Here We Go Round The Mulberry Cuttings
On Saturday, the East End Preservation Society sent this report to all those who contributed £100 or more to the legal fund for the successful campaign to Save the Bethnal Green Mulberry in 2021. I am publishing it today in case anyone who donated missed it and also so that readers may know how the work of the campaign has continued beyond the High Court verdict.
Nurses dancing around the Bethnal Green Mulberry
In 2021, the East End Preservation Society took Tower Hamlets Council to the High Court and saved the five-hundred-year-old Bethnal Green Mulberry Tree from being dug up by the developer Crest Nicholson. As a consequence, the developers sold the land to the Clarion Housing Group who have made two public pledges to ‘retaining the mulberry tree in its current location’ and ‘providing more genuinely affordable homes that meet local need.’
This splendid victory was largely due to the generosity of our supporters. To those who contributed £100 or more to the legal fund, we offered a cutting of a mulberry planted by David Garrick from a tree originally planted by William Shakespeare. This report is an account of our work over the last three years to fulfil this offer.
During this time, EEPS became subsumed into the ongoing campaign to Save Brick Lane, challenging the corporate development of the Truman Brewery. Members of the society are also central to the campaigns to Save the Whitechapel Bell Foundry and to stop the redevelopment of Liverpool Street Station. We saved a pair of 1764 weavers houses in Club Row by getting them listed by Historic England and we prevented the demolition of the terrace in Vallance Rd, Whitechapel, which is the last surviving fragment of the Pavilion Theatre.
MULBERRY CUTTINGS
First Attempt
In spring 2021, when David Garrick’s Mulberry was pruned, we obtained 150 cuttings which were cultivated for us by an experienced tree nurseryman. These were set in compost and by the summer of that year, the buds on these cuttings were swelling which confirmed they were alive and gave us reasonable expectation they had rooted. On further investigation, we discovered that none had rooted and they all died.
Subsequently, the owner of Garrick’s Mulberry confirmed that the tree was suffering from a fungal infection which afflicted many mulberries across the country that year. We concluded that this infection was the explanation for the failure of the cuttings, especially since plenty of cuttings from other varieties of tree succeeded in the same nursery that year. The arborculturalist who cares for the Garrick’s Mulberry advised that it needed to be given a chance to recover and not pruned again until spring 2023.
Second Attempt
In spring 2023, when Garrick’s Mulberry was pruned again, we obtained 600 cuttings which were cultivated for us by the same tree nurseryman, employing four different methods to maximise the chances of a successful outcome. These methods included, in compost, in water and using hormonal rooting powder. The cuttings were tended closely through the spring and summer of 2023 but we were faced with the same outcome. The buds swelled confirming they were alive, but then none rooted and they all died.
Going back to the owner of Garrick’s Mulberry, the arborculturalist confirmed that infection was still present and that it was a poorly tree, which cannot be pruned again until spring 2025.
Third Attempt
We are deeply disappointed by the failure of these cuttings and regretful that we have been unable to fulfil our offer to our supporters, but we are not going to give up.
The tree nurseryman is completely baffled by this outcome after all the work he has put in, which he has generously undertaken without any remuneration in support of the cause. He is willing to try again in 2025.
We are also grateful to the owner of Garrick’s Mulberry who has patiently stuck with us and to volunteer Jill Wilson who has tirelessly driven back and forth, delivering pruned mulberry branches from the tree to the nursery.
We are planning to spend the next year seeking further advice in advance of our third attempt to ensure that we can maximise the chance of delivering these cuttings successfully in 2025.
We are in dialogue with a handful of experts who have successfully taken cuttings from historic mulberries and trees afflicted with infection. Our guide is Peter Coles of moruslondinium.org , author of the standard work ‘Mulberry’ published by Reaktion Books in 2019.
Most of all we are grateful to you for your generous support in saving the Bethnal Green Tree Mulberry and your patience with our struggle to deliver the cuttings.
Be assured, we will keep you informed of our progress.
