Spitalfields Life

Join me tonight, Thursday 2nd June at the BOOK LAUNCH PARTY for John Claridge’s EAST END from 6pm upstairs at THE FRENCH HOUSE, 49 Dean St, Soho, W1D 5BG. We are giving away posters of Sammy Fisher’s Grocery Shop to all comers!

Tomorrow, Friday 3rd June, John Claridge will be talking about his EAST END photography with Stefan Dickers at 7pm at WATERSTONES PICCADILLY, W1J 9HD. Email piccadilly@waterstones.com to reserve your free ticket.

Cornerman, E17 1982.

“People take time out of their lives in all kinds of ways, so I thought I’d explore the spectrum of the things people used to do,” John Claridge told me, outlining his rationale in selecting this contemplative set of pictures. Each shows a moment of repose, yet all are dynamic images, charged by the lingering presence of what came before or the anticipation of what lies ahead.

While the photograph of the Cornerman above literally shows“time out” at a boxing match, John was also interested in the cross-section of people watching and taking a breather from their working lives. “With a boxing ring, you’re wondering what’s going to happen. You’re waiting for the episode.” he admitted, “I like that tension and quietness, knowing that you’re going to get boxers flying around the ring in a few minutes.”

Similiarly, speaking of  his photograph below of the pub compere, John said to me, “You can’t see anyone on the stage but you know something’s going to happen. I like it that people have to contribute to the picture, it takes you into another environment. You have to enter another world. You have to ask questions.”

John’s pictorial frame equates to the boxing ring or the pub stage, encompassing a space through which life passes – but his is an arena of calm within the relentless clamour of existence, a transient place of both photographic and emotional exposure.

Time out!

End of the Game, E14 1962 – “When the churchyard was dug up, someone arranged the stones respectfully so they could be seen. Life was over and even the churchyard was gone too.”

Sunday Morning, Spitalfields 1963. “He was leaning out the window having a conversation, it just felt like Sunday morning.”

The Allotment, E14 1959.

Soup Kitchen, Whitechapel 1967. “Time out for a cup of tea and a sandwich, time out from the streets.”

Passports, E16 1968.

Game at the Hostel, Salvation Army Victoria Homes, Whitechapel 1982.

The Conversation, 1982.

Underworld, public toilet outside Christchurch Spitalfields 1982.

Pub Compere, E14 1964.

My Dad Singing At a Pub, E14 1964. – “He had a good voice, very powerful, and he used to play the ukelele banjo as well. My mum got up and sang too. He’d say, ‘Don’t be silly, you can’t sing.’ and she’d say, ‘Yes, I can,’ and get up there. They had a fantastic relationship.”

The Ring, E17 1982.

Wraps, E16 1968. “This is at Terry Lawless’ Gym. I still have a punchbag at home and start by putting my wraps on.”

After Sparring,  E16 1968. – “He had just finished, marked up a little but not too bad.”

Dance Class, E7 1982. – “Did people go to learn to dance or because they were lonely?”

Dog Racing, Walthamstow Dog Track 1982.

Some Were Got Rid Of. – “It still looks like it’s running.”

Dart Night, E17 1968. – “We were playing darts and sat down for a break, everyone in their own world. The guy with the sideburns, his wife was jealous and always asked him to bring her a Chinese takeaway. He would remove the prawns, eat them himself and then rearrange the food. ‘She’s not worth all those,’ he said to me. ‘She won’t know,’ I said. ‘She’ll never know, but I do,’ he replied.”

Some People I Knew, Cable St 1969.

Photographs copyright © John Claridge

CLICK HERE TO ORDER YOUR COPY OF EAST END FOR £25

Pick up your free poster of Sammy Fisher’s Grocery Shop from The French House tonight

Last Saturday, I published Paul Gardner’s story of Sammy Fisher of Old Montague St but since then Barbara Holland has managed to uncover more of the long journey that led to his photographic encounter with John Claridge in 1961.

Sammy Fisher’s story is similar to that of many Jewish families who made the East End of London their home in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. I have put together a picture of just a small part of his life, and hopefully answered one or two questions from Paul Gardner’s account of his friendship with Sammy.

