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Viscountess Boudica’s St Patrick’s Day

March 17, 2018
by the gentle author

On St Patrick’s Day, we celebrate our dearly beloved Viscountess Boudica of Bethnal Green who once entertained us with her seasonal frolics and capers but is now exiled to Uttoxeter

Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig oraibh

In the East End, we owe a debt of gratitude to Viscountess Boudica of Bethnal Green and we miss her inspirational example in observing each of the festivals of the year with passion and gusto. On St Patrick’s Day, I always found her togged up like a cheeky Leprechaun and swigging Guinness as if she was born to it, and when I enquired further I discovered this was precisely the case.

“My people were landowners near Dublin but when Elizabeth I sent her army into Ireland, we were forced to flee to France and then we returned to live in Gloucestershire,” she admitted to me with the melancholy refined smile of one from an ancient aristocratic lineage.“Once when I was a child, we were on holiday in Wales and  I stared out to sea – I always felt there was something out there for me,” she continued, getting lost in contemplation as she surveyed the magnificent green and orange decorations that adorned her pink living room.

It was only as an adult that the Viscountess Boudica discovered her true origins. “Even before I found out I was Irish, I knew I was different from everybody else in relating to English culture, ” she confessed to me as she stroked her ginger locks and sipped her Guinness thoughtfully, “I need to go to Dublin in search of my roots…”

Éirinn go brách

Cá mbeidh tú ag fliuchadh na seamróige?

Sláinte!

Tabhair póg dom, táim Éireannach.

Viscountess Boudica’s jacket with Irish badges from the days she hung out with skinheads

Viscountess Boudica searches for St Patrick’s Day music

Viscountess Boudica recommends The Nolans and Sham 69 for your St Patrick’s Day listening

Viscountess Boudica pulls out one of her old Irish themed coats

Viscountess Boudica models the outfit she has designed for her trip to Dublin in search of her roots

Be sure to follow Viscountess Boudica’s blog There’s More To Life Than Heaven & Earth

Take a look at

The Departure of Viscountess Boudica

Viscountess Boudica’s Domestic Appliances

Viscountess Boudica’s Blog

Viscountess Boudica’s Album

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

Mark Petty’s New Outfits

Mark Petty returns to Brick Lane

David Granick’s Spitalfields

March 16, 2018
by the gentle author

Stepney Photographer David Granick (1912-80) has been receiving well-deserved recognition recently thanks to an exhibition at Tower Hamlets Local History Library & Archives which runs until 5th May and a book The East End in Colour 1960-80 edited by Chris Dorley-Brown and published by Hoxton Minipress.

Spitalfields Market, 1973

Brushfield St, 1970

Fournier St, 1968

Princelet St, 1968

Brick Lane/Hanbury St, 1976

Folgate St, 1979

Elder St, 1968

Elder St, 1965

Fleur de Lis St, 1966

Quaker St, 1970

Quaker St, 1978

Cheshire St, 1969

Black Lion Yard, 1966

Whitechapel Bell Foundry, 1969

Photographs copyright © Tower Hamlets Local History Library & Archives

Click here to buy a copy of THE EAST END IN COLOUR 1960-80 by David Granick direct from Hoxton Minipress

You may also like to take a look at

Philip Marriage’s Spitalfields in Kodachrome

Vivian Betts At The Primrose

March 15, 2018
by the gentle author

Vivian & Toto outside The Primrose

You will not meet many who can boast the distinction of being brought up on the teeming thoroughfare of Bishopsgate but Vivian Betts is one who enjoyed that rare privilege, growing up above The Primrose on the corner of Primrose St where her parents were publicans from 1955 until 1974. Yet it was a different Bishopsgate from that of the present day with its soaring glass towers housing financial industries. In her childhood, Vivian knew a street lined with pubs and individual shops where the lamplighter came each night to light the gas lamps.

