So Long, Kevin Cordery
Kevin Cordery, Polisher & Plater
Earlier this year I interviewed Harry Permutt, Master Goldsmith, at the beautiful old workshop he shared in Panther House, Clerkenwell with Kevin Cordery, Finisher, for the past fifteen years. At the time, I did not write about Kevin but I was aware of him working quietly and conscientiously at his bench beneath a magnificent display of sconces he had restored. Harry and Kevin were under threat of eviction prior to redevelopment of the building and, shortly after I visited, they were given a week’s notice and told to go.
Harry rang me last week to tell me that he never saw Kevin after the eviction notice was served and that Kevin had taken his life a few weeks later. Although Kevin had a history of mental health problems, Harry believes it was the eviction from their workshop which tipped him over the edge.
All over London, people are losing their workspaces and livelihoods for the sake of redevelopment, as centuries-old trades are being displaced, yet the human cost of this is rarely taken into consideration.
I went over to Hatton Garden to visit Harry in his new workshop – a small windowless room in a sub-basement – to learn more about Kevin, so that his story is not simply forgotten.
“In this trade you meet a lot of people. I came across Kevin when I took work to him because he was good Finisher. I remember when I first knew Kevin, I was making a big three carat princess-cut gents single stone ring. It was all in platinum and I took it to Kevin to finish it off, it was a lovely job. He was based in the Colonial Building, 59/61 Hatton Garden with David and his friend Raymond, who were setters. They lived near to each other in Barkingside and they were Spurs supporters.
A Finisher makes the mount for a ring, cleans it up and polishes it before the stone goes in. Once the stone is set, he finishes it off before it goes back to the client. Kevin did not have any training or apprenticeship, he was a youngster who wanted to be a polisher and he was self-taught. He had a series of workshops and they were kicked out of 59/61 because of redevelopment. He did not know where to go but I was in 115 Clerkenwell Rd at the time, working with the Italians and the Sicilians. I said to him, ‘I’ll get you into our place. You’ll be working in the basement and it’ll be rent free as long as long as you finish our work off for us.’
He jumped at it, and that’s where our friendship started and took off. Then the landlord gave us twenty-four hours to get out and we moved to Panther House where we shared a workshop for fifteen years. We moved on the Sunday morning and we were up and running on Monday morning. It was tremendous and everybody loved the workshop. It had natural light, we had all our things on the wall and we used every part of that space.
We were two separate businesses but anything he wanted done – instead of sending it across the road -I would do it, same as he would do it for me. It was a partnership and it worked very well. We were working associates and we used to have a laugh and a joke.
At that time, Kevin started to go downhill, he couldn’t be put under pressure and he let customers dictate to him. I said to him, ‘Don’t allow it,’ but he used to agree to do jobs within minutes. They wanted it yesterday and he could never get a good price. Several times, he disappeared for about six months and I discovered he was very depressed. He wouldn’t talk about it. Before the end of last year, he disappeared and I could not speak to him. He was in a black hole. He lived alone. He used to look after his mother and father but they died.
He sent a text to all his friends saying, ‘Goodbye’ and police broke into his house. I was rung at midnight and I asked, ‘Is he in A & E?’ and they said, ‘Yeah, he’s drunk.’ He used to turn to the bottle. He had so many chances to cure himself but he didn’t. I think the circumstances contributed and he had a failed marriage.
Things got worse and worse, and then the move came. We were four years behind with the rent because the landlord had refused to collect even though I set up a direct debit. I think it was part of a strategy to get rid of us. Two arrogant officials came round in the morning on March 12th. They worked for the developer who had bought the building and one was the accountant who was after the money. They said, ‘You’re out, you’ve got to get out!’ I said, ‘We need at least four weeks notice.’ ‘We can’t do that,’ they told me. I explained that it was not our fault they neglected to collect the rent. Kevin did not react at all because by that time his brain was numb. He was badly affected by what happened that day and I could not get a word out of him. He was not coherent. He left early.
I could not be there next day, but I heard that the guy came back and Kevin went for him. After that Kevin stayed at home, not answering the phone to anyone, and I had to move everything out of the workshop. Two guys helped me and we worked until two in the morning.
I never saw Kevin again, I never even saw him before he died. I only learned in July when his wife rang me to ask if I still had anything of his. I didn’t and she said, ‘We’ll inform you when he’s going to be cremated.’ After the autopsy, it was declared an unexplained death by the coroner. He only lived a couple of weeks after he left Panther House and nobody knows exactly how he died. The police broke in and found him dead at home.