With every good wish to you from
The East End Preservation Society
Click here to read my feature in The Daily Telegraph about the scandal of the Bethnal Green Mulberry
Read more here about the Bethnal Green Mulberry
The Bethnal Green Mulberry Verdict
The Fate of the Bethnal Green Mulberry
A Pack Of Knaves
A Sunday in Lent is a good time to contemplate human failing, as vividly illustrated by this Pack of Knaves engraved by Wenceslaus Hollar (1607-77). Do these characters remind you of anyone you know? If you recognise yourself here, reader beware. It not yet too late to repent and amend your ways.
Images courtesy University of Toronto
You may like to read these stories about Wenceslaus Hollar
So Long, Michael Myers
Michael Myers, Spitalfields’ oldest resident, died on 13th February just a few weeks short of his ninety-fifth birthday. Growing up in Petticoat Lane, Michael only moved a quarter of a mile to live in a flat above the Spitalfields Market, yet he found all of life here in this small neighbourhood.
His partner Deborah Ivy Aitken reflects upon a life well-lived in Spitalfields, accompanied with photographs by his friend Phil Maxwell.
Michael Myers (1929-2024)
Michael had a full and rich life, as one might expect of one who lived to be almost ninety-five. He was born in Southampton, accidentally. His father was working there for Gracie Fields at the time and Michael decided to enter the world when his mother went for a short visit.
He enjoyed a wonderful childhood surrounded by family, friends and neighbours in the old tenement that was Brunswick Buildings on New Goulston St. Petticoat Lane was his playground and the hawkers fascinated him – the plate juggler, the man selling ‘Codbury’s’ chocolate but saying it so fast shoppers thought it was Cadbury’s, and the escapologist in chains who was always about to escape when the market closed promptly at 2pm.
Michael still laughed about the time he saw a salesman put a roll of loo paper into a holder, turn the handle and out came five pound notes. Michael ran home and asked his mum for sixpence. When she asked what it was for he said, ‘I’m going to make us rich!’ He came back with the holder and asked his mum for a loo roll. Then he put it into the holder and told her to watch as he turned the handle, but out came toilet paper not bank notes. You can imagine the disappointment, yet it was one of his favourite childhood stories.
Although their parents were poor, Michael and his brother, Raymond, never went without. Michael had a light blue sports car which he peddled around the streets close to home. He had two paternal aunts who adored him too. One often taking him to Brighton where she lived in Brunswick Gardens and where he celebrated his bar mitzvah, the other returning from the New York World’s Fair in 1939 with a trunk of American toys. Michael had great tales of getting his first suit made – when the tailor was afraid to tell one of his aunts the price, knowing she would want to pay less.
During the war he was evacuated to Ely but two weeks later, after a rocket fell close by, his mother fetched him back to London. Eventually, most of the family including his granny moved to Oxford where his father worked in a munitions factory. In 1944, the family returned to Brunswick Buildings. There were many bomb sites in East London then and one day Michael received a deep cut to his leg from a jagged piece of metal when he and his friends were fooling around. Michael believed he was one of the first to get penicillin at the Royal London Hospital.
Michael’s favourite pastimes were films and music. He loved cinema when he was a boy and this passion grew into a huge collection of videos and DVDs when he was an adult, also amassing an enormous library of film books. His knowledge of cinema, especially from the 1930s to the 1960s, was vast. Many a quiet evening, I would pick up one of Leonard Maltin’s movie guides and quiz Michael on directors, actors and dates. I was thrilled once when I caught him out, but woke the next morning to find a note saying ‘an elephant never forgets’ along with a page number. My win was short-lived. It appears I had been reading the details of the remake and he had been giving answers about the original. Michael was interested in all genres of film but he particularly liked them in black and white. I watched a movie with him once and at the end I said, ‘I’m sure that film was in colour when I originally saw it,’ and he responded, ‘It was, I turned the colour off.’ He never tired of watching great films, such as Spring In Park Lane, The Third Man, The Fallen Idol and Raiders of the Lost Ark.
Michael also loved comedy series like Dad’s Army, Bilko, Hancock’s Half Hour and The Three Stooges. Friends and family who watched these shows with Michael could not resist getting caught up in the antics and farce because Michael’s laughter was genuine and infectious. In everyday life he could be heard quoting the catchphrases, ‘Hey Moe’ and ‘Nuck, Nuck, Nuck.’