Living in a pub on the boundary of the City of London, Vivian discovered herself at a hub of human activity. “I had the best of both worlds,” Vivian confessed to me, when she came up to Spitalfields on a rare visit, “I had the choice of City life or East End life, I could go either way. I had complete freedom and I was never in any danger. My father said to me if I ever had any trouble to go to a policeman. But all my friends wanted to come over to my place, because I lived in a pub!”

Vivian knew Bishopsgate before the Broadgate development swallowed up the entire block between Liverpool St and Primrose St. And as we walked together past the uniform architecture, she affectionately ticked off the order of the pubs that once stood there – The Kings Arms, The Raven and then The Primrose – with all the different premises in between. When we reached the windswept corner of Primrose St beneath the vast Broadgate Tower, Vivian gestured to the empty space where The Primrose once stood, now swallowed by road widening, and told me that she remembered the dray horses delivering the beer in barrels on carts from the Truman Brewery in Brick Lane.

In this landscape of concrete, glass and steel, configured as the environment of aggressive corporate endeavour, it was surreal yet heartening to hear Vivian speak and be reminded that human life once existed there on a modest domestic scale. Demolished finally in 1987, The Primrose had existed in Bishopsgate at least since 1839.

“My brother Michael was born in 1942, while Bill my father was away in the war, and Violet my mother got a job as a barmaid, and when he came back she said, ‘This is how I want to spend my life.’ Their first pub was The Alfred’s Head in Gold St, Stepney, in about 1946, and she told me she was washing the floor there in the morning and I was born in the afternoon. We left when I was three and all I remember of Stepney was walking over a bomb site to look at all the caterpillars.

In 1955, we moved into The Primrose at 229 Bishopsgate, directly opposite the Spitalfields market – you could look out of the window on the first floor and see the market. My first memory of Bishopsgate was lying in bed and listening to the piano player in the pub below. We had three pianos, one in the public bar, one in the first floor function room and one in our front room. On Sunday lunchtimes at The Primrose, it was so busy you could hardly see through the barroom for all the hats and smoke.

I used to go to Canon Barnet School in Commercial St and, from the age of seven, my dad would see me across Bishopsgate and I’d walk through the Spitalfields Market on my way to school where the traders would give me an apple and a banana – they all knew me because they used to come drinking in the pub. It was a completely Jewish school and, because no-one else lived in Bishopsgate, all my friends were over in Spitalfields, mostly in the Flower & Dean Buildings, so I spent a lot of time over there. And I used to come to Brick Lane to go the matinees at the cinema every Saturday. Itchy Park was our playground – in those days, the church was shut but we used to peek through the window and see hundreds of pigeons inside.

My dad opened one of the first carveries in a pub, where you could get fresh ham or turkey cut and made up into sandwiches and, in the upstairs room, my mum did sit-down lunches for three shillings – it was like school dinners, steak & kidney pudding and sausage & mash. She walked every day with her trolley to Dewhurst’s the butchers opposite Liverpool St, she got all her fruit and vegetables fresh from the Spitalfields Market, and she used to go to Petticoat Lane each week to buy fresh fish.

Every evening at 5pm, we had all the banks come in to play darts. On Mondays, it was the ladies of The Primrose darts team and on Wednesdays it was the men’s darts league. And, once each year, we organised the Presentation Dance at the York Hall. Every evening in the upstairs function room, we had the different Freemason’s lodges. Whenever I came out of my living room, I could always see them but I had to look away because it was part of my life that I wasn’t supposed to see. After I left school, I went to work for the Royal London Mutual Insurance Co. in Finsbury Sq – five minutes walk away – as a punchcard operator and, whenever it was anyone’s birthday, I’d say ‘Come on back to my mum’s pub and she’ll make us all sandwiches.’

Then in 1973, Truman’s wrote to my dad and gave him a year’s notice, they were turning the pub over to managers in April 1974, so we had to leave. But I had already booked my wedding for July at St Botolph’s in Bishopsgate, and I came back for that. Eighteen months later, in 1976, my mum and dad asked me and my husband to go into running a pub with them. It was The Alexandra Hotel in Southend, known as the “Top Alex” because there were two and ours was at the top of the hill.

