The Kiosks Of Whitechapel
Mr Roni in Vallance Rd
As the east wind whistles down the Whitechapel Rd spare a thought for the men in their kiosks, perhaps not quite as numb as the stallholders shivering out in the street but cold enough thank you very much. Yet in spite of the sub-zero temperatures, Contributing Photographer Sarah Ainslie & I discovered a warm welcome this week when we spent an afternoon making the acquaintance of these brave souls, open for business in all weathers.
I have always marvelled at these pocket-sized emporia, intricate retail palaces in miniature which are seen to best effect at dusk, crammed with confections and novelties, all gleaming with colour and delight as the darkness enfolds them. It takes a certain strength of character as well as a hardiness in the face of the elements to present yourself in this way, your personality as your shopfront. In the manner of anchorites, bricked up in the wall yet with a window on the street and also taking a cue from fairground callers, eager to catch the attention of passersby, the kiosk men embrace the restrictions of their habitation by projecting their presence as a means to draw customers like moths to the light.
In Whitechapel, the kiosks are of two types, those offering snack food and others selling mobile phone accessories, although we did find one in Court St which sold both sweets and small electrical goods. For £1.50, Jokman Hussain will sell you a delicious hot samosa chaat and for £1 you can follow this with jelabi, produced in elaborate calligraphic curls before your eyes by Jahangir Kabir at the next kiosk. Then, if you have space left over, Mannan Molla is frying pakora in the window and selling it in paper bags through the hatch, fifty yards down the Whitechapel Rd.
Meanwhile if you have lost your charger, need batteries or a memory stick in a hurry, Mohammed Aslem and Raj Ahmed can help you out, while Mr Huld can sell you an international calling card and a strip of sachets of chutney, both essential commodities for those on-the-go.
Perhaps the most fascinating kiosks are those selling betel or paan, where customers gather in clusters enjoying the air of conspiracy and watching in fascination as the proprietor composes an elaborate mix of spices and other exotic ingredients upon a betel leaf, before folding it in precise custom and then wrapping the confection into a neat little parcel of newspaper for consumption later.
Once we had visited all the kiosks, I had consumed one samosa chaat, a jalebi, a packet of gummy worms and a bag of fresh pakora while Sarah had acquired a useful selection of batteries, a strip of chutney sachets and a new memory stick. We chewed betel, our mouths turning red as we set off from Whitechapel through the gathering dusk, delighted with our thrifty purchases and the encounters of the afternoon.
Jokman Hussain sells Samosa Chaat
Mohammed Aslem sells phone accessories and small electrical goods
Jahangir Kabir sells Jalebi
Raj Ahmed
Mannan Molla sell Pakora
Mr Duld sells sweets and phone accessories in Court St
Mr Peash
Photographs copyright © Sarah Ainslie
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Wise words and warm people and wispy photographs of tangent images.
This poem is dedicated to them.
To the people in the small huts
By Andy STROWMAN
Copyright
Thank you for your politeness
Thank you for your bravery
To bear the winter cold .
Thank you for evoking memories of old.
Thank you for the gathering crumbs of dust
That encompasses the time of Whitechapel.
You are my heroes for the day and night
You are the visions of the light.
Heroines come and heroes go
Weather falls quickly like the snow.
Bless you for your bravery
To bear our souls.
Written February 2025
Wonderful. Street life at its best!
Such lovely pictures. How wonderful to liken these kiosk dwellers to anchorites peering out from their cells onto the bustling thoroughfare. Little alternative worlds in the city.
I live in Cagliari (Sardinia) and even in my city there are many kiosks near the main monuments. The climate is mild in my land and this makes work easier for these people. Greetings to you.
Thank you so much Gentle Author for publishing my comment and my poem as a tribute to the kiosk people . It means a lot to.
Your site is the only one I look at of my old childhood area .
I would also like to extend a very warm welcome to everyone on this site especially Fabio .
Bonjourno Fabio .
Thank you for joining us . Chow .
Andy
What a lovely poem by Andy. These lovely people remind me of the kiosks in Chania, Crete. Every holiday I had my watch strap fitted and replaced, my ciggies bought, and loads of other things. They were so helpful especially the one in Chania market now so sad just a building site and the one in Georgiopoulis long gone. Good luck and thanks to them all. Jillian.
Chiming in late — but how GREAT to have a kiosk-centric original poem by Andy.
I love seeing these little command posts, and their intriguing offerings. Best of all, the
smiles.
Thank you, all.
In Switzerland there is a chain called Kiosk, small units where you can buy just about anything. However, at the corner of my street is one operated by a charity. It has picnic tables outside and retired people go there to have coffee, gipfeli (croissants) and newspapers in the morning. It’s very much a part of our little community.
The kiosks at Liverpool Street station in the seventies were an exciting concept to a green village boy visiting the big smoke alone. Always made sure I bought me fags from one back in the day. Nice poem Andy.