Tales From The Two Puddings
Tales From The Two Puddings, a documentary about Eddie Johnson’s legendary pub is being shown at Stratford Picture House on 14th July & Cafe 1001 in the Truman Brewery on 21st July
Shirley & Eddie Johnson on their first day behind the bar in 1962
Through four decades, from 1962 until 2000, Eddie Johnson was landlord of the celebrated Two Puddings in Stratford, becoming London’s longest serving licensee in the process and witnessing a transformation in the East End. When Eddie took it on, the Two Puddings was the most notorious pub in the area, known locally as the Butcher’s Shop on account of the amount of blood spilt. Yet he established the Puddings as a prime destination, opening Britain’s first disco and presenting a distinguished roll call of musicians including The Who – though the pub never quite shook off its violent notoriety.
“I’ve had a lot of blows,” Eddie confided to me with a crooked grin, his eyes glinting enigmatically. Even in his eighties, Eddie retains a powerful and charismatic demeanour – very tall, still limber and tanned with thick white hair. Of the old East End, yet confident to carry himself in any company, Eddie admitted to me he was the first from his side of town to make it into Peter Langan’s Brasserie in Stratton St, mixing with a very different clientele from that in Stratford Broadway. It was indicative of the possibility of class mobility at the time, and there were plenty from the West End who were persuaded to take the trip east and experience the vibrant culture on offer at the Puddings.
“I came from the Old Ford Rd and I suppose you’d refer to it as a slum by today’s standards, but I never thought that because I had a happy childhood, even if we had an outside toilet and went to the bath house each week. The public library was heaven to me, all polished wood and brass, and I got a great love of schoolboys’ adventure stories which made me wish I could go to public school though, of course, I’d have hated it if I did. After I got married and had a son and then another, I had a number of dead end jobs. When I came out of the army, I became involved with a rough crowd. I worked with my brother Kenny organising dances. I was a bit of a hooligan and I got stabbed in a dance hall. But then I found a job as a Tally-clerk in the docks and became involved with the Blue Union – the skilled workers and stevedores. I was the Tally-clerk on Jack Dash’s strike committee. I loved it down there and, though I didn’t make a lot of money, I didn’t care because I loved the freedom. We could more or less do what we wanted.
The licensee of the Two Puddings got in trouble with the police, so Kenny and I bought the lease because we were frightened of losing the dance hall. Since my brother couldn’t hold the licence owing to an earlier court case, I had to take it. Now I didn’t fancy managing a pub and I had been to the Old Bailey for GBH, so I had to be upfront with the police in Stratford but they were horrible. They said,‘We’ve seen you driving around in a flash car,’ and I said, ‘I’l tell you where you can stick your licence!’ But this butcher, Eddie Downes, a huge fat man with a completely bald head who looked like a cartoon butcher, he told me not to worry. He had a reputation as a grass and he was always boasting about his connections to the police. ‘You’ll still get your meat from me?’ he asked, and three months later we were granted a licence.
We moved into the Puddings and after the opening night, I said, ‘I can’t stand this,’ and then I stayed forty years. I used to come downstairs on a Friday night and look around hoping there weren’t going to be any fights and I’d get all tensed up, but after a few light ales I’d be happy as a sandboy. The place would be packed and we’d be serving beer in wet glasses – it was fairly clean and people didn’t mind. We sold four hundred dozen light ales in a week, nowadays a pub is lucky to sell two dozen. We worked six nights a week plus a fortnight holiday a year and, on Wednesdays, my wife and I used to go up to the West End for a night out – but after forty years, it was tough.
At the end of the sixties, they knocked down a lot of buildings and did a redevelopment in Stratford. We lost all our local trade, but we still had our music crowd. It was ear-splitting music really and we were the first pub to have UV. We called the club the Devil’s Kitchen and got a licence till two in the morning, and it was ever so popular. People came from far and wide.”
At the end of the last century, changes in the law required breweries to sell off many of their pubs and the Two Puddings changed hands, resulting in a controversy over discounts offered to publicans and a court case that saw Eddie Johnson thrown out of his job. Today, he lives peacefully in Suffolk and has organised his stories into an eloquent memoir. It is the outcome of lifetime’s fascination with writing that led Eddie to read the great novelists during his hours of employment in the London Docks. His first story was printed in The Tally-Clerk at that time, but he realised his ambition to become a writer with the publication of “Tales from the Two Puddings,” and in turn this became the basis for the documentary film premiering this summer in the East End.
