All Change at 27 Fournier St
This is the actress Tamzin Griffin communing with Pius the house cat in her bathroom at 27 Fournier St. With only the old cat to keep her company now, Tamzin is the last remaining tenant of all the young actors, artists, writers, photographers, playwrights and theatrical producers who have rented rooms in this historic house over the last quarter of a century. Last year, the owner Henry Barlow put the house, which was built by Peter Bourdon in 1725, up for sale at £3.75 million pounds and it was bought for a cool £4 million this year.
It was as if I had walked into the last act of “The Cherry Orchard” when I went round to pay a call on Tamzin in the empty house this week. As the last to leave, I think she was glad of an excuse to take a break from her lonely packing chores and sit in the bath for a daft photo, while I was grateful for the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of a tour of this majestic house, awaiting the imminent arrival of its new owner. “There is a peace here that people remark upon,” commented Tamzin as we stood at the foot of the eccentrically angled staircase and I inhaled the pervasive scent of beeswax that drifts through the entire house.
When the Spitalfields Trust rescued 27 Fournier St in its damaged state in 1981, it had been divided up for use as textile sweatshops. With a mixture of scholarship and clever detective work, they reinstated the original layout of the rooms, restoring the house to its full glory. Henry Barlow bought it from the trust under covenant and for the past twenty-five years has altruistically let it to a loosely collegiate group of creative individuals whom he knew would appreciate the place – at rents they could afford, well below the market value.
“He had a huge amount of trust and generosity of spirit,” said Tamzin in tribute to Henry. The outcome out of his extraordinarily Utopian gesture was an exceptional community of lucky young people who loved and cared for the house, filling every corner with energy and life. Each had their own living space and bathroom, and they shared the communal space on the ground floor and the cosy flag-stoned kitchen in the basement, with its long table that was the social focus for lively conversation over innumerable happy shared meals.
Tamzin lived here for twelve formative years, in which she worked with Theatre de Complicite and co-devised the long-running “Shockheaded Peter”, and though Tamzin has yet to discover a perspective on this time, it is apparent that living here in this inspirational old house has been an experience she will carry away with her. “It has been like twelve years living in as dream,” she said as we walked through the echoey panelled rooms glowing in the morning sunlight, “Now the house is spitting me out, but although I do not know where I am going next, I am not worried,” surprising herself with her own words, I think. For a moment the bravado of the strolling players came up her. In fact, Tamzin has been offered accommodation locally, but none at a price she can pay. Revealing the disappointing truth that living in Spitalfields is no longer within the budget of actors or artists, as it once was (unless they are already rich and famous), a sober fact which speaks of the changing nature of our neighbourhood and serves to emphasise the special quality of the era that Henry Barlow fostered at 27 Fournier St.
In Tamzin’s presence I felt I was exploring an empty theatre that had seen plenty of dramas and awaited new characters to walk onto the scene. What is most remarkable as you walk through this fine house is the sense of space and proportion. The lack of furniture makes the architecture speak. Nothing is regularly shaped but everything is beautifully yet modestly proportioned, and the subdivision of the space creates domestic spaces that are immediately pleasant and comfortable to inhabit.
All the rooms lead off the tall staircase, winding upwards to the weavers’ loft and down to the kitchen, and each room also has a door leading to the next which creates a sense of fluid movement throughout the living space. You are aware of light coming through windows at the front and back. On one side, the windows frame portions of the fine elevations of the eighteenth century houses opposite, while those on the other side provide views into the quiet hidden world contained between Fournier St and Princelet St, a place of gardens, yards and secret buildings that is alive with plants and birds. This other world has an atmosphere all its own, secluded and almost rural, here birdsong fills the air.
The moment I shall never forget is when Tamzin opened the door to the cellars and we peered into the infinite shimmering darkness holding a single candle. As my eyes accustomed, I could appreciate a vaulted brick ceiling and a brick floor, but beyond that I could not tell how far it extended. The hair on my neck stood up and a shiver went down my spine. This was the entrance to the past, it was cold, it was damp and it smelled of mould, and I should not be surprised if someone told me there was a tunnel from here to the Tower of London. I did not desire to explore further into the void because I wanted to go away allowing my imagination free to elaborate.
Shortly, Tamzin will carry out her last box (holding her hopes for the future and our wishes for her success), then she will turn out the light and close the door – and the most recent phase of the long history of 27 Fournier St will end. But let us know that the new owner has expressed honourable intentions to care for the illustrious house as it deserves, and that Pius the cat is returning to his suburban roots, retiring to live out his years with his mother in the Elephant & Castle where he was born.
In this household Tamzin is remembered with great fondness for her frequent appearances as the story lady on Teletubbies. Seeing the photo of her immediately brought back memories of a time when our three children were more cuddly than they are now! Wishing her every success for the future.
