Adrian Amos, Architectural Salvage Dealer
Adrian Amos with his son Harry
Anyone who ever goes through Vauxhall cannot fail to notice Brunswick House, the eighteenth century pile that was the former home of the exiled Duke of Brunswick in 1811, still holding firm with dignity despite the incursion of cheap and nasty towers that overwhelm the place these days.
It is the last fragment of old Vauxhall, when this was the location of pleasure gardens and fine country houses with estates stretching down to the river. Here Contributing Photographer Rachel Ferriman and I visited Adrian Amos, the current resident of this Palladian mansion which serves as showroom for London Architectural Salvage & Supply Company (LASSCO) that he founded fifty years ago.
As if Brunswick House were not wonder enough, it is crammed now with precious architectural artefacts enjoying safe harbour until they find new permanent homes. In the seventies, Adrian was a pioneer of recycling who saw a way to rescue and repurpose the fabric of condemned buildings when almost on-one else cared. I found him sitting happily in his magnificent study surrounded by a trove of gleaming antiquities – at the the heart of the empire he has built over the past half century – upon which he presides today with his two sons, George and Harry, the royal family of salvage.
Through all these years, Adrian has acquired stories and knowledge as enthusiastically as he has collected architectural artefacts, making him a wily and charismatic raconteur on the subject of old London with an infinite repertoire of tales – which I discovered when I sat down with him.
“George Amos, my grandfather, had a furniture factory in Bow, Old Ford Rd. It wasn’t really a factory, it was just four brothers who were forced to work for their father. A lot happened between the demise of that business around 1963 and my starting this in 1979.
I was brought up in Colchester surrounded by an awareness of the age of the town and the built environment, so I developed an interest in antiquarian stuff but I also inherited some sort of business acumen or drive from my grandfather, I’m assuming.
It’s very difficult to separate out the cheeky anecdotes that one uses to justify things, but I found in North London, Hampstead particularly, there were skips at one end of the street and stuff going into the skips, being torn out of houses, and within walking distance there’d be someone anxious to acquire these original materials, like sash windows and shutters and what have you. So between the two there was a business to be made, taking things out of skips and selling them to the neighbour ten houses away.
I became part of the antiques trade, that was the closest activity to which you could nail it. On the other hand, it was a lot to do with the scrap metal business too, and what we would now call ‘recycling’. Dan Cruickshank coined the term ‘architectural salvage’ in an article in the Architects Journal. That was 1976. I hung around demi-monde of NW1 and before that I’d been running a joinery shop in Hampstead. I was steeped in my father Sydney Amos’ involvement with cabinet making. When I was a boy, I remember him straightening nails out, he was very economical as a lot of people were in those days. After George Amos & Son closed when the East London furniture industry died, he worked in Covent Garden and Spitalfields Market. So I was given a wide choice of careers because I couldn’t go back into cabinet making.
In the seventies, people were encouraged to simply go in and rescue artefacts from buildings irrespective of title of ownership. It’s radically different today. Sometimes people sell us things and we return them to the owners at a loss. Two of our favourite family of street operators came round with some old panelling in the back of their van one day. I asked them where they got it from, there were only two places it could have come from in East London, one was Sutton House and the other was Walthamstow old village. They said it wasn’t Walthamstow so it had to be Sutton House. At that point you have to be careful what you say because if you say the wrong thing, they take fright and take it away and sell it to some utter scoundrel. So I said, ‘You leave it with us and we’ll let the dust settle.’ Then I got on the phone to the National Trust and they discovered that their contractors had whipped it off the wall because they had no idea of its value or significance. Thus we saw that it went back to them. Virtue emanates from every pore when I tell that story.
One day, we got a call to Holy Trinity Church, Finchley Rd, to clear it out before it was demolished. That’s what the business was then, you got called out to places before they were pulled down. We met a chap there who was redundant furnishings officer for the Church of England. ‘Oh jolly good,’ he said, ‘Is this what you do?’ He wasn’t interested in the material, he simply wanted a solution to his problems. He gave me a list of churches that he was keen to see cleared out, pews and all sorts, usually staffed by a single rector who was verging on a nervous breakdown – no congregation. I said, ‘We are going to need a bit of assistance with somewhere to put this stuff.’ So he said, ‘I’ve got this giant church in Shoreditch, St Michael & All Angels. Here’s the key, let yourself in and fill it up with all the bits you are pulling out.’