Eddie aged nine, 1941.
Eddie when he worked in the docks.
Early Saturday morning and preparing to open. Eddie behind the bar and George the potman to his right.
Old George the potman.
Shirley Johnson with Rose Doughty, the famous wise-cracking barmaid.
Eddie’s sister Doreen (second left) and friends heading upstairs to the Devil’s Kitchen, above the Puddings (photograph by Alf Shead)
Eddie and his brother Kenny with their beloved Uncle John in the Puddings.
Saturday night in the Puddings.
Joe and Sue, Eddie’s father-in-law and mother-in-law, enjoying a Saturday night in the Puddings.
Eddie Johnson
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Housing Problems
Writer David Collard introduces HOUSING PROBLEMS (1935) as part of a programme of East End related documentary films, including FIRES WERE STARTED (1943) directed by Humphrey Jennings and filmed around the Docks and in Wellclose Sq, at Vout-O-Reenees in Aldgate next Thursday 14th July at 7pm. Email info@vout-o-reenees.co.uk to book your free ticket ticket
Read about David Collard’s successful campaign to Save Spiegelhalters last year
Elegy For Upton Park
The departure of West Ham football team from the Boleyn Ground in Upton Park after more than a century, prior to a move to the Olympic Stadium in Stratford, is an event of such momentous import that Contributing Photographer Colin O’Brien could not resist going down after the final game to capture the drama outside the pitch while I interviewed a fan to get a personal testimony of this historic watershed.
The Gentle Author – How did this all start?
West Ham Fan – I’ve been a West Ham Fan since I was seven. A friend of mine was a West Ham Fan so I became one too, but I only started coming to the Boleyn Ground about ten years ago when I could afford a season ticket, and now I’m there every Saturday, every home game and the occasional away game too.
The Gentle Author – What is the appeal of West Ham?
West Ham Fan – They’ve obviously got this connection with the World Cup because of the players that were in the England team in 1966, Bobby Moore, Martin Peters & Geoff Hurst. And there’s a wonderful history going right back to the dockers and the Thames ironworks playing in the team. From the moment I got my season ticket and started going regularly, I realised it’s such a friendly club. You go in there and sit down with this group of people, and they ask ‘Who are you?’ and you are welcomed into this new family. Now if I can’t go on a Saturday, they want to know, ‘Where are you? Are y’alright? What going on?’ Everyone there is really friendly, even though the reputation may have been slightly tarnished now and again in the eighties… (laughs)
The Gentle Author – What is the significance of Upton Park?
West Ham Fan – Upton Park, or the ‘Boleyn Ground’ as we call it, has been the stadium West Ham have been at since the beginning in 1904 and it’s a wonderful place. A lot of people were very opposed to leaving and there was a big campaign not to go because of the history which surrounds it. You’ve got the Bobby Moore statue across the road and fans have this real love for it as somewhere they’ve been coming for years and years. The fact that West Ham were going to move out was too much for some people. Over the years they have improved the stadium, so one side has been built up but there’s another side that they call the ‘Chicken Run,’ which is quite an old stand that could have been redeveloped. I think West Ham could have stayed if they had wanted to, but the lure of the Olympic Stadium as somewhere more commercial and more high profile was too much for the owners.
The Gentle Author – What are your feelings about the move?
West Ham Fan – A lot of fans are very upset but I am on the fence – I can’t compete with people who have been going there since 1966 and have this long affinity. I think it’s a wonderful place and it holds a place in my heart – it’s that Saturday morning feeling and that buzz as you’re walking out, going to see West Ham, but I think this is a new exciting chapter beginning. Let’s see how it goes. I’ve already looked at my seat. The seat I’m at now is very close to the pitch but the seat I’m going to have is very far away so I’m never going to have the intimacy I had at Upton Park.
A lot of people have a Saturday routine. There’s Ken’s Cafe where fans have a meal every time they go to West Ham and the Boleyn pub where they go and have a pint. It was a whole day out, not just going to watch the football match. But this is all going to change and their routines will go out the window. It was a complete experience, of getting on the train with the other fans, the crowd, the buzz, the stalls, the shop – a lot of people went in the shop and you’d see them carrying bags with the latest kit. How this is going to translate over to the new stadium I don’t know. I know a few people who are not going to go…
The Gentle Author – Were you at the final game?
