The Tailor Of Horsleydown
I am delighted to publish these extracts of THE TAILOR OF HORSLEYDOWN from A London Family, written by The Incidental Genealogist, a graduate of my blog writing course. The Genealogist worked briefly as a probate genealogist thirty years ago and now she is using her professional skills to uncover her own family’s history. Click here to follow A London Family
We are now taking bookings for this autumn’s course, HOW TO WRITE A BLOG THAT PEOPLE WILL WANT TO READ on November 10th & 11th. Come to Spitalfields and spend a weekend with me in an eighteenth century weaver’s house in Fournier St, enjoy delicious lunches from Leila’s Cafe, eat cakes baked to historic recipes by Townhouse and learn how to write your own blog. Click here for details
If you are a graduate of my course and you would like me to feature your blog, please drop me a line.
St John’s, Horsleydown
When James Skelton, my great-great grandfather, married his first wife, Sarah, in Bermondsey in 1823, three years into the reign of George IV, the couple were not yet in their mid-twenties. They took their oaths at St John’s Church, in the parish of Horsleydown on Tuesday 14th October, after a summer which had been one of the coolest since observations began in 1659.
Thanks to the meticulous records of Luke Howard (the ‘godfather of clouds’), we know that their special day was one which was relatively mild for the time of year – dry and sunny, but unmistakeably autumn, with a gentle breeze and a light scattering of yellowing leaves. As they crossed the churchyard, the earth damp under their feet from the previous day’s rain, I hope they paused for a moment and allowed themselves to feel a thrill at being alive at this time and place, unaware that they would have only a limited time together.
Despite the old rhyme which says Tuesday for health, their choice of wedding day did not bring longevity. Twenty-five years later, Sarah would be struck down with an undiagnosed womb disease after raising their five children, precipitating a crisis that sent James in search of ‘fulfilment’ elsewhere. As I sat with their birth, marriage and death certificates, and those of their children and grandchildren, laid out before me like some macabre game of Happy Families, I felt privy to a horrible secret, imagining them arriving at St John’s, all nervous excitement, without knowing what was in store for them.
But on that mild Tuesday in 1823, the church was only ninety years old and yet to be hit by a bomb from the air in an unimaginable future war. To James and Sarah, the Hawksmoor church already seemed like an antiquity. It had become a joke on account of its strange weathervane. This huge iron construction was meant to represent a comet whizzing through the heavens but it reminded the parishioners of the wriggling body of a louse. Locally, the church was often referred to as ‘St John’s Lousydown’, or simply ‘The Louse Church’. No doubt James and Sarah found it amusing because – like everyone then – they would have been familiar with the common problem of body lice. But to a traveller from the twenty-first century it requires a leap of imagination to morph the iron ‘comet’ into the legs and body of a parasite they have rarely encountered.
Walking through the churchyard today, all that remains of St John’s are the foundations and crypt, controversially built over in the seventies and used as offices by the London City Mission. The graveyard is now a dreary public park, frequented by dog walkers and pram-pushing mothers, while the last remaining headstones lean forlornly against the foundations of the church.
Whenever I imagine Sarah and James walking up the wide stone steps of the church, I cannot help but see them in typical late-regency outfits: Sarah in a fashionably high-waisted dress with bonnet, gloves and shawl – James in a smart dark dress coat and waistcoat, his legs encased in the new style of long trousers (all of which he probably made himself) and his youthful hair covered with a top hat made by a Bermondsey hatter. Sarah congratulated herself on marrying a smart young man who knew the cut of cloth and had attained the rank of a master tailor, thus giving him the freedom to set up his own business and take on apprentices.
Tailoring was a common profession at the time, with most based in the communities they served. Notions of separating work from home were new and, like many skilled artisans, records show James lived over the shop. The whole family were involved in the business, from running messages to greeting customers, and their young domestic servant would have provided much-needed help for Sarah – especially once the babies came along. This spot by the Thames was where the family lived for twenty years before their move out of an increasingly-industrialised Bermondsey to the more genteel semi-rural suburb of Brixton in the eighteen-forties.
As soon as I discovered the existence of these forebears, I set off to visit the evocatively-sounding Horsleydown Lane to see if I could discover any traces of their old neighbourhood for myself. This was the first time I had been in the capital to do any fieldwork since my last foray to South London in 1992. I knew that Horsleydown Lane still existed but I had no idea of what it would look like in the twenty-first century.