Three months after we moved in, my dad died of cancer – so they gave it to my mum on a year’s widow’s lease but they said that if me and my husband proved we could run it, we could keep it. And we stayed until 1985. Then we had a murder and an attempted murder in which a man got stabbed, and my husband said, ‘It’s about time we moved.’ And that’s when we moved to our current pub, The Windmill at Hoo, near Rochester, twenty-eight years ago. We had a brass bell hanging behind the counter at The Primrose that came off a train in Liverpool St Station which we used to call time and we’ve taken it with us – all these years – but though we don’t call time any more, we still use it to ring in the New Year.

I’ve only ever had two Christmases not in a pub in my life, when you’re born to it you don’t know anything else.”

Vivian told me that she often gets customers from the East End in The Windmill and they always recognise her by her voice. “They say, ‘We know where you come from!'” she confided to me proudly.

The Primrose, 229 Bishopsgate, as Vivian knew it.

Toto sits on the heater in the panelled barroom at The Primrose.

Vivian at Canon Barnet School in Commercial St.

Bill and Vi Betts

“My first Freemason’s Lodge night when I was twelve or thirteen in 1965. My brother Michael with his wife Valerie on the right.”

Vivian stands outside The Primrose in this picture, looking east across Bishopsgate towards Spital Sq with Spitalfields market in the distance.

Vivian was awarded this certificate while a student at Sir John Cass School, Houndsditch.

Vivian on the railway bridge, looking west towards Finsbury Sq.

Vivian outside the door which served as the door to the pub and her own front door.

Vivian’s friends skylarking in Bishopsgate – “They always wanted to come over to my place because I lived above a pub!”

“When I was eight, we went abroad on holiday for the first time to Italy, we bought the tickets at the travel agents across the road and, after that, twelve or fourteen couples would come with us – my parents’ friends – and I was always the youngest there.”

Vivian prints out a policy at the Royal London Mutual Insurance Co. in Finsbury Sq.

“And what do you do?” – Vivian meets Prince Charles on a visit to Lloyd Register of Shipping in Fenchurch St.

“Harry the greengrocer and Tom the horse, they used to get their fruit & vegetables in the Spitalfields Market. My husband Dennis worked for this man when he was about twelve years of age, driving around the Isle of Dogs. He loved horses, and we’ve got a piece of land with our pub now and we’ve kept horses since 1980.”

Bill & Vi Betts in later years.

Vivian Betts at St Botolph’s Bishopsgate where she married her husband Dennis Campbell in 1974.

The Primrose in a former incarnation, photographed in 1912.

Bishopsgate with The Primrose halfway down on the right, photographed in 1912 by Charles Goss.

Bishopsgate today.

Archive photographs courtesy Bishopsgate Institute

You might also like to take a look at these other Bishopsgate Stories

The Romance of Old Bishopsgate

Charles Goss’ Photographs of Bishopsgate

Tallis’ Street Views of Bishopsgate, 1838

Dan Cruickshank, Photographer

March 14, 2018
by the gentle author

Dan Cruickshank took these photographs between 1969 when he first came to Spitalfields and 1977 when he led the first campaign to stop British Land destroying Elder St. “I did it to document the buildings that were here then,” he explained to me in regret, “but sometimes you’d go back the next Saturday and there’d be virtually nothing left.”

Barrowmakers in Wheler St

Baker in Quaker St

Quaker St and Railway Dwellings

Junction of Bethnal Green Rd & Redchurch St

Weaver’s House at the corner of Bacon St & Brick Lane

Weavers’ houses in Sclater St, now demolished

Weavers’ houses in Sclater St, only those in foreground remain

Weavers’ houses in Sclater St, now demolished

Corner of Sclater St & Brick Lane

Houses in Hanbury St, now demolished

Houses in Hanbury St, now demolished

Old House in Calvin St, now demolished

Elaborate doorcase in Wilkes St, now gone

Brushfield St

Brushfield St, buildings on the right now demolished

Brushfield St, buildings on the right now demolished

Buildings in Brushfield St, now demolished

Brushfield St, buildings on the left now demolished

Looking from Brushfield St towards Norton Folgate

Selling Christmas trees in Spital Sq

Spital Sq with St Botolph’s Hall

Folgate St with Dennis Severs’ House in the foreground, houses in the background now demolished