West Ham Fan – Yes, I was there. It was quite chaotic getting in, there were fans everywhere. I got off the tube at Upton Park and it took me half an hour to get up the road that normally takes ten minutes because there were people everywhere celebrating and being sad, making the most of the last game. I got in the stadium and it just happened to be one of the best games West Ham have played all season – we beat Manchester United 3-2. So the game was absolutely wonderful, then afterwards there was this big celebration with fireworks and all the players coming in. I think for a lot of fans it was very, very emotional, leaving for the last time but, for me, it was like leaving a place of work where you don’t believe it until you start in a new place. When the new season begins, that’s when it will really hit people – when they go to the Olympic Stadium. It was a wonderful night, a special occasion but a sad evening too. There were lots of tears and lots of people very upset. There were a lot of grown men crying that night.
The Gentle Author – When does the new season begin?
West Ham Fan – The new season starts in August. We’ll go from a thirty-five-thousand-seater stadium to a sixty-thousand-seater stadium and it’s going to be full, so there’ll be lots of new people coming to see West Ham along with fans who’ve been going since they were kids. It also enables cheaper seats so more families can come. In front of me, there’s three generations of West Ham Supporters and I love that.
When the stadium closed there was a big auction and they offered fans the chance to buy their own seat. I was delighted to get mine, R35 – which is a plastic seat in a presentation box that I can keep in my cupboard and occasionally get out and sit on when no-one’s looking.
Photographs copyright © Colin O’Brien
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Mr Pussy Soldiers On
So many readers have written to enquire whether there is any significance in my long silence upon the subject of my old cat Mr Pussy that I feel compelled to give you a report as reassurance that he remains with us in the land of the living. The truth is that I have chosen not to write about him out of discretion because I did not wish to expose the uncertainty of his affliction, but now that matters are resolved satisfactorily I am at liberty to explain.
I can admit that Mr Pussy, renowned for his modest nature and implacable temperament, underwent a personality change. More than a year ago, he began crying in the night and screetching in the day without apparent reason. Neither dishes of food, nor toys, nor dripping taps offered consolation in his feverish anxiety and only sleep granted exhausted respite from his neurotic existence.
With increasingly regularity, he woke me in night, crying in distress, and I had no choice but to crawl reluctantly from my slumber and share a lonely vigil with him as he paced the kitchen, disinterested in whatever scraps I offered as my patience and ingenuity wore thin. Sometimes, I could cradle him in my arms until he grew peaceful and his passion subsided but, at other times, I tried to ignore his incessant cries which only resulted in long sleepless nights for me.
Friends began to make sympathetic enquiries into my own health, upon noticing the dark rings under my eyes, and I found myself making light of circumstances lest I appear unduly concerned or sentimental over my pet. “It’s just the old cat,” I joked, “he keeps me awake screaming at all hours!” rolling my eyes for comic effect.
One day, Mr Pussy made a noise he had never made before. When I first heard it, I did not realise where it came from. It was a deep, extended howl of distress that sounded human, like a the cry of a child or an old person. With his whole body in spasm and eyes wide, Mr Pussy lowered his torso and bent his legs as if he were about to spring, yet he lurched backwards in convulsion and gasped repeatedly, spewing forth the contents of his stomach. He repeated this weekly for several months.
In denial of the problem, I covered the sofa and the armchair with blankets that could easily be washed. Even half-asleep, I learnt to clean up afterwards when I was awoken by his episodes.
Then Mr Pussy stopped eating, growing weary and lacklustre, and when he sought solitary refuge under the bath in a demoralised condition, I pulled him out by one leg. When he stopped drinking, I realised he might die of dehydration and attempted to squirt water down his throat from a syringe which caused him to vomit yellow bile.
Next morning, the school children on the bus were delighted by the presence of Mr Pussy in his basket and amused by the novelty of his cries that caused me such grief. After explaining the symptoms, I left him at the vet and wondered if, after sixteen years, the end was near for my poor old cat, but they rang later to say he was on a drip and making swift recovery.
‘Pancreatitis’ was the diagnosis, resulting in the over-production of saliva which can ultimately cause the body to consume itself from the inside out. No wonder Mr Pussy had been screaming in pain. No wonder he had undergone a personality change.
