In Search Of The Red Lion Theatre
Is this the location of The Red Lion Theatre?
The Red Lion Theatre in Whitechapel was constructed in 1567 by John Brayne and his father-in-law James Burbage as London’s first purpose-built public commercial theatre, predating by some years those in Shoreditch which are celebrated as the home of Shakespeare’s first plays. Now, recent excavations up in Shoreditch have led to a renewed interest in what may be discovered down in Whitechapel, encouraging my own speculation about the location of The Red Lion Theatre.
For centuries, Whitechapel was the point of arrival and departure for those travelling east, where coaching inns – such The Boar’s Head at Aldgate – became venues for the performance of plays, and Henry VII Treasurer’s Accounts book for 1501 includes the entry – ‘6 August 1501: Also to the players at Mile End, 3 shillings, 4 pence.’
Evidence for the existence of The Red Lion Theatre resides in two legal documents which record the nature of disagreements between John Brayne and those who built his theatre. This first extract describes the location of The Red Lion and outlines its dimensions.
‘The condition of this obligation is such that if the within bounden John Reynolds, his executors, or assigns, or any of them, at his or their proper costs and charges do frame, make, or build and set up for the within named John Brayne within the court or yard lying on the south side of the garden belonging to the messuage or farmhouse called and known by the name of the sign of the Red Lion (about the which court there are galleries now building), situate and being at Mile End in the parish of St Mary Matfellon, otherwise called Whitechapel without Aldgate of London, sometime called Stark’s House, one scaffold or stage for interludes or plays of good, new, and well-seasoned timber and boards, which shall contain in height from the ground five feet of assize and shall be in length north and south forty foot of assize and in breadth east and west thirty foot of assize, well and sufficiently stayed bounden and nailed, with a certain space or void part of the same stage left unboarded in such convenient place of the same stage as the said John Brayne shall think convenient; and if the said John Reynolds, his executors, or assigns do make, frame and set up upon the said scaffold one convenient turret of timber and boards which shall contain and be in height from the ground, set upon plates, thirty foot of assize… and also that the said scaffold or stage so to be made be fully finished, wrought and workmanly ended and done before the eighth day of July then next immediately ensuing without fraud or further delay: that then this obligation to be void and of none effect or else to stand and abide in full strength and virtue.’
This second document challenges the quality of the carpenters’ work and names one of the plays performed at the theatre as The Story of Sampson.
‘Court holden the 15th day of July 1567 … by master William Ruddock, Master Richard More, Henry Whreste, and Richard Smarte, wardens, and Master Bradshaw. Be it remembered that … where certain variance, discord, and debate was between William Sylvester, carpenter, on the one party and John Brayne, grocer, on the other party, it is agreed, concluded, and fully determined by the said parties, by the assent and consent of them both with the advice of the master and wardens above said, that William Buttermore, John Lyffe, William Snelling, and Richard Kyrby, carpenters, shall with expedition go and peruse such defaults as are and by them shall be found of, in, and about such scaffolds as he the said William hath made at the house called the Red Lion in the parish of Stepney, and the said William Sylvester shall repair and amend the same with their advice substantially as they shall think good. And that the said John Brayne on Saturday next ensuing the date above written shall pay to the said William Sylvester the sum of £8 10 shillings lawful money of England, and that after the play which is called The Story of Samson be once played at the place aforesaid the said John shall deliver to the said William such bonds as are now in his custody for the performance of the bargain. In witness whereof both parties hereunto hath set their hands.’
It is unknown whether these two scaffolds were used for performances beyond 1567 but it is unlikely that such a large structure with a trapdoor and a turret would be built to serve for just one season. Within a decade, John Brayne entered into a second collaboration with his father-in-law James Burbage, building The Theatre in Shoreditch in 1575. Thus The Red Lion in Whitechapel can be seen as a prototype of The Theatre, the structure which was eventually transported across the river and rebuilt on Bankside as The Globe in 1599.
