Leonard Fenton, Actor
Gillian Tindall, author of THE TUNNEL THROUGH TIME recently published by Chatto, tells the story of Leonard Fenton, an East End boy from Stepney Green better known as ‘Dr Legg’
Leonard Fenton as Dr Legg in East Enders
When Dr Legg, the GP in East Enders, finally ‘retired’ in 1997, there was universal regret among viewers – even though they could see he was already older than any real-life GP would be. Afterwards, he continued to be referred to as an off-stage presence, like a benign Scarlet Pimpernel, and he made occasional informal reappearances – most notably for the stage-funeral of Mark Fowler in 2004, with whom he had once had ferocious doctorly words about heroin addiction and, in 2010, to counsel Dot Branning about a supposed Romanian foundling.
In real life, Dr Legg was the actor Leonard Fenton. Although his East Enders‘ role has been the one for which he has been widely celebrated (and even accosted in the street and the Underground by people so convinced of the reality of soaps that they ask for friendly medical advice) he has a life-time of other roles to his credit. One of those actors who never quite reach the very top of the theatrical tree but are nearly always in work and much esteemed by other professionals, Len has done seasons with the National Theatre and the Royal Shakespeare Company, worked with Orson Welles, with Jonathan Miller and Samuel Beckett – who personally chose him in 1979 to play opposite Billie Whitelaw in Happy Days at the Royal Court.
His last stage roles were the Duke in The Merchant of Venice at Stratford-on-Avon in 2008 and the demanding part of Vincentio in The Taming of the Shrew at the Aldwych Theatre in London in 2009. By then Len was eighty-three years old, but you would never have guessed it. He went on for several more years specialising in ‘old rabbis’ and has only now taken to retirement in the actors’ home at Denville Hall, because his diabetes needs more careful management than he can give it alone.
The kindly GP in East Enders was obviously Jewish and the early lives of the doctor and the actor paralleled each other. Dr Legg was supposed to have been born in the East End, a bright boy who got a scholarship to a Grammar School and then to medical school, but had preferred to remain close to his roots in the fictional East London district of `Walford’ rather than moving out to a polite suburb.
Similarly, Len Fenton was born (during the General Strike of 1926) in little house in Duckett St, Stepney Green, that his parents and elder sister shared with relatives. When he was eleven, he won a Junior County scholarship to Raines School for Boys in Arbour Sq. A surviving school report, under the name Leonard Feinstein, describes him as “A quiet intelligent pupil. Gives no trouble and works well.” The same report shows that he was particularly good at drawing, singing and languages, but as he showed an aptitude for maths too, plus ‘satisfactory’ work at Chemistry and Physics, the headmaster urged him towards engineering – a destiny that took Len some years and quite a bit of enterprise to escape.
The heart of the Jewish East End in the twenties and thirties was in Whitechapel and Spitalfields. Half a mile away, in Duckett St there was only one other Jewish household besides Len’s family, although Len recalls a big block of flats on Stepney Green itself that was “full of our lot. I would rather liked to have lived there.” Possibly it was the presence of this block that drew Mosleys’ Blackshirts down to Stepney Green for a series of threatening marches that were to culminate in the Battle of Cable Street. As a small boy, Len remembers his mother standing in the upstairs window of their house with a baby – one of Len’s younger sisters – in her arms, watching Mosley giving a speech at the corner about how all Jews had substantial bank balances. At this point, she yelled down at him “Sir Oswald, would you like to see my fucking bank balance?” Her husband worked in the garment trade and, like most people in their position, they lived hand to mouth. Various neighbours, who were inclined to side with Mosley in those uncertain times, hastily cried “No, no, Fanny, we don’t mean you!”
Len’s mother had arrived in London as a baby, circuitously, via New York, at the beginning of the twentieth century. She was working in a box factory when she met her husband. Both sets of grandparents were immigrants from Eastern Europe, mother’s from Riga and father’s from Lithuania, and all that generation spoke Yiddish as their household tongue. The family name was originally, Len thinks, something like Resnik, a Russian-Yiddish term to do with tailoring, but it just happened that the neighbour who helped Len’s grandfather to register in London when he arrived in the 1890s suggested ‘Feinstein’ as a suitable name and it was accepted. The change to Fenton happened during the Second World War, when Len’s elder sister Sylvie convinced their father that it would be a good idea. However, the cousins living on the ground floor of the same house, including little Arnold who was six months younger than Len and his constant playmate, did not change their name. Arnold Feinstein, another scholarship boy, grew up to be a distinguished academic scientist and the husband of Elaine Feinstein, the poet. There are many routes out of the ghetto, but the Fenton-Feinstein families have always remained close.
