The Roundels Of Spitalfields
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Around the streets of Spitalfields there are circular metal plates set into the pavement. Many people are puzzled by them. Are they decorative coal hole covers as you find in other parts of London? Or is there a mysterious significance to them?
Sculptor Keith Bowler was walking down Brick Lane one day when he heard a tour guide explaining to a group of tourists that these plaques or roundels – to give them their correct name – were placed there in the nineteenth century for the benefit of people who could not read. Keith stuck his neck out and told the guide this was nonsense, that he made them on his kitchen table a few years ago. And although the tour guide gave Keith a strange look and was a little dubious of his claim, this is the truth of the matter.
“I was approached by Bethnal Green City Challenge in 1995, and I was asked to research, design and fabricate twenty five roundels. I was given a list of sites and I spent a few months doing it,” explained Keith summarily as we sat at the table where he cast the moulds for the roundels in the basement kitchen of his house in Wilkes St. Keith cut the round patterns out of board and then set real objects in place on them, such as the scissors you see above. From these patterns he made moulds that were sent over to Hoyle & Sons, the traditional family-run foundry by the canal in the Cambridge Heath Rd, where they were cast in iron before being installed by council workers.
The notion was that the pavements were already set with pieces of ironwork, made it a natural idea to introduce pieces of sculpture, and the emblems and locations were chosen to reflect the culture and history of Spitalfields. Sometimes there was a literal story illustrated by the presence of the roundel, like the match girls from the Bryant & May factory who met in the Hanbury Hall to create the first trade union. Elsewhere, like the scissors and buttons above in Brick Lane, the roundel simply records the clothing industry that once existed there. Once there were interpretative leaflets produced by the council which directed people on a trail around the neighbourhood, but these disappeared in a few months leaving passersby to create their own interpretations.
The roundels have acquired a history of their own. For example, the weaver’s shuttle and reels of thread marking the silk weavers in Folgate St were cast from a shuttle and reels that Dennis Severs found in his house and lent to Keith. And there was controversy from the start about the roundels, when two were mistakenly installed on the City of London side of the street in Petticoat Lane and at at the end of Artillery Passage in City territory, leading to angry phone calls from the Corporation demanding they be moved. Six are missing entirely now, stolen by thieves or covered by workmen, though occasionally roundels turn up and wind their way back to Keith. He has a line of errant roundels in his hallway, ready to be reinstalled and, as he keeps the moulds, plans are afoot to complete the set again.
Keith told me he liked the name “roundels” because it was once used to refer to the symbols on the wings of Spitfires, and is also a term in heraldry. There is a simplicity to these attractive designs that I walk past every day and which have seeped into my subconscious, witnessing the presence of what has gone. I photographed half a dozen of my favourites to show you, but there are at least eight more roundels to be found on the streets of Spitalfields.
On Brick Lane, among the Bengali shops, a henna stenciled hand
Commemorating the Bryant & May match girls, outside the Hanbury Hall on Hanbury St
In Folgate St, cast from a shuttle and reels from Dennis Severs’ House
In Brick Lane, outside the railings of Grey Eagle Brewery
In Princelet St, commemorating the first Jewish Theatre, where Jacob Adler once played
In Petticoat Lane, on the site of the ancient market
In Wentworth St, an over-vigilant council worker filled in this roundel as a potential trip hazard
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These roundels remind me of the hand made tokens that were created by New York artist
Beriah Wall. During the late 70s/early 80s we lived downtown in Tribeca and although it has become a very trendy/rarefied place, back then it was very off-the-cuff and full of surprising
discoveries. One could literally stroll around and find examples of free artwork, distributed for the sheer delight of the process. Overnight, limited-edition posters were slathered on storefronts. Bits of found-object “combines” were placed together in momentary assemblages. And Beriah Wall scattered his palm-sized tokens all throughout the neighborhood. One could find one just resting on a window frame, or on a sidewalk. They had cryptic messages, usually a contradictory image on both sides. I always considered it a good omen to discover one of those wonderful tokens. We now have a big collection of them, and they remind us of a relaxed time when art was available “for the picking”.
The reference to “heraldic” above seems quite apt, and the images included in the roundels have a timeless vibe. The image of the hand is especially iconic, and I could imagine a whole series of hands in various positions. Hopefully, the tradition of the roundels will continue. They are
fabulous!
Wonderful to know these exist. Don’t you just love history! I confess that I didn’t follow up any meanings behind some drain covers I took photos of some years ago while on a trip to Paris, but saw some amazing and quite ornate designs.
Thank you Gentle Author for yet another gem from Spitalfields