It is a strange feeling to walk through streets where your ancestors once set foot, moving ever closer to the place where – for better or worse – they carved out a living. In Horsleydown, some things have not changed – the old watermen’s stairs at the foot of the lane where the Thames covered and uncovered the slipway twice a day, the glimpse of the imposing White Tower from that spot and the Anchor Tap which still has beer on tap. Yet many things had changed too and I was disappointed that so much from that time had gone, but I was delighted to come across some unexpected tangible reminders of the family’s life.
The cobblestones on Horsleydown Lane continued to reverberate with the clatter of the drayhorses and their wagons from the Anchor Brewery until the final demise of workhorses in the mid-twentieth century. Nowadays, Horsleydown Lane is relatively quiet, as visitors tend not to stray much from Shad Thames and the prevailing sound is the thrum of traffic on Tower Bridge Rd.
Popping into the Anchor Tap for an impulsive mid-afternoon pint, I grew even more confused – time seemed to telescope as I stepped through a series of interlinking rooms. The barman encouraged me to look around the place, intrigued by my genealogical search. As I wandered through the pleasing muddle of spaces and headed up the narrow twisting staircase towards the deserted dining room, I experienced the sensation of walking in my ancestors’ footsteps. All at once I realised that they might also have struggled with the demands of such steep stairs too.
Walking out of the dark pub afterwards, I blinked and narrowed my eyes in the bright spring sunshine. For a moment, I could imagine that I have stepped into the bustling street of the eighteen-thirties. I sat watching the Thames as it surged and swirled, past the neo-gothic wonder of Tower Bridge. The thought occurred to me that I myself was like a ghost – a ghost from the future trying to find a way back into the past.
Then suddenly it struck me that the Tower of London, partially seen from those algae-covered steps, has not changed over the years that separated me from my ancestors. My great-great grandfather, James, waited on this same slippery spot for a penny ride over the river from a waterman. He also felt in awe of the ancient building across the water that symbolised the power of the city he now called home. He knew the same legend about the ravens and passed it on to his children – in the same way my father had told me the story as a child. At that moment, I felt the centuries roll back to connect us.
The White Tower
Horselydown Lane 1830
Horselydown Old Stairs
The Anchor, Horselydown Lane
Images courtesy A London Family
You may also like to read these other story of Bermondsey
Derek Brook’s East End
Take a walk around the East End on a foggy day in the sixties with Derek Brook, courtesy of his pictures which are published here for the first time today.
Derek Brook was a commercial photographer who came from Australia to London and photographed the explosion in fashion and music, including The Beatles. Yet he also recorded political protests, and came one day to capture his impressions of the East End in these considered and atmospheric pictures.
Whitechapel Rd
Whitechapel Rd
Whitechapel Rd
Whitechapel Rd with Royal London Hospital in the distance
Whitechapel Rd
Whitechapel Station
Whitechapel Station
Whitechapel Market
Mile End
Mile End
Mile End
The Anchor, Mile End Rd
The Railway Tavern, Commercial Rd, Limehouse
The Oporto Tavern, West India Dock Rd
The Prince Alfred, Poplar High St
Wood St, off Cheshire St
Great Eastern Buildings, Quaker St
Brick Lane
On the steps of the synagogue, Brick Lane
Spitalfields
Middlesex St
Middlesex St
Middlesex St with The Bell
Middlesex St
Photographs courtesy Bishopsgate Institute
You may also like to take a look at
Adam Dant’s Map Of St James’ Sq
Adam Dant introduces his Map of St James’ s Sq, completed this spring just in time for inclusion in his MAPS OF LONDON & BEYOND. An exhibition of Adam’s maps opens at Rich Mix, Bethnal Green Rd, E1 6LA, this Thursday 4th October from 6-8pm and runs until 21st December. All are welcome.
Click image to enlarge and study the details
“Unlike many other public squares in London, St James’s Square is in possession of a certain aloof – an upper crust aura in keeping with the private finance offices and gentlemen’s clubs that hide behind its well attended facades.
Dirty, smelly dogs are no more permitted into the gardens here than they would be in The London Library, The East India Club or the headquarters of British Petroleum – although my own dog is welcomed as a regular visitor at the nearby Christie’s auction house, possibly by dint of his diminutive size, impeccable manners and Scottish heritage.
