Black Limehouse Lives
An exhibition, Black Limehouse Lives, The Black Experience and Parish Life through the Lens of St Anne’s Records (1730-1830), runs at St Anne’s Limehouse on Thursday, Fridays and Saturdays from 10am-4pm until 20th February. Below, Wink Lorch, curator, introduces the project.
‘Our newly launched exhibition has been curated by a volunteer team of writers and editors from Care for St Anne’s working with the Mapping Black London team of students led by Professor Olly Ayers at Northeastern University London who assisted with research, writing and design.
The exhibition explores the lives of Black people who arrived in Limehouse in Georgian times and were baptised at St Anne’s, during the first hundred years of the church. It examines why and how they arrived here, why they were baptised, where they lived, and who they worked for, plus importantly whether they were still enslaved or free. These individuals include servants of ships’ captains and other wealthy people, as well as black people who most likely fought in the American Revolutionary War and were given freedom and a passage to London at the end of the war. Old Bailey records extended our research to further individuals located in Limehouse at the time. The exhibition also explores briefly the Lascars in Limehouse, two of whom were recorded on the first page of the burial register for St Anne’s.
We decided to put the lives of these Black individuals into context by focussing on the early years of St Anne’s church and its new Limehouse parish. We have unearthed information never displayed before, including the church’s ancient connections with Brasenose College, Oxford. With help from the Northeastern students, we also included information discovered from archives at Lambeth Palace Library. This includes indentures (property contracts) relating to the church, a ‘visitation return’ from 1787, which documents numbers residing in the parish, those adhering to other faiths, and how the poor were looked after. We also reveal a case of brawling between a Curate of St Anne’s and a Churchwarden.’ Wink Lorch
Joan Lauder, Cat Lady Of Spitalfields
In my imagination, Joan Lauder (1924-2011) was a mysterious feline spirit in human form who prowled the alleys and back streets, a self-appointed guardian of the stray cats and a lonely sentinel embodying the melancholy soul of the place.
Here are Rodney Archer’s memories with Phil Maxwell’s black and white photos from the eighties and Clive Murphy’s colour pictures from the nineties.
One day, when I went round to enjoy a cup of tea and shot of rum with Rodney in his cosy basement kitchen in Fournier St, he told me about Joan, the Cat Lady, who made it her business to befriend all the felines in Spitalfields during the nineteen eighties.
Rodney: Joan went all around the neighbourhood feeding the cats regularly and she had names for them. You’d see her crouching, looking through the corrugated iron surrounding Truman’s Brewery, waiting for the cats to come and then they suddenly all appeared. I think once I saw her there and I asked her what she was doing, and she said ‘I’m waiting for the cats to appear.’
‘My darlings,’ she really did call them, ‘My darlings,’ and it was wonderful in a way that she had this love of cats and spent her life encouraging them and feeding them and keeping them alive. I could never quite work it out, but she had a bag, like one of those trolleys you carry, full of cat food. Now, either she’d taken the tops off the tins or something, since I noticed – because she had a kind of witchlike aspect – that although she put her hands right into the tin to feed them and then just threw it down, I never saw any cat food on her hands. It was like something out of Grimm’s Fairy Tales.
Over the years, I would chat to her but she was someone that you had to have some time for, because once she began she went on and on. The Cat Lady was strange – she spent all her money on the cats – she was like a character out of Dickens. She was almost a street person, except she had a place to live. And she did get benefits and she wasn’t an alcoholic or anything, she was very doughty, she had a bit of a moustache.
She was the kind of woman that, a hundred years ago, people would have been fearful of in a way. There was something awesome about her, because she had her own aura and she was there to feed the cats, and the cats were much more important to her than people. I’d talk about my cat to her and I think once she stopped by my door, and I opened it, and my cat sat looking at her.
The Gentle Author: I’ve heard she had this mantra, “Cats are better than rats.” Were there a lot of rats at that time?
Rodney: I think there were. When the market was still going and you had all the fruit and vegetables, the rats would come out to feed. I never saw that myself, but you might see a rat running along the curb. A lot of people said they were looking forward to the market closing because the area would be cleaner and neater, but I regretted that the market left and there weren’t cabbages everywhere.
The Gentle Author: Can you remember when you first saw the Cat Lady?
