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Barbara Jezewska, Teacher

March 11, 2013
by the gentle author

Barbara as a pupil of the Central Foundation Grammar School for Girls, Spitalfields

Barbara Jezewska was not born in the East End nor was she of East End parentage, yet she lived her formative years here and it left an indelible impression upon her.“I love the people, the places and the experiences that I have known, and look for every opportunity to go back and visit,” she confessed to me, “I consider myself so rich for having grown up in a time and a place that was quite extraordinary.”

Barbara grew up in Casson St, a modest back street connecting Old Montague St and Chicksand St in Spitalfields. Opposite was Black Lion Yard, known then as the Hatton Garden of the East End because it contained eighteen jewellery shops. Old Montague St had a sleazy reputation in those days – it was a busy thoroughfare crowded with diverse life, filled with slum dwelllings, punctuated by a bomb site and a sugar factory, and lined with small shops and cafes. There, long-established Jewish traders sat alongside dodgy coffees bars in which Maltese, Somalis, Caribbeans and others congregated to do illicit business.

While others might consider themselves disadvantaged to grow up in such an environment,  Barbara’s experience was quite the opposite and she recognised a keen sense of loss from the moment her family were rehoused in 1965 as part of the slum clearance programme. Very little of Casson St survives today and the spot where Barbara’s house stood is now a park, yet it is a location that still carries immense significance for her.

“We moved to 1 Casson St in 1957 when I was three years old. We came to London from Paxton, Berwickshire on the border with Scotland where my mother, Elizabeth Carr, had been born. My father was Polish, born in Lublin, and when he was fifteen, he ran away from home and ended up fighting in the Warsaw Uprising in 1944. He never talked about it but he had a graze on his arm that he said was from a bullet wound. I believe he met my mother while he was washing dishes at a West End hotel where she also worked. When I was eighteen he left and married again, and I only saw him a few times before he died. We became estranged and, in 1994, we got a phone call to say he had died in Poland.

My father couldn’t speak English when he arrived in this country, but he was very talented in music and he paid for guitar lessons out of his earnings. As a child, I remember him practising and practising and I didn’t appreciate what was going on, yet eventually he ended up teaching at Trinity College, Cambridge.

We shared the house in Casson St with a Greek family, the Hambis. It wasn’t partitioned, they had some rooms and we had the others. There was no bathroom, no heating and no hot running water. We did have an inside toilet but the Hambis had one in the back yard. They had five children and there were the three of us, so there was always somebody to play with and always something going on.

Across the street from us was the Beehive Nougat Factory (‘nugget’ as we used to say it). We rang the bell and asked for an old man we called ‘Uncle Alf’ who worked there, and he gave us sweets, handfuls of broken chocolates and nougat. We used to raid the bins of the textile factories and get cardboard tubes, then we’d stage incredible battles, lining up on either side of the street and hitting each other with the tubes until they broke. There was Mrs Miller who sold toys on Petticoat Lane, when she and my mother met they would talk for hours. One day, a dandelion seed – which we called fairies – floated by and went into Mrs Miller’s mouth while they were talking. She swallowed it and never noticed, so we always remembered ‘the day Mrs Miller swallowed a fairy!’ There was Mrs Isaacs, a widow who lived next door who spent all her time at the upstairs window, watching. If you did anything she didn’t approve of, she’d shout at you. One day, I was going to chalk on the wall and she shouted out, ‘Don’t you make a mess!’ I stuck my tongue out at Mrs Isaacs and she disappeared from the window, so I ran back inside and said to my mother, ‘Mrs Isaacs is coming,’ and she came round and said, ‘Your daughter stuck her tongue out at me!’

We used to play on the bomb sites and I climbed into a basement of a bombed-out house in Old Montague St. I was scared because there was a lot of rubble on top but I found some silver threepenny bits in a bag. We took them to the sweet shop and passed them off as sixpences. I think the shopkeeper realised they were silver and was happy to accept them for sweets. Round the corner in Hopetown St, lived Alfie and his parents who were the first get a television. So, at 4pm, we’d all queue up outside Alfie’s house – half a dozen of us – and ask to watch the Children’s Hour, and we’d sit on the kitchen floor to watch. The only time we went to the seaside was on a Sunday school trip, and they gave us Christmas parties at which we’d all get a present of a second-hand toy.