Whilst sketching from a bench in the square beneath the statue of King William III, I noticed that not very much appeared to be going on in this square. Such an atmosphere of restraint in a public arena prompts all manner of fanciful notions as to the real identities, activities and motivations of passers-by. Much in the same vein as a novel by London Library habitué Grahame Greene, visitors to St James’s square assume the mantle of the Russian spy visiting a dead letterbox, the covert couple conducting an illicit affair or the minor royal jogging incognito. The real action here has to be invented as nobody is giving anything away.
Secrecy is the order of the day at The Royal Institute of International Affairs, better known as Chatham House whose famous ‘Chatham House Rules’ guarantee speakers at their events the requisite anonymity to encourage the sharing of sensitive information. Until recently, the church of Rome managed to keep their ownership of a handsome townhouse in the square under wraps, having purchased it with shady money from Mussolini.
It is in the same spirit that this topographical depiction of the square prompts the viewer to speculate as to the general goings-on among the characters portrayed and animate their stories, according to the roster of St James’s ‘types’ shown around the border.”
Adam Dant
Adam Dant at Rich Mix 4th October – 21st December
CLICK TO ORDER A SIGNED COPY OF MAPS OF LONDON & BEYOND BY ADAM DANT
Adam Dant’s MAPS OF LONDON & BEYOND is a mighty monograph collecting together all your favourite works by Spitalfields Life‘s cartographer extraordinaire in a beautiful big hardback book.
Including a map of London riots, the locations of early coffee houses and a colourful depiction of slang through the centuries, Adam Dant’s vision of city life and our prevailing obsessions with money, power and the pursuit of pleasure may genuinely be described as ‘Hogarthian.’
Unparalleled in his draughtsmanship and inventiveness, Adam Dant explores the byways of English cultural history in his ingenious drawings, annotated with erudite commentary and offering hours of fascination for the curious.
The book includes an extensive interview with Adam Dant by The Gentle Author.
Adam Dant’s limited edition prints are available to purchase through TAG Fine Arts
You may like to take a look at some of Adam Dant’s other maps
Map of the History of Shoreditch
Map of Shoreditch in the Year 3000
Map of Shoreditch as the Globe
Map of the History of Clerkenwell
Map of the Journey to the Heart of the East End
The Coles Of Brushfield St
Kate Cole wrote this account of her ancestors who once lived in Brushfield St. “When I started my family research in the mid-eighties, I quickly discovered the connection to Spitalfields Market,” Kate told me, “And, even though I have visited the redeveloped market, when I think of Spitalfields it is the old market that stays in my mind and which led me to tell the story of my Victorian grocer.”
Kate Cole and her daughter Rose outside the former Cole’s grocery shop in Brushfield St.
I must be amongst a very rare number of twenty-first century Londoners who can visit the East London home of my ancestors and walk in their steps. Many of my Victorian ancestors lived in Bishopsgate in the City of London and Brushfield St in Spitalfields. Whilst I can no longer visit my ancestors’ substantial Bishopsgate home and factory, as it was compulsory purchased and swept away in the 1880s by the Great Eastern Railway so they could build the mighty Great Eastern Hotel in its place, I can still visit my ‘ancestral’ home in Brushfield St on the edge of Spitalfields Market.
Up until the 1870s, Brushfield St was known as ‘Union St East’. Halfway down, on the right-hand side – if you are walking from Bishopsgate – is a parade of shops all dating from the eighteenth century. Many readers may be familiar with the lovely restored Victorian frontage of the food shop A.Gold and the women’s fashion shop next door, Whistles. But have you ever looked above their signage and spotted a small plaque on the wall in between the two? This is from 1871, marking the parish boundary of Christ Church Middlesex and there on the wall, for all of London to see, is the name of my great-great grandfather, R. A. Cole.