Joan
Oh, the staircase looks utterly enchanting . How I long to climb those stairs and explore this wonderful house. The house is now entering another phase in its long history. What stories it could tell.
Absolute magic, coupled with great photos!
In a curmudgeonly sort of way, I think the time is past when people built houses they could be truly comfortable in. Nowadays when I look at modern housing and (much) modern architecture, I come away with a depressed feeling that the building will remain entirely as it is until it is replaced; that nobody will leave a mark on it, that it will never be able to acquire history, that it has been specifically designed to prevent this kind of acquisition of richness. I am not able to form relationships with these buildings. I feel rejected by them. I think it’s because I can detect in the obsessively “tidy” lines, and the unnatural cleanliness and order, the sinister influence of COMPUTERS and DESIGN PROGRAMMES.
Therefore the space between us remains cold and uncharged by human experience.
Car enthusiasts talk about earlier models with feelings of love, such feelings for antique models are possible only because of the human influence present in the design of those cars, they are warm with humanity, they are crying out for an emotional rather than an intellectual response.
I hope the urban landscape is not dehumanised too much over the years. I suppose if we don’t replace what is inevitably lost over time, then that will be the future. But I am of a naturally glooooomy disposition. Perhaps all will be well. I hope so!
I am now torn between commenting on the gentle author’s haunting, evocative tribute to a home and its caregivers, and mcneill’s thoughtful comment about old architecture, which precedes mine. Instead, I think I will simply say thank you to both for your insights about the wonderful patina time bestows on all objects, buildings, even humans who remain part of our lives despite the constant pull of time to wash all away in the flood of “new.”
Tatras here (Pius’s mother)…er.. my “rural retreat” is actually Elephant and Castle, but Pius will be following in the proud footsteps of his father, local hero and mammoth tabby Humbert “Mr Bigs”, top cat of Walworth.
Dear Gentle Author, I absolutely love your stories, photos and sketches! I was born and grew up in Hackney, but have lived in Pennsylvania over 20 years now. I have been researching my family history for over 3 years now, and found that most of my family originated in the Spitalfields area, with addresses on Fournier Street, Sclater Street etc., and according to census records, many of my ancestors were silk weavers from the above areas. To get a sneak look into my family neighbourhood, is extremely exciting to say the least! It turns my family history research into a passion beyond words! Thank you so very much!!
I know I am commenting on an 8 year old post but was led here from another 2018 post. I have been a fan of your blog (and books) for a long time but must have missed this wonderful, poignant, slightly melancholic post when it was first up. I feel like 2010 was a bit of a turning point for London and it is no surprise that this house full of actors and artists ended up being sold for multiple millions of pounds. Whilst London and the East End in particular was already heavily “gentrified” it feels like the last 8 years has marked the end of the “shabbier” bits of the city. Whether it is the Crossrail development in Soho and Denmark St, the spiffing up of Kings Cross, the development of Nine Elms and the Battersea Power Station or the commercialisation and gentrification of Spitalfields, Shoreditch and Hoxton, it feels like the second decade of this century has been one of endless development and (in many cases) a “blandification” (I know that’s a terrible made-up word!) of the inner city. I only arrived in London in 1999 (from Australia) so had missed the “old” Spitalfields but I was lucky enough to live there for a couple of years in the early 2000’s and just loved it but now even that Spitalfields has changed so much. Your blog is a wonderfull document and reminder of times past in this magical and historical part of London – thank you!
What a fascinating post – made even more so by the fact that my direct descendent Obadiah Agace lived in the house in 1759. He had a silk weaving and worsted business who traded as Obadiah Agace and Sons and was from French Hugenot stock.
As an avid photographer and amateur historian I would live to be able to visit the house and record where my relative lived and worked more than 250 years ago
My late father Frederick Agace was a direct descendent of Obadiah Agace who occupied the house in 1759. He was a silk mixed with worsted weaver and traded under the name of Obadiah Agace and sons, had undertaken in 1745 to raise forty one men.
I, too, would love to step inside this house. I am a direct descendant of Peter(Pierre) and Margaret(Marguerite) Bourdon who built this lovely home. Next month I shall stand outside it to have my photo taken – probably the nearest I’ll get to looking round!
Lovely read Gentle Author. I have only just come across this some 12 years later, but still I was completely soaked up in the history and glory of 27 Fournier Street. Like many Bangladeshi migrant men in the area, my late-father Ashab Uddin used to work in the building when it was textiles sweatshop in 1980, just before its restoration by the Spitalfields Trust.
Feels surreal to think that my father toiled within those walls to bring in the bread and butter for his family. So much has changed indeed.