Comments on: The Nights Of Old London https://spitalfieldslife.com/2025/11/18/the-nights-of-old-london-iii/ In the midst of life I woke to find myself living in an old house beside Brick Lane in the East End of London Tue, 18 Nov 2025 12:27:11 +0000 hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0 By: Eve https://spitalfieldslife.com/2025/11/18/the-nights-of-old-london-iii/#comment-1855299 Tue, 18 Nov 2025 12:27:11 +0000 https://spitalfieldslife.com/?p=205271#comment-1855299 These photographs of Old London took my breath away –
“..And late at night, the fog that settles softly over London ..”
(lyrics from ‘Maybe It’s Because I’m a Londoner’)
Thank you G.A
& Bishopsgate Institute

]]> By: Winnie https://spitalfieldslife.com/2025/11/18/the-nights-of-old-london-iii/#comment-1855267 Tue, 18 Nov 2025 11:45:40 +0000 https://spitalfieldslife.com/?p=205271#comment-1855267 Beautiful post. Wonderful pics.

]]> By: Bernie https://spitalfieldslife.com/2025/11/18/the-nights-of-old-london-iii/#comment-1855209 Tue, 18 Nov 2025 10:16:44 +0000 https://spitalfieldslife.com/?p=205271#comment-1855209 “Atmospheric” provides an apt description of these images. One of them, the third, is a bit of a puzzle, however, because it appears not to be depend on ambient light-sources, but to involve a projected beam, as if from a searchlight.

]]> By: Marcia Howard https://spitalfieldslife.com/2025/11/18/the-nights-of-old-london-iii/#comment-1855201 Tue, 18 Nov 2025 10:06:09 +0000 https://spitalfieldslife.com/?p=205271#comment-1855201 Wonderfully evocative images

]]> By: Margaret https://spitalfieldslife.com/2025/11/18/the-nights-of-old-london-iii/#comment-1855178 Tue, 18 Nov 2025 09:35:35 +0000 https://spitalfieldslife.com/?p=205271#comment-1855178 Lovely London before the blackout!

But I don’t think Billinsgate porters ran up the hill with crates on their head. In Down and Out in Paris and London George Orwell earned “tuppence an up” or pushing loaded fish barrows up the hill in Eastcheap. And in his lunch house bank clerk T. S. Eliot sees them lazing in the pub

O City city, I can sometimes hear
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,
The pleasant whining of a mandoline
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls
Of Magnus Martyr hold
Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.

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