As part of Before Shakespeare, a project to explore the origins of public playhouses in sixteenth century London, actors from The Dolphin’s Back staged a reading of Robert Wilson’s play The Three Ladies of London (1584) in Whitechapel recently at The Urban Bar – the venue closest to the location of The Red Lion. One of the first playhouse scripts to be printed, this lively allegorical drama exposes the exploitation of the poor and vulnerable, drawing a picture of London as a cosmopolitan city of international trade, where rents are escalating beyond affordable levels and citizens are anxious about the amount of revenue paid to Europe. Plus ça change!
The Gascoyne Map of Stepney (courtesy Before Shakespeare)
‘…within the court or yard lying on the south side of the garden belonging to the … farmhouse called and known by the name of the sign of the Red Lion…’ The Red Lion Farm is circled and the theatre is believed to have been constructed upon the westerly piece of land labelled ‘Bowling’ . (courtesy Before Shakespeare)
The presumed location of the Red Lion Theatre between Cavell St and Millward St is now occupied by a car park and a railway cutting
Actors from The Dolphin’s Back read Robert Wilson’s The Three Ladies of London at the Urban Bar in Whitechapel close to the site of the Red Lion Theatre
This vacant lot at the corner of Middlesex St and Aldgate High St was once the site of The Boar’s Head, Whitechapel, 1557: ‘[Privy Council orders the Lord Mayor] to give order forthwith that some of his officers do forthwith repair to the Boar’s Head without Aldgate where the lords are informed a lewd play called A Sack Full of News shall be played this day, the players whereof he is willed to apprehend and to commit to safe ward . . . and to take their playbook from them and to send the same hither.’
For further information consult www.beforeshakespeare.com
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Lew Lessen, Barber
Today it is my pleasure to publish this interview and series of photographs, comprising a portrait of Lew Lessen who opened his barber’s shop in Shacklewell Lane in 1932, undertaken by Neil Martinson forty years ago. “He was a gentle and modest man who was proud of his trade,” Neil admitted to me.
“The craft of barbering is a most honourable profession – even royalty take their hats off to us. I was apprenticed to a barber. My Dad signed an agreement for me to learn the trade for two years at a shop in Southampton St, which is now Conway St. The hours were long. We were open from 8am to 8pm every day with one hour for lunch, and we opened until 9pm on Saturdays. On Sundays we worked from 9am to 2pm and on Mondays from 8am to 1pm.
I learned the trade as I went on. I used to practice shaving with an old razor on a bottle – lather the bottle as if it was a chin (a very pointed chin) and shave it off. There was a lot of shaving in those days. Men used to come in regularly for their shave. They would have their own shaving mugs numbered. A man would come in and say ‘My mug is number 20.’ I’d fetch it down and lather him.
A barber’s shop was like a club in those days. People would sit and talk for hours. Some customers would come in almost every day, just for a chat. One customer I always remember was Prince Monolulu, the famous tipster, with his cry of ‘I’ve got a horse.’ His head was full of small bumps, probably fibroid growths, but his frizzy hair covered it, so that it wasn’t noticeable to the naked eye. He asked me whether I would take away a bet for him to the local street bookmaker. He wanted two shillings each way double on two horses, and he told me he didn’t want the bookmaker to know that it was his bet. Well, naturally, getting such ‘inside information’ from such a source was too good to be missed. So not only myself, but my boss, and I also prevailed upon my Dad, who was not a betting man, to join us in the bet. Needless to say both horses finished well down the field.
I’ve seen many changes here, both in the neighbourhood and in hairstyles. It used to be just a matter of short back and sides, with the occasional Boston. A Boston means the hair is cut at the back in a line, instead of gradually tapered out. Then Bostons were short, but now they are long. Before the war, of course, people wanted the sleek look. They wanted their hair slicked down. I would have men come in and want their hair brushed like Ronald Coleman’s or Raymond Navarro’s, both of whom had the patent leather look about them.
The other change has nothing to do with haircutting or shaving. The role of the barber used not to be tonsorial skills. On occasions he would become the confidant, Father Confessor, mentor and advisor of his customers, especially in sexual matters. Sexual knowledge is nowadays everybody’s right, particularly for the younger generation. But before World War Two sexual ignorance among the young was fairly high. I remember being asked for and giving advice on the functions and duties of a bridegroom. I’ve given quite a lot of advice over the years. Many were the secrets told to me in confidence of men, and their maritial and extra-marital experience, and in confidence they remained. What was more, the barber’s was the only place you could get contraceptives in those days.