We were there for forty years. I thought it was too big a prospect for me to handle by myself so I approached Geoff Westland. He was involved in Fine Art transport, so we each used half of the church, a great cavernous unheated place. It gradually filled up and chaps came from the City of London. I suppose they get a bit bored dealing stocks and bonds, they like tangible things. Quite often they’d turn up smoking a cigar after lunch which meant they were in a good mood and they’d see something and get seized with imagination, buying a marble fireplace or a fountain.
We got the job to clear Willesden Cemetery because they had too many marble memorials. So we loaded them up onto the back of our ancient Bedford lorry from 1947 and placed them in the park at the back of the church in Shoreditch where they still are today. The York paving there came from a pepper warehouse near Borough Market. We did the church up piece by piece over the years.
Eventually, we ran out of space because the nature of architectural salvage then was that the supply overwhelmed demand, we had acres of doors that people were pulling out of old houses. So we occupied a yard in Pitfield St on the site of Raymond’s Music Hall where Laurel & Hardy once performed. It was demolished before our eyes, in those days there was a pathological tendency to destroy things and replace them with NCP car parks.
There are thankfully fewer large-scale demolitions these days, although there was a period of facade retentions when we received a glut of decent stuff, floorboards, joinery and other building materials. Today we can drive around London and there isn’t a street without a building that has gone that we were involved with. We have a vast archive of photographs.
Yesterday, I was down in Wapping in Scandrett St, near the Bluecoat School, and I was asked to come there by a Mr Scandrett who has an old yard there, and I thought, ‘That’s remarkable. Here is a true relic, the street is named after the family.’
Twenty years ago, we happening to be passing through Vauxhall and there was a ‘For Sale’ sign outside this place, Brunswick House. It used to be the British Railwaymen’s Staff Association Club, when all the railway lines were cut through Vauxhall they kept it as their club house. The place was due to be disassembled brick by brick and moved to Camberwell so a developer could put a tower on this spot but Historic England said, ‘Over our dead bodies,’ because it is grade II* listed. Instead they got consent for covering the building with enormous advertising hoardings. We came along at the time the developers were getting fed up, we saw that it was for sale and asked, ‘What do you want?’ They gave us quite a reasonable price. After forty years wallowing around in gothic gloom in Shoreditch, we were delighted to be offered a south-facing Palladian mansion.
I couldn’t wished for a better career with my inclinations and upbringing. If you are excited by the aesthetic aspects what could be better than to be surrounded by stuff that fascinates you. Now I live here up on the top floor, it has wonderful light.”
George Amos and family of Bow
George Amos & Son, Old Ford Rd, Bow 1917
Adrian Amos’ first shop in New End Sq, Hampstead
Adrian Amos in his showroom ‘a favourite of the Spitalfields set’
St Michael & All Angels, Shoreditch
Adrian Amos in Shoreditch
St Michael & All Angels
Staff photo by Harry Diamond, 1978 (Adrian Amos is second from left in back row)
Adrian Amos (left) with John Cousans, Shoreditch
The gardens of Brunswick House in Vauxhall no longer extend to the Thames
‘I couldn’t wished for a better career with my inclinations and upbringing’
The framing workshop up in the roof
Brunswick House photographs copyright © Rachel Ferriman
London Architectural Salvage & Supply Company, Brunswick House, 30 Wandsworth Rd, SW8 2LG
John Claridge’s Working People & A Dog
Remembering John Claridge who died on Sunday 24th May aged eighty-one.
Groundsman, E.15 (1965)
“This is the groundsman at the Memorial Ground where I played football aged ten in 1954.”
Some of my favourite people are the shopkeepers and those that do the small trades – who between them have contributed the major part to the identity of the East End over the years. And when I see their old premises redeveloped, I often think in regret, “I wish someone had gone round and taken portraits of these people who carried the spirit of the place.” So you can imagine my delight and gratitude to see this splendid set of photos and discover that during the sixties photographer John Claridge had the insight to take such pictures, exactly as I had hoped.
When John went back ten years later to the pitch near West Ham Station where he played football as a child, he found the groundsman was just as he remembered, with his cardigan and tie, and he took the photograph you see above. There is a dignified modesty to this fine portrait – a quality shared by all of those published here – expressed through a relaxed demeanour.