I know he did not want to leave Panther House, none of us wanted to. I don’t even think the development is going ahead, because they have property guardians in there now. I enjoyed sharing a workshop with Kevin because we bounced off each another. He was very good at what he did, he did all manner of things in the polishing business. Kevin was fifty-one years old and he could have carried on in the trade for another thirty years or more. “
Kevin Cordery and Harry Permutt
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A Roman Ruin At The Hairdresser
Nicholson & Griffin, Hairdresser & Barber
The reasons why people go the hairdresser are various and complex – but Jane Sidell, Inspector of Ancient Monuments, and I visited a salon in the City of London for a purpose quite beyond the usual.
There is a hairdresser in Gracechurch St at the entrance to Leadenhall Market that is like no other. It appears unremarkable until you step through the tiny salon with room only for one customer and descend the staircase to find yourself in an enormous basement lined with mirrors and chairs, where busy hairdressers tend their clients’ coiffure.
At the far corner of this chamber, there is a discreet glass door which leads to another space entirely. Upon first sight, there is undefined darkness on the other side of the door, as if it opened upon the infinite universe of space and time. At the centre, sits an ancient structure of stone and brick. You are standing at ground level of Roman London and purpose of the visit is to inspect this fragmentary ruin of the basilica and forum built here in the first century and uncovered in 1881.
Once the largest building in Europe north of the Alps, the structure originally extended as far west as Cornhill, as far north as Leadenhall St, as far east as Lime St and as far south as Lombard St. The basilica was the location of judicial and financial administration while the forum served as a public meeting place and market. With astonishing continuity, two millennia later, the Roman ruins lie beneath Leadenhall Market and the surrounding offices of today’s legal and financial industries.
In the dark vault beneath the salon, you confront a neatly-constructed piece of wall consisting of fifteen courses of locally-made square clay bricks sitting upon a footing of shaped sandstone. Clay bricks were commonly included to mark string courses, such as you may find in the Roman City wall but this usage as an architectural feature is unusual, suggesting it is a piece of design rather than mere utility.
Once upon a time, countless people walked from the forum into the basilica and noticed this layer of bricks at the base of the wall which eventually became so familiar as to be invisible. They did not expect anyone in future to gaze in awe at this fragment from the deep recess of the past, any more than we might imagine a random section of the city of our own time being scrutinised by those yet to come, when we have long departed and London has been erased.
Yet there will have been hairdressers in the Roman forum and this essential human requirement is unlikely ever to be redundant, which left me wondering if, in this instance, the continuum of history resides in the human activity in the salon as much as in the ruin beneath it.
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Return To The Latin Market
Contributing Photographer Sarah Ainslie & I enjoyed our visit to the Latin Market in Seven Sisters so much that we returned to meet more of the traders. In spite of threats of closure, we were delighted to see that the market thrives as a teeming hive of small businesses and a vital focus for the Latin community in London. Next we are planning a Saturday night excursion to the market for salsa dancing.
Corina – “I came to this market eleven and a half years ago, I had a friend who ran this shop before me, selling clothes. I started bringing her clothes from my country, Romania. I was a single mother with two children and no access to benefits, so I had to do something. My son was seven months and my daughter was three. I got a loan from the bank and imported clothes from Romania to sell in Finsbury Park. But then I met a girl who ran this shop and she brought me here. At first, I used to clean the shop and change the clothes on the mannequins. This way my English improved. Then I bought the business and took it over.
Now I run a beauty parlour and this is how I support myself and my children. I studied to be a beautician twenty-six years ago in Romania and five years ago I decided to change from doing something I did not like to this. The certificates I had from Romania were not recognised here because technology has changed the profession. So I started to study again. I thought, “I’m old, I have two children and I have to work, so I cannot study” – but I did, and I won an award for excellence in 2015.”
Ari – “I learnt to be a barber in the Dominican Republic and I came to London via Madrid. I have been cutting men’s hair in my sister’s shop in this market for three years and built the business up. I get on with my customers very well and I enjoy cutting hair and barbering. This market is an important meeting place for Latinos.
Fernando – “In 2004, I started here with a small grocery shop but now I have a butcher, a baker, a cafe and I sell Colombian spirits. We have special events at the weekend, people come to dance and sing. It is a family event, people bring their children and everybody dances. This market is very important for our community because it is the only one of its kind in this country. It is a meeting point for people from Latin America and Africa. I want to stay here but I do not know what will happen to us in the future, they are saying we may have to move to another location. Nothing is clear.”