Rodney: I think I first saw her on the corner of Fournier St and Brick Lane. She had a huge physical endurance, but I think she must have been exhausted by her journey every day, because she would often stop for quite a long time, and she’d just be there looking around. I suppose she might have been looking for the cats. That’s why you could catch up with her and ask her how she was doing.
One day I just spoke to her, maybe I’d seen her around, and I said, ‘Are you feeding the cats?’ And she told me, and I said had a cat and so we talked about cats and the wisdom of cats and that kind of thing. And afterwards, I’d see her quite often. She didn’t talk much to me about her life – but she was the Great Mother of all the cats in Spitalfields.
Phil Maxwell photographed Joan, the Cat Lady, in the eighties
The cat lady on Brick Lane in the late nineteen eighties.
Phil: The woman in this photograph was always dressed in a head scarf and large coat. Usually she would pull a shopping bag on wheels behind her. She was the Cat Lady of Spitalfields. She knew where every cat and kitten lived in the wild and made it her task to feed them every day. Her bag was full of cat food which she would serve on newspaper at designated spots around Spitalfields.
Phil: The Cat Lady pauses for a second beside the Seven Stars pub on Brick Lane. She has just left some food in the ‘private road’ for some cats.
Phil: The Cat Lady floats past Christchurch School on Brick Lane – with her eyes closed, she contemplates the next cat awaiting a delivery.
Phil: The Cat Lady waits outside her favourite cafe in Cheshire St. Now a trendy boutique, in the nineteen-eighties you could buy a cup of tea and a sandwich for less than a pound at this establishment.
Phil: The Cat Lady ‘kept herself to herself’ and avoided the company of others
Phil: It must be about twenty years since I last saw the Cat Lady of Spitalfields. She devoted her life to feeding the stray cats of the area. I have no idea where she lived and I never saw her talking to another person. She seemed to live in her own separate cat world. Even though I was sitting opposite her when I took this photograph, I felt that she had created a barrier and would be reluctant to engage in conversation. It was impossible to make eye contact. I’m pleased I photographed her on the streets and in her Cheshire St cafe. She would not recognise Cheshire St and Brick Lane today.
Clive Murphy’s portrait of Joan Lauder
At Angel Alley, Whitechapel, 5th March 1992
Feeding the cat from The White Hart in Angel Alley, 5th March 1992
In Gunthorpe St, 5th March 1992
Buying cat food at Taj Stores, Brick Lane, 3rd August 1992
In Wentworth St, 3rd August 1992
Calling a cat, Bacon St, 3rd August 1992
The cat arrives, Bacon St, 3rd August 1992
Alley off Hanbury St, 2nd August 1992
Hanbury St, 26th November 1995
At Aldgate East, 3rd August 1992
At Lloyds, Leadenhall St, 3rd August 1992
Walking from Angel Alley into Whitechapel High St, 3rd August 1992
Beware Of The Pussy, 132 Brick Lane, 26th November 1995
Clive visits Joan in her Nursing Home, 1995
Clive: The women I have loved you could count upon the digits of one hand – my mother, her mother, our loyal companion Maureen McDonnell, the poet Patricia Doubell and the demented, incontinent Joan Lauder, the Cat Lady of Spitalfields who, in 1991, when I first spoke to her was already my heroine, a day-and-night-in-all-weathers Trojan, doggedly devoting herself to cats because human beings had for too long failed her.
She looked at me with suspicion when I suggested we tape record a book. Only my bribe that half of any proceeds of publication would fall to her or her favoured charities and enable the purchase of extra tins of cat food persuaded her at least to humour me. I could swear I saw those azure eyes, set in that pretty face, dilate.
I had entrapped her with the best of intentions as she, I was to learn, often entrapped, also with the best of intentions, the denizens of the feral world to have them spayed or neutered in the interests of control. But to the end, her end, I don’t think she ever trusted or respected me. I once found her surreptitiously laying down Whiskas in my hallway for my own newly-adopted cat which I named Joan in her honour. And she once spat the expletive ‘t***’ at me in a tone of total dismissal. To be called a foolish and obnoxious person was hardly comforting, given that I believe my own adage ‘in dementia veritas’ holds all too often true.
