So Long, Ronald Morgan
Today I remember the artist, Ronald Morgan, who died on 31st August aged eighty-three
‘I like the East End, it has a nice feel to it’
This is my portrait of Ronald Morgan in the studio at his flat in Bow where I visited him while I was writing East End Vernacular. Ronald lived the batchelor life in an attractive art deco block of flats off Bow Rd for over forty years yet it was furnished as if he had only just moved in. The piles of discarded sketches which littered the floor of his quiet studio at the rear of the building more than testified to his prodigious output in this time.
I discovered Ronald Morgan’s work through his painting of a Salvation Army band standing in the rain at the junction of Parnell and Tredegar Rd in Tower Hamlets’ art collection and I was fascinated to discover that he was a long time resident of the borough, even though he led a quiet life devoted to painting and kept a resolutely low profile in the East End.
“I was born in 1936 near Cannock in Staffordshire. When I was about twelve my parents bought me some watercolours and I dabbled about in an amateurish way. When I was fifteen, I went to Walsall School of Art and I was there doing graphic design, we called it ‘commercial art’ in those days. I left the School at eighteen and couldn’t get a job as a graphic designer, so I had to work in an industrial drawing office, drawing machinery, that sort of thing. I was a junior draftsman.
The principal of the School of Art invited me to join the Walsall Society of Artists of which he was the secretary, so I became a junior member when I was eighteen. I mentioned to him one day that I was going to submit some work to the Royal Academy Summer Show. ‘My boy, you’ll be wasting your time and money,’ he informed me, ‘I am a graduate of the Royal College of Art and a close friend of Henry Moore – he was the best man at my wedding – and I’ve been submitting pictures for forty years, but never had one accepted.’ What an idiot! Anyway, I was undaunted so I sent in two drawings and they were both accepted, and one got shown in the exhibition. When he found this out, he was so annoyed. Instead of saying, ‘Congratulations!’ he didn’t speak to me again for a whole year, and next year I sent in three pictures and got two in the show. I was showing there every year after that.
After working in the drawing office, I got a job in a local government planning department – doing illustrations, that sort of work. As I was exhibiting so many times in London, coming down by train all the time, I thought, ‘I might as well live there.’ So I applied for several jobs and eventually I got one working for the London Borough of Haringey. The chap in charge saw my watercolours and said, ‘Could you do something like that for us?’ So I said, ‘Yes, certainly,’ and I moved down here. I got digs in Hornsey and, after four years, I moved to Hammersmith Council. It was a similar sort of thing, the boss saw my work and said, ‘We’d like you to do some work like that for us.’
All these years, I was painting in every available moment of my own time. I paint on location, so I’d go out with my easel and I took trips abroad around Europe. Now it is more difficult because I am eighty-one, and carrying an easel and paint box around is quite heavy. I still work very hard and I’d never give it up, even though I feel very tired sometimes. I do a lot of walking though and I still paint out of doors, I was painting the other week in Richmond by the Thames. Turner painted there, he was a great painter – one of my favourites.
I won quite a few awards including the Lord Mayor’s Art Award in 1974, for a street scene in Islington. It is nice to sell pictures – it gives you confidence, you know. I sell on the internet occasionally through the Royal Society of British Artists. I sold a picture of Venice to a woman in Hong Kong a few weeks ago!
From Hammersmith, I applied for a job at the drawing office in Tower Hamlets when the Town Hall was here in Bow. I became the senior draftsman and I thought, ‘I’d love to live in the East End.’ I like the East End, it has a nice feel to it. So I came and painted a lot in the streets around here. I painted several Salvation Army bands including one in Whitechapel, where it all started. I have painted kids playing football in the street in the East End. I painted all along the Regent’s Canal and the River Lea. I was painting down by the River Lea twenty years ago on a very windy day. A gust of wind almost blew my easel over and I grabbed hold of it, but my picture had gone – into the river – three hours work wasted! It just floated away.
I have lived in this flat for about forty years. I paint full time now, every day of the week. I just love painting streets, I put my easel up and paint. When you see a subject under certain lighting conditions – bright light or evening light – it’s so exciting. I have even got people to pose for me in the street. I say, ‘Madame or Sir, could you stand there for about ten minutes while I paint you?’ and they’ve done it.
The worst thing is when someone gets out of their Porsche with a cigar and says, ‘I’d love to buy your painting.’ This happened to me at Putney, the man said, ‘I live just down the road and I’ve always wanted a picture of this stretch of the river.’ So I said, ‘As a favour, you can have it unframed for £300.’ He said, ‘£300 for a small painting like that!’ I wanted to say, ‘If you can afford a Porsche, you can afford three hundred quid for a painting.’
I have lived in London for about fifty years and I have seen a tremendous amount of change. When I first came, there were all these lovely old buildings. They were ancient and falling apart some of them but marvellous to paint, whereas now they have been replaced by modern developments which are not so attractive. I still enjoy the East End and I love to paint the river, I think I have painted whole of this end of the river right down to the coast.”
Salvation Army Band at the junction of Parnell and Tredegar Rd in Bow, 1978. Painted from sketches made a few years earlier, before the houses were demolished.
Painting copyright © Estate of Ronald Morgan
Reproduced courtesy of Tower Hamlets Local History Library & Archives
The Plaster Is Off & Other News
(Click on this image to enlarge)
I AM VERY GRATEFUL to the doctors at the Royal London Hospital who fitted a steel plate to hold my writing arm together. I shall remember them all fondly for the rest of my life, whenever I pass through airport security. On Thursday, the plaster was cut off and in a few weeks I shall be fully recovered.
PLEASE DO NOT FORGET the public meeting to Save The Whitechapel Bell Foundry at the East London Mosque this Monday 9th September at 6:30pm. This will be a chance to hear from UK Historic Building Preservation Trust and Factum Foundation about their plans to reopen the Whitechapel Bell Foundry as a working foundry. Click here to confirm your attendance.
“The foundry is one of the East End’s most treasured institutions, stretching back to the 16th century. We must not let it be lost forever. Together we can save this important feature of East End life. The council must prevent them turning this much-loved historic site into a private hotel.” Rushanara Ali, MP for Bethnal Green & Bow
MY APOLOGIES to everyone who ordered books and has not received them yet. Usually I aim to post orders within twenty-four hours, but the delay has been due to my broken arm. I am pleased to report that all outstanding orders were posted this morning and each one contains a free gift as a gesture of apology and in appreciation of your patience.