House in Folgate St, now demolished

5 & 7 Elder St during squat to prevent complete demolition by British Land

Partial demolition of 5 & 7 Elder St

Rear of 5 & 7 Elder St during partial demolition

Inside 7 Elder St

Douglas Blain of Spitalfields Trust reads a paper in the loft of 7 Elder St after the roof was removed

Alleyway off Folgate St

Photographs copyright © Dan Cruickshank

You may also like to take a look at

Philip Marriage’s Spitalfields

Val Perrin’s Spitalfields

Adam Dant’s New Cries Of Spittelfields

March 13, 2018
by the gentle author

(click on this image to enlarge)

Contributing Artist Adam Dant sent me his latest print, a limited edition hand-tinted woodcut of the NEW CRIES OF SPITTELFIELDS that he finished just last week, showing many of the familiar street characters of our beloved East End neighbourhood. If you would like to buy a copy, drop the artist a line: Adamdant@adamdant.com

Meanwhile, you can attend my illustrated lecture at the Society of Genealogists in Clerkenwell this Thursday 15th March at 2pm, showing images of itinerant traders over the last four hundred years. Click here for tickets

Cries of London 1600, reproduced from Samuel Pepys’ Album © Magdalene College, Cambridge (Click this image to enlarge)

You may like to take a look at

Henry Mayhew’s Street Traders

H.W.Petherick’s London Characters

John Thomson’s Street Life in London

Aunt Busy Bee’s New London Cries

Marcellus Laroon’s Cries of London

John Player’s Cries of London

More John Player’s Cries of London

William Nicholson’s London Types

John Leighton’s London Cries

Francis Wheatley’s Cries of London

John Thomas Smith’s Vagabondiana of 1817

Thomas Rowlandson’s Lower Orders

CLICK TO BUY A COPY OF THE GENTLE AUTHOR’S CRIES OF LONDON FOR £20

At Wood St Stables

March 12, 2018
by the gentle author

Just occasionally, I hear distant horses’ hooves in the street outside when I am sitting writing at my desk in Spitalfields. It always causes me to stop and consider this evocative, once familiar sound, that echoes down through the centuries. When horses were the primary mode of transport, there would have been hundreds of stables in the City, but today there is only one. So I decided to follow the sound of the hooves back to their source in Wood St and pay a visit to the last stable, the home of the City of London Mounted Police – and Spitalfields Life contributing photographer Patricia Niven came along with me.

Passing among the shining glass towers of the City and then entering Wood St Police Station, we were ushered behind the desk, past a sign that said “Level of threat: normal,” down a passageway, through a courtyard and into the stables where the magnificent beasts are kept. Leather harnesses hung from the walls, straw was scattered upon the floor and the acrid smell of the farmyard prevailed here in this quiet enclave, a world apart from the corporate financial culture that surrounds it.

These are the last working horses in the City, out on the street in pairs for four hours at a stretch as they undertake patrols three times a day. Exchanged fortnightly, the troupe of ten is divided equally between here and Bushey Park where they get to run free and where training takes place. Mounted police officers double up as stable hands, cleaning kit and mucking out, grooming and feeding their charges. And, consequently, the stable is a scene of constant activity from seven each morning, when they arrive to wake the horses before setting out on the first patrol at eight thirty.

“I never envisaged, when I joined the police, I’d end up riding a horse,” admitted Sergeant Nick Bailey, greeting us eagerly, “I joined the police to ride motorbikes, but I suppose you could say I found a different horsepower.” Yet, in spite of his alacrity, Sergeant Bailey is a passionate horseman who grew up riding and competed in equestrian events before the demands of police work caused him to choose between his career and sporting endeavours. Now with thirty years service behind him, he came to the City of London to take charge of the mounted police just twelve months ago from Bridgend in Wales, where he set up the equestrian department. “My wife and family are still in Wales, I go back every third week” he confessed with a shrug, yet he was keen to outline his busy year that began with the Lord Mayor’s Show and included student protests, an English Defence League demo, football matches at Watford and Arsenal, and a Heavy Metal festival.