Michael’s other great passion was music, both listening and singing. His interests were mostly for classical, jazz, big band and the classic standards written by, but not limited to, Irving Berlin, Jerome Kern and Rogers & Hart. His collection is as large as his film collection and one room in the house was designated the ‘Music Room’ where he spent happy hours listening and singing.
One of Michael’s first jobs was as an errand boy for Leslie Gamage at Gamages Department Store in Holborn. His most memorable errand was being sent by Mr Gamage to go to Claridge’s to collect a package from his wife. Off Michael went to Claridge’s and up to the suite where the Gamages lived. Mrs Gamage gave Michael an envelope to deliver to his boss. Being curious, Michael watched as the envelope was opened and discovered it contained a hankie for Mr Gamage’s breast pocket.
Eventually, Michael trained as a barber but he never stayed long in any salon. When he worked in an East London factory, he used to cut colleagues’ hair in the freight lift for extra pocket money. In the sixties, Michael did the ‘knowledge’ to become a black cab driver and, though he seldom talked about his life as a cabby, a few stories came forth. One was about a man he picked up who said to him, ‘Driver, when we get to the destination I am going to shoot you.’ It must have been very frightening for Michael but he made a plan. When they reached the destination, Michael jumped out of the cab and confronted him face-to-face, saying, ‘I have a wife and six children at home who rely on me. If you shoot me, they will have no one to look after them.’ Apparently, the man paid his fare and gave Michael a substantial tip.
Another time, an American got in his cab and asked to be taken to Tooting Common. As Michael was heading off in that direction the passenger pointed out that the journey seemed to be taking longer than he expected. It turned out he wanted to go to the Tutankhamun exhibition at the British Museum. When he retired at eighty, Michael received a very complimentary letter from the Carriage Office advising he had an unblemished record after driving for forty-three years.
In his early sixties, Michael began to pursue a musical career with a regular gig at the Comedy Cafe in Rivington St where he met some great comedians. Then, winning a big competition in 1991 at ‘Up the Creek’ in Greenwich gave Michael the boost he needed to seek more opportunities. He sang at weddings and parties as well as pubs and bars. He sang on New Year’s Eve at the Golden Heart on a few occasions and for years performed at the popular Workers’ Playtime at the Bethnal Green Working Men’s Club to great applause.
A highlight was when he sang at the premiere of the film, Gangster No. 1 in Leicester Sq and the after party at the Café de Paris. In attendance were many beautiful women and known gangsters. It was scary for Michael because – years before – his cousin, George Cornell, was shot by one of the Kray brothers at the Blind Beggar in Whitechapel. Incidentally, Michael did not know his cousin.
Michael was always up for a laugh, especially if he was the one causing the laughter. He wrote and recorded countless skits playing all the characters. He also liked magic tricks. I once arranged for a magician to teach Michael some tricks which he could entertain us with at a dinner party that evening, but unfortunately he forgot all the tricks. He loved Sandy Powell and Tommy Cooper and had hours of fun playing with the Charlie McCarthy doll I gave him.
After Brighton, Michael’s favourite places to visit were Paris and Nice. We had many holidays in Nice where Michael discovered another life passion, photo-bombing weddings. Inevitably, we could be found at the Hôtel de Ville on a Saturday where marriage ceremonies were on an assembly line. Michael had no qualms about stepping into any wedding party, often standing beside the bride, while I took his picture. Once in a small French village, he even climbed the church stairs with the father and the bride while I snapped away. These were his best comedic moments.
Throughout his life, Michael involved himself in community projects. I only found out recently that he and his neighbour, Mossy Joseph, were instrumental in getting the Grade ll listing for the Spitalfields Market Horner Building. He was the head of the Spitalfields Market Residents’ Association for years and campaigned vigorously against developments in the area.
Regardless of differences, Michael seldom made disparaging remarks about others. He did not like tittle-tattle or gossip. He treated everyone with kindness and respect. He was a gentleman in every aspect of his life.