Over the years I have given service to many unusual customers. There was one man who had a serious operation on this throat, with the result that one of the arteries of his throat was covered by a very thin skin, that was more red in colour than the surrounding area. He could not shave himself for fear of cutting into this thin skin and causing the artery to bleed. He warned me to be careful not to cut the thin skin as it would have been impossible for me to stop the bleeding, and he would have to go to hospital. I shaved this man three times every week, and never once did I cut his skin.
There was one aspect of my profession that always gave me a great deal of personal satisfaction, even if it did not bring me much financial reward. This was whenever it was required of me to go out and give service to customers who could not make the journey to my shop, through illness or disability. I could not leave the shop during working hours, so it meant that after closing the shop, tidying the salon, having my evening meal, then changing to go out, it was after 8pm before I left home to do this service. My charges were always very reasonable, it sometimes meant I was away from home on these evenings for up to one and half hours, and was only a few shillings in pocket. But I never minded this, as I felt it was my small contribution towards helping people who were very unfortunate.”
Lew Lessen outside the barber’s shop in Shacklewell Lane that he opened in 1932
Photographs copyright © Neil Martinson
(This interview was originally published by Centreprise as part of Working Lives, Vol 2 1945-77)
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Aaron Biber, London’s Oldest Barber
Fogs & Smogs In Old London
St. Martin, Ludgate with St. Paul’s Cathedral, c. 1900
At this time of year, when dusk gathers in the mid-afternoon, a certain fog drifts into my brain and the city itself grows mutable as the looming buildings outside my window merge into a dark labyrinth of shadows beyond. Yet this is as nothing compared with the smog of old London, when a million coal fires polluted the atmosphere with clouds of filthy black smoke carrying noxious fumes, infections and respiratory diseases. In old London, the city resounded with a symphony of fog horns on the river and thousands of people coughing up their lungs in the street.
Looking at these glass slides of a century ago, once used for magic lantern shows by the London & Middlesex Archaeological Society at the Bishopsgate Institute, the fogs and smogs of old London take on quite another meaning. They manifest the proverbial mythic “mists of time,” the miasma wherein is lost all of human history, save the sketchy outline that some idle writer or other jotted down. Just as gauzes at the pantomime conjure the romance of fairyland, the hazes in these pictures filter and soften the images as if they were faded memories, receding into the past.
The closer I examine these views, the more I wonder whether the fog is, in some cases, an apparition called forth by the photographic process itself – the result of a smeary lens or grime on the glass plate, or simply an accident of exposure. Even so, this photographic fogging is no less evocative of old London than the actual meteorological phenomenon. As long as there is atmosphere, the pictures are irresistibly atmospheric. And old London is a city eternally swathed in mist.
St Paul’s Cathedral from the north-west, c. 1920
Pump at Bedford Row, 1911
Cenotaph, 1919
Upper Thames view, c. 1920
Greenwich Hospital from the Park, c. 1920
City roadworks, 1910
Looking north across the City of London, c. 1920
Old General Post Office, c. 1910
View eastwards from St Paul’s, c. 1910
Hertford House, c. 1910
New River Head, c. 1910
The Running Footman public house, c. 1900
Unidentified building, c 1910
Church Row, Hampstead, c. 1910
Danish Ambassador’s residence, Wellclose Square, Wapping c. 1910
Church of All Hallows, London Wall, c. 1890
Drapers’ Almshouses, Bromley Street, c. 1910
Battersea Bridge, c. 1910
32 Smith Grove, Highgate, in the snow, 1906
Unknown public building, c. 1910
Training ship at Greenwich, c. 1910
Flooded moat at the Tower of London, c. 1910
The Woodman, 1900
Bangor St, North Kensington, c. 1910
Terrace of the Houses of Parliament, c.1910
Statue of Boudicca on Westminster Bridge, c. 1910
Glass slides courtesy Bishopsgate Institute
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Crowden & Keeves’ Catalogue
Richard Ince proprietor of James Ince & Sons, Britain’s oldest umbrella manufacturers, showed me this catalogue published by Crowden & Keeves in 1930 which had been knocking around his factory for as long as he could remember. Operating from premises in Calvert Avenue and Boundary St, they were one of the last great hardware suppliers in the East End, yet the quality of their products was such that their letterboxes and door knockers may still be recognised in use around the neighbourhood today.
