Spires Of City Churches

Spire of St Margaret Pattens designed by Christopher Wren in the medieval style
I took my camera and crossed over Middlesex St from Spitalfields to the City of London. I had been waiting for a suitable day to photograph spires of City churches and my patience was rewarded by the dramatic contrast of strong, low-angled light and deep shadow, with the bonus of showers casting glistening reflections upon the pavements.
Christopher Wren’s churches are the glory of the City and, even though their spires no longer dominate the skyline as they once did, these charismatic edifices are blessed with an enduring presence which sets them apart from the impermanence of the cheap-jack buildings surrounding them. Yet they are invisible, for the most part, to the teeming City workers who come and go in anxious preoccupation, barely raising their eyes to the wonders of Wren’s spires piercing the sky.
My heart leaps when the tightly woven maze of the City streets gives way unexpectedly to reveal one of these architectural marvels. It is an effect magnified when walking in the unrelieved shade of a narrow thoroughfare bounded on either side by high buildings and you lift your gaze to discover a tall spire ascending into the light, and tipped by a gilt weathervane gleaming in sunshine.
While these ancient structures might appear redundant to some, in fact they serve a purpose that was never more vital in this location, as abiding reminders of the existence of human aspiration beyond the material.
In the porch of St James Garlickhythe where I sheltered from the rain
St Margaret Pattens viewed from St Mary at Hill
The Monument with St Magnus the Martyr
St Edmund, King & Martyr, Lombard St
St Michael Paternoster Royal, College Hill
Wren’s gothic spire for St Mary Aldermary
St Augustine, Watling Street
St Brides, Fleet St
In St Brides churchyard
St Martin, Ludgate
St Sepulchre’s, Snow Hill
St Michael, Cornhill
St Mary Le Bow, Cheapside
St Alban, Wood St
St Mary at Hill, Lovat Lane
St Peter Upon Cornhill
At St James Garlickhythe
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The Kiosks Of Whitechapel


Mr Roni in Vallance Rd
As the east wind whistles down the Whitechapel Rd spare a thought for the men in their kiosks, perhaps not quite as numb as the stallholders shivering out in the street but cold enough thank you very much. Yet in spite of the sub-zero temperatures, Contributing Photographer Sarah Ainslie & I discovered a warm welcome this week when we spent an afternoon making the acquaintance of these brave souls, open for business in all weathers.
I have always marvelled at these pocket-sized emporia, intricate retail palaces in miniature which are seen to best effect at dusk, crammed with confections and novelties, all gleaming with colour and delight as the darkness enfolds them. It takes a certain strength of character as well as a hardiness in the face of the elements to present yourself in this way, your personality as your shopfront. In the manner of anchorites, bricked up in the wall yet with a window on the street and also taking a cue from fairground callers, eager to catch the attention of passersby, the kiosk men embrace the restrictions of their habitation by projecting their presence as a means to draw customers like moths to the light.
In Whitechapel, the kiosks are of two types, those offering snack food and others selling mobile phone accessories, although we did find one in Court St which sold both sweets and small electrical goods. For £1.50, Jokman Hussain will sell you a delicious hot samosa chaat and for £1 you can follow this with jelabi, produced in elaborate calligraphic curls before your eyes by Jahangir Kabir at the next kiosk. Then, if you have space left over, Mannan Molla is frying pakora in the window and selling it in paper bags through the hatch, fifty yards down the Whitechapel Rd.
Meanwhile if you have lost your charger, need batteries or a memory stick in a hurry, Mohammed Aslem and Raj Ahmed can help you out, while Mr Huld can sell you an international calling card and a strip of sachets of chutney, both essential commodities for those on-the-go.
Perhaps the most fascinating kiosks are those selling betel or paan, where customers gather in clusters enjoying the air of conspiracy and watching in fascination as the proprietor composes an elaborate mix of spices and other exotic ingredients upon a betel leaf, before folding it in precise custom and then wrapping the confection into a neat little parcel of newspaper for consumption later.
Once we had visited all the kiosks, I had consumed one samosa chaat, a jalebi, a packet of gummy worms and a bag of fresh pakora while Sarah had acquired a useful selection of batteries, a strip of chutney sachets and a new memory stick. We chewed betel, our mouths turning red as we set off from Whitechapel through the gathering dusk, delighted with our thrifty purchases and the encounters of the afternoon.