WE ARE TAKING BOOKINGS for the next writing course on 9th & 10th November. Spend a weekend with me in an eighteenth century weaver’s house in Fournier St, enjoy delicious lunches, savour freshly baked cakes from historic recipes, discover the secrets of Spitalfields Life and learn how to write your own blog. Click here for more information.
Arful Nessa, Gardener
Celebrating our tenth anniversary with favourite stories from the first decade – Delwar Hussain writes about his mother’s horticultural activities in Puma Court
Arful Nessa in her garden in Puma Court
My mother is the first to admit that when it comes to growing anything, the success rate cannot be predicted – some years are simply better than others. But this summer has, on the whole, been a good one. Despite the aubergines not putting in a show, she has had quite a few runner beans, chillies galore, enough coriander to garnish an army with, mulas (a long white radish), potatoes and dhengas (a tall, dark pink stalk, almost like a savoury rhubarb). She has also transferred the olive tree into the ground, as well as the plum tree, and the neem tree and pomegranate followed suit recently. The latter, which she grew from a seed, is a non-descript small shrub with small, shiny, pointy leaves. The trees all seem to have taken well to the positions she has chosen for them, but this is not always the case, as the dry, brittle carcass of a fig tree attests. The bushy orange and lemon trees did not make it into the ground either. My mother is not confident that they would like it there, so they continue to live in the big, black, dustbins that she insists on collecting.
But of all of her achievements this year, it is the gourd that she is particularly pleased with. Neighbours and relatives from far and wide have already been notified of its appearance. The vegetable has always been elusive to her throughout the many years that she has been gardening, building all sorts of wooden and bamboo frames to support them without gain. “I’ve always wanted to grow one, but I never managed to until now. It is probably because we don’t get much sun here. The garden is surrounded on all sides by brick walls.” Today, the perfectly spherical, green and white globe, resembling a small disco ball, dangles precariously in the sky, held on to by its strong, twisty, protective vines. Behind it, the tall, white steeple of Christ Church looms large over the entire garden.
As Patricia Niven takes photographs of my mother on this still, warm evening, together with the greenery that we are surrounded by, we are reminded of the other lives carrying on outside of the red-bricked walls. Against the quiet hum of the cars and sirens on Commercial St, the more prominent chirping of little birds come in from nearby gardens and rooftops. The shrieks of children playing and the long, yawn-like, ancient drawl of the azaan, the call to prayer from the Brick Lane mosque, drifts in too. It is always an unusual experience interviewing a family member, especially one that happens to be your mother. Nonetheless, over the years, I have done so a number of times, usually for university projects. This is the first time that I am formally questioning her about a subject that she herself is actually interested in and not one picked by her son.
“I garden because I enjoy doing so. People say that gardening is healthy, that it is good for you to be outside, to stroke the leaves, to smell the fruit, to feel the soil. When I moved to London in the nineteen-seventies I was in my twenties. No one taught me how to do any of it, I learnt instinctively. When I was young, I would watch my parents in the village in Bangladesh. They would grow aubergines, mustard, rice, mangoes, jackfruits, guavas and so many spices and herbs. Your father and I first lived in a small, crowded flat in Wapping where there was not even a single tree to look at outside, let alone inside. Then we moved to New Rd. We rented a house from the hospital and it came with a massive garden in the back. It was so big, you would never have been able to fill the place up with trees. I started growing spinach, coriander and mustard. Your father would get the seeds for me in little bundles when he travelled back from Bangladesh. But unfortunately we had to leave that house because it didn’t have an indoor toilet or bath: the toilet was in the garden and we had a tin bath propped up in the kitchen. We would fill it up with water and by the time it reached the top, the water would be cold. The same tin bath followed us to the present house, where we used it as a pond for some ducks that we kept and then later to grow potatoes in.”
A friend of mine said recently that he has never seen my mother actually getting her hands dirty, let alone holding a trowel or spade. Despite this, she always manages to grow huge amounts. I laughed and, in jest, said that this is because she gets my brothers and sisters and I to do most of the lumbering work for her. However, the more I thought about it, the more I think my friend had a point. Much of the gardening she does involves standing at the kitchen door or on the balconies upstairs on the third floor of the house where she grows the coriander, looking intently, surveying, absorbed in the plants. Occasionally she may walk over to something which she will touch, rub, pick at or uncoil. She moves a pot from one place to another, gives the attention of a watering jug here or there, but most of all, it involves staying still, studying, contemplating.
But of course, there is more to it than the impression she gives. “Throughout the year, I save seeds from things that we eat. If they don’t grow, well, then, they don’t grow, but I will give them a try. Around January-February time, I sow the seeds in pots. I keep them dotted around the house so that they don’t get cold. In March and April, I put the pots outside in the garden and rotate them around so that they can get as much sun as possible. Just before the summer, some of them are transferred into bigger pots. I then just keep my eye on them as they grow.”
Having lived in London for over thirty years, my mother is very much rooted to the house and to Spitalfields. Even so, she will still confess to not being very good at growing English plants. If ever there was a gardening test in the same vein as the cricket one as dreamed up by Norman Tebbit, my mother would probably fail. Mediterranean, African, Middle Eastern and Asian plants and trees dominate her world. “My apple tree is probably around ten years old, but it just doesn’t seem to want to grow. I’ve often thought about taking it out of the ground and putting something else in its place, but we’ve been together for too long. Now that I have my gourd, I would like to try my own apple”.
The tall, white steeple of Christ Church looms large over the entire garden
Arful Nessa, Gardener
Photographs copyright © Patricia Niven
You may also like to read about
The Secret Gardens of Spitalfields
Nicholas Culpeper in Spitalfields
Gardening Club at Virginia Rd School
On Publication Day For SHOPFRONTS OF LONDON
After ten years in the making, on publication day for SHOPFRONTS OF LONDON, In Praise Of Small Neighbourhood Shops, Eleanor Crow writes about the significance and value of the independent shops which have always been integral to the culture of London. Click here to order a signed copy for £14.99
An exhibition of Eleanor’s watercolours opens at Townhouse Spitalfields on 3rd October.