In the 1850s, Robert Andrew Cole was a grocer and tea-dealer, living above his shop and trading from the premises which is now Whistles. Robert Andrew, along with his wife, Sarah Elizabeth (née Ollenbuttle) and their five children, William, Sarah, Margaret, Robert and Arthur, all lived in this terrace – first at 23 and then at 25 – for some thirty years from the 1850s until the 1880s, when the market was redeveloped and Robert Andrew Cole retired to Walthamstow. As an aside, I do find it ironic that today’s swanky redeveloped Spitalfields Market is now known as Old Spitalfields Market. In Robert Andrew Cole’s day, it was a brand spanking new, and perhaps an unwanted market with posh new buildings. Its very existence and construction was probably one of the reasons why the Coles gave up their shop and retired to the countryside of Walthamstow.
For many years, Robert Andrew Cole was also a churchwarden of Christ Church, Spitalfields and also the Governor and Director of the Poor of the parish. So he must have been amongst the wealthiest of this East London parish. In circa 1869-1870, Union St East was renamed Brushfield St, and it is possibly the renaming of this street which lead to the church boundary being marked in the wall in 1871. Hence, churchwarden R. A. Cole’s name was recorded for posterity in the brick-work. He must have been a very proud man when his name was unveiled on the terrace where he lived.
However, despite their standing in the community, the Coles’ time in Brushfield St was not entirely happy. Two of the Cole children, Sarah Elizabeth and William Henry, succumbed to a devastating outbreak of scarletina – then a deadly infectious disease. Both children were buried in Tower Hamlets Cemetery on 2nd August 1857. William was aged only twenty-two months and Sarah was a month short of her fourth birthday. One can only imagine the pain and horror experienced by their parents, along with the fear that their only surviving child, Robert, then aged five, might also fall victim to the terrible disease.
It must have been an awful time for this one Victorian family living in the shadows of Christ Church Spitalfields and the Fruit & Vegetable Market. However, their son Robert, did not become another victim (for, if he had, I would not be writing their story, as he is my great-grandfather). Eight months after burying their two children, a new child, Margaret was born, and a further year later, Arthur. Sadly, Margaret also did not survive childhood and once again, in 1869, the Cole family of Union St East buried another one of their own in Tower Hamlets Cemetery.
I have often pondered the fate of this small East End family. Of the five children, only two survived into adulthood and, of those two, only one had children of his own. Arthur Cole died a bachelor in his fifties and was buried in the second Cole family grave in Tower Hamlets Cemetery alongside his mother, grandparents, great-aunts, and great-uncles – true Londoners who worked, lived and died in the East End of the eighteenth and nineteenth century. Robert Andrew Cole, grocer and tea-dealer of Spitalfields Market, was buried in the same grave as his three children who had not survived childhood. While Robert Cole, the only child of Robert and Sarah Cole who went on to marry and father his own children, married Louisa Parnall, a member of a fantastically successful Welsh family of industrialists and philanthropists who had a substantial clothing factory on Bishopsgate.
When you are next in Brushfield St, stand and look up at the plaque marking the parish boundary of Christ Church, Middlesex. Then look down into the windows of Whistles clothes shop. The funeral processions of the Cole children must have stopped here on their way to Christ Church, before going to Tower Hamlets Cemetery. Imagine the tragedy and triumph that went on between those four walls and the drama of the daily family life of the Victorian grocer and tea-dealer, Robert Andrew and Sarah Elizabeth Cole.
Robert Andrew Cole, born 10th February 1819, Anthony St, St George in the East, baptised 7th March 1819 in the parish church of St George in the East. Married 25th December 1850 St Thomas’ Church, Stepney to Sarah Elizabeth Ollenbuttle. Died March 1895 in Walthamstow. Buried in one of two Cole family graves in Tower Hamlets Cemetery. Grocer and tea-dealer of Spitalfields Market for over thirty years. Churchwarden of Christ Church Spitalfields and Governor and Director of the poor of the parish.
Robert Cole, eldest child of Robert Andrew and Sarah Elizabeth Cole, born 4th May 1852 in Tunbridge Wells. Married 11th January 1880 to Louisa Parnall (great-niece of Robert and Henry Parnall of Bishopsgate). Died 17th June 1927 in Raynes Park, South London. Buried in Putney Vale Cemetery. Grocer and teadealer.
Margaret Cole, baptised 28th March 1858 at Christ Church, Spitalfields. Buried 20th January 1869 in Tower Hamlets Cemetery aged eleven years. The child in this photo looks to be about seven or eight years old, which dates all three photos to approximately the mid-1860s.
Robert Cole in 1879.