Black & white photographs copyright © Phil Maxwell
Colour photographs copyright © Estate of Clive Murphy
So Long, G. Kelly Of Bethnal Green
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G.Kelly in happier days
This week, I was so saddened to confront the long-closed-up premises of G. Kelly at 444 Bethnal Green Rd – which shut in 2018 never to reopen – that I realised I needed to publish a belated elegy for this beloved institution which served pie and mash to loyal East End customers for over a century.
Sue Venning of G.Kelly pie and mash (still open and flourishing at 526 Roman Rd) kindly outlined the genealogy. “Samuel Robert Kelly opened up originally in Bethnal Green in 1915 – he had three sons, Samuel who took over in Bethnal Green, Joe who opened in Bonner St and George who came here to the Roman Rd. My father Bill (George Kelly’s brother-in-law) ran this with my mother Bea, until he died in 1969, and then I took over from her in 1990.”
Years have passed now since contributing Photographer Sarah Ainslie and I hit the lunchtime rush at G. Kelly, Bethnal Green Rd, (connected only genealogically to G. Kelly, Roman Rd) where Matt Kelly, proprietor, baker and third generation pie man, had his work cut out in the kitchen to meet the demand for pie and mash and liquor at £2.65. Diners ate off elegant cast iron tables beneath framed portraits of local boxing heroes of yesteryear and everyone was at home in one of the neighbourhood’s cosiest destinations.
At the head of the lunch queue was Mrs Julia Richards. “I’m going to be ninety-eight,” she bragged with a winsome grin, the picture of exuberance and vitality as she carried off her plate of pie and mash hungrily to her favourite corner table, pursued by her sprightly seventy-year-old daughter Patricia – both superlative living exemplars for the sustaining qualities of traditional East End meat pies. “I’ve been coming here over fifty years,” revealed Patricia proudly. “I’ve been coming here since before it opened!” teased Julia, her eyes shining with excitement as she cut into her steaming meat pie.”They used to have live eels outside in a bucket,” she continued, enraptured by memory, “And you could pick which one you wanted to eat.” We left them absorbed in their pies, the very epitome of human contentment, beneath a hand-lettered advertising placard, proclaiming “Kelly for Jelly.”
S. & R. Kelly & Sons (connected only genealogically to G. Kelly) remains open at 284 Bethnal Green Rd.
At G.Kelly, Bethnal Green
The prizefighters of yesteryear fondly remembered at G.Kelly in Bethnal Green
Julia Richards, nearly ninety-eight – “They used to have live eels outside and you could pick your own.”
Regulars, Julia Richards and her sprightly daughter Patricia Wootton aged seventy, at the favoured corner table at G.Kelly
G. Kelly in Bethnal Green, 1915-2018
Photographs copyright © Sarah Ainslie
Joan Beales, Illustrator
I am proud to publish these excerpts from THE SILVER LOCKET by a graduate of my writing course. The author says ‘A lifetime of reading and book collecting leads me to share stories of literary life: books old and new which inspire and comfort me and the people I meet.’
I am taking bookings for the next writing course, HOW TO WRITE A BLOG THAT PEOPLE WILL WANT TO READ on February 6th & 7th. Come to Spitalfields and spend a winter weekend in an eighteenth century weaver’s house in Fournier St, enjoy delicious lunches and eat cakes baked to historic recipes, and learn how to write your own blog.
If you are graduate of my course and you would like me to feature your blog, please drop me a line.
Illustrator Joan Beales holds a very special place in my heart. Her first picture book Pip and the Six Cooks, published in 1964, was one of my very first books, which I read over and over again.
Turning the pages, all my childhood delight comes rushing back – the generous size, the exquisite line drawings, the vibrant colours which evoke the sunny atmosphere of the mediterranean, the joy to be had in all the characters depicted in the book’s endpapers, including the head chef with his wind-up gramophone, Poppoff who was born in a circus, and not forgetting the terrible kitchen cats. I think it is my desert island book because it would bring me comfort and joy, and I would never tire of looking at all the details.