Nixon and Dago, baker and butcher
Catherine – “Me and my husband, we opened this shop here three years ago selling Colombian groceries. This is how we make our living. I run the business and order all the stock from a distributor in Spain. I want to extend the range of products that I sell and I hope to open a tapas bar one day.”
Pablo – “I came here five years ago when I had the opportunity to buy this cafe, before that I sublet half a unit from the Colombian bakery. I never had a mother to take care of me, I learnt to cook for myself out of necessity when I was eight years old. We were four brothers and sisters without a mother or a father, and I was working at nine years old shining shoes and selling cigarettes in the street in Colombia. At thirteen, I emigrated to Venezuela and then to Spain. Now I am here in London. The majority of my customers are Latin Americans, they work hard supporting their families by doing cleaning.”
Pablo with his son Christopher and Ana
Photographs copyright © Sarah Ainslie
Support the Campaign to Save the Latin Market
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Society Of Sign Painters’ Grand Exhibition
Meredith Kasabian of the Pre-Vinylite Society introduces an exhibition of contemporary sign painting she has curated which opens at Oxo Tower Wharf on the South Bank
Sign painter in Beer St by William Hogarth, 1751
Next week, letter lovers from around the globe will descend on London for the city’s first international gathering of Letterheads, bringing together veterans and novices of the signwriting and lettering trades for workshops, lectures and exchange of ideas.
The centrepiece of this event is a contemporary interpretation of an exhibition of signs which took place in Covent Garden in the eighteenth century. The 1762 Grand Exhibition of the Society of Sign Painters was a satirical show, mocking an exhibition at the Society of Arts by placing signboards taken from the streets in an art gallery and titling them with playful and facetious descriptions. This show is the inspiration for the 2018 Grand Exhibition of the Pre-Vinylite Society at Oxo Tower Wharf from August 16th-19th, for which twenty-nine contemporary signwriters have painted signs in response to the eighteenth century exhibition.
The Society of Sign Painters’ Grand Exhibition was announced on May 21th, 1761 in the St James’s Chronicle, a tri-weekly newspaper owned in part by Bonnell Thornton, the mastermind behind the fictional Society of Sign Painters’ and their exhibition: “An Account of the Exhibition designed by the Brokers and Sign-Post Painters of Knaves-acre, Harp-Alley, etc. shall be in a future Paper.”
The next mention of the Grand Exhibition came on May 26th: “several ARTISTS (Natives of Great Britain) are invited to send to the printer of this paper, a list of those capital pieces, which they intend to submit to the public Judgment. N.B. No Foreigners, and Dutchmen in particular, will be allowed a Place in the Exhibition.” The nationalistic nature of this announcement, insisting that artists must be “Natives of Great Britain,” satirises the Society of Arts’ exhibition which championed native British artists over those from the continent.
In the months following the announcement, the St James’s Chronicle was flooded with accounts of the Grand Exhibition as well as objections to it. Coverage in other London periodicals – advertisements, announcements, descriptions, reviews, and satirical cartoons – ensured that the Grand Exhibition of the Society of Sign Painters became a media spectacle. By holding the “low” art of sign painting up to the “high” art exhibited at the Society of Arts, the Society of Sign Painters challenged the basis of an art exhibition and became – arguably – the first ‘anti-art’ installation of objets trouvés.
A year later the St James’s Chronicle announced another exhibition of signs, on 13th March 1762. This time, they asked for public assistance in locating signs to be removed from the streets. The announcement reports “that the majority of the signs displayed at the exhibition were authentic – that is, they were gathered from the town or countryside rather than painted especially for the occasion.” While some signs were supposed to have been painted by William Hogarth, most were taken from the streets, at the time of the Westminster Paving Act which required the removal of dangerous hanging signs.
Perhaps the idea of an exhibition of signs was a mere jeu d’esprit in 1761, conjured into existence for the amusement of the Nonsense Club. Yet by 1762 plans were well-advanced and since spoofed objections in the St James’s Chronicle could no longer be distinguished from real ones, the effect was both to generate publicity for the show and sell copies of Chronicle. The success of the Grand Exhibition, apparent in the number of reviews it received, is a testament to the ability of newspapers to fuel interest in any novel event of the time.
Yet the proliferation of coverage created a wave of suspicion surrounding the exhibition. Most of the announcements appeared in the St James’s Chronicle but the Society of Sign Painters attempted to advertise in other papers as well. The London Evening Post refused to run their advert, calling the organizers “a pretended Society of Sign-painters” and citing mockery of the Society of Arts as the justification.