Louise Parnell – This tintype photo and the one of Robert above were possibly taken at their betrothal, before their marriage in January 1880.
The locations of the Coles’ business in Brushfield St and the Parnell’s business in Bishopsgate.
Philip Marriage’s photo of Brushfield St in 1985 with the former Coles premises indicated by the awnings.
Brushfield St in 1985, looking from the east.
The boundary stone with R. A. Cole’s name is on the top left of this picture from the eighties.
The boundary stone of 1871 in Brushfield St with the name of R.A.Cole.
Kate and her daughter Rose are the sixth and seventh consecutive generations of their family to work in the Bishopsgate area. Kate works in Finsbury Sq and Rose has just started in Finsbury Circle.
Archive photographs of Brushfield St © Philip Marriage
Cole family photographs © Kate Cole
You might like to take a look at Kate Cole’s blog Voices of Essex Past
Samuel Wilson’s Ledger
October is Huguenot Month in Spitalfields and this year’s theme is Women & Power including walks exploring Spitalfields Sisters, The Work & Lives of Remarkable Women.
Kate Wigley, Director of the School of Textiles, introduces the rare survival of an early nineteenth century weaver’s working diary. She will be speaking about Samuel Wilson’s ledger at 2pm on Saturday 20th October at Christ Church, Spitalfields. Click here for tickets
When my eyes fell upon the weaving ledger of Samuel Wilson (1792-1881) for the first time, I was struck not only by the captivating fabrics but also the beauty of the detailed records of production and manufacturing processes. Each line, carefully written in exquisite copper plate, sits alongside its own delicate textile production sample.
Written between 1811 and 1825, the ledger is a record of Samuel Wilson’s apprenticeship to his brother’s company, Lea & Wilson of 26 Old Jewry, Cripplegate, alongside an account of his personal exploration of weaving processes. When he embarked on his apprenticeship in 1806, Samuel began a comprehensive study of the process of silk manufacture – from throwing to weaving.
Samuel’s brother, Stephen Wilson was known for introducing an early version of the Jacquard loom into England in 1820 through his own patent. He was already well established within the London silk industry and had expanded his business with additional premises in Streatham. In the pages of the ledger, it is evident how mechanical improvements were contributing to the development of the Joseph Marie Jacquard’s new manufacturing technology.
Samuel Wilson became a leading force in the London silk industry and worked his way up to the position of Upper Bailiff in the Worshipful Company of Weavers. By 1838, the power of Samuel’s Wilson wider influence was recognised when he was elected Lord Mayor of the City of London.
Although his ledger is in private hands, I have been granted the opportunity of studying it in detail after I first encountered while researching early nineteenth century looms with textile historian, Mary Schoeser. Turning the pages carefully, we were both surprised how the ledger touched us and, without quite realising it, we found we had made a silent pact to uncover the secrets held within.
The opening pages are devoted to a discourse on how to create a perfect woven circle and the many minor adjustments to the ‘tyes’ and ‘sett’ that Samuel had to make on a loom to achieve this. It reveals the remarkable technological changes weavers experienced in the first three decades of the nineteenth century. Part-way, the ledger includes patterns for silk scarf designs. A tantalisingly small cutting of a hand-woven red and yellow silk for ‘chair bottoms for one of her majesty’s rooms in the Castle Windsor’ in 1816 is pinned carefully to the left-hand corner of a page.
Samuel Wilson’s apprenticeship record is a rare discovery that offers a unique view of the workings of the London silk industry in his era. More importantly, Samuel shares his own experiments and personal findings alongside accounts of disputes over weavers’ pay, dye recipes and client orders. The fabric samples and text are of great interest in their own right, but together they comprise an exceptional window into the development of a period in London’s textile history that is largely neglected. Through his personal ledger, we can read Samuel Wilson’s personal thoughts and hear his voice too.
Photographs copyright © Kate Wigley
Click here to see the full programme of events in this year’s Huguenot Month
You may also like to read about
Joginder Singh’s Boy
Spitalfields Life Books will be publishing A MODEST LIVING, Memoirs of Cockney Sikh by Suresh Singh in October. Here is the fourth instalment and further excerpts will follow over coming weeks.
In this first London Sikh biography, Suresh tells the story of his family who have lived in their house in Princelet St for nearly seventy years, longer I believe than any other family in Spitalfields. In the book, chapters of biography are alternated with a series of Sikh recipes by Jagir Kaur, Suresh’s wife.