When I had a lot of time on my hands during the pandemic, I did some research into Joan Beales’ life and work. Keen to find out more about her I contacted Professor Martin Salisbury, founder of the MA in children’s book illustration at the Cambridge School of Art. I knew he was an admirer of Joan Beales’ work and he told me:
‘Joan Beales is something of a mystery. Her charming poster designs and illustrations for children’s books are greatly admired by practitioners and students alike for their inventive graphic fusion of flat shape, pattern and line drawing.‘
Despite all my enquiries I have discovered very little. I believe she was born in 1926, lived in Manchester and studied at the Royal College of Art just after the War. She was a graphic artist and illustrator, designing posters for London Transport and the Science Museum between 1954 and 1956. Two other books besides Pip stand out for her illustrations: The Seasons by Derek Jervis, published in 1962, and Travel by Land which she wrote and illustrated, published in 1966.
Although she went on to illustrate many early readers in the seventies including Leila Berg’s Nippers, it is her early work which enchants me. In the London Transport Museum online archive online, I found a letter from Joan Beales in which she mentions a mural she was working on for a London hotel. Further investigation reveals that she designed a mural for the Tavistock Hotel in 1957.
Imagine my surprise when, on posting my piece, I was contacted by Lynda Saul who wrote:
‘We bought some panels from an auction a few years ago and all we knew were that they came from a hotel….and I think they could be the ones Joan mentions in her letter! We have looked at her style and think they could be by her! Would love to try and work out which hotel it was! They’re huge!’
More recently I received this from Doug Wilmott-Swanney
‘I was a close friend of Joan Beales and I love she is getting the recognition she deserves. I may be the only person alive that knew her and her family.’
I am now fully embarked on detective work to try to piece some of this jigsaw together. Lynda has kindly given me permission to post her snapshots of the murals, which she subsequently sold, being too big to display. She told me:
‘They caught our eye as we love mid-century illustration and just had to have them! We didn’t at the time know who they were by, but they encapsulated the style we love perfectly (and we love a mystery!). Plus we had moved from London to Brighton (although since left!) and we liked that one depicted the same journey.‘
Maybe, just maybe, whoever bought Joan’s murals from a dealer in Brighton might read this and get in touch? It would be such a joy to know they are loved and even pay them a visit maybe. What a dream that would be!
Double page spread from Pip and the Six Cooks, 1964
Double page spread from Pip and the Six Cooks, 1964
Double page spread from Pip and the Six Cooks, 1964
Double page spread from Pip and the Six Cooks, 1964
Double page spread from Pip and the Six Cooks, 1964
Endpapers from Pip and the Six Cooks, 1964
Letter from Joan Beales in which she mentions her murals for the Tavistock Hotel. (Courtesy of London Transport Museum)
One of the panels designed by Joan Beales for the Tavistock Hotel in 1957 which is now believed to be in Brighton
Detail from one of the panels depicting the London to Brighton Veteran Car Run
Javed Iqbal, TV Repair Man
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If you are looking for TV repair in the East End, I recommend you visit Master Tech in Heneage St off Brick Lane – where, not only will the job be done expertly and at a fair price, but most importantly you will have the opportunity to meet Javed Iqbal, one of Spitalfields’ most engaging raconteurs.
Although I do not even possess a TV, I was happy to spend my Saturday morning in Javed’s shop beside his workbench and surrounded by TV spare parts, as he topped up my tea cup from his thermos flask, while I perched listening to his extraordinary monologues, covering so many areas of existence with appealing levity. There is an indomitable good humour that underscores Javed’s conversation. A buoyancy which I found especially heroic when he revealed the years of overt antipathy and threats of physical violence he has withstood – just to create a modest life for himself.
One huge window gives onto Heneage St, and Javed sits upon a tall stool, level with his work bench at the centre of his shop, while the wall behind him is lined with shelves stacked with televisions waiting his attention. Upon the bench sits a large flat screen monitor with the back removed and – while exploring this labyrinth of wires and components – Javed is in his element, talking as he works.
“I came to Brick Lane from Pakistan with my father in 1960, and I went to Christ Church School across the road. On the first day, I went into the playground and I had my arm broken. I was the first Asian boy at the school.
I was seven. I came with my five year old brother Tasleem. We came in February and it was very cold indeed. It was strange, because I had never seen snow before and there was deep snow. We travelled BOAC. It was a beautiful experience. Forget the wonder of an aeroplane, I had never been in a car.
My father came in 1958. First he went to Liverpool and then came here and ran the Star Cafe on the corner, 66 Brick Lane. Once he was established, he came to fetch us. My father was very rich man thanks to the restaurant business, but he gambled it all away playing poker with Gregory Peck. He had the talent as a gambler and in those days there were few Asians, so it was a novelty for them to have one at the table.