Eleanor will giving an illustrated lecture at Wanstead Tap on Wednesday 9th October, showing her pictures and telling the stories of the shops. Click here for tickets
Portrait of Eleanor Crow at E. Pellicci by Colin O’Brien
I chose all the shopfronts in my book because I like the look of them. As I pass through London, I always notice the best-looking shop in any street – the one with the particularly attractive frontage, the inventively designed launderette, the small colourful café, the baker with fine fascia lettering and polished tiles, the ironmonger displaying hardware with wit and ingenuity.
Some are long-standing family businesses, others are more recent enterprises. Some have the cachet of historic architectural detailing in brickwork, masonry or glazing, emphasising the distinctive quality of the shop and the place. Some have subtle window display, others are flamboyant. In each case, these shopfronts serve the purpose for which they are intended, drawing the attention of the potential customer.
London is comprised of many communities and, commonly, each one has a terrace of useful shops at the centre. They furnish our wish and whim for any small portable item – a prime cut of beef or an Eccles cake, a garden rake or a fillet of plaice. Or they may simply offer a friendly place to sit and drink a cup of tea after a trip to the market.
Yet they are more than merely useful businesses. Where the shopkeepers have won many loyal customers, these shops deliver a invaluable community service that cannot be equalled by more impersonal forms of shopping. A diverse collection of small shops lends distinction to any location, conjuring the street life which manifests the identity of the place, both serving a human purpose and revealing that the residents care about their neighbourhood.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, public affection for small shops – particularly those that have survived for a great many years – is partly because we feel these shops belong to us. They are landmarks on our daily journeys and their presence on the street offers a visual and emotional anchor in an ever-changing cityscape. They are familiar points of reference in a mutable world.
Working on my paintings, I learnt about shopkeeping and grew curious of the circumstances that might cause a shop to flourish or die. To open a small shop is a tremendous challenge, requiring a grasp of business and a knowledge of the trade, skill in juggling finances to pay for stock, tax, rents and rates, dexterity in managing supply chains, parking restrictions, customer demands and effective stock management. Numerous factors may shape the fortunes of the small shopkeeper. Some are personal and some are environmental – customer demographics, economic fluctuations, urban planning and government policy on rent and rates all play their part.
When a small shop closes, any of these elements may have contributed, but equally, the shopkeeper may simply wish to retire or move on. Everything is subject to change, but when a viable business is brought down by government policy, or escalating costs, this is the outcome of an unfair disadvantage for the small shopkeeper. All neighbourhoods in London reflect the tension between preservation and change, but I hope these small shops will remain as they are, since they are both beautiful and useful, and they cater for all budgets.
Most of all, my book is a celebration of the small neighbourhood shop. Those that are here and now, and some with a long and illustrious past. Whether you live in Paddington or in Plaistow, Mayfair or Mile End, Camberwell or Clerkenwell, it is the small shops that manifest the character of any community.
Gardners, Commercial St, Spitalfields
Gardners is the longest established family business in Spitalfields. Paul Gardner’s great- grandfather James Gardner began trading here as a scalemaker when the Peabody Building was first built in 1870. Gardners expanded to supply paper bags to greengrocers and countless other small local traders, earning a reputation for London’s cheapest paper bags. Paul has run the shop since he was seventeen without a day off and keeps a collection of family memorabilia behind the counter. This includes the nineteenth century family bible, account books from the eighteen- eighties and his father Roy Gardner’s designs for greengrocers’ labels. As founder of the East End Trades Guild, Paul is universally respected in the East End for his moral leadership, delivering petitions to Downing Street protesting the escalation of rent and business rates which have driven many small shops to the wall.
E. Pellicci, Bethnal Green Rd
This small friendly café has been owned by the Pellicci family since 1900. With its appealing façade of chrome-lined primrose Vitrolite panels, three-dimensional typography and fine decorative detailing, it is a testament to the enduring qualities of thoughtful shop design. The interior features art deco marquetry by cabinet maker Achille Cappoci from 1946, and the premises are Grade II listed. Most importantly, the business thrives because the Pellicci family know how to keep their customers happy – whether diehard locals, passing celebrities or tourists on a pilgrimage – with their winning combination of wholesome food, exemplary service and entertaining banter.
The Butchers Shop, Bethnal Green Rd
When Peter Sargent took over his shop in 1983, there were eight butchers in Bethnal Green but now he is the last one standing. It seemed like Peter might go the way of the rest, until he achieved tabloid fame by placing a sign across the road in front of his shop. Directed at those on their way to the supermarket, it said ‘Have a look in butcher’s opposite before you go in Tesco.’ The supermarket threatened legal action, until it was revealed that Tesco had been selling horsemeat and Peter left a bale of hay outside.
Leila’s Shop, Calvert Ave, Shoreditch
This greengrocer in Calvert Ave was opened by Phoebe & Alf Raymond in 1900 in the newly built Boundary Estate – Britain’s first council estate – and was run by the family until 1966. In 2002, Leila McAlister re-opened it as a greengrocer, stocking seasonal fruit and vegetables from independent and small growers, alongside fresh bread, cheese and dry goods. Beneath the wide brown canopy at the front, you can rely upon discovering the East End’s most beautiful display of produce and this ever-changing stock forms the basis of the menu for Leila’s Cafe next door.
CLICK HERE TO ORDER A SIGNED COPY FOR £14.99
At a time of momentous change in the high street, Eleanor’s witty and fascinating personal survey champions the enduring culture of Britain’s small neighbourhood shops.
As our high streets decline into generic monotony, we cherish the independent shops and family businesses that enrich our city with their characterful frontages and distinctive typography.
Eleanor’s collection includes more than hundred of her watercolours of the capital’s bakers, cafés, butchers, fishmongers, greengrocers, chemists, launderettes, hardware stores, eel & pie shops, bookshops and stationers, accompanied by the stories of the shops, their history and their shopkeepers.
Viscountess Boudica’s Domestic Appliances
Celebrating our tenth anniversary with favourite stories from the first decade
Viscountess Boudica and her Berry Magnetic heater from 1940
When Viscountess Boudica invited me over to Bethnal Green to admire her domestic appliances, I was not quite sure what I might discover. Yet my expectations were surpassed by her magnificent array of vintage gadgets, gleaming in the half-light of her tiny ground floor flat, overshadowed by tall trees and sequestered behind discreet net curtains.