There were several tramps that I remember. Coco worked for the stallholders and slept in an empty building on the corner of Black Lion Yard, every morning he came out with his bucket of slops and threw it over onto the bomb site. Ivan used to wander up and down Old Montague St, and I think I saw two men trying to kill him once, dropping bricks from the roof as he walked past. Stinky Sheridan had one leg and used to sell matches in Whitechapel Rd. Whenever we saw the tramps, my mother who was a very kind person, taught me to respect them, she’d say, ‘Remember, that’s somebody’s son.’

In 1965, we were moved out as part of slum clearance to Brownlow Rd, off Queensbridge Rd in Haggerston. At the time, I was eleven and  we thought it was very exciting. It was a maisonette with a bathroom, so we thought it was wonderful, but my experience when we moved was I felt lonely and missed the other children in our extended family. It felt strange. But being realistic, it would have been pretty awful staying in Casson St without any privacy or a bathroom.

I went to Robert Montefiore Primary School in Hanbury St and, when I left, I remember saying to my mother, tell the headmaster I want to go to the Central Foundation Grammar School in Spital Sq. I’d heard it was the good place to go. We were allowed out to wander around the Spitalfields Market at lunchtime. Every month the girls used to support a different charity there. We’d go down to the market and beg boxes of fruit and sell it at breaktimes and the money would go to charity. The art room overlooked the market and I did a painting of it that won a prize. I joined the choir so I could sing at St Botolph’s in Bishopsgate and get invited back for sandwiches and ice cream by the Worshipful Company of Fan Makers. I thought I was very clever because I went to a Grammar School.

My first job was at Fox’s the Chemist in Broadway Market, from four until six every day after school and all day Saturday for £2.50. At eighteen, I left school and worked for two years in the City at the National Westminster Bank in Threadneedle St. It was easy to get work, you could go to an agency and get a job, and if you didn’t like it you could go back in the afternoon and get a different one.

Then I did teacher training in Tooting. I couldn’t do it at eighteen because my father wouldn’t sign the grant form as he was about to remarry and didn’t want to commit himself, but when the divorce came through my mother signed. I asked to do my teaching practise in the East End and I was placed at Virginia Rd Primary School. I qualified as teacher in 1978, and I worked at Randal Cremer school in Hackney, I was part-time at Redlands School off Sidney St and deputy head at St Luke’s in Old St. I had wanted to be a teacher since the age of five, I think I just wanted a register and a red pen.

At forty-five, I had a son and we moved to Walthamstow and then to Hetfordshire, but I want to be back here – and one day I’ll be back. You can’t explain it to some people, because so many worked so hard to get out. My son Adem, he’s fourteen and I bring him to see the street art. I think he’s interested in the East End.”

Barbara keeps the button box from her childhood in Casson St. On the table are swatches from her mother’s dresses bought in Petticoat Lane and a necklace she made out of melon pips at age nine in 1963.

Barbara’s school report from the Central Foundation Grammar School in Spital Sq, July 1968.

Barbara, aged three.

The ‘goal’ where Barbara and her friends played football, photographed in the eighties.

Barbara, aged five.

The furniture factory opposite Barbara’s home in Casson St, photographed in the eighties.

Barbara (second from the left) in the Central Foundation School production of The Mikado.

Casson St under demolition.

Jerzy Jezewska, Barbara’s father was a celebrated guitarist who taught at Cambridge.

Barbara visits Columbia Rd in the eighties.

You may also like to read about

Cecile Moss of Old Montague St

Remembering Robert Poole

The Haggerston Nobody Knows

28 Responses leave one →
  1. March 11, 2013

    A lovely slice of someone’s life. My mother died recently and we five sisters did battle (by lots) for the button tin. I have it but it makes me weep to open it. Buttons from my dressing gown, aged around 4. Suspenders from another era, my dad’s overall clips. Nothing wasted.