I think if Michael were to give advice about life, it would be to keep enriching your pool of friends. His friendships with people of all ages attest to his ability to engage with others.
Michael always had a song on his lips. He will be greatly missed by our families, friends and acquaintances and mostly by his daughter, Annette, son-in-law, Marcel, our granddaughter, Gabrielle and me.
Deborah and Michael
Sandra Esqulant, landlady of The Golden Heart, with Michael
Deborah and Michael
Photographs copyright © Phil Maxwell
Click here to watch videos of Michael singing
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At Holy Trinity Church, Bow
Holy Trinity in Bow is one of those churches that I often passed by and wondered what it was like inside. The answer is that it is a wonder.
You step through the unadorned entrance to discover a much larger and longer church than the facade led you to expect. The narrow soaring columns and tall, subtly-tinted windows create a huge, breathtakingly light enclosed space that inspires awe. It stops you in your tracks. Then you open your mouth to express your wonder and encounter the unexpected acoustic which resonates like the echo chamber of an instrument at even the smallest sound.
Grade II listed, Holy Trinity was deconsecrated a generation ago and most of the interior stripped out then, which serves now to emphasise the extraordinary quality of this vast empty architectural space.
Built by architects Daniel & James Austin in 1836-9, the church reflected the aspirations of the wealthy residents of Tredegar Sq and the newly-built surrounding streets. The surviving monuments attest to the most wealthy, those who made fortunes in the Navy or the Colonial Service and returned to the East End to enjoy the benefits. For those in the East India Company, it was a convenient location midway between the company headquarters in Leadenhall St and the East India Docks.
There is an unavoidable plangent and uneasy irony present in confronting these proud memorials in such an austere and ravaged shell, and you leave contemplating the troubling legacy of this history. Almost two centuries later, these are monuments to something other than what those who built them intended.
James Scatcherd, East India Company, Carroll Hessey Scatcherd, 41st Bengal Native Infantry wounded at the Battle of Sobraon, George Ramsden Scatcherd, 24th Regiment of Native Infantry Bombay Army.
William Simons of East India House, Alfred P Simons, Captain Bengal Artillery died of wounds received during the Seige of Lucknow
Holy Trinity Church, Morgan St, Bow, E3 5AA
You can visit Holy Trinity this Saturday 2nd March, 11am-4pm for a vintage interiors show by So Last Century
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At God’s Convenience
“Slovenliness is no part of Religion. Cleanliness is indeed close to Godliness” – John Wesley, 1791
Oftentimes, walking between Spitalfields and Covent Garden, I pass through Bunhill Fields where – in passing – I can pay my respects to William Blake, Daniel Defoe and John Bunyan who are buried there, and sometimes I also stop off at John Wesley’s Chapel’s in the City Rd to pay a visit to the underground shrine of Thomas Crapper – the champion of the flushing toilet and inventor of the ballcock.
It seems wholly appropriate that here, at the mother church of the Methodist movement, is preserved one of London’s finest historic toilets, still in a perfect working order today. Although installed in 1899, over a century after John Wesley’s death, I like to think that if he returned today Wesley would be proud to see such immaculate facilities provided to worshippers at his chapel – thereby catering to their mortal as well as their spiritual needs. The irony is that even those, such as myself, who come here primarily to fulfil a physical function cannot fail to be touched by the stillness of this peaceful refuge from the clamour of the City Rd.
There is a sepulchral light that glimmers as you descend beneath the chapel to enter the gleaming sanctum where, on the right hand side of the aisle, eight cedar cubicles present themselves, facing eight urinals to the left, with eight marble washbasins behind a screen at the far end. A harmonious arrangement that reminds us of the Christian symbolism of the number eight as the number of redemption – represented by baptism – which is why baptismal fonts are octagonal. Appropriately, eight was also the number of humans rescued from the deluge upon Noah’s Ark.