The umbrellas were supplied to Crowden & Keeves by James Ince & Sons
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Clive Murphy’s Spitalfields
Pauline, Animal Lover, 77 Brick Lane, 16 July 1988
When it comes to photography, Clive Murphy – the novelist, oral historian and writer of ribald rhymes – modestly describes himself as a snapper. Yet although he uses the term to indicate that his taking pictures is merely a casual preoccupation, I prefer to interpret Clive’s appellation as meaning “a snapper up of unconsidered trifles” – one who cherishes what others disregard.
“I carried it around in my shoulder bag and if something interested me, I would pull out my camera and snap it,” Clive informed me plainly, “I am a snapper because I work instinctively and I rely entirely upon my eye for the picture.”
In thousands of snapshots, every one labelled on the reverse in his spidery handwriting and organised into many shelves of numbered volumes, Clive has been chronicling the changing life of Spitalfields, of those around him and of those he knew, since he came to live above the Aladin Restaurant on Brick Lane in 1973. These pictures are not those of a documentary photographer on assignment but the intimate snaps of a member of the community, and it is this personal quality which makes them so compelling and immediate, drawing the viewer into Clive’s particular vivid universe in Spitalfields.
We pulled out a few albums and leafed through the pages together, selecting a few snaps to show you, and Clive told me some of the stories that go with them.
Winos, Brick Lane, May 1988
Komor Uddin, Taj Stores, 7 December 1990
Columbia Rd Market, 13 November 1988
Jasinghe Ranamukadewasa Fernando (known as Vijay Singh), Holy Man with acolyte, Brick Lane, March 1988 – “Many people in Brick Lane thought he was the new Messiah and the press came down in droves. He was regarded as a very holy man, he held court in the Nazrul Restaurant and people took his potions and remedies. When he died, I joined the crowd to see his body at the Co-op Funeral Parlour in Chrisp St.”
Clive Murphy’s cat Pushkin, 132 Brick Lane, July 1988 – “Pushkin followed me down Brick Lane from Fournier St one night and, when I opened my hall door, he came in with me. So he adopted me, when he was only a kitten and could hardly jump up a step. And I had him for twenty years.”
Neighbour’s doves hoping to be fed, 16 March 1991 – “The Nazrul Restaurant used to keep doves and, when they disappeared, Pushkin was blamed but I assure you he had nothing to do with it.”
Kyriacos Kleovoulou, Barber, Puma Court, 23 February 1990 – “I’ve had a few haircuts there in the past.”
Waiter, Nazrul Restaurant, Brick Lane, 29 May 1988
Harry Fishman, 97 Brick Lane, 19 September 1987 – “He was a godsend to everybody because he cashed any cheque on the spot. I think he was used to being robbed, so he wanted to get rid of the cash. Harry Fishman was the most-loved man on Brick Lane in the seventies, his shop was always full of people wanting to be around him, and I often delivered papers to The Golden Heart for him.”
Harry Fishman’s shop, corner of Quaker St, 19 September 1987
Window Cleaning, Woodseer St, March 1988 – “This man used to run an orchestra and, at all dances and Bengali events, they would play.”
Sunday use of Weinbergs (sold), November 1987 – “It was a printers and when it closed it became a fruit stall. Mr Weinberg was a very jolly fat man, slightly balding, who ordered his staff about. He would say things like, ‘Left, right, left, right, do it properly!’ I dined at his house and I didn’t like the cover of my first novel, so I asked him to redesign it for me. He had a nephew who had never been with a woman and he asked me to find him an escort agency. We all dined in a restaurant behind the Astoria Theatre in the Charing Cross Rd, and then I let them use my front room. But after an hour she came out and said, ‘It’s no use, I give up!’ but we still had to pay, and his nephew never became a man.”