Sammy Fisher was born Samuel Fischhoff in Kingston Upon Hull on 19th October 1908, son of Josef and Rose Fischhoff.  His father, Josef, an egg merchant, was born in 1883 in Galicia, a region of Austria which suffered extreme poverty in the nineteenth century. This forced hundreds of thousands of people to leave the area in order to survive, many choosing to start a new life in another country.  So Josef would have been one of these many migrants who eventually made their way to Hull.

Hull was a prominent destination for migrants heading from Eastern Europe. It is estimated that 2.2 million people passed through the Emigration Platform at Hull’s Paragon Station up until 1914, about a half million of whom were Jewish.  The city had a thriving Jewish community at the beginning of the twentieth century which would have provided support to the migrants. Although most people were in transit, heading for America, Canada, Brazil or South Africa, some – like Josef – chose to stay.

There is no record for Josef (or Joseph) in the 1901 census, so he probably arrived after this year. He applied for naturalisation to become a British citizen and this was granted on 15th October 1909.  By this time, he had married Rose Gelman in 1905, who was born in Russia, and they had four children – Israel Solomon who was three years old, Benjamin a one year old, and twins Jacob and Samuel,  eight months old.  So we now know that Sammy had a twin brother, Jacob, as well as two older brothers – but Jacob died in 1929.

By 1911, Josef and Rose had another son, Isaac, born in 1910 and they were living at 46 Norfolk St, Sculcoates in Hull.  They went on to have a total of fourteen children, with Alexander (born 1912), Chaim (1913), Chaiena D. (1914), Elsie (1916), David (1917), Harris/Harry (1919), Alter (1921) Daniel (1924), and Leizer/ Leslie (1925).  All survived to adulthood except Chaim and Chaiena.

Sammy’s father ran the family business importing eggs, originally in partnership with Lionel Isaac Robin and then on his own, until his sons were old enough to join. By the nineteen-thirties, the family had egg importing businesses in Tooley St, London and in Manchester as well as Hull. Joseph’s original business in Hull, now described as egg & china merchants, went bankrupt in 1941, but the others continued in business under the management of his sons.

At some point, Sammy made the move to London. The first record I can find is a marriage between Samuel Fischhoff and Bertha Richer in 1934 in Hackney.  Bertha was the daughter of Joseph and Jane Richer (previously Reicher), the youngest of eleven living children. They were also from Galicia in Austria, the same region as Sammy’s parents, although they came over in the eighteen-eighties and settled in Whitechapel. By 1911 they were living in Dalston.

In the Electoral Register for 1936, Sammy and Bertha are living at 17 Tallack Rd, Leyton, but have the shop at 92 Old Montague St in Whitechapel.  In the 1938 Post Office Directory, Samuel Fischhoff is now listed as an egg merchant & salesman at number 92.  Going back to the 1934 directory, number 92 was being run by a Miss Hetty Handler (or possibly Kandler), egg merchant.  So it looks as if he took over the shop between 1934 and 1936 as a ‘going concern,’ probably to sell eggs as part of the family business. Phone books for the period 1936 to 1949 have S. Fischhoff, Grocery Provisions, listed at number 92.

The Electoral Registers for 1939 and 1948 lists Samuel and Bertha as living at 6 Evelyn House, Greatorex St, just around the corner from number 92.  I can find no record of them having any children.

I had almost given up trying to track Sammy and his wife after 1949 as they did not appear in any records, including death records. This was because they changed their surname – mysteriously not to ‘Fisher’ (as he told Paul Gardner), but to ‘Franklyn.’ Armed with this information, I established that they continued to live in Evelyn House until at least 1983, probably until Sammy died in early 1984. I believe Bertha died soon after in 1986 in Southend, although I cannot be absolutely certain.

And what of those well-off Manchester relatives who turned up at Sammy’s funeral in a Rolls Royce?  At least two of his brothers, Isaac (d. 1985) and David (d.2000) survived him. David Fischhoff had a china & glass business in Manchester which is still going, now selling ‘memorial, floral, giftware and home décor.’ Another brother, Alexander, had been an egg merchant and then a china merchant in Manchester as well. So there was probably some wealth from these business interests that meant they could afford a Rolls Royce to go to the funeral. With such a large family, other relatives may also have attended, and some of them may have memories of Sammy and his family to share.