Like a high-priestess at a shrine, Viscountess Boudica presides over her treasured relics with gracious authority. These are the devices that freed women from the drudgery of housework in the twentieth century and Boudica tends her sacred collection, keeping each one sparkling clean and using them regularly, for cooking, washing and in all her daily chores – turning even the most ordinary domestic task into a ritual of religious intensity. Within the sepulchral gloom, Boudica’s colourful appliances line her kitchen with the irresistible glowing allure of pinball machines in a lost gaming arcade.
There is an intriguing mystery here, for Boudica is no literal-minded collector, ticking off her finds on a list. Instead, Boudica is on a spiritual quest, and each of her domestic appliances is a trophy leading her towards her ultimate goal – the Tricity 643 Cooker. This is the magic appliance that could transport her back to her own childhood and cure her fear of frying, as Boudica explained when she revealed to me the strange story of how it all began.
“It started with my search for the Tricity 643 Cooker. My mother had one. After she disappeared, my aunt was supposed to take me to school but when she came round one morning to the bungalow to collect me, Suzie her niece – that spoilt brat – she played up and my aunt had to take her out. “Here’s your eggs for breakfast,” my aunt said and she put them on the stove in a pan to cook, “All you’ve got to do is take the eggs from the pan and eat them.” I was only four and a half years old, and the eggs were spitting in the pan, so I had to stand on the blue library chair because the knobs were up high. They were push and turn. I managed to switch them off and move the pan onto the cold ring, but then my chair slipped and I fell onto the cardinal red floor. I had an ache for days. And of course, I always remembered that day and it gave me a fear of frying. So when I was older I thought, “I’ll see if I can buy one and go back to that day.”
I remember going out from the bungalow and walking down the lane to get the bus to the little villagey school a couple of miles away. When I saw my aunt later, little Suzie had a new outfit. My aunt said, “It’s your own fault, but now you’ve learned to switch it off you can make all the cakes up at the farm.” I was not even five years old, yet she said, “If you want to eat you’ll have to learn to cook, or you’ll starve, otherwise have a fag” – and that’s how I began to smoke. After that I started cooking, and my mother had a new man and I got pushed around to another of her boyfriends’ mothers. I used to cry and ask, “Where’s my mummy?” That’s how my life was, being moved from one to another, and I often ran away from home as well. They made me sleep with Greville, the lodger, and one night, when there was a terrible thunderstorm, I went up to my aunt’s side of the house and stood outside her bedroom door, where I heard her say to my mother that no man would want a woman that was a single mum.
For years, I tried to buy a Tricity 643, so I could go back in time to that moment and release myself, but I haven’t been able to because I can’t get the cooker. The dealers always sold me other appliances, they told me, “Buy this and we’ll get you a Tricity 643 next month.” I spent thousands of pounds on appliances without getting what I want, so I thought, “Oh well, I’ll collect them.” I’ve learnt to repair them all as well and, when I was at school, I even made my own working cooker with two rings. I sent away to Tricity to get the knobs.
Modern domestic appliances are rubbish. We are bombarded with foreign appliances when we used to manufacture these things ourselves here in Britain. They were made to last but instead we get these non-environmentally friendly appliances with a disposable life. I have begun to draw my own fantasy appliances now, because I thought it would be nice to have individual cookers instead of the boring mass-produced ones.”
Viscountess Boudica has rewired all her domestic appliances herself. She taught herself to do it, seeking spare parts from specialist suppliers and restoring broken old machines to perfect working order. Her fridge is more than sixty years old and she has cookers that are over eighty years old. When Boudica wants to cook her dinner she is spoilt for choices to suit her mood. All are as good as new and every one has a story to tell.
Proving to be an unlikely source of pleasure, knowledge and inspiration, Boudica’s beloved appliances have transcended the mundane. Today, Viscountess Boudica is proud to keep her secret temple in Bethnal Green to the lost glories of domestic appliances and, even after all this time, she has not given up hope of discovering a Tricity 643.
(In 2016, changes to the benefits system meant that Viscountess Boudica could no longer afford to pay the rent for her council flat in Bethnal Green and she was transferred to alternative accommodation in Uttoxeter. I still hear from her regularly.)
1960s Belling Classic Cooker
The fabled Tricity 643, drawn from memory – note the control knobs placed out of reach of a child.
1973 Hoover Constellation Vacuum Cleaner in pink
1930s Electric Cooker by E.E.Bond
Prescott Refrigerator, manufactured in Cowley, Oxford, late 1940s
1950s Baby Burco Washer-Boiler
1950s Parnell Tumble Drier
1950s Morphy Richards Iron
Wee Baby Belling Oven, Number 51
Goblin Teasmade 1940
1970s Black & White Valve Television by Ferguson
GEC Magnet Cooker 1930s
Drawings copyright © Viscountess Boudica
You may like to take a look at
Viscountess Boudica’s Drawings
Viscountess Boudica’s Halloween
Viscountess Boudica’s Christmas
Viscountess Boudica’s Valentine’s Day
Read my original profile of Mark Petty, Trendsetter
and take a look at Mark Petty’s Multicoloured Coats
The Cats Of Spitalfields
Celebrating our tenth anniversary with favourite stories from the first decade
Peggy & Basil Comely
“Donʼt put me down as a cat person. Cats are ideal for lazy, inefficient people and thatʼs me.
I moved here from Camberwell with an elderly cat. But the stairs killed Connie, she was dead within six months and her ashes are in a box in the kitchen. I rescued Connie from a cage in a pet shop in 1985. There was a monkey cage on top and fleas were dropping off the monkey onto her. She cost five pounds.
Then came Piggy & Peggy. I went up to the Mayhew Animal Home at Kensal Green to find a replacement for Connie. Other people were choosing cats and they all wanted the cutest kitten. I saw a furry ball of two cats fighting like a Tom & Jerry cartoon and I said, “Iʼll have those.”
Piggy died last autumn at the age of fourteen. I thought that was a bit pathetic but the vet says itʼs a good age. Peggy was always the one who owned the house, whereas Piggy roamed in and out of other peopleʼs houses.
He was an absolute tart and a bit of a bully. The catʼs home had called him Lennox, after the boxer, but I renamed him. He was much cleverer than Peggy. He used to vanish occasionally but he always came back. Heʼd go along the rooftops and into someoneʼs attic. I was always afraid heʼd get stuck in a room somewhere.
The two cats didnʼt like each other much but they didnʼt fight very often. Just once in fourteen years they curled up together in a basket. They roamed the house but they werenʼt allowed in the bedroom. They did try though. Paws used to appear under the door.