These subjects present themselves to John’s lens as emotionally open yet retaining possession of themselves, and this translates into a vital relationship with the viewer. To each of these people, John was one of their own kind and they were comfortable being photographed by him. And, thanks to the humanity of John’s vision, we have the privilege to become party to this intimacy today.
Kosher Butcher, E2 (1962) – “The chicken was none too happy!”
Brewery, Spitalfields (1964) Clocking in at the Truman Brewery, Brick Lane.
Lady with Gumball Machine, Spitalfields (1967) – “She came out of her kiosk and asked, ‘Will you photograph me with my gumball machine?'”
Saveloy Stall, Spitalfields (1967) – “It was a cold day, so I had two hot dogs.”
Whitechapel Bell Foundry, E1 (1982) Established in 1598, where the Liberty Bell and Big Ben were cast.
Rag & Bone Man, E13 (1961) – “Down my street in Plaistow, there were not many cars about – all you could hear was the clip-clop of the horse on the wet road.”
Shoe Repairs Closed Saturday, Spitalfields (1969) – “I asked, ‘Why are you open on Saturday?’ He replied, ‘I was just busy.'”
Spice, E1 (1976) – “Taken at a spice warehouse in Wapping. The smells were fantastic, you could smell it down the street.”
Portrait, Spitalfields (1966) – “This is a group portrait of friends outside of their shop. The two brothers who ran the shop, the lady who worked round the corner and the guy who worked in the back.”
Anglo Pak Muslim Butcher, E2 (1962)
Butchers, Spitalfields (1966) -“I had just finished taking a picture next door, when this lady came out with a joint of meat and asked me to take her photograph with it.”
Fishmongers, E1 (1966) Early morning, unloading fish from Grimsby.
Beigel Baker, E2 (1967) -“After a party at about four or five in the morning, we used to end up at Rinkoff’s in Vallance Rd for smoked salmon beigels.”
Newsagent, Spitalfields (1966) -“I said, ‘Shame about Walt Disney dying, can I take your picture next to it?’ and he said, ‘Alright.'”
Selling Shoes, Spitafields (1963) – “My dad used to tell me what his dad told him, ‘If you’ve got a good pair of shoes, you own the world.'”
Strudel, E2 (1962) – “You’ll like this, boy!’ I had just taken a photograph outside this lady’s shop. I said, ‘I think your window looks beautiful.’ and she asked me in for a slice of apple strudel. It was fantastic! But she would not accept any money, it was a gift. She said, ‘You took a picture of my shop.'”
Number 92, Spitalfields (1964)
Tubby Isaac’s, Spitalfields (1982) – “Aaahhh Tubby’s, where I’ve had many a fine eel.”
Junkyard Dog, E16 (1982) – “I was climbing over the wall into this junkyard. All was quiet, when I noticed this pair of forbidding eyes – then I made my exit.”
Photographs copyright © John Claridge
You may also like to take a look at
Along the Thames with John Claridge
At the Salvation Army with John Claridge
John Claridge’s Boxers
Remembering John Claridge who died on Sunday 24th May aged eighty-one. In 2012, John & I visited the monthly meetings of London Ex-Boxers Association to take portraits of the members. Coming from a family of boxers and being an ex-boxer himself, John possesses a natural empathy with these spirited men who were once the fiercest of opponents but are now the closest of friends.
Johnny Barnham (First fight 1950 – last fight 1955)
Ron Whittham (First fight 1950 – last fight 1961)
Joey Khan (First fight 1950 – last fight 1955)
Dynamo Colin Dunne (First fight 1993 – last fight 2003)
Peter Cragg (First fight 1966 – last fight 1970)
Sylvester Mittee (First fight 1977 – last fight 1988)
Ronnie Smith (First fight 1956 – last fight 1966)
Sammy McCarthy (First fight 1946 – last fight 1957)
Billy Graydon (First fight 1949 – last fight 1960)
Ron Cooper (First fight 1944 – last fight 1953)
Dave Cooper (First fight 1966 – last fight 1972)
Paul Fairweather, Committee Member of London Ex-Boxers ( fought in 1965)
Photographs copyright © John Claridge
Take a look at the entire series
John Claridge’s Boxers (Round One)
John Claridge’s Boxers (Round Two)
John Claridge’s Boxers (Round Three)
John Claridge’s Boxers (Round Four)
John Claridge’s Boxers (Round Five)
John Claridge’s Boxers (Round Six)
John Claridge’s Boxers (Round Seven)
John Claridge’s Boxers (Round Eight)
John Claridge’s Boxers (Round Nine)
John Claridge’s Boxers (Round Ten)
John Claridge At The Whitechapel Bell Foundry
Remembering John Claridge who died last Sunday aged eighty-one
John Claridge first visited the Whitechapel Bell Foundry in 1982 to photograph the life of Britain’s oldest manufacturing company, founded in 1570. He returned in 2016, just before it closed, to take another set of pictures. Remarkably, little changed in the intervening years.