Jokman Hussain sells Samosa Chaat

Mohammed Aslem sells phone accessories and small electrical goods

Jahangir Kabir sells Jalebi

Raj Ahmed

Mannan Molla sell Pakora

Mr Duld sells sweets and phone accessories in Court St

Mr Peash

Photographs copyright © Sarah Ainslie
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Israel Bidermanas’ London
.Click here to book your tour tickets for Saturday 8th March and beyond
Lithuanian-born Israel Bidermanas (1911-1980) first achieved recognition under the identity of Izis for his portraits of members of the French resistance that he took while in hiding near Limoges at the time of the German invasion. Encouraged by Brassai, he pursued a career as a professional photographer in peacetime, fulfilling commissions for Paris Match and befriending Jacques Prévert and Marc Chagall. He and Prévert were inveterate urban wanderers and in 1952 they published ‘Charmes de Londres,’ delivering this vivid and poetic vision of the shabby old capital in the threadbare post-war years.
In the cemetery of St John, Wapping
Milk cart in Gordon Sq, Bloomsbury
At Club Row animal market, Spitalfields
The Nag’s Head, Kinnerton St, SW1
In Pennyfields, Limehouse
Palace St, Westminster
Ties on sale in Ming St, Limehouse
Greengrocer, Kings Rd, Chelsea
Diver in the London Docks
Organ Grinder, Shaftesbury Ave, Piccadilly
Sphinx, Chiswick Park
Hampden Crescent, W2
Underhill Passage, Camden Town
Braithwaite Arches, Wheler St, Spitalfields
East India Dock Rd, Limehouse
Musical instrument seller, Petticoat Lane
Grosvenor Crescent Mews, Hyde Park Corner
Unloading in the London Docks
London Electricity Board Apprentices
On the waterfront at Greenwich
Tower Bridge
Photographs courtesy Bishopsgate Institute
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Peta Bridle’s Shops

In her latest series of drawings done on location, Peta Bridle has cast her attention upon shops.
Her exhibition DRAWN TO LONDON opens this Wednesday 26th February and runs until Tuesday 25th March at the Back To Ours Cafe, Good Shepherd Building, 15A Davies Lane, Leytonstone, E11 3RR. 7:30am – 4pm daily.

Leadenhall Market, City of London
The ironwork of Horace Jones’ fine 1881 market building is painted red and cream with dragons on the top, and lit by large glass lamps. Built as a poultry market, the last butcher closed just ten years ago.
Leadenhall has been a centre of trade for centuries with a lead-roofed market building standing here since 1321. Beneath the market are the remains of the Roman forum where commercial and legal business were conducted. Ruins of the forum may be visited in the basement of one of the shops today.

Gardners’ Bags, Leyton
Paul Gardner’s family ran their market sundries shop in Commercial St, Spitalfields from 1870 until just before the pandemic when they relocated to Leyton. Plastic bags hang like bunting overhead and rolls of fluorescent stickers are stacked on the original wooden counter. Paul stands with a large set of green scales in front of him and his old greengrocers’ fruit and vegetable signs displayed behind. It is always a pleasure to visit the charismatic Paul Gardner, the paper bag baron of the East End.

Citywear Independent Gent’s Outfitters, Wentworth St
Citywear Independent Gent’s Outfitters is on a corner in Petticoat Lane Market. Broken lettering clings to the faded black-painted brickwork and rails of clothing are wheeled in and out every day. In recent years, a fashionable speakeasy known as ‘Discount Suit Company’ has opened in the basement serving cocktails.

Arber & Co Ltd, Printers & Stationers, Roman Rd
I met Gary Arber some years ago at his shop. In the basement, down a flight of stairs, was the family print works which had operated since 1897. The glass cabinets in the shop, from when they once sold toys, were stuffed full of paper and notepads, pens and books, and there was string hanging down from the ceiling and boxes of paper stacked in every available space. Note the old Scalextric poster stuck to the front of the wooden counter. Gary retired in 2014, his shop is no more and last time I passed it had become a nail bar.