While the Society of Sign Painters denied any implication that their exhibition was intended as a satire on the Society of Arts, we can agree that it was. Despite their insistence, the ironic tone of their rebuttals suggest otherwise, as is obvious in their explanation in their catalogue. The satirical basis of the 1762 exhibition was that the presentation of street signs in a gallery was laughable.
Even in our own century, sign painting is rarely hailed as an endeavour worthy of an exhibition. The Pre-Vinylite Society believes hand-painted signs should be considered art and our forthcoming Grand Exhibition is a rebuttal to the Society of Sign Painters’ implication that placing signs in a gallery is an act of absurdity. Rejecting the insularity of the Society of Sign Painters’ exhibition in 1762, we celebrate the global renaissance of sign painting by featuring artists from eight countries.
The Society of Sign Painters 1762 catalogue (Reproduced courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum)
Excerpt from St James’s Chronicle, May 23rd, 1761 (Reproduced courtesy of the Burney Newspaper Collection)
“A Sign for an Exh[i]b[i]t[i]on” 1762, uses a rebus for its title and references the “Ha! Ha! Ha!” and “He! He! He!” signs on view, among other satirical jabs at Hogarth and the Nonsense Club (Reproduced courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum)
“A Brush for the Sign Painters” was circulated at the Society of Sign Painters’ exhibition, depicting Hogarth, Thornton and other members of the Nonsense Club, and references the Ha! Ha! and He! He! signs on view (Reproduced courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum)
Announcement for a Grand Exhibition, St. James’s Chronicle, March 13th 1762 (Reproduced courtesy of the Burney Newspaper Collection)
The rebuttal to “a most malicious suggestion,” excerpt from the 1762 Society of Sign Painters Catalogue (Reproduced courtesy of the British Library)
The Grand Exhibition of the Pre-Vinylite Society by Jakob Engberg of Copenhagen Signs
The Grand Exhibition of the Pre-Vinylite Society is at Oxo Tower Wharf, 16th-19th August. Curator Meredith Kasabian will talk at the gallery at 1pm, 16th-18th August. Admission Free.
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At Waterbeach & Landbeach
I set out to visit the intriguingly named Waterbeach and Landbeach in Cambridgeshire last week with the object of viewing Denny Abbey. Built in the twelfth century as an outpost of Ely Cathedral, it passed through the hands of the Benedictine Monks, the Knights Templar and a closed order of Franciscan nuns known as the ‘Poor Clares’ – all before being converted into a private home for the Countess of Pembroke in the fifteenth century. Viewed across the meadow filled with cattle, today the former abbey presents the appearance of an attractively ramshackle farmhouse.
A closer view reveals fragments of medieval stonework protruding from the walls, tell-tale signs of how this curious structure has been refashioned to suit the requirements of diverse owners through time. Yet the current mishmash delivers a charismatic architectural outcome, as a building rich in texture and idiosyncratic form. From every direction, it looks completely different and the sequence of internal spaces is as fascinating as the exterior.
In the second half of the twentieth century, the property came into the ownership of the Ministry of Works and archaeologists set to work deconstructing the structure to ascertain its history. Walking through Denny Abbey today is a vertiginous experience since the first floor spaces occupy the upper space of the nave with gothic arches thrusting towards the ceiling at unexpected angles. Most astonishing is to view successive phases of medieval remodelling, each cutting through the previous work without any of the reverence that we have for this architecture, centuries later.
An old walnut tree presides over the bleached lawn at the rear of the abbey, where lines of stone indicate the former extent of the building. A magnificent long refectory stands to the east, complete with its floor of ancient ceramic tiles. While the Farmland Museum occupies a sequence of handsome barns surrounding the abbey, boasting a fine collection of old agricultural machinery and a series of tableaux illustrating rural trades.
Nearby at Landbeach, I followed the path of a former Roman irrigation system that extends across this corner of the fen, arriving at the magnificent Tithe Barn. Stepping from the afternoon sunlight, the interior of the lofty barn appeared to recede into darkness. As my eyes adjusted, the substantial structure of purlins and rafters above became visible, arching over the worn brick threshing floor beneath. Standing in the cool shadow of a four hundred year old barn proved an ideal vantage point to view the meadow ablaze with sunlight in this exceptional summer of 2018.