You can support publication by pre-ordering a copy now, which will be signed by Suresh Singh and sent to you on publication.
Click here to order a signed copy of A MODEST LIVING for £20
Suresh Singh & Jagir Kaur at 38 Princelet St this summer (Photograph by Patricia Niven)
Me & Dad
As a child, I lived in awe of Dad, to me he was god. He was a very strong man and occasionally I would accompany him to the building sites where he worked. The Irish builders loved seeing us, father and son together, calling me ‘Jo’s boy.’ They would give me ten pence at the end of the day for helping and say, ‘He’s your boy, he’s our boy.’ I was so proud of Dad.
When he did repairs around the house, I passed him the hammer and carried the nails and I loved being around him. I believed nothing could hurt me if he was there. I felt safe anywhere he was. He had such a strong presence, making me feel as if I was in the company of someone holy.
Mum was affectionate and warm. She was a large woman who was very cuddly and I would always be hugging her. As the youngest boy, I spent all my time with her. She washed my hair every morning in the kitchen and every evening in front of the fire. It was a ritual – undoing the plait, combing the hair forward and washing it. Sometimes she would wash it with yoghurt, then massage mustard oil all the way down through the hair. Afterwards, she combed it, first in front and then flicking it back to comb it from behind. Finally, she would plait it into one long plait, wrap it all the way round into a big bob, cover it with a hanky and tie with a ribbon at the end to hold it all together. If she found an elastic band, she might encapsulate the bob to hold it in shape. Mum loved to see my hair tied up in a big knot and I think it broke her heart when it was cut off later. She missed it so.
From the age of two, I had asthma. It became more severe as I grew. I used to sleep with Mum when I was little and she would rub my chest with Vick’s eucalyptus cream and heat Wright’s Coal Tar in a vaporiser to clear my lungs. She was always making me jumpers and dressing me up. She liked putting me in dresses that she made. Visitors asked, ‘Is Suresh a girl or a boy?’ Mum loved sewing things, making clothes and other stuff for the home from bits and bobs of fabric that workers in the local rag trade gave her. ‘There’s a bit of lining left over,’ they would say, ‘you can have it.’ Dad bought old printed cotton curtains in the Sunday market and she adjusted them, hemming and sewing rings onto them.
Dad lit fires in the winter and he swept the chimney himself. Even though we covered everything, the soot got everywhere. When we all ate together on the floor in front of the fire, using newspaper as a tablecloth, Dad recited hymns from Guru Granth Sahib, the holy book. He always told us stories of the gurus, especially Guru Ravidas Ji the shoemaker and Guru Nanak, the first guru and founder of Sikhism.
Every day, I watched him leave and return from shoe shining on Liverpool Street station or labouring on building sites, then doing odd jobs for family and friends to make sure we were well fed. He could work all day on a building site and then go to shine shoes on Liverpool Street to make a bit extra.
Although our clothes might have been secondhand from the flea market or altered and patched up, they were always clean. Mum used to heat them in a pan with washing powder. Occasionally they boiled over, and the soap suds spilt all over the cooker and onto the floor.
My earliest memory was of playing in the yard on my bike which Dad got me in the Brick Lane market. Everyone always showed me great affection and, because I was the youngest boy, I was very well treated. It meant a lot to Mum and Dad that I was the one who had the Sikh hair, the kesh. I had to stay at home because I was ill and, even after I got married and everybody else moved out, I lived with them in Princelet Street right up to the end.
Some family and friends suggested that maybe my long hair was the reason my health was not good. It was down to my knees by then. I was taken to the doctor in Brune Street. Dr Gottlieb asked Mum, ‘Mrs Kaur, can you wait outside a minute?’ Then he spoke with me, ‘What’s the matter, Suresh?’ he asked. I started to cry and said, ‘I want to cut my hair off!’ My fear was that I would get bullied at secondary school and it was really hard to manage. Mum’s health was not good and she found it difficult to comb and wash it every morning and evening. Dr Gottlieb brought Mum in again and told her, ‘You’ve got to cut his hair off.’ Mum said, ‘Oh, that’s sad,’ but I was grateful to Dr Gottlieb for supporting me.