Grandparents and uncles were important too. Len’s mother’s mother, who had been widowed in New York with the baby, come to London and remarried, lived at Bow. Neighbours of theirs organised a synagogue in their front room where the family foregathered on Saturdays. It was from here that an uncle took Len, then aged ten or eleven, on a trip to Watford to hear Thomas Beecham conducting Bizet’s First Symphony in C – for Len, a revelatory experience about what music could be. But, sadly, this thoughtful relative later became known to Len and his sisters as ‘bad uncle’ because he tried to convince Len that he could neither draw and paint, nor sing well enough to envisage it as a career – both of which no-doubt-well-intentioned judgements were untrue.
Len was thirteen in 1939, at the point when the whole Jewish East End began to be swept away, first by war and then by the social changes that war brought. Raines School was evacuated to various places near the south coast: hardly the ideal location in view of the threat of invasion, but such a hasty re-location was common in those times. By the time Len returned to battered and blitzed Stepney towards the end of the war, he was a tall and handsome seventeen-year-old – and his feisty mother, with whom he had not lived since he was a child, was suffering with tuberculosis and possibly diabetes as well. There was no NHS yet but, even if there had been, not a great deal could have been done for her. She died in 1945 and it was the eldest sister Sylvie who took on the maternal role for their father, for Len, his younger brother Cyril (who also died young) and the two pretty and ambitious younger sisters, Corinne and Annie.
National Service loomed at eighteen for all young men of Len’s generation yet, instead of joining the Army as a squaddie, Len was sent, on his head-master’s recommendation and Government approval, to do a two-year degree in Engineering at Kings’ College. He did not relish it at all, but it meant that, when the Army finally claimed him at age twenty, he was given a commission in the Royal Engineers – a new world for him. “I really enjoyed myself,” he recalled, “As an officer I could just oversee things and sign off the paper, while the NCOs did all the work!”
Len’s Army experience led him to five years in a civil engineering job in Westminster. This was still unsatisfying for Len, even though the firm in question seems to have been extraordinarily tolerant of their amiable but undevoted employee. Len found that he could take long, dreamy lunch hours walking round the London parks. By then he was living in Clapton and discovered, while changing from tube to bus at Aldgate on his evening commute, that Toynbee Hall ran courses in art and music. He started spending his evenings there, as many other aspirant East Enders had done before him – and a new life began. A starring role singing in a Christmas performance led to the offer of a place at the Webber-Douglas theatrel school, and the boy from Stepney was re-born as an actor and never looked back.
“I was older than most people at drama school,” he explained, “That was useful and I soon learnt to age myself up – I loved making-up.” A Spotlight award in his final year set Len off on a career playing character roles – fulfilling even if he never achieved a minor ambition to take the part of Baron Hard-Up in pantomime. “Trouble is, people don’t associate Dr Legg with slapstick,” he confessed.
Did becoming a celebrity in such a long-running soap affect his chances of other roles? Len feels that it may have kept him out of the theatre, but one would hardly think so given the stage successes of his last years in the profession. Oddly, Dr Legg was almost the only role in Len’s career which was not a character part. “The character wasn’t written to any great depth,” says Len, “so inevitably what came over on TV was a lot of me. I sometimes used to slip in words of my own that weren’t in the script! I think they should have given me a proper wife, though, not just a dead one.” (Mrs Legg was supposed to have been a nurse, killed long ago by a land-mine).
In real life Len married, aged almost forty, to a professional cellist, Madeline Thorner, considerably younger than him. Three sons and a daughter arrived in quick time, in their house in Hampstead Garden Suburb that was a far cry from Duckett St. Although the marriage eventually foundered, Len and Madeline remain friends and it was she who managed to get him into Denville Hall.