Never have I seen a more beautifully kept toilet than this, every wooden surface has been waxed, the marble and mosaics shine, and each cubicle has a generous supply of rolls of soft white paper. It is both a flawless illustration of the rigours of the Methodist temperament and an image of what a toilet might be like in heaven. The devout atmosphere of George Dance’s chapel built for John Wesley in 1778, and improved in 1891 for the centenary of Wesley’s death – when the original pillars made of ships’ masts were replaced with marble from each country in the world where Methodists preached the gospel – pervades, encouraging solemn thoughts, even down here in the toilet. And the extravagant display of exotic marble, some of it bearing an uncanny resemblance to dog meat, complements the marble pillars in the chapel above.
Sitting in a cubicle, you may contemplate your mortality and, when the moment comes, a text on the ceramic pull invites you to “Pull & Let Go.” It is a parable in itself – you put your trust in the Lord and your sins are flushed away in a tumultuous rush of water that recalls Moses parting the Red Sea. Then you may wash your hands in the marble basin and ascend to the chapel to join the congregation of the worthy.
Yet before you leave and enter Methodist paradise, a moment of silent remembrance for the genius of Thomas Crapper is appropriate. Contrary to schoolboy myth, he did not give his name to the colloquial term for bowel movements, which, as any etymologist will tell you, is at least of Anglo-Saxon origin. Should you lift the toilet seat, you will discover “The Venerable” is revealed upon the rim, as the particular model of the chinaware, and it is an epithet that we may also apply to Thomas Crapper. Although born to humble origins in 1836 as the son of a sailor, Crapper rose to greatness as the evangelist of the flushing toilet, earning the first royal warrant for sanitary-ware from Prince Edward in the eighteen eighties and creating a business empire that lasted until 1963.
Should your attention be entirely absorbed by this matchless parade of eight Crapper’s Valveless Waste Preventers, do not neglect to admire the sparkling procession of urinals opposite by George Jennings (1810-1882) – celebrated as the inventor of the public toilet. 827,280 visitors paid a penny for the novelty of using his Monkey Closets in the retiring rooms at the Great Exhibition of 1851, giving rise to the popular euphemism, “spend a penny,” still in use today in overly polite circles.
Once composure and physical comfort are restored, you may wish to visit the chapel to say a prayer of thanks or, as I like to do, visit John Wesley’s house seeking inspiration in the life of the great preacher. Wesley preached a doctrine of love to those who might not enter a church, and campaigned for prison reform and the abolition of slavery, giving more than forty thousand sermons in his lifetime, often several a day and many in the open air – travelling between them on horseback. In his modest house, where he once ate at the same table as his servants, you can see the tiny travelling lamp that he carried with him to avoid falling off his horse (as he did frequently), his nightcap, his shoes, his spectacles, his robe believed to have been made out of a pair of old curtains, the teapot that Josiah Wedgwood designed for him, and the exercising chair that replicated the motion of horse-riding, enabling Wesley to keep his thigh muscles taut when not on the road.
A visit to the memorial garden at the rear of the chapel to examine Wesley’s tomb will reveal that familiar term from the toilet bowl “The Venerable” graven in stone in 1791 to describe John Wesley himself, which prompts the question whether this was where Thomas Crapper got the idea for the name of his contraption, honouring John Wesley in sanitary-ware.
Let us thank the Lord if we are ever caught short on the City Rd because, due to the good works of the venerable Thomas Crapper and the venerable John Wesley, relief and consolation for both body and soul are readily to hand at God’s convenience.
Nineteenth century fixtures by Thomas Crapper, still in perfect working order.
“The Venerable”
Put your trust in the Lord.
Cubicles for private worship.
Stalls for individual prayer.
In memoriam, George Jennings, inventor of the public toilet.
Upon John Wesley’s Tomb.
John Wesley’s Chapel
John Wesley’s exercise chair to simulate the motion of horseriding,
John Wesley excused himself unexpectedly from the table …
New wallpaper in John Wesley’s parlour from an eighteenth century design at Kew Palace.
The view from John Wesley’s window across to Bunhill Fields where, when there were no leaves upon the trees, he could see the white tombstone marking his mother’s grave.
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The World Of The Saree Shops
JULIE BEGUM is giving an illustrated lecture outlining the long history of the presence of Bengali people on this side of London. IMAGES OF THE BENGALI EAST END is at 7pm on Tuesday 5th March at the Hanbury Hall as part of the Spitalfields series.