These days, Mr Pussy requires a constant diet of anti-acid pills to retain his equanimity and, when he displays tetchiness in the evening, I am reminded it is time for his next dose. A capsule full of tiny slow-release pills is sufficient to grant Mr Pussy twenty-four hours relief yet he does not welcome his medicine. Thankfully, although smacking his lips in disgust after ingesting the swiftly-administered pills, Mr Pussy can be almost instantly distracted by a cube of dried fish.
In spite of his age and his trials, Mr Pussy remains quick with life. When I lift him, he is alive with swift energy and lithe in motion. Every part of him full of vitality, he is conscious and present in the moment, paying absolute attention and wholly alert with all his senses. Mr Pussy soldiers on.
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On A Thames Sailing Barge
David Pollock, skipper of S B Repertor
“It’s all my wife’s fault,” admitted David Pollock of the Thames Sailing Barge Repertor with a grin of pure delight, when I asked how he came to be the owner of such a fine vessel. “She was an avid reader of the property pages and small ads, and one day she said, ‘There’s a Thames Barge for sale in The Times, let’s go and take a look.'” David continued, rolling his eyes, “I said, ‘You don’t know anything about Thames Barges,’ and she said, ‘I’ve been to a party on one!’ Well, one thing led to another and we bought it, and here we are twenty-seven years later.”
Our conversation took place in the engine room of Repertor, moored in St Katharine Docks for a few days in the midst of a busy summer of charter trips and races. Looking trim with its green, yellow and red paintwork, ropes coiled and russet sail neatly furled – the barge welcomes you with an appealing mixed aroma of engine oil and yacht varnish, as you step below deck. In the hold, where once the cargo was stored, there is now a large panelled galley with small cabins leading off a narrow passage. In its working days, Repertor was manned by a skipper and mate, with the skipper sleeping in the stern and the mate in the foc’sle next to the engine room.
“My twin brothers, Ben and Leo, and me, we’d shimmy up the rigging to the crosstrees to show off,” admitted Amy, David’s daughter, fondly recalling childhood summers on the barge, “People were horrified, but nothing terrible ever happened to us.” As a child, Amy spent every weekend and holiday on the boat, at first on the Isle of Dogs where it was repaired and then on extended coastal cruises. “My parents had three children in a tiny two bedroom flat in North London yet when they got a little money, rather than investing in it bricks and mortar, they invested it in steel and sail – and it was well worthwhile,” Amy confirmed to me, as she sat cradling her one-and-a-half-year-old daughter Rosa, who is herself now being introduced to the ways of maritime life.
The Repertor was one of the last Thames Sailing Barges, built in 1924 by the famous barge-masters Horlocks, based in Mistley on the River Stour in Essex. Such barges were the workhorses of coastal transport, making deliveries up and down the Thames and along the East Coast, their flat hulls enabling them to navigate the shallow creeks where larger vessels could not go.
“I’ve always sailed and my father was in the navy, he was a keen sailor,” David confided, revealing that he was not quite the dilettante he had first implied, “We did most of the work repairing the barge ourselves.” These days, David enters many of the nine barge races that happen at locations around the Thames estuary each summer from the River Medway at Chatham in May until the River Colne at Brightlingsea in September, and he has a reputation for winning a significant number, as the lines of trophies in the galley testify.
“It’s a way to refine the rigging as well as a test of skill – traditionally, barges had to race to get the ports to be the the first to get work delivering cargo, so it was a commercial imperative,” David explained, “The matches were begun in 1863 by Henry Dodds, a barge owner from Hackney who became known as The Golden Dustman by making a fortune transporting rubbish from London to Kent, where it was used in manufacture of bricks that were transported back again.”
Readers may be interested to learn that you can join David Pollock’s crew for one of these matches this summer. Involving as many as twenty-five traditional sailing barges over a day-long course, they can be dramatic races and the S B Repertor has won the annually-awarded title of ‘Champion Barge’ five times.
Amy Pollock
Repertor moored in St Katharine Docks
Amy brings her baby daughter on board.
Amy Pollock and her daughter Rosa
Click here if you would like to take a trip on Thames Sailing Barge ‘Repertor’
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Stoke Newington’s Ghost Signs
This is the epicentre of ghost sign activity in Stoke Newington Church St. On the left is a triple-layer painted wall of the Westminster Gazette, Criterion Matches and Gillette Razors – all merged into one glorious palimpsest – and on the right is a double layer painted sign advertising “Fount Pens Repaired.”