A1 Car Care Centre, Bethnal Green
Located off Three Colts Lane in Bethnal Green is the A1 Car Care Centre. Hand painted signage in bold blue type on yellow brickwork advertises their services – Tyres! Punctures! Tracking! Servicing!

W G Ford, Poyser St, Bethnal Green
Just an old metal sign left on the wall reveals that this was once the workshop of W.G. Ford Sheet Metal & Steelworkers. I love all the beautiful textures, the graffiti covered brickwork of the railway arch, the cobbled and uneven setts in the road, and the corrugated iron walls.

Bonners Fish Bar, Walthamstow
I made this drawing from across the road. Whilst I was there, people were coming along to admire the new painting by Banksy of two hungry pelicans helping themselves to fish that he did as part of his animal series in 2024.

Tile Mart, Hackney
This beautiful old premises was once a buildings materials supplier. I love the faded paintwork with its fragmentary signage.

MA Soda Ltd, Brixton Market
This busy greengrocer is located in the indoor market. Painted bright green and yellow, a giraffe adorns one side of the doorway and tree branches reach over the other. While I was drawing, the display was constantly changing as fruit and vegetables disappeared into baskets, and new boxes were opened and produce restocked.

Manze’s Pie & Mash, Deptford
Drawn during the last week of trading after more than a century, there was a continual flow of customers and well-wishers. A man told me he remembered sitting on his mother’s knee in Manze’s when he was three. ‘It’s in the blood,’ he told me, ‘It’s important we don’t forget places like this. I am eighty now and I’ve come today with my son.’ The shopfront is green with a black glass sign and gold lettering while white letters on the window declare ‘Meal in a Moment – Manze’s Meat Pies – All Made Daily.’

Manze’s Pie & Mash, Deptford
Manze’s was founded between 1890 and 1914 by Michele Manze who came from Italy in 1878. Until January of this year it was ran by his grandson George Manze until he retired. I sat at the back to sketch the comings and goings while George served his customers at the front. The building is Grade II listed, with an interior lined with marble-topped tables and wooden high-back benches and tiled walls. It was always a popular place to eat before Millwall matches.

Medici Gallery, South Kensington
The Medici Gallery is a greetings card gallery which has traded from this shop since the thirties and every month the window has a beautiful new display. After almost century, this celebrated landmark is now being evicted as part of the redevelopment of South Kensington Station and the handsome Victorian terrace will be facaded. When I visited last summer the window celebrated Van Gogh and his sunflowers.

Medici Gallery, South Kensington
The basement kitchen is full of recycled and salvaged treasures with a window looking onto a tiny garden painted in bright colours, full of pots, parrots, lights and ornaments, which customers can peek down into from above through a skylight.

Word On The Water, London Book Barge, Regent’s Canal, Kings Cross
This is a floating bookshop housed inside a twenties Dutch barge near Granary Sq. New and used books are displayed on shelves, both on deck and below. Inside the boat there are comfortable sofas where you can sit and browse while viewing ducks swimming past at eye level. I sat on the towpath to draw while a trumpeter played jazz up on deck.

Lisle Street, Chinatown
The curve of Lisle Street is filled with Chinese restaurants, cafes and a supermarket. Red lanterns strung across the street bob in the breeze sending their gold tails fluttering. It was busy with tourists and tradespeople but somehow I managed to find a space for my little stool while I did this drawing.

Chinese cakes
A selection of cakes from bakeries in Chinatown. The top two moon cakes represent family reunions and happiness when families gather to celebrate the Mid-Autumn Festival. Taiyaki, the fish-shaped cake, is made of made of pancake batter and filled with azuki paste (sweetened red beans). After I had done my drawing, I got to eat my still life with a cup of tea.
Drawings copyright © Peta Bridle
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Peta Bridle’s London Viewpoints
Peta Bridle’s East End Sketchbook
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Peta Bridle’s Gravesend Sketchbook
Peta Bridle’s City of London Sketchbook
Peta Bridle’s Latest Drypoint Etchings