Dad took me into the yard and cut all my hair off with a pair of scissors. While he was doing it, he chanted ‘Wah Hey Guru.’ I wonder if it reminded him of when his hair was cut off in Glasgow. Mum collected my hair and treasured it in a hidden place in the house for more than a year, bundled in a cloth. Then one evening she took me for a walk to Tower Bridge and, producing the bundle from her handbag, released it with both hands over the parapet in silence into the Thames. Then she said to me, ‘Hun Chuyla,’ meaning ‘Let’s move on.’
Once my hair was cut off, I felt a proper jack the lad, you know? I played in the street with the Bengali children who had recently arrived from Bangladesh. They loved marbles and we played a lot of football in Princelet Street. We used to climb onto the garden walls of the houses in Fournier Street, walking from Brick Lane to Commercial Street.
Me in the yard with my topknot
Me in Weavers Fields after I lost my topknot
Mum & Dad in Princelet St
Click here to order a signed copy of A MODEST LIVING for £20
John Thomas Smith’s Rural Cottages
Near Battlebridge, Middlesex
As September draws to a close and autumn closes in, I get the urge to go to ground, hiding myself away in some remote cabin and not straying from the fireside until spring shows again. With this in mind, John Thomas Smith’s twenty etchings of extravagantly rustic cottages published as Remarks On Rural Scenery Of Various Features & Specific Beauties In Cottage Scenery in 1797 suit my hibernatory fantasy ideally.
Born in the back of a Hackney carriage in 1766, Smith grew into an artist consumed by London, as his inspiration, his subject matter and his life. At first, he drew the old streets and buildings that were due for demolition at the turn of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries in Ancient Topography of London and Antiquities of London, savouring every detail of their shambolic architecture with loving attention. Later, he turned his attention to London streetlife, the hawkers and the outcast poor, portrayed in Vagabondiana and Remarkable Beggars, creating lively and sympathetic portraits of those who scraped a living out of nothing but resourcefulness. By contrast, these rural cottages were a rare excursion into the bucolic world for Smith, although you only have to look at the locations to see that he did not travel too far from the capital to find them.
“Of all the pictoresque subjects, the English cottage seems to have obtained the least share of particular notice,” wrote Smith in his introduction to these plates, which included John Constable and William Blake among the subscribers, “Palaces, castles, churches, monastic ruins and ecclesiastical structures have been elaborately and very interestingly described with all their characteristic distinctions while the objects comprehended by the term ‘cottage scenery’ have by no means been honoured with equal attention.”
While emphasising that beauty was equally to be found in humble as well as in stately homes, Smith also understood the irony that a well-kept dwelling offered less picturesque subject matter than a derelict hovel. “I am, however, by no means cottage-mad,” he admitted, acknowledging the poverty of the living conditions, “But the unrepaired accidents of wind and rain offer far greater allurements to the painter’s eye, than more neat, regular or formal arrangements could possibly have done.”
Some of these pastoral dwellings were in places now absorbed into Central London and others in outlying villages that lie beneath suburbs today. Yet the paradox is that these etchings are the origin of the romantic image of the English country cottage which has occupied such a cherished position in the collective imagination ever since, and thus many of the suburban homes that have now obliterated these rural locations were designed to evoke this potent rural fantasy.
On Scotland Green, Ponder’s End
Near Deptford, Kent
At Clandon, Surrey – formerly the residence of Mr John Woolderidge, the Clandon Poet
In Bury St, Edmonton
Near Jack Straw’s Castle, Hampstead Heath
In Green St, Enfield Highway
Near Palmer’s Green, Edmonton
Near Ranelagh, Chelsea
In Green St, Enfield Highway
At Ponder’s End, Near Enfield
On Merrow Common, Surrey
At Cobham, Surrey – in the hop gardens
Near Bull’s Cross, Enfield
In Bury St, Edmonton
On Millbank, Westminster
Near Edmonton Church
Near Chelsea Bridge
In Green St, Enfield Highway
Lady Plomer’s Place on the summit of Hawke’s Bill Wood, Epping Forest
You may also like to take a look at these other works by John Thomas Smith
John Thomas Smith’s Ancient Topography of London
John Thomas Smith’s Antiquities of London
John Thomas Smith’s Vagabondiana
John Thomas Smith’s Vagabondiana II