Peggy is fifteen now and she doesnʼt do much. She eats and yowls but sheʼs quite fit. Sometimes, she sits in the open window of my office on the third floor and sways in the wind. The two cats used to fight there occasionally much to the consternation of passers-by. People would stand in the street and watch.
Iʼm not sentimental about animals. When Peggy dies, Iʼll go out and get another cat. Iʼve already decided itʼs going to be called Bunny. Piggy is buried in the yard. I wrapped him in a cashmere sweater, dug a hole and replaced the flag stone. Iʼm going to put up a headstone with his name on it.
I did have a tortoise called Oswald living here, but it wasnʼt the right place for him. He now lives with my brother who has a house with a garden in north London.”
Peggy & Basil enjoy the sun in Elder St
Sparkly & Melanie & Harvey Denyer
Sparkly is a curious cat
Sparkly & Melanie & Harvey Denyer
Melanie – “Sparkly came from Battersea Dogs & Cats Home three years ago. Sparkly is quite famous in the area and even before we had the cafe he was always known as The Rag Factory cat. (The Rag Factory on Heneage St is used for rehearsals, filming, classes and exhibitions)
Then he became well known in the cafe too. He liked to be with the customers, and children from the local school would stop and talk to him. Unfortunately, we had a visit from the environmental health people and heʼs banned from the cafe now.
Sparkly was twelve weeks old when he came and my son Harvey was only three, but Battersea are fantastic about matching cats with families. Sparkly was a lot more forgiving then he might have been.
Our worst experience with Sparkly was when he disappeared from The Rag Factory last November. He was missing for five months. We think he must have got into a builderʼs van. He was found in Essex and taken to the PDSA but when they examined him the vet didnʼt find his chip. Then a local shelter fostered him but before he was rehomed he was scanned again and they found the chip. When he came back, he behaved as though heʼd never been away though heʼs a bit more of a homebody now.”
Harvey – “Heʼs my cat really. I named him. We were going to call him Sparkle but I accidentally said Sparkly.”
Gus, Molly, Paul Gazerwitz & Andrew Brader
I moved to Elder Street twelve years ago with five cats. I chose the Burmese because they are so friendly and affectionate. Iʼve always liked dogs but it seemed unfair to have them in the middle of the city, so I kept cats that most behaved like dogs.
I already had two Burmese when I went to a cat show and saw the curly coated Devon Rex cats. I acquired one of those – they have similar personalities to the Burmese – and then a chocolate Burmese. They all love humans, and can be quite clingy and very playful. They were mainly indoor cats although Coco disappeared once and was found in the brewery on Brick Lane.
We have just two cats now. Molly is a lilac Burmese and Gus is a Bombay. Bombay cats were first bred in America from Burmese and American shorthairs to resemble miniature panthers. You can see the brown Burmese colour coming through in certain lights and Gusʼs brothers were more brownish than black.
Gus and Molly go out into the garden when next doorʼs Welsh terrier Daisy is away. She doesnʼt like cats at all and they taunt her by jumping into the window when she goes past. They go out on the roof if we forget to close the bathroom window.
They are not enthusiastic hunters. Gus caught his first and only mouse last year. He has very few teeth left, only three actually. “He wasnʼt brushing enough,” says Andrew. He loves having his armpits scratched and is very greedy. He likes to be carried around the house sitting on someoneʼs shoulder like a parrot.
Molly loves milk foam. If we have cappuccino at the weekend, we make a small milk foam for her as a treat. If we donʼt do that she tries to scoop the foam out of our cups. Other favourite things are carrier bags and Parmesan. Our lodger Guidoʼs family make the Parmesan cheese, he offered her some once and she loved it.
They have separate apartments next to the Rayburn. These are small compartments meant for kitchen utensils but the cats have taken them over. If you put anything on the shelf there now Gus and Molly will push it out.
They love the snow and they have a country break at Christmas when they go to Suffolk. Gus is a very good traveller but Molly screams all the way there. She doesnʼt like the tube either which weʼve used for visits to the vet. Sheʼs been known to tear a wicker basket to shreds.”
Andrew, Paul & Molly
Molly
Gus – “The cats often leap into the window to taunt next doorʼs terrier Daisy”
Mollyʼs space next to the Rayburn, Gus usually occupies the next slot down
Molly & Paul
Gus & Paul
Theodora
Theodora & Charlie de Wet
Theodora & Charlie de Wet
“Opera is my passion and Theodora is named after an opera. Maybe the next kitty will be called Aida, Nora or Maria Stuada!
Theodora, or “Dorable Dora” as she also is known, is my granny cat. She sleeps twenty-two hours of the day and night in front of the Aga dreaming. During the remaining two hours, always from 2.00am to 4.00am, she climbs three floors to tell me about these dreams. I get a swipe across my face to wake me up to listen. And then she plays like a kitten and relates every detail of her dreams. Aghhhh…but I love her dearly. When Theodora has told me everything she can remember she jumps off the bed and, if I am lucky, I get to sleep. If not, memories of all my furry family come flooding back – Puppy, Gorgeous Ginger Tom, Miss Gingerbits, Debbie & Greta, Dee Dee & Kennington. All were strays and some were in the most appalling condition, but they were all wonderful characters who shared and enhanced my life.
We were a five kitty household and Theodora is the last of that family. She and her sister Miss Fluff Bunny cost £5 each and came from Fiona Wheeler who, fourteen years ago, lived in Wilkes St. Mother Cat had several litters and so quite a few homes in the area have kitties who are related. Before Fitzroy and Earl moved in with Rodney Archer, he used to have a very fine cat called Horace who would drape himself around Rodneyʼs shoulders. He was a cousin of my girls and there must be many more of them …”
Maud & Oliver Black
“Maud was three when she came to live with us in Elder Street two years ago. We chose her from a cat rescue centre in Hornsey that had been recommended by friends. We looked at the photos on the internet before we went.
Our first choice had been a small black cat. She looked pretty in the photograph but in reality she was rather mangy and timid. Our second choice was a majestic fat cat but he turned out to be diabetic and insulin dependent. Then a beautiful tabby poked her head out of the cat box and we fell for her straight away. On our way home from the first visit we realised weʼd only seen her head so we went back to check that the rest of her was sound. She was duly picked up and inspected from all angles and we knew weʼd made the right choice.
