Spitalfields In Autumn
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The rain is falling on Spitalfields, upon the church and the market, and on the streets, yards and gardens. Dripping off the roofs and splashing onto the pavements, filling the gutters and coursing down the pipes, it overflows the culverts and drains to restore the flow of the Black Ditch, the notorious lost river of Spitalfields that once flowed from here to Limehouse Dock. This was the watercourse that transmitted the cholera in 1832. An open sewer piped off in the nineteenth century, the Black Ditch has been co-opted into the drainage system today, but it is still running unknown beneath our feet in Spitalfields – the underground river with the bad reputation.
The shades of autumn encourage such dark thoughts, especially when the clouds hang over the City and the Indian Summer has unravelled to leave us with incessant rain bringing the leaves down. In Spitalfields, curry touts shiver in the chill and smokers stand in doorways, peering at the downpour. The balance of the season has shifted and sunny days have become exceptions, to be appreciated as the last vestiges of the long summer.
On such a day recently, I could not resist collecting these conkers that were lying neglected on the grass in the sunshine. And when I got home I photographed them in that same autumn sunlight to capture their perfect lustre for you. Let me confess, ever since I came to live in the city, it has always amazed me to see conkers scattered and ignored. I cannot understand why city children do not pick them up, when even as an adult I cannot resist the temptation to fill a bag. In Devon, we raced from the school gates and down the lane to be the first to collect the fresh specimens. Their glistening beauty declared their value even if, like gold, their use was limited. I did not bore holes in them with a meat skewer and string them, to fight with them as others do, because it meant spoiling their glossy perfection. Instead I filled a leather suitcase under my bed with conkers and felt secure in my wealth, until one day I opened the case to discover they had all dried out, shrivelled up and gone mouldy.
Let me admit I regret the tender loss of summer, just as I revel in the fruit of the season and the excuse to retreat to bed with a hot water bottle that autumn provides. I lie under the quilt I sewed and I feel protected like a child, though I know I am not a child. I cannot resist dark thoughts, I have a sense of dread at the winter to come and the nights closing in. Yet in the city, there is the drama of the coloured lights gleaming in wet streets. As the nights draw in, people put on the light earlier at home, creating my favourite spectacle of city life, that of the lit room viewed from the street. Every chamber becomes a lantern or a theatre to the lonely stranger on the gloomy street, glimpsing the commonplace ritual of domestic life. Even a mundane scene touches my heart when I hesitate to gaze upon it in passing, like an anonymous ghost in the shadow.
Here in Spitalfields, I have no opportunity to walk through beech woods to admire the copper leaves, instead I must do it in memory. I shall not search birch woods for chanterelles this year either, but I will seek them out to admire in the market, even if I do not buy any. Instead I shall get a box of cooking apples and look forward to eating baked apples by the fire. I am looking forward to lighting the fire. And I always look forward to writing to you every day.
Thank you, dear Gentle Author, for writing to us every day, in all seasons.
With warm greetings from grey Berlin, Karin
Dear Gentle Author,
Thank you for writing today’s beautifully atmospheric piece about the excitement of gathering conkers when we were young, and the dread you feel as the nights close in and autumnal rain and gloom slowly lead us toward winter. I’ve not heard of the Black Ditch before but the image of it filling up beneath the historic houses of Spitalfields will stay with me all day. Stay warm by your fire with your baked apples. Kind regards, Sue Stamp
Dear Gentle Author –
You say you always look forward to writing to us every day. I can assure you, certainly from my point of view as one of your loyal readers for many years now, that I very much look forward to hearing from you every day!
You have covered so many interesting topics and are full of nuggets of fascinating facts about London life – I have discovered so much through your writings and remain an avid reader of all that you impart to us!
Long may it continue!
Thank you so much!
From A Grateful and Appreciative Reader of your Words……..
Beautiful sentiments, I read your posts daily and I thank you for them
And we look forward to reading your thoughts GA.
Autumn, for me, is always a mixture of sadness and a feeling of relief.
Sometimes summer in the city, especially if one cannot escape even for a day, can be oppressive. Early morning walks in the park, in any season, have saved me.
what beautiful words and image, I do not like the onset of Winter but your writing today lifted my spirits . Thank you
The ‘lost rivers’ of London are an interesting feature of the plot in Dorothy Sayers’/Jill Paton Walsh’s detective story called Thrones, Dominations, also remembering Joseph Bazalgette, the engineer of French descent, who bound these rivers into the modern London drainage system.
What a lovely photograph and post!
I know exactly what you mean about the Autumn seasons new conkers, I can’t resist picking up a few of them when I am out and about, they look so lovely and shiny and have such a tactile feel – sad that they soon dry up.
So love all your writings and messages .. SO heartwarming anytime of the year but especially now in autumn with the nostalgia of gone by days ✨ thank you so much .. my son Nik sends me all your updates as he loves them too .. he lived near Spitalfields for years with Sergio and loved the area … would so love one day to do a tour with you .. in the meantime blessings and love from Trixie xxx 🍂 xxx
Yes we must dream of the fields for sure .
Andy
This story you write inspires me to remember a poem I wrote which I hope pleases all readers on this wet day. Thank you Gentle Author.
TWO WHITE HORSES
By Andy STROWMAN
Copyright
Two white horses
White as snow
Steady not fast
They trudge along
Their minds complete
Two rats squeal beneath their feet.
Come home Paddy my Mum is shouting
And the girls in busy there mouthing
But the horses and I have a job to be done
And we shan’t be home till the setting sun.
I’ve been a ploughman now these fifteen years
I won’t be rich and I’ve no time for tears.
So watch the birds above my head
And it will soon be lunch for me piece of bread.
Dedicated to the Irish fellas I worked with in Regents Park and the ones I saw in Ireland who worked on the land in Ireland.
I collect acorns and chestnuts also. Colourful leaves as well from Hampstead Heath, Golders Hill park and the pergola.
I always enjoy your posts. Particularly about nature in the city.
This might be of use in inspiring on a witty
I am
Not sure if my submission got through before .
Two White Horses
By Andy Strowman
Copyright
Two white horses, white as snow
Steady not fast along the tractor path
I tried along their minds complete.
Two red squeal beneath the feet.
Come home, Paddy my mum is shouting.
And the girls in the city are busy there mouthing
But the horses and I have a job to be done
And we shouldn’t be home till the setting sun.
I’ve been a ploughman now these 15 years new Line
Won’t be rich and I’ve no time for tears.
So watch the birds above my head
And it will soon be lunch for me piece of bread.
There are scraps joy to be found in every season if we look hard enough. Thanks for being one of those joys!
As far as the neglected conkers are concerned, I’m not sure it is so much a countryside – city thing, but I believe it’s more of a generational thing. (Although my 6yo granddaughter still delights in picking up every conker/ hazelnut husk and leaf she can lay her hands on!)
One thing I do miss from my 50s/60s childhood is the smell of the chimney smoke as people started to light their fires – so evocative.
Thank you for your heartfelt impressions of the autumnal season now enveloping us in its chilly cloak of wind & drizzle and stirring reminiscences of boys conker championships & spider myths, cosy evenings & toasted crumpets.
Just wonderful!
A beautiful, beautiful post. Thank you.
❤️❤️❤️
Autumn Greetings from Munich
Joining with all your appreciative readers in saying thank you for your daily writings. Every story is a joy, but some, like today’s, are extra special. Every sentence seems to have touched a chord with us.
Thank You so very much! As a lad I picked up chestnuts on Chestnut Street, Halifax, Nova Scotia. It was important work. Cheers!