Any regrets? “Well, if I’d know how well my voice would last,” he admitted, “I’d have been a singer.” Len does still sing beautifully, even in his ninth decade, and possesses an extraordinary ability to imitate dogs and cats well enough to fool the animals themselves. His ability to paint and aptitude for drawing that his headmaster and uncle dismissed long ago came to the fore during Len’s years as Dr Legg, and he continues to paint. The aura of cheerful interest in life, that stood him in such good stead as a small boy in Stepney, still surrounds Len today.
Leonard Fenton
Leonard’s mother and father with his elder sister Sylvie as a baby
Leonard and his sister Sylvie with their Uncle
Leonard Fenton’s publicity shot as a young actor
Leonard playing older than his years in the seventies
Leonard’s publicity shot in the eighties
Leonard in the West End
Leonard’s sketch of Samuel Beckett, done while rehearsing Happy Days at the Royal Court in 1979
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Paul Gardner At Downing St
Yesterday Paul Gardner, founder of the East End Trades Guild and fourth generation proprietor of Spitalfields oldest family business Gardners Market Sundriesmen led a contingent to 10 Downing St consisting of fellow traders Sarah Haque of Urban Species and Len Maloney of JC Motors, supported by John Biggs Mayor of Tower Hamlets, Philip Glanville Mayor of Hackney, and Meg Hiller MP for Hackney South and Shoreditch.
The purpose was to deliver his petition of 10,562 signatures to Theresa May in advance of today’s budget, demanding a reduction in the excessive business rate increases proposed in London which threaten to wipe out independent shops and small businesses across the East End.
When Gardners Market Sundriesmen was selected as one of Britain’s Top 100 Small Businesses last year, Paul Gardner was invited to a reception at Downing St to meet Margot James, Minister for Small Businesses in December. On that day, Paul delivered a letter to Theresa May asking her to intervene on the issue of excessive increases in business rates for small businesses in London but he received no reply, so he organised a petition with the East End Trades Guild as a means to indicate the level of concern to the Prime Minister.
When I first interviewed Paul Gardner at his shop seven years ago, I do not think either of us ever imagined the outcome would be Paul becoming the spokesman for his fellow traders through founding the East End Trades Guild. Or that his natural integrity and moral authority might draw the support of the Mayors of both Tower Hamlets and Hackney, accompanying him to deliver his petition to Downing St on behalf of all the traders in the East End.
After he delivered the petition yesterday morning, it was business as usual for Paul Gardner as he went back to open his shop in Commercial St where I discovered him behind the counter. Unusually dapper in a suit and tie, and with his unruly locks newly trimmed, he was still flushed from his trip to Whitehall.
“It was exciting going to Downing St. You feel that you are doing something. Some people might say that it’s not really worthwhile, but it is always better to do something than nothing and I am quietly optimistic something will happen in the next day or two. We raised over ten-thousand-five-hundred signatures and I know we could easily have got more if we had time. We had a table in Columbia Rd Market last Sunday and I think if we had also gone to Brick Lane we would have got quite a lot more signatures.
When you arrive at Downing St, you have to show them your passport before you go through security, then you walk a hundred yards up the path and number ten is on your right hand side. You are allowed to take photos outside but, once you knock on the door, you have to hand over the petition. I knocked on the door but I didn’t give the man the petition right away, I had a conversation with him and I held onto it so that we got quite a few pictures of him taking the petition. He said it was going to go straight to Theresa May’s desk.
I am very pleased we did this. I am very proud to represent the East End Trades Guild and the more-than-ten-thousand people who signed the petition. Before the East End Trades Guild existed we all suffered in silence and didn’t know who to talk to, but the Guild has provided a sounding board for traders to speak with one another and it has given us a sense of community.
I’m hoping our petition makes a difference and people will realise that the East End of London – Hackney and Tower Hamlets in particular – will be dramatically hit if these business rates come into force. For me, it’s a 120% increase which is massive but there are others worse off. The majority are still unaware because they haven’t had their rates bill yet.
It is going to be pretty hard for a lot of businesses. I deal with people in Hackney and Tower Hamlets and I know what a tough time they are having to survive. Nobody can afford 100% increase in business rates.