  2. Melvyn Brooks permalink
    March 11, 2013

    Thanks so much for another another bumper report. This one is special. Barbara’s story is fascinating and a lesson to us all. It deserves to be reprinted as a pamphlet. Karkur Israel

  3. Glenn permalink
    March 11, 2013

    Lovely story. Thanks…

  4. March 11, 2013

    Lovely post. That school report takes me back! I recognise some of the writing on it.

  5. Susan Goldman permalink
    March 11, 2013

    I really enjoyed reading this. I too am an ex CFS girl and as with the previous poster the school report really takes me back. I recognise the handwriting of several of the mistresses, Miss Ferrier (Maths), Mrs Velupilai (Biology) perhaps Mrs Walker (Chemistry) and of course there’s the signature of the charismatic Head, Mrs Elaine Dunford. How great to see this. Thank you.

  6. Hazel Parker permalink
    March 11, 2013

    I love this, I’m saving reading it all until later today but saw the melon seed necklace and thought what a great idea to show my pupils at our Cr’afterschool session/ maybe with pumpkin seeds in November. Would that work?

  7. Peter Holford permalink
    March 11, 2013

    The school report is a classic. But her teachers wrote far more than some of mine did. For one year’s progress in one subject I was given 80% and the comment ‘Fair’.

    Another good insight into the experience of life in the East End.

  8. Beryl Happe permalink
    March 11, 2013

    Fabulous issue, great to see Barbara was an old CFGS girl, and she is brave enough to publish her school report, a first.. Well done Gentle Author.

  9. Peter permalink
    March 11, 2013

    Love the reminder of how time can slip by: The shot of Columbia Rd in the eighties, so old, so quickly, Paris & Rios Deli (brilliant) /
    “Central Foundation School production of The Mikado” all made up in the character of a nation A & H bombed only a few years before. Top Blog Website.

  10. Isis permalink
    March 11, 2013

    “[T]he day Mrs Miller swallowed a fairy” is the loveliest memory! Barbara’s reminiscences have a wonderful universality. Thank you for sharing her with us.

  11. aubrey permalink
    March 11, 2013

    A snapshot of a life. I bet there’s tons of stories of her past life that could be told but somehow never will be. Mores the pity. A fascinating post! I knew/know Old Montague Street; my buber and zaider lived there in a rat infested hole!

  12. Andrea permalink
    March 11, 2013

    Oh Mrs. Miller in Petticoat Lane, did you ever in your wildest dreams imagine that a dandelion fairy that floated unnoticed into your mouth would make someone in Canada chuckle half a century later?

  13. Beverley Horne ( nee Turner) permalink
    March 11, 2013

    Lovely story, I was friends with Barbara at Central Foundation Girls School! x

  14. sprite permalink
    March 12, 2013

    East End stories
    anchored by guitarre notes –
    transient populations

    a thick-lipped graffiti
    peeking through the shadows –
    joiners wanted at No 12

    this wish to return
    to once homely streets –
    button bright childhood


  15. March 12, 2013

    As a teacher myself of about the same vintage as Barbara, many of her memories chimed with mine. I also had vague and unhelpful school reports like Barbara’s, with no indication of how the pupil would one day turn out. I have to say, I enjoyed all the anecdotes, but the image of Mrs Miller and the fairy will stay with me for a long time.

  16. Marianne Butler permalink
    March 12, 2013

    A lovely story, thank you for sharing.

    Barbara and I must have passed each other at some time – I am a couple of years her senior; my father was born and brought up in Shoreditch/Hoxton ( he is now 92 years old and refuses to believe that the area could be either ‘trendy’ or ‘desirable’!); lived for many years in Hackney when he married my mother but decided to move out to a Hertfordshire New Town when I was ‘on the way’; for the last nine years I have lived in rural splendour a mile or so from Paxton village in the beautiful Scottish Borders!

    However I can frequently be found enjoying the delights of London and get my essential daily fix via The Gentle Author!

  17. annie permalink
    March 13, 2013

    A lovely personal story!
    Like a couple of others have said, the school report was very familiar – the marks and the wording – from my school days in the 60’s.

  18. Suzanne permalink
    March 15, 2013

    I loved every moment of this, I was a neighbour in Walthamstow of Barbara’s and we are still close friends. To read about her upbringing, which was rich in experience and diversity and full of embroidered memories, gives me a further insight into a woman who has all the best of the East End in her.