Peta’s exhibition is open from from Wednesday 26th February until Tuesday 25th March, the Back To Ours Cafe, Good Shepherd Building, 15A Davies Lane, Leytonstone, E11 3RR.
Introducing Walter Donohue
It is my pleasure to give you some background to Walter Donohue who is teaching our Screenwriting Course on 5th & 6th April at Townhouse, Spitalfields. We have a few places available. Email spitalfieldslife@gmail.com to book
CLICK HERE FOR MORE INFORMATION

Walter Donohue typing out edited script pages on set for ‘Orlando’ in St Petersburg, 1992
Introduction by filmmaker Joel Coen –
‘Not only is Walter a steady friend and a discerning intellect, he has also carved out a space in the movie business that no one else really occupies. In the theatre you would call it a ‘dramaturg’—a creative advisor to the director, both from a literary and a production point of view. This position doesn’t exist in the movie business. At least not officially. I can’t say that there aren’t legions of people who are eager to analyse and offer an opinion, but I will say that there are precious few that are so consistently right. You might call Walter a ‘movie whisperer’.’
Here is Walter Donohue’s own account of his extraordinary transatlantic journey to London where he has worked in theatre and film as a director, producer, editor and publisher for half a century –
‘In May 1967, I was on the verge of graduating from the theatre department of the Catholic University of America in Washington D.C. and start a job as an assistant director at Arena Stage when the Vietnam War suddenly escalated and all us guys were immediately eligible to be drafted. What the hell was I going to do? The only way out was to stay in school. I applied for a Fulbright scholarship to go to Bristol University and study theatre but I did not get the award and I was facing the prospect of being sent to Vietnam, so I contacted Bristol directly and ended up going anyway. Five of my fellow students were drafted and two died in Vietnam, so it really was a matter of life or death.
When I finished my degree, I hoped I would be able to jump into regular employment as a theatre director but that turned out to be difficult because directors had to be members of the union, which was reluctant to let in an American. I figured I had no alternative except to return to America but then, out of the blue, I heard that that Charles Marowitz needed an assistant at the Open Space Theatre in London. Some British people had tried the job and could not get on with him, so they thought that perhaps an American might stand a better chance.
For Charles, actors were just objects to push around on the stage. He did not seem to give much thought to the inner lives of the characters. In 1972, I was assistant director on a production of Sam Shepard’s The Tooth of Crime, and when Charles left town to do his version of Hamlet in Denmark, I took over and worked with the actors.
I asked Sam, who was living in London, to come in and watch a run-through, which he absolutely hated. He felt that the actors were moving around in a way that had nothing to do with the dramatic situation they were meant to be playing. ‘But that’s how Charles directed it,’ I said. ‘OK,’ said Sam, ‘I don’t want anything to do with this. I’m going home.’
Obviously, the production should somehow embody his intentions as a playwright, so I sat him down, asked what was wrong and we set about re-blocking the entire play. The actors clearly felt a sense of relief. We were all so pleased with ourselves, but when Charles got back into town and watched what we had done, he threw out all our work.
While Sam was still living in London, I set up a production of Cowboy Mouth, which Sam had co-written with Patti Smith. It was in a small, basement theatre, just Sam, me, and the two actors. No sense of hierarchy, no egos—just commitment to the vision of the writer.
I spent ten years as a theatre director focussing entirely on new writing. I had not realised at the time that the interactions I had with playwrights gave me the skills that came to fruition when I was asked to work at Channel 4. David Rose who had been head of drama at BBC Birmingham offered me a job as his assistant.