If we don’t get adequate relief from the government, I can see closure of 20% of businesses – maybe more than that – in the next five years. In the first year, the increase is not too much but after that it builds up more and more. Combined with escalating rents round here, it will alter the landscape in Columbia Rd, Brick Lane, Broadway Market and Dalston.
It’s mad – business will no longer be tenable for a lot of people. It will kill the area in some respects because everywhere will become exactly the same as everywhere else, whereas round here there are quite a lot of independent shops which bring people to the East End.
The rateable value of my shop was £18,000 and now it’s going up to £40,000. If this happens, it will mean the end of the line for my business after nearly one hundred and fifty years, and four generations. At the moment I pay about £190 a week business rates but there’s no way I could carry on if I have to pay over £400 a week just on business rates before anything else, so there wouldn’t be any longevity in the shop.
I’m hopefully optimistic that something will be done to help us in the budget.”
Paul Gardner delivers his petition to Theresa May
Paul Gardner, Paper bag seller and founder of the East End Trades Guild
Paul Gardner with fellow traders Sarah Haque and Len Moloney
A jubilant moment after the delivery of the petition
Notice in the window of Gardners Market Sundriesmen yesterday
Paul Gardner, Paper Bag Baron delivers his petition to Downing St on behalf of East End traders
Photographs copyright © Sarah Ainslie
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Stephen Gill’s Trolley Women
When photographer Stephen Gill slipped a disc carrying heavy photographic equipment ten years ago, he had no idea what the outcome would be. The physiotherapist advised him to buy a trolley for all his kit, and the world became different for Stephen – not only was his injured back able to recover but he found himself part of a select group of society, those who wheel trolleys around. And for someone with a creative imagination, like Stephen, this shift in perspective became the inspiration for a whole new vein of work, manifest in the fine East End Trolley Portraits you see here today.
Included now within the camaraderie of those who wheel trolleys – mostly women – Stephen learnt the significance of these humble devices as instruments of mobility, offering dominion of the pavement to their owners and permitting an independence which might otherwise be denied. More than this, Stephen found that the trolley as we know it was invented here in the East End, at Sholley Trolleys – a family business which started in the Roman Rd and is now based outside Clacton, they have been manufacturing trolleys for over thirty years.
In particular, the rich palette of Stephen Gill’s dignified portraits appeals to me, veritable symphonies of deep red and blue. Commonly, people choose their preferred colour of trolley and then co-ordinate or contrast their outfits to striking effect. All these individuals seem especially at home in their environment and, in many cases – such as the trolley lady outside Trinity Green in Whitechapel, pictured above – the colours of their clothing and their trolleys harmonise so beautifully with their surroundings, it is as if they are themselves extensions of the urban landscape.
Observe the hauteur of these noble women, how they grasp the handles of their trolleys with such a firm grip, indicating the strength of their connection to the world. Like eighteenth century aristocrats painted by Gainsborough, these women claim their right to existence and take possession of the place they inhabit with unquestionable authority. Monumental in stature, sentinels wheeling their trolleys through our streets, they are the spiritual guardians of the territory.
Photographs copyright © Stephen Gill
A Walk With Philip Cunningham
While living in his grandfather’s house in Mile End Place during the seventies and eighties, Philip Cunningham used to explore the streets of the East End taking photographs.
“What the Germans had not bombed in the war, the GLC and the council were trying to pull down. There were ruins everywhere and it gave the borough a strange character,” recalled Philip, “There were asbestos prefabs all over the place but they slowly disappeared – the last two I remember were in Globe Rd. The residents were moved into new tower blocks yet they turned out to be unsatisfactory too.”
Shall we join Philip on one of his walks? He says meet him outside the Rinkoff’s Bakery in Whitechapel a generation ago and we can take it from there.