‘It was like walking through a time portal,’ John told me. ‘There was a very tactile feeling about the place, where craftsmanship held sway, and my pictures pay testament to that feeling.’
A decade after it closed, the developers have abandoned their ludicrous plan to convert the foundry to a bell-themed boutique hotel and today it hosts property guardians while sinking into decay and acquiring graffiti. Meanwhile the London Bell Foundry continues its campaign to buy the building and reopen it as a working foundry.
You may also like to read about
So Long, Whitechapel Bell Foundry
The Fate of the Whitechapel Bell Foundry
A Few Pints With John Claridge
Remembering John Claridge who died on Sunday aged eighty-one
THE DRINK, E14 1964
John Claridge claimed he was not a drinker, but I was not entirely convinced once I saw this magnificent set of beer-soaked pictures that he lined up on the bar, exploring aspects of the culture of drinking and pubs in the East End. “I used to go along with my mum and dad, and sit outside with a cream soda and an arrowroot biscuit,” John assured me, recalling his first childhood trips to the pub,”…but they might let you have a drop of brown ale.”
Within living memory, the East End was filled with breweries and there were pubs on almost every corner. These beloved palaces of intoxication were vibrant centres for community life, tiled on the outside and panelled on the inside, and offering plentiful opportunities for refreshment and socialising. Consequently, the brewing industry thrived here for centuries, inspiring extremes of joy and grief among its customers. While Thomas Buxton of Truman, Hanbury & Buxton in Spitalfields used the proceeds of brewing to become a prime mover in the abolition of slavery, conversely William Booth was motivated by the evils of alcohol to form the Salvation Army in Whitechapel to further the cause of temperance.
“When I was fifteen, we’d go around the back and the largest one in the group would go up to the bar and get the beers,” John remembered fondly, “We used to go out every weekend, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. We’d all have our suits on and go down to the Puddings or the Beggars, the Deuragon, the Punchbowl, the Aberdeen, the Iron Bridge Tavern or the Bridge House.” Looking at these pictures makes me wish I had been there too.
Yet the culture of drinking thrives in the East End today, with hordes of young people coming every weekend from far and wide to pack the bars of Brick Lane and Shoreditch, in one non-stop extended party that lasts from Friday evening until Sunday night, and stretches from the former Truman Brewery up as far as Dalston.
Thanks to John’s sobriety, we can enjoy a photographic pub crawl through the alcoholic haze of the East End in the last century – when the entertainment was homegrown, the customers were local, smoking and dogs were permitted, and all ages mixed together for a night out. Cheers, everybody!
A SMOKE, E1 1982. – “There was a relaxed atmosphere where you could walk in and talk to anybody.”
THE CONVERSATION, E1 1982. – “Who is he speaking to?”
DARTBOARD, E17 1982. -“I used to be a darts player, just average not particularly good.”
SINGING, E1 1962. -“She’d just come out of the pub…”
THE MEETING, E14, 1982. -“You don’t know what’s going on. There’s a big flash car parked there. Are they doing a piece of business?”
SLEEP, E1 1976. – “They used to club together and get a bottle of VP wine from the off-licence, and mix it with methylated spirits.”
BEERS, E1 1964. – “This is Dickensian. You wonder who’s going to step from that door. Is it the beginning of a story?”
ROUND THE BACK, E3 1963.
DOG, E1 1963. -“Just sitting there while his master went to get another pint of beer.”
EX-ALCHOHOLIC, E1 1982. – “He lived in Booth House and seemed very content that he had pulled himself out of it.”
LIVE MUSIC, E16 1982. -“It was a cold winter’s day and raining, but I had to get this picture. Live music and dancing in a vast expanse of nothing?”
THE BEEHIVE, E14 1964. – “She never stopped giggling and laughing.”
