Comments on: John Olney Of Donovan Brothers

By: Roy Reed

Roy Reed — Fri, 03 Feb 2023 12:11:29 +0000

We feature the Donovan Bros shop in our book ‘Ghost Signs: A London Story’.

In correspondence with Michael Donovan, one of the current owners, we found out that the shop sign was first painted in 1946 by Alfred Kiel Signs. The red and yellow colour scheme represented ‘blood and gold’ to the family. The green of the current scheme was never part of it. Michael pointedly noted, “If my grandfather had ever seen it painted green he would have had a fit! Many Irishmen of his generation were very superstitious about the colour green.”

By: Sean Mooney

Sean Mooney — Fri, 03 Feb 2023 12:00:53 +0000

Old St Patrick’s school is still there on Buxton Street, as well as St Anne’s RC Church on Underwood Street. But the story of the Irish in the East End is untold, surprising considering their dominance of the workforce of the world’s largest docks.

By: Marcia Howard

Marcia Howard — Thu, 02 Feb 2023 17:10:54 +0000

What a wonderful legacy. I wonder if Dennis O’Donovan made such an impact with the Hudson Bay Trading Company. Each and every one of us has a story to tell

By: Mary Connolly

Mary Connolly — Thu, 02 Feb 2023 12:31:09 +0000

Very interested in this letter today. I don’t remember the shop. However it made me think of my late Mum who passed away in 2014. One of her hobbies was to collect paper bags with printing on of where she got them. I found a huge bag in her cupboard . I still have these bags, just couldn’t throw them away. Part of history and of my dear mum. Thank you for reminding me. Yes I do add to them when I can. Best Wishes. Mary.

By: Jonathan Madden

Jonathan Madden — Thu, 02 Feb 2023 11:51:12 +0000

Really interesting article and thank you GE. It’s really good that the legacy of Donovan Brothers lives on in the form of a mural in Spitalfields, I often walk by on my way through the area. The Irish contribution to the enormous growth of nineteenth century London, its buildings and infrastructure is often overlooked. Huge projects like the underground, Tower Bridge, the sewerage system, the passage of goods through the docks were all reliant on Irish labour. My great grandparents were married in St Anne’s Spitalfields in 1877 and lived in the area in very grim circumstances, if that wasn’t bad enough they would’ve been subjected to a fair deal of prejudice as the Irish were considered ‘vermin’ by many. The places where they ‘lived’ were referred to by Booth as ‘Nests of Irish’. Thank you again for a great post.

By: Scott Denny

Scott Denny — Wed, 01 Feb 2023 17:51:26 +0000

Another whopper of a statement.
“Because although we do retire as such, there’s no retirement from the family business. You are born on the job. You die on the job.”
You eat, sleep and dream it.
Maybe hard to understand if you haven’t experienced it.

By: John cunningham

John cunningham — Wed, 01 Feb 2023 16:54:56 +0000

St Anne’s Catholic Church in Spitalfields is probably the most visible reminder of the large Irish population that lived there in the 1800s. It was built in 1855 to cater for them. Many of its parishioners no doubt had fled Ireland during the devastating famines of the 1840s. Like most of the Irish in Britain by the third or fourth generation they would have been thoroughly assimilated. Catholic churches of this period in many British cities are the only reminder of these communities

By: Robin

Robin — Wed, 01 Feb 2023 15:49:57 +0000

Inspiring story! Many thanks, GA and John Olney.

By: Lynne Perrella

Lynne Perrella — Wed, 01 Feb 2023 13:48:12 +0000

“the market is a world to itself.” /////// (pause) ////// Goodness, a whopper of a statement.
Perhaps that is exactly why we love exploring markets? We park the car, or turn a corner, or emerge from a subway, and we approach the mouth/entryway of a market. Maybe a familiar one, a favorite place for scoring goods or just jaw-boning with the merchants. Or, during our travels, an exotic one, full of the unknown. But once we enter we are in that “world to itself.”
I am thinking of……….exploring the blazing fish market at the South Street Seaport in NY at all hours. On a different coast, I’ve visited the Pike Market; famous for men throwing fish to customers. “Hey, watch out there.” I recall visits to the venerable weekend market in Revel, France. There is the main “hub” of the market, but then secondary smaller strands wind up the nearby streets. An old woman setting out a blizzard of old lace and embroidery. Irresistible. Petticoat Lane in London, in the early Seventies. Yes, we really bought that pub mirror. Foolish impractical Yank tourists!? The Rastro, weekend market in Madrid. Another impetuous purchase — don’t even ask. The local farm markets here in the Hudson Valley, a bounty of earthy fruits/vegetables as well as frou-frou specialties. Chutneys, charcuterie, trendy foods. Every kind of apple. The Sunday postcard market in Paris, awash in every kind of ephemera. Ledgers, letters, correspondence, black-edged mourning cards, postage stamps. I scored a vintage hand-made book, full of a boy’s collections of cigar bands. Yes, I should have bartered; but the truth is I would have paid anything to have it. No regrets.

Best of all, have been the time travels to markets shown by The Gentle Author. These photos captured the scattered old books, hopeful animals-for-adoption, cartons of old LPs, buskers and magicians, parents and kiddos. “a world to itself”.

Thanks for always shining a light. Meet you at the market.

By: Pauline Taylor

Pauline Taylor — Wed, 01 Feb 2023 13:06:13 +0000

I think Keith is right and many Irish came here before the potato famine, my 2xgreat grandfather Thomas McGrath was in Wapping before 1810, sadly I can’t discover where he came from although I believe it may have been Tipperary. There was a great musical tradition in that side of the family, my grandfather made Irish musical instruments in his workshop and I loved the smell of the newly sawn wood and the varnish and he and my grandmother would entertain us by singing Irish songs, grandma playing the piano and grandpa a variety of stringed instruments which hung up on the walls of their sitting room when not in use. My father was also always singing Irish songs but he never played an instrument, more very happy memories.