Her people had called her Suki and gave her up when they moved to a flat where pets arenʼt allowed. Itʼs a common reason for rehousing cats apparently, along with sudden allergies. We thought the name was a bit soppy so we changed it to Maud. We wanted a Victorian girlʼs name and I had fond memories of a cleaning lady we had when I was a child, who was called Maud and had the sweetest nature ever.
Maud certainly seems to be quite happy here. She settled in with no trouble at all, and has learned that she can go round the block and come back to the front door. Sheʼs been a bit nervous since she was chased home by a large tom. She has caught a few mice but no birds fortunately. She caught a mouse the first night she was here which impressed Jenny, my wife.
I sometimes rescue undamaged mice if they manage to get away from the cat. I remember chasing a badly injured one and wondering how I was going to despatch it if I caught it before the cat did. The problem was solved when I accidentally trod on it with my bare foot.
Maud has already had some press coverage. I recently wrote a humorous piece for ‘Lancet Psychiatry’ magazine on my experience of psychotherapy. They gave it the title ‘Shrunk’ and published a photograph of Maud basking on the stairs, totally relaxed.
My illness was the reason we adopted Maud. Iʼm an Academic Philosopher and Research Professor at Kingʼs College, London, I write novels and, until the end of last year, I was also a City Lawyer. I became exhausted and my GP recommended psychotherapy. I saw a few people without success until eventually I was referred to a Spanish psychotherapist. He was a practical man but his accent was rather hard to understand.
He said, “You feel ill because youʼre stressed. Youʼre someone who is constantly trying to achieve, excel and impress people.” I said somewhat flippantly, “Perhaps I should get a cat. Theyʼre notoriously hard to impress.” What I think he said was, “Yes, you should get a cat.” But, given my difficulty in understanding him, he might have said, “No, donʼt get a cat.”
Anyway, we acquired a cat and Iʼm much more relaxed. This could be because, after twenty-five years, Iʼve stopped being a City Lawyer and now work mainly from home. However Iʼm sure Maud is a contributing factor.”
This photograph by Oliver Black appeared in ‘Lancet Psychiatry.’ Oliver wrote an article for the magazine about his experience of psychotherapy and the calming influence of cats.
Carlos & Rupert Blanchard
Carlos & a piece of Rupert’s furniture
Carlos & Sofia & Rupert Blanchard & Polly Benfield
“Rupert Blanchard (cat person) met Polly Benford (dog person) in Swindon in 1999 and in 2003, they moved in together in Hackney.
The guys next door got a pair of cats to deal with mice, but moved to Mexico after having had the cats for only six months. Polly turned into a cat person because, she says, “Carlos is gentle and friendly like a dog” and we inherited the cats. The cats had been named Carlos and Sofia after King Juan Carlos and Queen Sofia of Spain. The first week we had Sofia and Carlos, they presented us with six mice. We havenʼt seen another one since, although one of the cats caught a moth recently.
They have a holiday once a year in the Wiltshire countryside with six other family cats. Just about everyone in the family has cats. Carlos always dominates.
We think they are brother and sister and are about eleven years old. Carlos is strong, healthy and very friendly but gets scared easily by the Hoover. He loves going out onto the rooftops. He also gets into every film and photo shoot possible. Sofia is always in and out of the vets, prefers life under the bed or on an Eames chair and is scared of new people. Both are much loved.”
Bungy & Sammy Dobkin at Forest Reclaim
Shadow
Bungy & Shadow & Sammy Dobkin at Forest Reclaim
“Iʼve worked here for a couple of years. Itʼs a family business and Daniel the owner is my cousin. Bungy, the black and white cat and Shadow, the black cat, live on the premises. Theyʼre both good mousers and Shadow loves a pigeon. I feed them both – Shadow prefers dry food and Bungy likes wet food.
Shadow turned up about a year and a half ago. He could be from anywhere because he tends to jump into strange vans. Someone put Bungy through the fence when he was just a kitten and heʼs been here for about eight or ten years.
Customers like them and people who are passing often stop and talk to them, but theyʼre spending a lot of time in front of the fire at the moment.”
Madge in the office at Dennis Severs’ House
Madge & David Milne, Curator
The ashes of Madge’s predecessor are in the urn.
Madge & David Milne, Curator at Dennis Severs’ House
“Thereʼs always been a cat here, and the last three have been called Madge. The first Madge was buried in the back yard in September 1991, and the ashes of the second cat are in an urn in the Victorian room beneath a portrait of Dennis Severs.
The current Madge came from a rescue place in Hackney. She was a bit frightened at first but she was only a baby, so we kept her in the office then slowly took her out into the rest of the house. Now she has secret places all over the house, including the attic. We donʼt know where she goes.
Sheʼs often around during visits. Unfortunately, some people think sheʼs a prop and give her a prod. Sheʼll respond with a miaow or a nip. She often sits in the same places and the same chairs that the previous cat liked.
She knows we put food out when the visitors come and she likes licking the butter off the toast. And sheʼs been known to tip over the eggs and eat the yolk.
She likes to be outside on the terrace in warm weather. She has friends too. She goes into Tedʼs house next door. I donʼt live here but Dennis and I were good mates and I always enjoyed the house before I became Curator.
My own cat is an Oriental Havana with emerald eyes. I was on a waiting list for two years for that particular colour and her breeders said, “If she doesnʼt like you, you canʼt have her.” Luckily when I brought her home she came out of her box, had a look round and went to sleep. Sheʼs very possessive and if there are other people in the flat sheʼll bring something to me so that I notice her.”
Lenny, pub cat at The Pride of Spitalfields, with admirer Dean Whatmuff.
Lenny snuggles in a cosy corner.
Lenny napping watched over by Terry Hutton.
Lenny at The Pride of Spitalfields with Anne Butler, landlady & Terry Hutton & Dean Whatmuff, regulars.
Anne Butler – “Lenny is from a Liverpool refuge centre. He is nine years old and immediately took to being among the customers, but moving for no-one. He is very good with my other cat, Patch, although they fight a bit, he is always cleaning him and lets Patch get to his dinner first. He has a real good fan base and affection for all those who give him titbits.”
Terry Hutton – “Iʼve been coming here since I was fourteen. I like the atmosphere – and the cat. I was born in Spelman St and the old chicken market used to be nearby, so there were always a lot of stray cats and sometimes the cat lady used to feed them.”