This was before Channel 4 began broadcasting. David and I imagined that as soon as we opened the door to our office, scripts would come pouring in, but that did not happen. People just did not know about it, so we scrambled to start commissioning scripts. I thought we should commission novelists. The first I approached was Neil Jordan, he had a script to hand—what became Angel. We also commissioned Angela Carter to write the screenplay of her version of Red Riding Hood, The Company of Wolves, which ended up becoming Neil’s next film after Angel.
Eventually people started sending their scripts to us. If I liked them, I would forward them to David, and if he liked them, they would come back to me because they always needed work. I became involved in the production of various films from their inception, which included going with David to the sets and watching these films being made, then looking at the various cuts with David when the films were in postproduction.
I encouraged David to support Paris, Texas, partly because Sam Shepard was the writer. Paris, Texas winning the Palme d’Or at Cannes really put Channel 4 on the map. I was sort of the script editor. Wim and Sam began with a stack of paper with the basic scene descriptions on them: Scene 1: Travis walking through the desert. Scene 2: Travis walks into a bar. That’s all they wrote, all the way to the end. Once they had done that, they went back and filled out each scene. Scene 1: Travis walking through the desert. Stops. Drinks from a carton. Throws it away. Walks off. Scene 2: Travis goes into a bar to find something to drink. He eats some ice and faints. That kind of thing. Wim and Sam felt that the best way to conceive the film on paper was to represent the story in terms of what was seen, not what was heard. Because Channel 4 was the main financier, I spent a week with Wim in Los Angeles because Sam, at that stage, was beginning to send the dialogue. Then I visited Berlin when Wim was in postproduction.
When we were looking for novelists to commission, I came across a thriller called In the Secret State by Robert McCrum. I thought he was the new Le Carré, so I went to meet him. It turned out he was working at Faber as its editorial director and he introduced me to the chief executive, Matthew Evans, who immediately said I should come work at Faber. I said I was not interested in publishing, I wanted to work in movies so he said, ‘Listen, British films only shoot at certain times of the year because of the weather. I will give you a desk and typewriter and a telephone, and can you start building Faber’s film list. When you are not here, when you’re working on a film, someone else from the company will look after things.’
In the beginning, most of the film books never made money. But then, in 1994, we published the screenplay of Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction, and it sold more than a hundred thousand copies. Tarantino had never gone to film school, so every eighteen-year-old thought they could be a filmmaker if they watched enough videos. But what gave Tarantino’s films their impact was their original structure and the music of the dialogue—which meant that neophyte filmmakers needed to read screenplays. They became teaching tools, of a kind, and in the wake of Pulp Fiction there was a huge spike in the sale of screenplays, as well as our interview books with filmmakers.
If I look back, the thing that is consistent, whether I was working in the theatre or at Channel 4 or at Faber, it is all more or less the same thing – dealing with writers, helping them get their work out there. I certainly enjoy the process. When a writer sends me their scripts, my response is based entirely on instinct, honed over the years. And I never made statements, I never imposed anything. I only ever asked the writers questions, to see if I could draw out from them anything that would clarify their intentions. Given the diversity of the filmmakers who approached Channel 4 for money, the best approach was just to respond to the originality of the writers.’