Before the mounted police were created in 1946, horses were drafted in from the cavalry and recently the stable had a visit from  blind ninety-seven-year-old who had lead the last cavalry charge in battle – an event which filled Sergeant Bailey with awe. “I can’t imagine what that was like,” he confided, as a vision of a distant harsher world, even if he admitted that “if a bomb went off, we would have horses out on the streets for seven hours at a stretch.”

Sergeant Bailey introduced his four horses in the stalls that morning. Trader, a powerful white stallion quivering with life, reached over to scrutinise us while Little Dave, a smaller dark horse, eyed us from a distance – weary from the traffic patrol that morning. Opposite, Finn, the oldest horse, with ten years service, stood composed and dignified and then Roxie, the only mare, pushed her glossy striped head over the gate to greet us enthusiastically.

There are one hundred and twenty five horses in the Metropolitan Police today where twenty years ago there were over two hundred and fifty. A fact which makes Sergeant Bailey evangelical on behalf of his charges, advocating the horses’ credentials as cheaper and greener than motorcars. “In the Summer, cafe owners bring out a bucket of water for them,” he told me, “People  feel safer when they see horses on the street.”

Photographs copyright © Patricia Niven

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Tom Burch, Farrier

At A & E Batchelor Ltd, Saddlers

At the Stables Under the Westway

Lilo Blum, Equestrian

Harry Permutt, Master Goldsmith

March 11, 2018
by the gentle author

Harry Permutt, Master Goldsmith

At eighty-two years old, Harry Permutt believes he is the oldest working goldsmith in Hatton Garden. As the grandson of immigrants who made their lives in Petticoat Lane at the beginning of the last century and as one who has learnt his skills over more than sixty years in the Clerkenwell jewellery trade – working his way up to become a master goldsmith – Harry carries an astonishing collection of stories and a rare depth of historical perspective.

Yet Harry’s vision is tinged with melancholy these days, as I discovered when I visited him at his beautiful old workshop in Panther House, Mount Pleasant from which he is being evicted at the end of this month prior to redevelopment for luxury flats. Hidden in a back street at the junction of Grays Inn Rd and Clerkenwell Rd, the attractive towering castle-like structure of Panther House was built by lithographers Malby & Sons in 1905. Harry told me it was built on the site of the madhouse attached to the old Fleet Prison and as long as he can remember – which is around eighty years – it has been used for workshops for small tradesmen and craftworkers. Supplying essential skills to the lucrative jewellery business in Hatton Garden, their activities have defined the identity of this corner of London for centuries but now they are struggling to find space to work.

In spite of the poignant circumstances of my visit to see his atmospheric workshop before he loses it, Harry was able to rise to the occasion magnificently, regaling me with lyrical tales of old Clerkwenwell.

“In Clerkenwell, from Goswell Rd up until Mount Pleasant, I know everything about. Please God! For guys like me, Clerkenwell is known as the ‘Well.’ From the top of St John St to the Angel, go around in a half circle and you’ve got the back way where all the engravers were, you’ve got the silversmiths, the trophy makers, the masonic jewellers and the polishing workshops. All dingy, dirty basements. We have lived in basements like nobody would ever believe. We had fire gilding and mercury gilding in the Goswell Rd on the site where the University of London is now. In Britton St, where all the condemned houses were, Old Joe, one of the polishers I worked with down in Benjamin Hill, he had been born down there. The one room flat that they rented was surrounded with prostitution. It was so colourful, we knew everybody down there by name. This was where the burglars brought their stuff, it goes back to the Dickensian days when you could do anything and get away with anything. It spread out from the City into the Well and we got mixed up with the Sicilians on the one side and the Italians on the other, of which the twain never met. They were rogues, especially just after the War. They brought back a lot of stuff that was illegal and you did whatever work came to hand. You’d never let a job go and you charged accordingly. One of the oldest Italian families, I still work for them. The grandmother she still lives here and her husband was one of the big villains down here in the old days.