Join me tonight, Wednesday 1st June for the EXHIBITION OPENING of John Claridge’s EAST END photography from 6pm at VOUT-O-RENEES, 30 Prescot St, Aldgate, E1 8BB. (Exhibition runs until 21st July)

Tomorrow, Thursday 2nd June is the LAUNCH PARTY for John Claridge’s EAST END book from 6pm upstairs at THE FRENCH HOUSE, 49 Dean St, Soho, W1D 5BG.

This Friday 3rd June, John Claridge is talking about his EAST END photography with Stefan Dickers at 7pm at WATERSTONES PICCADILLY, W1J 9HD. Email piccadilly@waterstones.com to reserve your free ticket.

Self-Portrait with Keith (standing behind with cigarette), E7 (1961).

“We still meet up for a drink and put the world to rights.”

Here is the young photographer John Claridge at seventeen years of age in 1961, resplendent in a blue suede jacket from Carnaby St worn with a polo neck sweater and pair of Levis, and bearing more than a passing resemblance to the character played by David Hemmings in ‘Blow-Up’ five years later.

On the evidence of this set of photographs alone it is apparent that John loves people, because each picture is the outcome of spending time with someone and records the tender moment of connection that resulted. Every portrait repays attention, since on closer examination each one deepens into a complex range of emotions. In particularly intimate examples – such as Mr Scanlan 1966 and the cheeky lady of 1982 – the human soul before John’s lens appears to shimmer like a candle flame in a haze of emotionalism. The affection that he shows for these people, as one who grew up among them in the East End, colours John’s pictures with genuine sentiment.

Even in those instances – such as the knife grinder in 1963 and the lady on the box in Spitalfields 1966 – in which the picture records a momentary encounter and the subjects retain a distance from the lens, presenting themselves with a self-effacing dignity, there is an additional tinge of emotionalism. In other pictures – such as the dance poster of 1964 and the windows in E1 of 1966 – John set out to focus on the urban landscape and the human subjects created the photographic moment that he cherished by walking into the frame unexpectedly. From another perspective, seeing the picture of the mannequin in the window, we share John’s emotional double-take on discovering that the female nude which drew his eager gaze is, in fact, a shop dummy.

For John, these photographs are not images of loss but moments of delight, savouring times well spent. If it were not for photography, John might only have flickering memories of the East End in his youth, yet these pictures capture the people that drew his eye and those that he loved half a century ago, fixing their images eternally.

Across the Street, E1 (1982)  – “I did a double-take when I first saw this. In fact, it was a mannequin in the window. Still looked good.”

School Cap, Spitalfields (1963) – “I just found this surreal. It was as if the man behind was berating a nine-year-old who couldn’t care less.”

Two Friends, Spitalfields (1968) – “They were walking along sharing one piece of bread.”

The Box, Spitalfields(1960) – “I came across this lady sitting on an orange box, there was nothing else around. Then she got up and walked off with her box.”

Labour Exchange, E13 (1963) – “Never an uncommon sight.”

Ex-Middleweight Boxer, Cable St (1960) – “We were talking about boxing when he just gave me the thumps-up.”

Knife Grinder, E13 (1966)  – “Every few weeks he would appear at the end of the street. Quite a cross-section of people had their knives sharpened!”

Mr Scanlon, E13 (1966) – “My next door neighbour. Always with a wicked sense of humour and an equally wicked smile.”

The Doorway, E2 (1962) – “To this day I would still like to know where her thoughts were.”

Crane Driver, E16 (1975)  – “He could balance a crushed car on half a crown and still give you change.”

59 Club, E9 (1973) – “The noise of the pinball machines with the sound of the jukebox playing Jerry Lee.”

A 7/6 Jacket, E13 (1969) – “He had a small shed where he sold anything he could find, which he collected in a small handcart.”

A Portrait, E1 (1982) – “This special lady asked me ‘Why do you want to photo me?’ I replied ‘Because you look cheeky.’ This is the picture.”

Scrap Dealer, E16 (1975) – “This was shot in Canning Town, near the Terry Lawless boxing gym.”