Click here to book your ticket
On days when it barely gets lighter than dusk and I walk around bent double in the driving rain, I find myself lifting my gaze occasionally in admiration at the illuminated windows of saree shops that cluster in Bethnal Green and Whitechapel. So, when Contributing Photographer Sarah Ainslie brought me these poignant images of saree shops glimmering with colour and light despite the pervasive gloom, I suggested we pay a few of these establishments a call and discover more of the world of the East End saree shops.
In Bethnal Green, at Zhara Fashion House we were greeted by three women, Majida, Shuheli and Afsana, who have just started in business one month ago, specialising in selling fabric lengths which permit their young customers to make sarees to their own patterns and thus avoid the ready made styles that fill the other shops. Their youthful optimism was in harsh contrast to Abdul Latif at Modhubon Ltd who had been trading for twenty-one years across the road in a shop stacked to the ceiling with sarees folded neatly on shelves. “I used to go to India once a year to buy stock, but not for the last three years,” he confessed with a frown, “I’ve had a very bad run.” Mr Latif’s customers are senior women who have been economising with their purchases, he revealed, and this week, far outside the summer wedding season, he was alone in his magnificently decorated shop like the host of a party to which nobody came.
Yet just a couple of doors down, we discovered a brisk trade at Mahir where lots of saree bargains were to be had in the sale and the entire range of stock was accessible to the eager women browsing on rails. Sumsun Nahar Shirne, the briskly efficient under-manager, explained that this was one of seven branches scattered as far apart as Leeds and Luton, owned by her cousin Shurajul Islam Akbas. “Customers come from as far away as Germany, Italy, France, even America,” she bragged.
Similarly at Zari, next door, where Shofig Islam brought ten years of retail experience at Superdrug to the family business, there was no shortage of customers. Shofig had an impressive array of vibrantly coloured glittering sarees, yet he was eager to stress that he stocked a wide range of different garments to suit the tastes of younger women who like to mix western and eastern clothes in their every day wardrobes and only wear full sarees for special occasions. Alert to social trends, working closely with manufacturers in India to deliver the designs that women want and with his richly-coloured stock creating a dazzling display, Shofig admitted to me that he had been able to expand the business recently.
Taking the stroll down Vallance Rd, we set out to explore the saree shops shining in the shadows of the alleys leading off Whitechapel Rd and – among other delights – discovered the wonders of Zai, a compact traditional establishment where proprietor Helal Khan, who has been in business for ten years, welcomed us kindly. Mr Khan has a loyal trade of local women who frequent his discreet premises with its immaculately organised stock.
The dusk that had prevailed all day turned to darkness as the rain set in again and we just had time left to step into Cuckoo Fashions in Whitechapel Market, which we found remarkable for the selection of panels of richly patterned printed silks at just fifteen pounds each. It was tempting to carry some away but we were spoiled for choice, as we had been all day by the sensuous hues and tinsel on display at every shop we visited. In spite of social changes, we were reassured that the saree shops will be with us for the foreseeable future to bring glitz to our dowdy East End streets. So we set off into the murk with our spirits lifted by the exposure to so much glowing colour and vowed to come back another day.
Abdul Latif, Modhubon Ltd.
Shofig Islam at Zari.
Helal Khan at Zai in Whitechapel.
Fatima Chowdury, Jumara Noor Eli and Sumsun Nahar Shirna at Mahir in Bethnal Green.
Photographs copyright © Sarah Ainslie
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Whitechapel’s Theatrical Terrace Is Saved, Again
3-13 Vallance Rd
Thanks to the objections from you – the readers of Spitalfields Life – Whitechapel’s Theatrical Terrace has been saved, again. Yesterday Transport for London withdrew their Planning Application for demolition in response to the chorus of disapproval we sparked, including letters from the Victorian Society, SAVE Britain’s Heritage and Historic England.
Ten years ago, it was an early success for the nascent East End Preservation Society when this old terrace in Whitechapel, comprising the last fragment of the nineteenth century Pavilion Theatre complex, was first saved from demolition.