Sam Roberts was walking past one day in 2006 when he had a moment of inspiration. “I thought that’s neat, nowadays we just have disposable pens,” he admitted to me, “The sign was from a different world to ours.” As Sam’s fascination grew, he began to compile a map London’s ghost signs and cycled around to photograph them all. Recognising that these curious signs comprise a powerful element in the collective psyche of urban life, he approached the History of Advertising Trust to develop an online archive containing more than six hundred specimens of which he is now the curator.
Recently, Sam has been studying the ghost signs of Stoke Newington, researching the stories behind their creation. The people and the businesses are mostly gone long ago and these fading signs are their last vestiges on this earth. Yet not everyone shares Sam’s recognition of their importance, as the painting-out of a huge intricate ghost sign upon the wall above above Stoke Newington Post Office demonstrated recently.“Many of these signs are over a hundred and twenty-five years old, “ Sam explained, “if they were a pieces of jewellery or furniture, people would immediately recognise their value.”
Thus, Sam is now leading walking tours to tell the poignant and compelling stories of the signs, revealing a local perspective upon the history of the streets and ensuring that these fragile traces of former generations are appreciated for their beauty and significance, as signposts to our shared past.
In Northwold Rd: R. Ellis. Ironmonger. Stoves, Range & Bath Boiler Works. Gas Fitter & Plumber. General House Repairs. Est. 60 Years. – Robert Ellis was born in 1835, died in 1898 and was buried across the road in Abney Park Cemetery. Note usage of bricks to define the height of the letters.
On Cazenove Rd: F. Cooper, Job Master for Wedding Carriages, Broughams, Landaus, Cabs
The faded illustration on the ceramic panel is captioned “The Duchess of Devonshire canvasses the Jolly Butchers to vote for Fox in 1784”
Eloma Preparations was here in Carnham St from 1947 until the eighties
Richardson & Sons, Shirtmakers, Hackney, Leyton & Walthamstow – painted in 1955 on an older panel
On Stoke Newington High St, painted over an earlier indecipherable sign: John Hawkins & Sons, Cotton Spinners & Manufacturers, Preston, Lancashire (Painted between 1926-1939 when the company was concentrating on increasing their home market when the struggle for Indian independence took away their overseas trade)
Walker Bros, Fount Pen Specialists, Phone Dalston 4522, Agents for Watermans Ideal Fountain Pen (A sponsored sign dated to the early twenties and repainted later on the left with “Any make” added.)
Hurstleigh’s Bakery – Daren – Brown Bread (Daren flour mills were in Dartford, Kent, on the banks of the river Darent)
Alf the Purse King – A Rubinsten & Sons – Purses, Pouches, Handbags, Wallets
In Stoke Newington Church St : Crane, House Decorator, Plumber, Gas & Hot Water Fitter, Contractor for General Repairs (Dating from 1890, this believed to be Stoke Newington’s oldest ghost sign.)
Visible from Stoke Newington Station, a narrow fragment of a double layer sign advertising “6 Tables”, “A Speciality” and “Debossing”
Find out more about Sam Roberts’ tours at his Ghost Signs website or visit the History of Advertising Ghost Signs Archive
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Jeffrey Johnson’s Favourite Signs
Mysterious Photographer Jeffrey Johnson deposited a stack of his pictures from the seventies and eighties with Archivist Stefan Dickers at the Bishopsgate Institute recently, including these photos of signs and ghost signs. Sharing Jeffrey’s relish at this magnificent array, I cannot resist the feeling that he is one after my own heart in savouring both the poetry and aesthetics of London’s old signage.
Win her affections with A1 Confections
Temporary office staff urgently required
Permanent waving clubs held here
More news than in any other daily paper
English clock system
Barry Lampert – Your choice for Hackney
The best food for the whole family sold here
Home cured haddocks & bloaters
The noted house for paper bags
£40 worth for four shillings weekly
Families and dealers supplied
Harris the sign king
Headache draughts
Progressive working class catering
For that natural just combed look
Radio London wireless said ‘The cosy fish bar in Whitecross St serves the best quality fish & chips in London.’
See the light…taste the light
We specialies in suits, donkey coats, officers uniforms, belts & braces, sailors clothing…
Laying out & measuring up undertaken
Photographs copyright © Jeffrey Johnson
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