My grandparents came into Middlesex St as immigrants from Russia and Poland in 1917. They had four sons who were educated at the Jewish Free School in Strype St, Spitalfields and they all became cabinet makers, including my father, before they went off and did other things. They were such good cabinet makers, they were commissioned to do all the veneers in the lounge saloons on the Queen Mary. One of my uncles was picked for the England Cricket team but he died of tuberculosis.

My grandmother ran a fruit and veg business in Petticoat Lane, she got all the stallholders together and they started to trade into the Spitalfields Market. It was a poor family but my grandparents did very well for themselves,

I failed my eleven-plus and I told my parents I wanted to go to art school. At Central School of Arts, I studied jewellery – mounting, setting and enamelling. Then, because I had family in the business from Russia dealing in diamonds and so forth, my father was coming down here to Clerkenwell and he knew some of the Italian families, so I got introduced down here and I got an apprenticeship.

I started at 144 St John St, facing us used to be the the old LCC block of flats where all the prostitutes used to hang out. After I graduated from Central, the governor said to me, ‘Harry, throw everything out the window and start again from the beginning.’ So I swept floors for a year and made the tea until I graduated up. But I had to break my apprenticeship to do National Service and I got sent to Korea. In 1956, I came back and finished and started to work on my own, running here, there and everywhere. Technically, I was a ‘runner.’ A runner is a ‘jewellery runner,’ you learn how to pick up the nice pieces of jewellery. You ply your trade that way. You go round markets and you go ‘on the knocker,’ house to house. Four o’clock in the morning I used to go to Bermondsey and Camden Passage. You could get the finest pieces of jewellery out of Bermondsey in those days. I used to sell them to the antiques dealer from Macy’s New York.

A ‘runner’ is considered equally knowledgeable to a ‘mounter’ in the jewellery business. You get taught and you pick up how all this works. It’s a shake of hand, that’s how we still do business together among those that know. In doing that, you get a reputation and – thank goodness – I have still got mine, because that’s how I get work.

From 1957, work was so prolific in the jewellery trade I used to share workshops and I got offers to go around the world buying for other people. I never been employed by anybody since my apprenticeship days. I used to do their work first in the back of the workshop in the Clerkenwell Rd and then I would bring my own work in. The old boss there who knew my father, said, ‘Come and work for me!’ but I said to my dad, ‘I’m not going to work for him, he’s untrustworthy,’ which he was. They were a load of crooks. I used to deal in the ‘Garden,’ but I never did much because I don’t like the ‘Garden.’

I am a bench guy and nothing more. I didn’t actually get taught, I taught myself from the stuff I was handling in the old days. I didn’t learn from books, I learnt from hands. There are only about three of us left that can do what I do, I can restore gold and silver, I can do everything but then I don’t do anything modern. I can handle it but I don’t like it, I have my own views.

I will die doing my work at my bench. I love fine art and it is the fascination of what I do that keeps me going, I go into raptures over it. It’s not the value for me, it’s the fascination. When you restore antique jewellery, you’ve got to copy it so that it is exact. I had a friend who was a great artist who taught me me how to copy properly, that was Tom Keating. He took me under his wing. He used to say to me, ‘Harry, if you are going to copy something, be exact and you can’t go wrong.’

I’m working and working and I’m coming up to eighty-two and I’m staying healthy. My family have always been associated with this side of London, they call it the ‘East End.’ Let it be the ‘East End’ but it’s bloody marvellous. We all grew up here, we are all ‘toe-rags’ for want of a better word.”

Harry works on a pair of earrings with his French pipe

Kevin Cordery, Polisher & Plater shares the workshop with Harry

Panther House was built in 1905

Panther House in Mount Pleasant is to be redeveloped for luxury flats

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Maurice Franklin, Woodturner