THE SMILE, E2 1962. -“He said, ‘Would you like me to smile?’ He was probably not long for this world, but he was very happy.”
IN THE BAR, E14 1964. -“I’d just got engaged to my first wife and she was one of my ex-mother-in-law’s friends. Full of life!”
THROUGH THE GLASS, E1 1982. -“I think the guy was standing at the cigarette machine.”
THE CALL, E16 1982. -“Terry Lawless’ boxing gym was above this pub. It looks as if everything is collapsing and cracking, and the shadows look like blood pouring from above.”
WHITE SWAN, E14 1982
LIGHT ALE, 1976 -“Four cans of light ale and he was completely out of it.”
CLOSED DOWN, Brick Lane 1982.
Photographs copyright © John Claridge
You may also like to take a look at
John Claridge’s Nation Of Shopkeepers
Remembering John Claridge who died on Sunday aged eighty-one
Ross Bakeries, Quaker St, 1966
I am grateful to John Claridge for his prescience in taking these photographs because if I could travel back to the East End of sixty years ago this is exactly what I should like to see – the local shops and the faces of the shopkeepers.
“I used to go to the shops with my mum every Saturday morning, and she’d meet people she knew and they’d be chatting for maybe an hour, so I’d go off and meet other kids and we’d be playing on a bombsite – it was a strange education!” John told me, neatly illustrating how these small shops were integral to the fabric of society in his childhood.”People had a pride in what they were selling or what they were doing” he recalled,”You’d go into these places and they’d all smell different. They all had their distinct character, it was wonderful.”
Although generations of the family were dockers, John’s father warned him that the London Docks were in terminal decline and he sought a career elsewhere. Consequently, even as a youth, John realised that a whole way of life was going to be swept away in the changes which were coming to the East End. And this foresight inspired John to photograph the familiar culture of small shops and shopkeepers that he held in such affection. “Even then I had the feeling that things were going to be overrun, without regard to what those in that society wanted.” he confirmed to me with regret.
As the remaining small shopkeepers now join the East End Trades Guild to fight for their survival, in the face of escalating rents and the incursion of chain stores, John Claridge’s poignant images are a salient reminder of the venerable tradition of local shops here that we cannot afford to lose.
Shop in Spitalfields, 1964.
C & K Grocers, Spitalfields, 1982 – “From the floor to the roof, the shop was stocked full of everything you could imagine.”
Cobbler, Spitalfields, 1969.
Flo’s Stores, Spitalfields, 1962 – “All the shops were individual then. Somebody painted the typography themselves here and it’s brilliant.”
Fruit & Veg, Bethnal Green 1961 – “I’d been to a party and it was five o’clock in the morning, but she was open.”
W.Wernick, Spitalfields, 1962.
Fishmonger, Spitalfields, 1965.
Corner Shop, Spitalfields, 1961 – “The kid’s just got his stuff for his mum and he’s walking back.”
At W.Wernick Poulterers, Spitalfields, 1962 – “She’s got her hat, her cup of tea and her flask. There was no refrigeration but it was chilly.”
Fiorella Shoes, E2, 1966 – “There’s only four pairs of shoes in the window. How could they measure shoes to fit, when they couldn’t even fit the words in the window? The man next door said to me, ‘Would you like me to step back out of the picture?’ I said, ‘No, I’d really like you to be in the picture.”
Bertha, Spitalfields, 1982 – “Everything is closing down but you can still have a wedding! She’s been jilted at the altar and she’s just waiting now.”
Bakers, Spitalfields, 1959 – “There’s only three buns and a cake in the window.”
Jacques Wolff, E13 1960 – “His name was probably Jack Fox and he changed it to Jacques Wolff.”
Waltons, E13 1960 – “They just sold cheap shoes, but you could get a nice Italian pair knocked off from the docks at a good price.”
Churchman’s, Spitalfields, 1968 – “Anything you wanted from cigarettes to headache pills.”
White, Spitalfields 1967 – “I saw these three kids and photographed them, it was only afterwards I saw the name White.”
The Door, E2 1960.
The Window, E16 1982 – “Just a little dress shop, selling bits and pieces. The clothes could have been from almost any era.”
Victor, E14 1968 – “There’s no cars on the road, the place was empty, but there was a flower shop on the corner and it was always full of flowers.”