The first house I lived in was 22 Princelet St where my father had a basement. Jews were the only people that would rents rooms to us. In those days, Irish, Jews, Blacks and Asians were known as ‘dogs.’ When I was a little boy, the Seven Stars across the road was dominated by the Kray Brothers. Every Friday night, somebody would go out from there round all the businesses in Brick Lane and whatever you did, you had to pay.
I was allowed to watch television from four until five thirty and then my step-mother would down sticks, she had the temper of a gorilla. After school, I went to help in my father’s cafe. The Pakistanis were all coming here to Brick Lane. It was a mixed area then, the gateway for everybody basically.
When I started at the Robert Montefiore Secondary School in Deal St, it was a different headache. The pupils were divided between Christians and Jews, with two lunch sittings, kosher and non-kosher. One week the Jews ate first and the next week the Christians ate first. There was no halal in this country then, but Muslims can eat kosher so I ate with the Jews. I had one friend, Janel Singh, we were the only two Asians in the school, a Pakistani and an Indian. People looked at us in a different way.
On the first day, we were told to take our clothes off and they thought we must have TB because we were both so skinny. When we went to school, the white people used to hit us. The Turkish people were scared as well, so we got together. When we went to school, we had to go four or five of us together to be safe. The headmaster was Rhodes Boyson who became education minister for Margaret Thatcher, and he said, ‘What happens outside the school is not my responsibility.’
When I left school, I worked as a porter at the Royal London Hospital and I was learning TV repair after hours with a man from Mauritius who had a shop in the Roman Rd. One night, I was beaten up there by skinheads – it was sixteen to one. They beat me unconscious and, after I came round and stopped a taxi to take me to the hospital, the driver refused when he saw all the blood. He said he didn’t want to get blood on the inside of his taxi. I had a broken jaw. Later, I joined an anti-racist march here in Brick Lane after the death of Blair Peach and I was beaten up again. This time, by the police with truncheons.
Thanks to a Jewish doctor, Dr Wootliff, a good friend of my father’s, I got the biggest break of my life. He wrote me a reference and I got a job at Alba TV manufacturers in Tabernacle St. I was fitting radiograms together and I got a penny, ha’penny for each one. I thought,’Bloody Hell! This is a production line.’ Most of my friends were white and they had already broken into skilled trades. I really wanted to be a TV repair man.
I went to an interview in Dagenham. They said, ‘Forget about the job, this area is not good for black people. Just leave now before somebody puts a knife in you.’ I got a job in Canning Town for Multibroadcast where I found it bloody hard. There were many customers when they answered the door and saw you, they wouldn’t let you in the house. It was the worst place I could imagine working. The people were all dockers and they didn’t like my face. I’d park my car and when I’d return there’d be shit on it. After six months, I quit.
In the late seventies, I was working for a TV repair company called Derwent in Streatham. There was this great guy called George, an English guy. If you brought in a broken TV and put it on the bench, he’d say, ‘Put the kettle on!’ and light a fag. Before the kettle boiled and he’d smoked the fag, the TV would be repaired. He inspired me. TV repairs were in big demand. One day I went to repair a TV and the customer’s brother was there who was also TV repairman, he worked for Visionhire. He asked me how much I earned a week, and when I told him £16, he offered me £50 a week to join his company.
I opened up my own shop here in Heneage St, Spitalfields in 1976. It used to be a sweets and paraffin shop belonging to a Mr Lewis, and I came here as a child with my father to buy sweets. It took me a year to clear out the rubbish and fix it up. I am the only Pakistani here surrounded by Bengalis. I said to them, ‘Fair enough, the country is divided but it’s nothing to do with me!’ If God don’t give me, then the Devil will give me, and I will serve the mixed community. I started with ten shillings and I have worked here for thirty-eight years. And I am grateful to the Bengalis because I am still working and it is all through word of mouth.
I believe no country gives you anything, it’s what you can give and make that counts. I bought a house out of working in this shop. If you look back at the past, all the immigrants that made money started their own businesses. Even Marks & Spencer started here in Spitalfields in Old Montague St.
I have struggled quite a bit but with Allah’s help I have got through. I am not an Asian anymore, I am more British than the bloody British.”