Dean Whatmuff – “Iʼm from Yorkshire and Iʼve lived in Spitalfields since 1981. I went to the Slade in 1983 and my first studio was near here in the early eighties. Shoreditch was like a ghost town at night then and you had to come to the beigel shop to get something to eat. Iʼve been sketching the customers here for a while now. Itʼs part of a long term project and I hope theyʼll be displayed locally. I do some building work at the pub too and rehang the pictures occasionally. It doesnʼt change much. And Iʼm a DJ at the disco here every Monday at six. Itʼs called ‘mondayvinyl’ and weʼre the ‘one-deck-wonders.’”
Battie
Battie with Philippa Stockley
Battie & Philippa Stockley
“Battie is a rescue cat, heʼs half Bengal and half Fat Tabby. There was a pair of kittens and this little cat on its own in a box looking miserable. Suddenly, he jumped into my arms – and I gave him back because Iʼm heartless. So he walked round my legs and sprayed me like a tree. Iʼd been marked out as his.
He was frightened at first but now heʼs my constant companion. Heʼs nearly seven, heʼs always waiting when I come home and heʼs only happy if Iʼm within smelling distance. And heʼs a most beautiful jumper.”
Ambrosia & Rev Andy Rider, Rector of Christ Church
Ambrosia & Rev Andy Rider, Rector of Christ Church, Spitalfields
“Weʼve only had Ambrosia for four and a half months. We wanted a tortoiseshell and her name had to begin with the letter A, so sheʼs named after my favourite pudding. Our golden retriever, Archie, is her role model. She definitely aspires to be a dog and she doesnʼt realise sheʼs quite small. Sheʼll make a dive and hang on to Archieʼs leg but, luckily, heʼs very tolerant.
I always say Iʼm not all that bothered about pets, but my wife would dispute that. Our first cats here came from Eric Elstob, who lived in Fournier St. He was one of the great champions of the restoration of Christ Church and, when he died in 2003, his house-keeper asked us to take on the two cats Julio & Antonio. Towards the end of their lives, we thought weʼd better have a new cat to take over mousing duties. So far no results from Ambrosia, but weʼre encouraged by some scurrying under kitchen cupboards.
The painting by Alison Neville, where Ambrosia is sitting, was part of an exhibition in the Rectory gallery. Itʼs a detail of St. Johnʼs, Smith Sq and the sale of that church paid for part of the rebuilding work at Christ Church.”
Mittens & Yasmin
Mittens & Rosie Dastgir & her daughter Yasmin
“Mittens came from the 5th Ave Cat Clinic, Brooklyn. Sheʼd been in the window for a while with a sign saying CAT FOR SALE. My daughter Yasmin used to walk past the window and she really wanted this cat. When she saw the SOLD sign she was so disappointed. Luckily for her, Iʼd just bought the cat.
Bringing her back to this country was a complicated business – there were problems with the microchip (the vet put in an American chip instead of a European standard one), there were questions about the size of the crate, she was driven from Heathrow to Aldgate in a Defra endorsed van, and the whole operation cost a fortune.
But now sheʼs taken control of her territory better than she did in New York. There was an aggressive stray where we lived that used to fight with her. We named it Evil Kitty. So far, we find the London cats more friendly.”
Sebastian
Sebastian & Mark
Sebastian & Cordelia & Lindsay Friend & Mark Jackson at IMT Gallery
“Sebastian & Cordelia are Sphinx cats. They are named after characters in Brideshead Revisited and theyʼve grown into their namesakes. Sebastian is a bit roguish and he eats anything he can find – he once tried to eat staples – whereas Cordelia is more sensible, she tells him off and looks after him a bit.
Iʼve always liked this breed. I saw a picture of them in a book once when I was a child and immediately wanted to have one. And theyʼre the friendliest of all breeds. Mark likes them because he studied axolotl salamanders in a biology class and he thinks their faces are similar.
They came from a north London breeder. We just wanted Sebastian, but at our interview Cordelia took a shine to Mark so then we had to have them both. Theyʼre brother and sister and they were three and a half years old in March. Theyʼre quite high maintenance, they have to be bathed once a week and have their ears and claws cleaned.
They live with us at the gallery, so thereʼs constant stimulation and they are always around when people come to the gallery. Our exhibitions are constantly changing and some of our artists produce particularly cat-friendly work. Sebastian & Cordelia joined in during a session of voice recording recently.
The little girl who lives opposite, who is about eight, likes to come and see the cats when theyʼre sitting on the window sill. They adore her and sheʼs transfixed by them. We once overheard her telling her friend, ‘These are my cats. Well, theyʼre not actually my cats but they love me.’ She has two cats of her own now but she still comes to see Sebastian & Cordelia.”
Truman
Stella
Truman & Stella & Chris Dyson
“Truman came from a Mare St pet shop. His father is a Russian Blue and his mother a Norwegian Long Hair. We bought him as a kitten in 2009 and our other cat, Stella, came six months later. We found her very pregnant mother on the doorstep of Number Eleven and took her to Samantha Morton who lives nearby because we knew she looked after cats. So when the cat produced her litter the very next day, we felt obliged to have one of the kittens. And Truman was going slightly nutty on his own – these cats love company, they always want to join the party.
You never know with cats how the chemistry will work. Stella is basically a street cat, sheʼs a mixture of ginger tabby and tortoiseshell and sheʼs always been very nervous. The two of them get on reasonably well although Truman picks on her if he gets bored. But she fights back and now heʼs got a bit of ear missing, so heʼs more careful.
Theyʼve both fallen from the parapet of the gallery. Truman used to run around on the rooftops and, one wet day, he fell off. Fortunately, he landed on all fours but his chin was bruised. He never did it again. Stella has done the same too, so theyʼve both fallen three storeys to solid ground and are still standing.
Truman sometimes disappears for a few days but we know he calls on friends. He likes the girls in offices nearby who feed him titbits and someone else said recently, ‘Your cat calls on me on Thursday afternoons.'”
Photographs copyright © Chris Kelly
Chris Kelly’s THE NECESSARY CAT – A PHOTOGRAPHER’S MEMOIR is available from independent bookshops including Brick Lane Books, Broadway Books & Newham Bookshop.