  19. Rosemary Hoffman permalink
    June 24, 2013

    I looked for my school reports this weekend, i kow they are in the house but hwere they are no on knows ! Brought back memories seeing that !

  20. Tamsin permalink
    July 24, 2013

    Barbara came to St Luke’s primary in Old Street in my first year of teaching. She was a truly inspirational teacher, mentor and leader, who used her creativity in all areas of life!
    Over 26 years later, we are still good friends and she continues to inspire and encourage others!
    To read about her childhood and life growing up in the East End has been fascinating!
    Many thanks for sharing!

  21. Neville Turner permalink
    September 21, 2015

    A reminder of the past told in such a gentle and forgiving way,I recall the girls foundation school in Spitalfields as my family lived nearby,my eldest brother was a porter in the market.The school building had architecture that made it stand out against the decayed surroundings Casson st,Black Lion Yard, Old Montague st full of crowded houseing where two or more families shared a few rooms people passed each other on staires coming and going ,privacy was unknown. I attended Robert Montifiore school many of my friends lived in around Old Montague st,you have a heritage and lived a life to be wondered at.Good Luck to you Barbara.

  22. Maciej Jezewski permalink
    February 2, 2016

    How moving to suddenly stumble upon you telling of your life….. from your perspective…
    I am touched…. will get in touch soon – Maciek

  23. Barbara permalink
    March 18, 2016

    Long lost cousin !!!!!!

  24. Jo Polley permalink
    March 21, 2016

    I was one of your father’s pupils in 1957 and had been trying to find out more and to know what became of this wonderful guitarist. It was wonderful to find he had a talented daughter and to hear about Casson St. which I visited with my father all those years ago. I last saw him before he went off to Cambridge.

  25. stuart goodman permalink
    June 20, 2018

    i’m sure our paths have crossed!!
    i went to central foundation – the boys bit!!- and did a year unqualified teaching at st lukes 66-7 when margaret routledge was the head.
    lived in and around the broadway 77 to the mid 80s, in marlborough avenue at one time.

    glad we all survived it!!

  26. John Barham permalink
    June 20, 2018

    I am sitting on my sisters verandah in her apartment in Spain listening and relaxing to a Jackie Gleason album and have just finished reading Barbara Js story – I’m all emotional and melancholy now! Memories of my playground (the bomb sites) backing on to our house, 131 Old Montague St., in the 50s where my Dad was a trouser maker and the Fairy swallowing Mrs Miller brought it all back. I also went to Robert Montefoire in Hanbury then after failing my 11 plus, went to RM Secondary school in Valance Road before being “slum-cleared” to Essex (Debden). The memories of bunking in to Saturday morning pictures in Brick Lane, running down to “Spittles” shop to buy my mum 2 Senior Service and a packet of STs (always wondered what they were?), climbing onto the roof of the bombed out Pavillon theatre on corner of Old Montague St and Valance Road where I first discovered that I had vertigo…
    Got to stop now, as I’m supposed to be doing exciting things on holiday. So this is definitely to be continued- I will be writing a fuller story so watch this space.
    JB x

  27. Janet Wheatley permalink
    June 1, 2020

    It was so interesting to read about Black Lion Yard and the surrounding area in the 50’s. I lived there in the 40’s and went to Central Foundation School when Miss West was the headmistress. My father kept the dairy (Evans the Dairy) in Black Lion Yard. Is there anyone around who was in CFS in the 40’s and 50’s. My name was Janet Evans. I took my daughter back to the old haunts recently, but was so disappointed to see that so much has been razed to the ground – even the Mayfair cinema in Brick Lane is no longer there. The manager of the Galvin la Chappelle restaurant was very charming and showed me the bi-centenary magazine which he keeps in a cupboard there. He said ‘We have quite a lot of ladies who were at the school coming here and they all cry!’.

  28. peter jones permalink
    November 27, 2021

    Hello Barbara,
    Your father taught me classical guitar while I was at Cambridge 1966-1969.
    I originally played organ, but could only get about 2 hours a week on the St. Johns college organ, so switched to guitar. Now I only play guitar. He was a great teacher!
    Thank you!
    Peter Jones

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