Be assured, we will keep you informed of further developments with these buildings of acknowledged importance which sit within the Whitechapel Market Conservation Area.
Through all the changes in Whitechapel since World War II, this distinctive Victorian terrace has miraculously survived and the exoticism of its architecture with such a strange mixture of styles fascinates me – as it does many others for whom the terrace is also a landmark in this corner of the East End, where so few old buildings remain to tell the story of what once was here.
In fact, I realised these tatty shopfronts and ornate facades have always spoken to me, even before I discovered the nature of the story they were telling. The florid decoration was no whim upon the part of the architect but reflected their association and direct proximity to the adjoining Pavilion Theatre which opened here early in the nineteenth century, at first presenting nautical dramas to an audience from the docks and later becoming a Yiddish theatre to serve the Jewish population in Whitechapel.
Commanding the southern extremity of Vallance Rd, this terrace is almost the last fragment to remind us of the history of one of the East End’s most ancient thoroughfares, linking Bethnal Green and Whitechapel. Built in 1855, the vast and forbidding Whitechapel Union Workhouse once stood a few hundred yards north. In common with most of the nineteenth century buildings in this corner of what was known as Mile End New Town, it has long gone – swept away during the decades following the last war, leaving the streetscape fragmented today. Old Montague St, leading west to Commercial St and formerly the heart of the Jewish commerce in the East End, was entirely demolished.
Even Whitechapel Rd, which retains good sweeps of historic buildings, suffered major post-war casualties, including a fine eighteenth century terrace west of the London Hospital that was demolished in the seventies. Yet there was one building of great importance of which the loss went seemingly unnoticed -The Pavilion Theatre, a favourite resort for East Enders for nearly one hundred and fifty years before it was demolished in 1961.
The New Royal Pavilion Theatre opened in 1827 at the corner of Whitechapel Rd and Baker’s Row (now Vallance Rd) with a production of The Genii of the Thames, initiating its famous nautical-themed productions, pitched at the the maritime community. In 1856, the theatre burnt down and its replacement opened in 1858, boasting a capacity of three-thousand-seven-hundred, which was a thousand more than Covent Garden and included the largest pit in London theatre, where two thousand people could be comfortably accommodated.
‘The Great National Theatre of the Metropolis’ – as it was announced – boasted a wide repertoire including Shakespeare, opera (it became the East London Opera House in 1860) and, of course, pantomime. It gained a reputation for the unpretentious nature of its patrons, with one critic remarking “there is a no foolish pride amongst Pavilion audiences, or, as far as we could see, any of those stupid social distinctions which divide the sympathies of other auditoriums.”
In 1874, the Pavilion was reconstructed to the designs of Jethro T. Robinson, a notable theatre architect who designed two other East End theatres. both of which are now lost – the Grecian Theatre in Shoreditch and the Albion in Poplar, that was oriental in style. It was this rebuilding of the Pavilion which included the construction of a new terrace on Baker’s Row with interwoven Moorish arches evoking the Alhambra. The theatrical design of these buildings, with decorated parapets, panels and window surrounds, and the integration of side entrances to the theatre suggest the authorship or influence of J. T. Robinson himself.
In its later years, the Pavilion became one of the leading theatres in London, offering Yiddish drama, but as tastes changed and the Jewish people began to leave, the audience declined until it closed for good in 1934. In ‘East End Entertainment’ (1954) A. E. Wilson recalls a final visit to the old theatre before it closed.
“Once during the Yiddish period I visited the theatre. What I saw was all shabbiness, gloom and decay. The half-empty theatre was cold and dreary. The gold had faded and the velvet had moulted. Dust and grime were everywhere. And behind the scenes it was desolation indeed. The dirty stage seemed as vast as the desert and as lonely. I realised that there was no future for the Pavilion, that nothing could restore its fortunes, that its day was over.”
The decline of the Pavilion had been slow and painful. After the theatre closed in the thirties, it was simply left to decay after plans to transform it into a ‘super cinema’ failed to materialise. Bomb damage in the war and a fire meant that when a team from the London County Council’s Historic Buildings Division went to record the building in 1961, they found only a shell of monumental grandeur. After the theatre was finally demolished in 1961, the northern end of the terrace was also demolished leaving just number 13 (the former Weavers Arms Pub) and the battered row that has survived to this day.