Christ Church Night Tea Stall, October 1987 – “I always went out as the last thing I did before I went to bed, to have a snack.”
Clive’s landlord, Toimus Ali, at The Aladin Restaurant, 6 March 1991 – “He was very taciturn.”
Fournier St, 7 February 1991 – “I used to come here and have lunch with all the taxi-drivers who loved it so much.”
Retired street cleaner, Brick Lane, March 1988
Tramp, Brick Lane, 29 May 1988
Pushkin unwell, Jan 4 1991 – “I was told it would be quite alright to feed my cat on frozen whitebait, but I didn’t thaw it properly and it killed my Pushkin.”
Harry Fishman’s shop after closure, 97 Brick Lane, 27 September 1987
Clive at his desk, 132 Brick Lane, 31 December 1989
Photographs courtesy of the Clive Murphy Archive at the Bishopsgate Institute
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Clive Murphy’s oral histories are available from Labour and Wait
Colin O’Brien Photography Workshop
Colin O’Brien‘s life changed when – as an adolescent photographic prodigy – he received a Leica camera and now LEICA are staging a free one-day workshop for photographers as a tribute to Colin, our much-missed Contributing Photographer who died last summer. I will be introducing the day by talking about my work with Colin, participants will be able to learn about the workings of the latest Leica M and then sent forth with interactive maps of Clerkenwell to explore the streets where Colin took many of his most famous photographs. The workshop will be hosted by photographers Daniel Cuthbert & Clement Lauchard.
This event is now full, but if you are interested to be informed about future workshops please email welcome@leicastore-mayfair.co.uk
“I am not entirely sure how I came to be the owner of my prized Leica Model 111a with an Elmar f3.5 lens manufactured in 1936. Rumour has it that an Irish chauffeur who lived in Victoria Dwellings found it on the back seat of the Rolls Royce he drove and conveniently forgot to mention it to his employer. He must have seen me with my old box camera and offered the Leica to my parents for a nominal sum. These sorts of deals with expensive merchandise being sold ‘off the back of a lorry’ were not uncommon.” – Colin O’Brien on how he obtained the Leica camera with which he took many of his famous photographs.
CLICK HERE TO ORDER A COPY OF COLIN O’BRIEN’S LONDON LIFE
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Save The East End’s Architectural Heritage
At this crucial moment when so much history is being trashed, this is your opportunity to protect the buildings that you love in the East End. As part of the Local Plan produced by Tower Hamlets Council, submissions are currently being invited for buildings which are worthy of being Locally Listed because of their architectural, cultural, historical or social significance.
Anyone can nominate a building but the deadline for submissions is the end of January.
READ more about this scheme by clicking here.
PRINT application forms to submit buildings for Local Listing by clicking here.
CHECK if a building is already Locally Listed by clicking here for an interactive map.
I hope as many readers as possible will take advantage of this rare opportunity to protect our heritage. As examples of buildings that deserve formal protection, I show the small weavers’ houses below which Huguenots of Spitalfields are submitting for Local Listing.
3 & 5 Club Row, two survivors of a terrace of six four-room houses built 1764-6
The terraces of silk merchants’ houses in Spitalfields declare their history readily, yet there are other more modest buildings of the same era which survive as the last vestiges of the workshops and dwellings where the weavers pursued their trade. You might easily walk past without even noticing these undemonstrative structures, standing disregarded like silent old men in the crowd. I am indebted to Peter Guillery and his book The Small House in Eighteenth Century London for highlighting these buildings where the silk weavers worked which are just as significant historically as the larger homes of those who profited from their labour.
190 & 192 Brick Lane, weavers’ houses of 1778-9 built by James Laverdure (alias Green), Carpenter
113 & 115 Bethnal Green Rd, two five room houses of c.1735 probably built by William Farmer, Carpenter
70-74 Sclater St, three houses built for weavers c.1719
70-74 Sclater St, No 70 was refronted in 1777
97 & 99 Sclater St, built c 1720
46 Cheshire St, built in the sixteen-seventies
4a – 6a Padbury Court, probably built c. 1760
125 Brick Lane, shop and workshop tenement probably built in 1778 for Daniel Dellacort, a distiller
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