At Brady St Dwellings
Brady St Dwellings
At Brady St Dwellings
Brady St Dwellings
Brady St
Durward St, Whitechapel
Mural of Canon Barnett at Whitechapel Art Gallery
Brick Lane
Fournier St
Brick Lane
Folgate St
Grimsby St
Cheshire St
Spitalfields Coal Depot
Bethnal Green
Artillery Passage
Middlesex St
Old Castle St
Leadenhall Market
Alie St
At St George in the East
White Horse Lane
Mile End Rd
Mile End Rd
Mile End Rd
Mile End Rd
Alderney Rd
Limehouse
Photographs copyright © Philip Cunningham
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Cockney Cats
I could barely contain my excitement when fellow felophile Stefan Dickers summoned me urgently to the Bishopsgate Institute last week to share his latest discovery unearthed in the archive, Cockney Cats by Warren Tute with photographs by Felix Fonteyn from 1953
Micky is the centre of the Day family of Copley St in the parish of Stepney
The whole family pamper him and have a wonderful time
Bill on weekdays, William on Sundays, the cat at the Bricklayers Arms in Commercial Rd has a wonderful life since the Guv’nor Jim Meade was once a Dumb Animals’ Food Purveyor. At seventy-seven Jim looks back on a long and distinguished life in Stepney during his thirty-two years as Guv’nor.
Yeoman Warder Clark & Pickles on Tower Green
On duty at the Tower of London
The tail-less cat of the guardroom who came out to watch Pickles being photographed
Min, Port of London Authority cat has many friends among the dockers and very good ratting at night
Min of the magnificent whiskers has made her home in the office of K Warehouse in the Milwall Docks
Customs & Excise cat guards the Queen’s Warehouse and is paid a Treasury Allowance of sixpence a day
Mitzi has the run of her ship from the lifeboats to the Officers’ Mess
Old Bill the railway cat, his favourite position is the entrance to Blackfriars Station
Old Bill takes cover when necessary in the rush hour
Tibs the Great (1950-64), the official Post Office cat at Headquarters, does not normally live in this 1856 pillarbox
This cat’s curiosity unearthed a box of ancient stamps and seals, some dating back to Queen Anne
Minnie the Stock Exchange cat was a self-willed and determined kitten who adopted the dealing floor as her own preserve
Minnie enjoys the banter in the tea room
Tiger of The Times is the best office cat in Fleet St
Tiger of The Times is equally at ease whether in the Board Room …
… or doing his rounds in the Print Room
Sneaking back into Lloyds of London is difficult even for the resident cat
Cecil is the Front of House cat at the Theatre Royal Drury Lane
Cecil is very elusive in his many hiding places from which he has to be coaxed by the Royal Waiter before the performance can begin
When thirteen people sit down to dine at the Savoy and the thirteenth guest is Jimmy Edwards, almost anything can happen. The famous black cat is invited to occupy the fourteenth place so that everyone can enjoy the sparkling conversation.
Bill at the Tower of London (1935-47)
Images courtesy Bishopsgate Institute
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Stuart Goodman In Broadway Market
Broadway Market 1982
Broadway Market 2004
Last year, I published Stuart Goodman’s photographs of Broadway Market in 1982 and today I present his pictures of the Market in 2004 accompanied with poems by Caroline Gilfillan. A former Fleet St Photographer, Stuart Goodman lived in Broadway Market from 1976 before moving in the eighties to Norwich, where he lives today.
In the twenty years between Stuart Goodman’s two sets of photographs, the Market transformed – both in the nature of the merchandise and the range of customers coming to buy. Yet even these pictures from 2004 seem to belong to another age, now that Broadway Market has become a fashionable destination, teeming with tourists from all over Europe – a place to see and be seen each Saturday morning.
“These pictures were first shown at Stephen Selby’s Off Broadway Gallery in Broadway Market in 2005. Stephen & I set up the Broadway Market Preservation Society in a moment of drunken youthful exuberance in the Cat & Mutton one night in the late seventies and this developed into the Broadway Market Action Group, which begat the Residents & Traders Association.
The cobbles had already gone by then, replaced by the awful brickwave, and there was an air of excitement about the market although it had not yet developed the sophisticated glitz of today. I was in the market recently and, while I love the buskers and the buzz, it feels like a film set to me now.
In 2004, there were just four of the market people still around from when I took the 1982 photos, John from the fruit & veg stall, Henry Tidiman from the butchers, Stephen Selby leaning out of his window and Joe Cooke from the pie & mash shop. Today there is only Stephen Selby and Joe Cooke.