You may like to take a look at these other pictures by Chris Kelly
Chris Kelly’s Columbia School Portraits 1996
Chris Kelly’s Cable St Gardeners
Lorna Brunstein Of Black Lion Yard
Lorna with her mother Esther in Whitechapel, 1950
In this photograph, Lorna Brunstein is held by her mother outside Fishberg’s jewellers on the corner of Black Lion Yard and Whitechapel Rd. It is a captivating image of maternal pride and affection that carries an astonishing story. The tale this tender photograph carries is one of how this might never have happened and yet, by the grace of fortune, it did.
I met Lorna recently upon her return visit to Whitechapel where she grew up the early fifties. Although she left Black Lion Yard at the age of six, it is a place that still carries great meaning for her even though it was demolished forty years ago. Lorna is an artist who has created an exhibition which opens this week, exploring the equivocal legacy of her parent’s experiences before they came to London and met in the East End.
We sat together in a crowded cafe in Whitechapel but, as Lorna told me her story, the sounds of the other diners faded out and I understood why she carries such affection for a place that no longer exists beyond the realm of memory.
“My relationship with the East End goes back to when I was born. I have scant memories, it was the early years of my childhood, but this was the area where I spent the first six years of my life. I was born in Mile End maternity hospital in December 1950.
Esther, my mother came to London in 1947. She was liberated from Belsen in April 1945 and she stayed in their makeshift hospital to recuperate for a few months. She had been through Auschwitz and lost all her family, apart from one brother who survived (though she did not know it at the time).
In the summer of 1945 she was taken to Sweden, to a place she said was beautiful – in the forest – where she and many others were looked after. It was while she was in Sweden that she and her brother Perec discovered via the Bund ( Polish Jewish workers Socialist party) that they had both survived. Esther was the youngest of three and Perec was the middle child. Their surname was Zylberberg, which means silver mountain. He was one of the boys who was taken to Windermere from Theresienstadt at the end of the War. They each wrote letters and confirmed that the other had survived. Esther had last seen Perec in March 1944.
After a few months in Windermere, he went to London and his sole mission was to get Esther over. That was all she wanted to do too, but it took two years from 1945 to 1947 for a visa to be granted. So not much has changed really. She was seventeen years old, had lost her mother at Auschwitz and her teenage years yet she was not allowed to come into the country unless she had a job, an address, and the name of a British citizen to be her guarantor and sponsor.
Maurice Regen (Uncle Moishe as I knew him) was an eccentric yet kind man. He came to London in the twenties from Lodz, which was my mother’s hometown. He and his wife were elderly, they had no children and lived in Romford. He said, ‘She can live in our house, so she will have an address, and she can be our housekeeper, that will be her job, and she won’t be dependent on the state.’ That was how my mother came over. My Uncle Perec met her and I think Uncle Moishe was probably there at Tilbury too.
She lived in Romford but she met Stan, my father, at the Grand Palais Yiddish Theatre in Whitechapel where she was acting — her Yiddish was brilliant – and he was the scenic designer. He was an artist from Warsaw. He fled at the beginning of the War and was put in a labour camp in Siberia after spending fourteen months of solitary confinement in a prison in the Soviet Union. His story was pretty horrific too. He was an only child, and he lost everyone, his entire family. He was thirteen years older than my mother.
Stan also came to London in 1947. At the end of the War, he ended up in Italy. The Hitler/Stalin pact was broken while he was in Siberia and he was freed when the political amnesty was declared, so he joined up with the Polish Free Army under General Anders — as many of them did — and fought at the Battle of Monte Casino. Afterwards, he was in Rome for two years, studying scenic design at the Rome Academy of Fine Arts.
So my mother and father met in 1947 or 1948. I do not know exactly when. They got married in 1949 and I was born in 1950. They lived in a little flat in Black Lion Yard in Whitechapel until they moved to Ilford.
Rachel Fishberg – known as Ray – was really significant in my life and my parents’ life, my mother in particular. Ray was an old lady who became a surrogate grandma to my sister – who is four years younger – and me. We remember her with such affection. The Fishbergs were jewellers and were reasonably wealthy among Jewish people in the East End at that time. Ray ran her husband’s and his father’s jewellery shop, on the corner of Whitechapel Road and Black Lion Yard. I remember going back and visiting it when I was six, after we moved out.
My parents had no money, so grandma Ray Fishberg said they could live in the flat above the shop. At the time, they had nothing. My father could not live on his art and he took a diploma in design, tailoring and cutting at Sir John Cass School of Art in Aldgate. He designed and made children’s clothes on a sewing machine in the room we lived in and sold them in the market, and that was how we got by. Grandma Ray let them live there – probably for nothing – and, in fact, she paid for their wedding. When they got married in 1949 in Willesden Green, she paid for the wedding dress.
In 1957, when I was six, we moved to Ilford because my parents did not want to stay in the East End. She gave them the deposit for their first house. She was a lovely lady and she enabled them to have a start a life. This is why I feel so connected to this place, even though my memories of actually living here are scant.
I have this one memory of being in a pram, or maybe a pushchair, and feeling the sensation of the wheels on the cobbles in Black Lion Yard, going to the dairy — my mother said it was Evans the Dairy at the end of the Yard — to get milk.
Apparently, I went Montefiore School in Hanbury Street and I remember my mother talking about Toynbee Hall, where there were meetings, and taking me in the pram to Lyons Corner House in Aldgate where there was this chap, Shtencl, the poet of the East End.
He was quite an eccentric person who wandered around the streets and my mother told me he called into Lyons Corner House when she was sitting there with me as a baby. She said he stroked my head and said, ‘Sheyne, sheyne,’ which in Yiddish is ‘beautiful.’ My mother was in awe of him because his Yiddish was so brilliant and Yiddish was the language so dear to her heart. I was anointed by him even though I have no memory of him.
My mother and father talked a lot about Black Lion Yard. They said, on Sunday mornings at the entrance to Black Lion Yard where the pavement was quite deep, employers and potential employees in the tailoring ‘shmatte’ trade would gather and connect. That was what my father was doing then. He would stand there on a Sunday morning to get work.
Those were the founding years of my life. I have a deep affection for this place because for my parents – even though they wanted to leave for a better life – it was where they found sanctuary. My father used to say, ‘Thank goodness I’m here, I’ve finally found a place where I am able to walk down the street without having to look over my shoulder.”
Black Lion Yard 1966 by David Granick
Steps down to Black Lion Yard by Ron McCormick
Lorna aged eight
Esther & Stan Brunstein in the seventies
Esther Brunstein
Stan Brunstein
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