‘People looked at us in a different way’
‘In those days, Irish, Jews, Blacks and Asians were known as ‘dogs”
‘If God don’t give me, then the Devil will give me …’
‘With Allah’s help, I have got through …’
Master Tech, 1 Heneage St, Spitalfields, E1 5LJ
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The Dogs Of Old London
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Click to enlarge
Sometimes in London, I think I hear a lone dog barking in the distance and I wonder if it is an echo from another street or a yard. Sometimes in London, I wake late in the night and hear a dog calling out to me on the wind, in the dark silent city of my dreaming. What is this yelp I believe I hear in London, dis-embodied and far away? Is it the sound of the dogs of old London – the guard dogs, the lap dogs, the stray dogs, the police dogs, the performing dogs, the dogs of the blind, the dogs of the ratcatchers, the dogs of the watermen, the cadaver dogs, the mutts, the mongrels, the curs, the hounds and the puppies?
Libby Hall, who gathered possibly the largest collection of dog photography ever made by any single individual, helped me select the dogs of old London from her personal archive. We pulled out those from London photographic studios and those labelled as London. Then, Libby also picked out those that she believed were London. And here you see the photographs we chose. How eager and yet how soulful are these metropolitan dogs of yesteryear. They were not camera shy.
The complete social range is present in this selection, from the dogs of the workplace to the dogs of the boudoir, although inevitably the majority are those whose owners had the disposable income for studio portraits. These pictures reveal that while human fashions change according to the era and the class, dogs exist in an eternal universal present. Even if they are the dogs of old London and even if in our own age we pay more attention to breeds, any of these dogs could have been photographed yesterday. And the quality of emotion these creatures drew from their owners is such that the people in the pictures are brought closer to us. They might otherwise withhold their feelings or retreat behind studio poses but, because of their relationships with their dogs, we can can recognise our common humanity more readily.
These pictures were once cherished by the owners after their dogs had died but now all the owners have died too, long ago. For the most part, we do not know the names of the subjects, either canine or human. All we are left with are these poignant records of tender emotion, intimate lost moments in the history of our city.
The dogs of old London no longer cock their legs at the trees, lamps and street corners of our ancient capital, no longer pull their owners along the pavement, no longer stretch out in front of the fire, no longer keep the neighbours awake barking all night, no longer doze in the sun, no longer sit up and beg, no longer bury bones, no longer fetch sticks, no longer gobble their dinners, no longer piss in the clean laundry, no longer play dead or jump for a treats. The dogs of old London are silent now.
Arthur Lee, Muswell Hill, inscribed “To Ruby with love from Crystal.”
Ellen Terry was renowned for her love of dogs as much as for her acting.
W.Pearce, 422 Lewisham High St.
This girl and her dog were photographed many times for cards and are believed to be the photographer’s daughter and her pet.
Emberson – Wimbledon, Surbiton & Tooting.
Edward VII’s dog Caesar that followed the funeral procession and became a national hero.
A prizewinner, surrounded by trophies and dripping with awards.
The Vicar of Leyton and his dog.
The first dog to be buried here was run over outside the gatekeeper’s lodge, setting a fashionable precedent, and within twenty-five years the gatekeeper’s garden was filled with over three hundred upper class pets.
Libby Hall, collector of dog photographs.
Photographs courtesy The Libby Hall Collection at the Bishopsgate Institute
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Alice Pattullo: Fire & Ice
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Favourite illustrator Alice Pattullo has just completed two projects on the subjects of fire and ice in the history of the City of London. One is a series of coloured drawings for an exhibition of the history of fire insurance after the Great Fire of 1666 and the other is an advent calendar illustrating the Frost Fayre that took place on the frozen Thames centuries ago.
AFTER THE FIRE is a free exhibition that runs until 27th November at the Bank of England Museum. This major new exhibition from the Insurance Museum looks at the year 1702, when early fire insurance companies were booming and Edward Lloyd’s Coffee House was packed full of insurers, brokers and investors.
Lloyd’s Coffee House
Edward & Elizabeth Lloyd
At Lloyd’s Coffee House
Firemarks
Queen Anne
These three panels show the rebuilding of London after the fire, thanks to insurance
Orlando skating on the Thames
Alice Pattullo’s Frost Fayre advent calendar
Click here to buy a Frost Fayre advent calendar from Tinsmiths