In 2004 when I spent a day wandering around the market taking these photos, I stopped to buy a cup of coffee. “What are you doing?” the guy on the coffee stall asked, so I told him about my market project. “That’s funny,” he said, “I’ve got a stall in Norwich Market too and last year, there was a bloke showing his photos on a stall near me.”
“That was me” I said.”
– Stuart Goodman
Tomatoes
Walking down the market you point out
Isle of Wight tomatoes, firm fleshed,
lined up on plastic greensward
in scarlet overcoats.
When we lived here, our skins were tighter,
our pith more closely packed.
And now? We’re a little bruised, a little ripe,
but thick as jam with taste and sap.
Broadway Market Feet
In 1600 porters ferried heavy packs
of city goods from Shoreditch to the broad
way where now the wooden stalls are stacked,
heading for Clapton’s ale-houses and beds.
Later, shepherds guided sheep from the weald
of Aeger Londiniensis – thigh-deep
pasture now enclosed as London Fields –
to this market street. Bloody butchers’ feet
ripe with fleece and meat tramped sawdust
in the Side of Mutton bar.
Now pointed toes
prowl the bricks, and foxy trainers rush
for café seats. Sweet foot, reads the sign below
a docile flock of moulded plastic shoes
blinking primary yellow, red and blue.
Broadway Market Buildings
Their flat flanks line up, shop-front trousers
patched with plum and lime paint.
These old boys held their ground when the
London sky spat bombs that splintered
brick and bone. Side-stepped the Council’s
wrecking ball. In drab carpet slippers
they watched women fill shopping trollies
with onions, spuds carrots, toms: savoury,
sensible stuff. This March morning sweeter
tastes are on their tongues: blue and white
candy stripes; the market police cycling
in jackets sharp as sherbet lemons.
Broadway Market Pubs
The Perseverance overlooked a canal
that served up cans, crisp packets, plastic bags,
and wire trolleys wearing weed shawls.
In winter she shivered in a dress of worn bricks.
The Market House growled through tonsils
roughed up by Players Number Six.
Black and blue, white-fronted, she
smelt of damp overcoats and bitter.
The red brick face of the Goring Arms
blinked lights the colour of pop,
beckoned you in to wooden benches
and a soft spot in her velvet lap.
The Cat and Mutton faced two ways,
had two signs stuck on her like
enamel brooches. Big-boned, loud,
her halls were full of gas and gab.
Now the first’s been sold up. The second’s
boarded up. The third’s Doved up.
And the fourth is loved up, as rampant with
custom as nasturtiums in bloom.
Broadway Market 1982
Photographs copyright © Stuart Goodman
Poems copyright © Caroline Gilfillan
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Tony Bock’s East End Portraits
Clock Winder at Christ Church, Spitalfields
Here are the East Enders of the nineteen seventies as pictured by photographer Tony Bock in the days when he worked for the East London Advertiser – the poncey dignitaries, the comb-over tories, the kids on the street, the market porters, the fascists, the anti-fascists, the shopkeepers, the sheet metal workers, the unions, the management, the lone dancers, the Saturday shoppers, the Saturday drinkers, the loving family, the West Ham supporters, the late bride, the wedding photographer, the kneeling politician and the clock winder.
Welcome to the teeming masses. Welcome to the infinite variety of life. Welcome to the exuberant clear-eyed vision of Tony Bock. Welcome to the East End of forty years ago.
Dignitaries await the arrival of the Queen Mother at Toynbee Hall. John Profumo kneels
On the steps of St Paul’s Cathedral
National Front supporters gather at Brick Lane
Watching a National Front march in Hackney
Shopkeepers come out to watch an anti-racism march in Hackney
A family in Stratford pose in their back yard
Wedding photographer in Hackney – the couple had been engaged many years
West Ham fans at Upton Park, not a woman to be seen
Sports club awards night in Hackney
Dancers in Victoria Park
Conservative party workers in the 1974 electoral campaign, Ilford
Ted Heath campaigns in Ilford for the General Election of 1974
Ford workers union meeting, Dagenham
Ford managers, Dagenham
Press operator at Ford plant, Dagenham
At Speakers’ Corner, Hyde Park
Brick Lane Sunday Market
Saturday morning at Roman Rd Market
Spitalfields Market porter in the workers’ club
Photographs copyright © Tony Bock
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