Two Cities.’ And you’ve got to realise that Poppy, my little dog, is now a Huguenot too.”

Doreen Chaundy

“Chaundy is the family name and it goes back twelve generations to a small village called Chauny, north of Paris –  a little before the Huguenots. They are recorded in the parish records of Ascott-under-Wychwood in 1548, but my branch ends with me because I have no children and my brother died in the war. He was shot down in the North Sea when he was nineteen. I have no relations. I am eighty-six years old and I have been here twenty-four years.

I was a secretary and I passed my insurance exams but I was a bit early – I realise I was forty years too soon when I see what girls are able to do now, in those days we were just secretaries. I was born in Glasgow but my father was a Londoner and, when I bought a house in Wembley in my early thirties, both my parents came to join me and they stayed for thirty years. Both of them lived into their nineties and my father lived to be ninety-eight. When I he died, I applied to come and live here. I have had two brain operations and survived them. I always say I am a refugee from the Glasgow rain.”

Jenny Turner

“My great-grandmother was Eleanor Grimmo of Spitalfields. Her great-grandfather was Peter Grimmo, a weaver, who in 1839 was living at 4 Fort St, Old Artillery Ground, Spitalfields. By January 1869, his son Peter was living at 10, Turville St, Church St (now Redchurch St), Shoreditch, when he married Mary Fulseer of Bethnal Green – and in July of that year, Mary gave birth to my great-grandmother Eleanor. She told me that her father Peter Grimmo was a seal fur dyer who invented the Silver Fox Fur. My grandmother spoke French and German and was an interpreter in the First World War. We weren’t a highly educated family, so we were amazed at this but her mother was also fluent in French and her grandparents were wholly French, so it all ties in.

I’m sixty-nine and I’m on my own these days. I was a primary school teacher for forty-two years and I retired four years ago. I’ve always known we had French relatives, but it has only been in the past ten years that my daughter has been researching the family ancestry and that’s how we found out about this place.”

Michael Oblein

“My ancestor Noe Oblein came to London in 1753. He was was weaver in Shoreditch and he married Marie Dupre at St Matthew’s Bethnal Green in 1774. My father did the family research and everyone called Oblein is a relative. There are about five hundred alive. We are in contact with others all over the world, in Australia and in Rochester in America – where they have reunions every year. My father went to one and I’d like to go.

I was firefighter in Deptford for thirteen years. We came here last August, it’s brilliant – they look after you so well. I was born in Deptford and lived in Plumstead and Chatham. We sold our house and we always said how nice it was here. I shall never forget how I felt when I first walked through the gates. On Friday and Saturday nights, it’s a riot out in the High St but it’s always peaceful in here.”

Christine Cordier

“It was my husband, Ray, that wanted to come here – he was the one with the Huguenot connection. I was a teacher and he was a dental hygienist, one of the first men to do that. We met in church and we were married in Gillingham United Reform Church in 1970.

I came here in 2007, we had planned to come here together. Five years earlier, we had moved to North Lincolnshire because we wanted to live in a small village and we had a lovely home. Then we decided it was time we put our names down here, but unfortunately he developed a brain tumour as we were in the process of moving and he died so I came here on my own. It can be lonely, but I spend a lot of time at Rochester Cathedral, working in the shop and the welcome desk, so I have got to know a lot of people that way.”

Nigel Marchment

“My Huguenot ancestor was Joseph Poitier who came from Lot to Bethnal Green in 1749, I think he was a carpenter. I’ve always known this since I was small because my father always said we were French, but he couldn’t remember how. So after I retired and I lost my wife, I decided to find out and I built up the family tree. Joseph’s son, George Poitier, was baptised in St Leonard’s, Shoreditch, in 1768.

During the war, when was five, I was evacuated to my grandparents in Eastbourne and the Huguenot Society paid for my education until I left school in Forest Gate at aged fifteen. I studied book-keeping and shorthand typing but never touched it from the day I left school. I started off as an office boy at Arnett & Co (cargo superintendents at Fenchurch St in the City) from 1949-50, then I became accounts clerk at Reliance Telephones in WC2 from 1950-56, I worked for the Cleveland Petroleum Co in Euston from 1956-58, then I was a despatch clerk at Silcock & Colling Ltd, Ford’s delivery agent in Dagenham from 1958-72 and finally I moved to Basildon where I worked for Standard telephone & cables from 1973-1977 and Morse Controls Ltd  from 1977 -1997. I took early retirement to care for my wife until she passed away on April 3rd 2001 and then I had heart attack on the morning of April 4th. They said it was caused by stress. I came to live here in the French Hospital in August 2008.”

Ann Blyth

“The Huguenot was my grandfather, his name was Ravine. The family were based in Canterbury around the Via St Gregory. I’ve only traced them back as far as 1721 but when I pack up my job, I’m going to find out more. It wasn’t until my father died and my brother was chopping wood and breaking coal in Felstead in Essex and I was trying to bring my mother here, that I got to know the Steward. He said, ‘You’ve got to be a Huguenot,’ so I said, ‘We are!’

I was in my forties and she was in her seventies, and she moved in here in 1983 and she was here for fourteen and a half years. I came in August 2005. I teach T’ai Chi and I do  a weekly session with ten regular students. One is ninety-seven and she can stand on one leg. I didn’t start until I was sixty and I’ve been doing it fourteen and a half years, and it’s made all the difference to my fitness and balance.”

Eileen Bell

“I’m ninety-one. I came here with my husband, Bill, thirty-three years ago because he wanted to get out of London. If he was here he could explain the Huguenot connection, but he died twelve years ago. I was born in Bermondsey and lived all my life in Bermondsey. I worked for twenty years for the gas board. I have one son and one grandson. I’ve never been back to Bermondsey.”

Bobby Bloyce

“My Huguenot ancestor, Alexander Bearnville de Blois, came in 1685 and settled in Spitalfields. I found out when my great-aunt found pieces of parchment in the attic and that was our family tree. I was the ‘baby’ when I moved into the French Hospital fifteen years ago. My grandmother and my great uncle lived here in the Hospital, so I’ve been visiting since I was seventeen. I was born in Rochester and I have lived most of my life in Rochester, and my son lives here as well. I love being here, I’ve always wanted to live here – it’s like a village.”

Jon Corrigan, Master Steward

Huguenot garden at the French Hospital in Rochester.

Weathervane of Elijah fed by the ravens in the wilderness, emblematic of ‘La Providence’ – the name of the Hospital.

Photographs copyright © Lucinda Douglas-Menzies

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