The Step, Spitalfields (1963) – “A kid at play.”

Dance Poster, E2 (1964) – “I was taking a picture of the distressed posters when he glided past.”

The Windows, Spitalfields (1960) – “Behind every window.”

My Mum & Dad, Plaistow (1964) – “Taken in the backyard.”

Fallen Angel, E7 (1960) – “There were a lot of fallen angels in the East End.”

Photographs copyright © John Claridge

CLICK HERE TO ORDER YOUR COPY OF EAST END FOR £25

Join me tomorrow, Wednesday 1st June, for the opening of the exhibition of John Claridge’s EAST END photography from 6pm at VOUT-O-RENEES, 30 Prescot St, Aldgate, E1 8BB. (Exhibition runs until 21st July)

This Thursday 2nd June, there is a book launch party for John Claridge’s EAST END from 6pm upstairs at THE FRENCH HOUSE, 49 Dean St, Soho, W1D 5BG.

On Friday 3rd June, John Claridge is talking about his EAST END photography with Stefan Dickers at 7pm at WATERSTONES PICCADILLY, W1J 9HD. Email piccadilly@waterstones.com to reserve your free ticket.

My Backyard, E.13 (1961) by John Claridge

“My bedroom and darkroom.  What more could you want?  Somewhere to get your head down.  Somewhere to get your print down.”

When William Wordsworth was growing up, he had an overwhelming epiphany of the power of the landscape while out in a boat upon Grasmere beneath a starry sky, and photographer John Claridge had an equally influential experience at a similar age  – in a very different kind of environment – while out on a night’s ratting expedition at a piggery next to the London Docks. “There was the glow of the lights of the dock, but all around us were vast expanses of darkness,” he told me in his excitement at recalling the wonder of the East End during his childhood in the nineteen-fifties, in the days before the halogen glow which obscures the stars today.

“It was a different kind of landscape – without fields – but it was a landscape I loved, the landscape I grew up with,” John confessed, remembering the acres of bombsites and craters, wasteland and allotments that he once knew, and which he recorded in these pictures. “When I was fifteen, I was interested in motorbikes, girls and photography, though I couldn’t say in what order,” he admitted to me with a laugh.

There is a certain cast of occluded light shared by many of these photographs that is partly the result of the London smog of that era, partly mist off the river and partly the light of the early morning when John delighted to explore the East End. “I’m still an early riser, from the days of getting up at five to do my paper round.” he explained, “I’d have breakfast with my dad and listen to his stories – that was my education – then I’d cycle around in the dawn delivering papers before school each morning. You always expected something to happen, but you had to let it happen – that was part of the excitement of seeing something that you weren’t expecting to see, and then you wanted to share it.”

In the post-war East End, prior to redevelopment, the open spaces created a landscape of possibility where nature thrived, where anyone could have an allotment, and where John liked to go scrambling on his motorbike. It was a landscape that offered emotional freedom and creative space to John, who as a fan of Dan Dare and Flash Gordon, was off on his own imaginative journey.

Ultimately, it was John’s talent that took the young photographer on a journey far from his native landscape, giving him a career filled with globe-trotting assignments. Today these early pictures record a place that no longer exists except as a personal landscape of memory. They show how the first landscape that met John’s eyes became the landscape upon which his vision as a photographer was shaped. And it is an epic landscape.

East End Blossom, E.1 (1960).  “Blossom on a bomb site.”

Canning Town Bridge in the Fog,  E.16 (1965).  “Shot from my motorbike (Triton) – stopped, of course.”

Sewer Bank Rd, E.13 (1964).  “My house was just over the fence to the right.”

Ford & Vauxhall,  E.15 (1960).  “Turner Prize?”

Clearing a Bomb Site, E.13 (1961). “The next street to where I lived.”

Iron Bridge, E.16 (1964).  “An iron bridge across the railway line, not far from the docks.”

The East End Horse, Allen Gardens, Spitalfields (1972).  “The horse takes a break from the harness of a dray cart.”

Smoke, E.16 (1963). “Winter’s morning looking towards Canning Town. I used to take my old scrambler motorbike and ride the bomb craters there.”