Denny Abbey, Waterbeach
Mysterious stone head at Denny Abbey
The Farmland Museum, Waterbeach
Tithe Barn, Landbeach
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At Odds With Mr Pussy
With your help, I am producing a handsome collection of stories of my old cat, THE LIFE & TIMES OF MR PUSSY, A Memoir Of A Favourite Cat to be published by Spitalfields Life Books on 20th September. Below you can read an excerpt.
Support publication by preordering THE LIFE & TIMES OF MR PUSSY and you will receive a signed copy when the book is published.
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Mr P
When my old black cat, Mr Pussy, woke me in the night by clawing at the bedclothes and crying out in the dark, I learnt to pick him up and settle him down upon the sheepskin covering the end of the bed, where he would rest peacefully until morning. It was my only option because turning over and going back to sleep would be an invitation to mayhem, with him pulling out the copy of King Lear from the bookshelf to send it crashing onto the floor or jumping on the dresser and knocking everything off. Similarly, shutting the bedroom door granted no peace either, drawing a litany of painful cries that would make sleep impossible.
Privately, I was relieved to have devised the solution to his nocturnal disturbances, calming his anxiety by exerting my authority as a human over an animal. Yet, over time, I found a new pattern had evolved in which he came to the bedside and waited in anticipation. No longer jumping onto the covers to sleep as he once did, now he expects me to lift him up and pet him before he settles down to sleep. Unwittingly, I had become part of a new ritual in which he played the part of the dependent child and I enacted the role of the devoted parent, tucking him up at night. This realisation neatly relieved me of my complacency, returning me to the subtly-troubling question of whether my cat or I have the upper hand.
I cannot resist indulging his favour, since his motive is not duplicity but devotion. As he ages, his need for human contact grows. He strays less from the house and he stays closer and he sleeps more, and with a deeper abandon in his slumber. He has acquired a new sound, an ecstatic cooing that rises from deep inside. I have woken to find him sitting upon my chest with his face inches from mine and he lets out this coo of delighted recognition. He looks at me with his deep golden eyes that are alert yet unknowing, seeking consolation.
These days, he stretches out his right arm when he sleeps as if to get a better purchase upon existence or to prevent it slipping away while he dozes. The external world means less to him and he prefers peace over excitement. He is withdrawing and yet seeking more ways to engage with me. Sometimes when he lies upon me, treating me as the human mattress, he reaches out his right arm in an unspecified exhortation.
I recognise I am his home and my vicinity is his safe place. Thus he takes great pleasure in the things I do for him as my reciprocation of his adoration. After dinner or when he is satiated with heat from lying by the iron stove, he desires to be let out from the room, sitting patiently by the door as an indicator. Once in the stairwell, he will settle upon a pile of paper bags that are conveniently placed to permit him to peer through the uncurtained window and observe life in the street outside. As soon as he tires of this and feels the chill and longs for heat once more, he will cry for re-admittance and I open the door again. Yet within ten minutes, he may wish to go out again and then return five minutes later, entering the room with one of his ecstatic cooing sounds – provoking my realisation that more pleasurable to him than the change of rooms is the opening of the door by yours truly. His prime delight is that I am his flunkey.
Just as when I settle him to sleep, he has drawn reassurance from my action and sought its repetition as a means to engage. He wants something from me, beyond food and shelter, and this is how he expresses it. This is why he reaches out his arm to me. Yet I am caught on the literal surface of things, encouraging him to be quiet so I can sleep or playing the flunkey, letting him in or out of the door. I do my best to comply but I do not understand his language and so I cannot answer the question he is asking of me. This is how I am at odds with Mr Pussy.
With your help, I am producing a handsome collection of stories of my old cat, THE LIFE & TIMES OF MR PUSSY, A Memoir Of A Favourite Cat to be published by Spitalfields Life Books on 20th September.
Support publication by preordering THE LIFE & TIMES OF MR PUSSY and you will receive a signed and inscribed copy when the book is published.
Click here to preorder your copy
The Queenhithe Mosaic
Queenhithe is a natural inlet of the Thames in the City of London, it means ‘Queen’s harbour’ and is named after Queen Matilda who granted a charter for the use of the dock at the beginning of the twelfth century. This is just one of two thousand years of historical events illustrated in a twenty metre mosaic installed upon the river wall at Queenhithe.
Commissioned by the City of London and paid for by 4C Hotel Group, who are constructing a new hotel on the waterfront, it was designed by Tessa Hunkin and executed by South Bank Mosaics under the supervision of Jo Thorpe – and I recommend you take a stroll down through the City to the river, and study the intricate and lively detail of this epic work for yourself.
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