In the spirit of high theatrical farce, the Council’s consultant wrote of these buildings in Vallance Rd in the 2013 Heritage Report, accompanying the former application for demolition, that ‘… [they] do not contribute to the character or appearance of the Conservation Area,’ directly contradicting the Council’s earlier Conservation Area Appraisal of the area in 2009 which outlined the following priority for action – “Encourage sympathetic redevelopment of gap sites west of Vallance Rd and secure restoration of 3-11 Vallance Rd.”
In 2014, a new proposal was rendered by local conservation practice Jonathan Freegard Architects, commissioned by the Spitalfields Trust, which retains the terrace as part of a mixed-use scheme delivering housing, retail and office space. This remains the best option for these buildings.
5 & 7 Vallance Rd, showing decorative window surrounds and parapet (Alex Pink)
9 & 11 Vallance Rd. With its decorative central panel, number 9 leads through to a courtyard where the theatre’s carpentry workshop once stood (Alex Pink)
3 Vallance Rd with original shopfront (Alex Pink)
Looking north over Vallance Rd (left) and Hemming St (right), 1957 (City of London, London Metropolitan Archives)
Whitechapel Union Workhouse in Vallance Rd, at junction with Fulbourne St, 1913 (City of London, London Metropolitan Archives)
Whitechapel Union Workhouse, Vallance Rd 1913 (City of London, London Metropolitan Archives)
Corner of Vallance Rd and Hereford St, 1965 (City of London, London Metropolitan Archives)
Bricklayers Arms, Vallance Rd and Sale St, 1938 (City of London, London Metropolitan Archives)
Old Montague St and Black Lion Yard, 1961 (City of London, London Metropolitan Archives)
Old Montague St and Kings Arms Court, 1961 (City of London, London Metropolitan Archives)
Old Montague St looking east with Pauline House under construction, 1962 (City of London, London Metropolitan Archives)
The first Royal Pavilion Theatre in Whitechapel, 1856 (East London Theatre Archive)
Playbill 1867, nautical drama was a speciality at the Pavilion (East London Theatre Archive)
Playbill 1854 (East London Theatre Archive)
Playbill 1835 – note reference to gallery entrance in Baker’s Row (Vallance Rd) (East London Theatre Archive)
Playbill 1856 (East London Theatre Archive)
Playbill 1833 (East London Theatre Archive)
Playbill 1851 (East London Theatre Archive)
The Great National Theatre of the Metropolis’ – the rebuilt Pavilion, 1858
Plan of the Pavilion in eighteen-seventies showing how the houses in Baker’s Row (Vallance Rd) are integrated into the theatre
The Pavilion as a Yiddish theatre in the thirties
Pavilion Theatre facade on Whitechapel Rd, 1961 (City of London, London Metropolitan Archives)
Auditorium of Pavilion Theatre, 1961 (City of London, London Metropolitan Archives)
Pit and stage at Pavilion Theatre, 1961 (City of London, London Metropolitan Archives)
Fly tower of Pavilion Theatre, 1961 (City of London, London Metropolitan Archives)
Back wall of the Pavilion Theatre, 1961 (City of London, London Metropolitan Archives)
17-29 Vallance Rd, showing the large scene doors entrance and gallery entrance beyond, all integrated into the terrace, 1961 (City of London, London Metropolitan Archives)
Sketch of the elevation of the Oriental Theatre, Poplar High St, by Jethro T. Robinson, 1873 – note usage of the arch-within-an-arch motif as seen in the Vallance Rd terrace
First sketch by Tim Whittaker of the Spitalfields Trust, proposing courtyard housing behind the terrace which reflects the local vernacular of Whitechapel
Proposal by Jonathan Freegard Architects for restoration of the terrace with a new yard at rear
South-westerly view of proposal by Jonathan Freegard Architects
Rear view of proposal by Jonathan Freegard Architects
Recent photographs of Vallance Rd Terrace © Alex Pink.