Photographs copyright © John Claridge
Along The Thames With John Claridge
Remembering John Claridge who died on Sunday aged eighty-one.
In Silvertown, 1964
These atmospheric photographs of the Thames by John Claridge offer a poignant vision of the working river that was once a defining element of the East End. Within living memory, the busiest port in the world was here yet today barely a trace of it remains. And John’s pictures, mostly taken when he was a mere kid photographer, capture the last glimmers of the living docks. “My dad’s friends were saying that the docks were going down, so I was aware of that and I just wanted to grab hold of it,” John told me.
“As a child, from my bedroom in Plaistow, I could see the lights of the docks at night and I used to go to sleep listening to the sound of the horns on the Thames whenever there was fog, which was quite often. You could smell the river if the wind was blowing in the right direction. A lot of the men in my family worked down the docks. My father took me down to the dock gate when he worked for the New Zealand Shipping Company and I used to go out with my camera at weekends, or any spare time I had, to take pictures. I went out to see what was going on, I reacted to what was there and, if I saw something, I photographed it. It was instinctive, I never thought I was documenting. I had a need to take pictures, it was as natural as breathing.”
John’s photographs convey the epic nature of the docks where once thousands worked to unload vast ships bringing cargos from distant continents, a collective endeavour upon a grand scale. Yet these are personal pictures and, for this reason John has included few people, even if their presence is always tangible. “You can put yourself and your emotions into the photograph if there’s nobody in it,” he confided to me, “These pictures were for myself. I was interested in the quality of the light which was magnificent. Because of the bends of the river, you got it coming in all directions and in each place it was different.”
As a youngster, John was able to get everywhere, creeping through side alleys, climbing over walls, even setting out in a tiny inflatable dinghy on the river, but sometimes, he would just walk right in through the main entrance.”I’d go through the dock gate,” he confessed, “It was much more of an innocent time – I should have got a pass, but I’d just say, ‘I’m doing photographs’ and they’d say, ‘On you go.’ As a kid you could get anywhere.” If you observe the shifting point of view in these pictures, you can see that some are taken from the Thames beach, some from John’s dinghy at water level while others are taken looking down from walls and bridges, where he had climbed up.
The majestic image above was taken in the dawn light in Silvertown in 1964, when John climbed onto the dock wall to photograph the huge cargo ship that had just arrived, and waited for the sun to rise before he took his picture. As a consequence, the vessel filling the background looks like a phantom fading in the first light of day. There is an equally fascinating distinction between the foreground and background in the photograph below, also taken over the dock wall in Silvertown in 1964. The ships in the background appear ethereal as if they were a mirage too, about to vanish. In John’s vision, the docks are haunted by their own disappearance, and the incandescent dreamlike ambiance of his pictures – often taken through fog or mist rising from the river – places them in a pictorial tradition of the Thames which includes Whistler and Turner.
Yet beyond their breathtaking quality as photography, John Claridge’s elegiac photographs of the Thames are special because they are taken by one who grew up with the river and knew the culture of the docks intimately. As he admitted to me, speaking of the river and his relationship with it, “It’s not something you discover, it’s always been there – it’s part of you who you are.”
“I climbed over the dock wall to take this picture in New Canning Town. You never expect it to go and then all of a sudden it’s gone.” 1964
Old warehouses in Silvertown, 1982.
Dock wall, Isle of Dogs, 1982.
In Poplar, at the very end of the docks, 1982. “You can see how quiet it is.”
1962, a crane driver takes a break for a fag in Silvertown.
From the river, 1962
Inside the docks in Canning Town, 1968.”As soon as the containers moved down to Tilbury, you saw it winding down.”
Near Stratford, from road bridge with the canal in the foregound, 1960.
Limehouse, 1972.
At water level, Wapping, 1964.
A lighter in Wapping, 1963
Warehouses in Wapping, 1965
In a tributary at Canning Town, 1962
Near St Katherine Dock, 1960. “It was all open then, you could walk around.”
Chemical works near Bow, 1965.
Looking into the dock from a bridge, Silvertown, 1982. “There may have been some manufacturing left but the dockland was dead.”
Winter light downriver, 1982
Near Silvertown, with one of the bridges across the dock in the background, 1966.
A lighter in Wapping, 1961.
Photographs copyright © John Claridge
You may also like to take a look at
and read these other stories of the Thames
“Old Bob” Prentice, Waterman & Lighterman