Vicky Park, E.3  (1962). “Where I used to take the occasional girlfriend.”

Canal, E.3  (1968).  “Early morning, grey day but full of expectation.”

After the Rain, E.16 (1982).  “That beautiful smell after everything’s had a good wash.”

Scrap Yard, E.16 (1982).  “Sometimes it got muddy.”

The Path, E.7 (1960). “Neglected cemetery, always so quiet.”

Allotments, E.6 (1963). ” This area always had a strange presence, a symbiosis between industrial and natural.”

The Small Creek, E.3 (1987). Daybreak.

Along the Track, E.16 (1973). “Shot from a parapet, early morning above the rail-track. I wanted a bit of height.”

Rooftops, E.3 (1982). “There was always a great man-made sculpture around, not to every one’s taste but I liked it.”

Slag Heaps, E.6 (1963). “This area seemed to always have a greyness that sat in the sky.”

Spillers, E.16 (1987). ” I loved these buildings, it was like walking into an early sci-fi movie.”

Photographs copyright © John Claridge

CLICK HERE TO ORDER YOUR COPY OF EAST END FOR £25

The first of five features celebrating the publication of John Claridge’s EAST END this week

The Daily Message in E3, 1972

Taken between 1959 and 1982, each one of these East End pictures by John Claridge contains a diversion of some kind – either illustrating an activity that is incidental to the flow of life or presenting an observation that is itself a distraction. “These are small incidents, humdrum diversions like going to the hairdresser or the baths, not shattering moments but part of the life of the community all the same,” he assured me. Yet although these sly visual anecdotes may refer to marginal or quotidian experiences, they can sometimes reveal as much or more about the texture and tenor of their times than any news photo of the day.

John collected his observations of life out of a fascination to explore the strange poetry of existence, revealing his interest in reflections upon images seen through glass, his passion for lettering and design, and especially his delight in people. He takes pleasure in observing how they inhabit a place, and how they show their creativity when they strive to make themselves at home, even in the most unlikely or inopportune of circumstances.

Bridalwear shop, Spitalfields 1966. “Wherever you went at that time, there was always a bridal shop.”

Twenty past one? Spitalfields 1967. “You couldn’t design it better!”

American wrestler and trainer, Walthamstow Town Hall 1982.  “They asked me to take the picture.”

Barbers, Spitalfields 1964. (note spelling of ‘closing’)

Accordion player, Spitalfields, 1970. “He was playing under an arch and the sound drifted around, it was wonderful.”

Corsetiere, Whitechapel 1961. “A man came up to me while I was doing this and asked, ‘What are you doing?’ ‘I’m taking a picture,’ I said. ‘There’s something wrong  with you, lad,’ he replied.”

East Ham baths, E6 1961. “After Saturday morning football, we always went to East Ham baths to have a bath.”

Football in the street, Spitalfields 1959.

Sweet kiosk, Spitalfields 1967. “See my reflection in this picture. She was so proud. Afterwards, she and her friends came out to be photographed.”

Snack bar – cold drinks, Spitalfields 1982.

Boy on a rocking horse, E2 1982. “Look at the conditions he’s living in. The bars look like a prison and he’s got nowhere to go.”

At the 59 bikers’ club, E9 1973. Founded by Father William Shergold, biker priest, in 1959 to bring mods and rockers together.

Lady on the balcony, Spitalfields 1962. “Her diversion for the day was standing there and watching the world go by.”

Windmill seller,  E2 1961.

Washing day, E14 1961. “I just came out of my girlfriend’s house and she said, ‘Look, it’s washday across the road.'”

Man with jobs poster, Spitalfields 1963. “I asked him, ‘Are you alright for a couple of bob?’ and he sat in the sun for me for a moment.”

Ear piercing, Spitalfields 1964. Is this ear piercing done to people over five years of age, or has the jeweller been piercing ears since five years of age?

Hotdog van, Spitalfields 1961.

Cup of tea, Spitalfields 1964. “Settled onto this old sofa in the market, enjoying his cup of tea, he looks like he should be wearing an eighteenth century wig and coat.”

Photographs copyright © John Claridge

CLICK HERE TO ORDER YOUR COPY OF EAST END FOR £25