Burdekin’s London Nights

East End Riverside
As you will have realised by now, I am a night bird. In the mornings, I stumble around in a bleary-eyed stupor of incomprehension and in the afternoons I wince at the sun. But as darkness falls my brain begins to focus and, by the time others are heading to their beds, then I am growing alert and settling down to write.
Once I used to go on night rambles – to the railway stations to watch them loading the mail, to the markets to gawp at the hullabaloo and to Fleet St to see the newspaper trucks rolling out with the early editions. These days, such nocturnal excursions are rare unless for the sake of writing a story, yet I still feel the magnetic pull of the dark city streets beckoning, and so it was with a deep pleasure of recognition that I first gazed upon this magnificent series of inky photogravures of “London Night” by Harold Burdekin from 1934 in the Bishopsgate Library.
For many years, it was a subject of wonder for me – as I lay awake in the small hours – to puzzle over the notion of whether the colours which the eye perceives in the night might be rendered in paint. This mystery was resolved when I saw Rembrandt’s “Rest on the Flight into Egypt” in the National Gallery of Ireland, perhaps finest nightscape in Western art.
Almost from the beginning of the medium, night became a subject for photography with John Adams Whipple taking a daguerrotype of the moon through a telescope in 1839, but it was not until the invention of the dry plate negative process in the eighteen eighties that night photography really became possible. Alfred Stieglitz was the first to attempt this in New York in the eighteen nineties, producing atmospheric nocturnal scenes of the city streets under snow.
In Europe, night photography as an idiom in its own right begins with George Brassaï who depicted the sleazy after-hours life of the Paris streets, publishing “Paris de Nuit” in 1932. These pictures influenced British photographers Harold Burdekin and Bill Brandt, creating “London Night” in 1934 and “A Night in London” in 1938, respectively. Harold Burdekin’s work is almost unknown today, though his total eclipse by Bill Brandt may in part be explained by the fact that Burdekin was killed by a flying bomb in Reigate in 1944 and never survived to contribute to the post-war movement in photography.
More painterly and romantic than Brandt, Burdekin’s nightscapes propose an irresistibly soulful vision of the mythic city enfolded within an eternal indigo night. How I long to wander into the frame and lose myself in these ravishing blue nocturnes.
Black Raven Alley, Upper Thames St
Street Corner
Temple Gardens
London Docks
From Villiers St
General Post Office, King Edward St
Leicester Sq
Middle Temple Hall
Regent St
St Helen’s Place, Bishopsgate
George St, Strand
St Botolph’s and the City
St Bartholomew’s Hospital, Smithfield
Images courtesy © Bishopsgate Institute
You might like to read these other nocturnal stories
On Christmas Night in the City
Night at the Brick Lane Beigel Bakery
Night at The Spitalfields Market, 1991
Remembering Joan Lauder, Cat Lady Of Spitalfields
Joan Lauder, The Cat Lady of Spitalfields (1924-2011)
In recent years, the Cat Lady of Spitalfields has become a legendary figure in East End lore, acquiring an entire mythology of stories as time goes by. In my imagination, she is a mysterious feline spirit in human form that prowls the alleys and back streets – a self-appointed guardian of the stray cats and a lonely sentinel embodying the melancholy soul of the place.
Imagine my delight to discover that Clive Murphy, the Oral Historian who lived above the Aladin Curry House, befriended her and recorded her entire biography over many months in 1991. I learnt the Cat Lady has a name, Joan Lauder, and in Clive’s portrait above you see her sitting in his kitchen at 132 Brick Lane, dictating into a tape recorder and looking uncannily feline in her dappled grey fur coat.
Although she was widely assumed to have died when she vanished from Spitalfields towards the end of the last century, in fact Joan Lauder lived in a series of homes from 1995 until her death in 2011. Clive remained in contact with Joan and was one of her only two regular visitors right up to the end. Over the twenty years they knew each other, an unlikely and volatile friendship grew between Clive & Joan based upon mutual curiosity.
Today I publish some of the photographs that Clive took when he accompanied Joan on her rounds back in the early nineties, tending to the feral creatures of Spitalfields that no-one else loved.
At Angel Alley, Whitechapel, 5th March 1992
Feeding the cat from The White Hart in Angel Alley, 5th March 1992
In Gunthorpe St, 5th March 1992
Buying cat food at Taj Stores, Brick Lane, 3rd August 1992
In Wentworth St, 3rd August 1992
Calling a cat, Bacon St, 3rd August 1992
The cat arrives, Bacon St, 3rd August 1992
Alley off Hanbury St, 2nd August 1992
Hanbury St, 26th November 1995
At Aldgate East, 3rd August 1992
At Lloyds, Leadenhall St, 3rd August 1992
Walking from Angel Alley into Whitechapel High St, 3rd August 1992
Beware Of The Pussy, 132 Brick Lane, 26th November 1995
Clive visits Joan in her Nursing Home, 1995
ANGEL OF THE SHADOWS, The Life of the Cat Woman of Spitalfields
The women I have loved you could count upon the digits of one hand – my mother, her mother, our loyal companion Maureen McDonnell, the poet Patricia Doubell and the demented, incontinent Joan Lauder, the Cat Lady of Spitalfields who, in 1991, when I first spoke to her was already my heroine, a day-and-night-in-all-weathers Trojan, doggedly devoting herself to cats because human beings had for too long failed her. She looked at me with suspicion when I suggested we tape record a book. Only my bribe that half of any proceeds of publication would fall to her or her favoured charities and enable the purchase of extra tins of cat food persuaded her at least to humour me. I could swear I saw those azure eyes, set in that pretty face, dilate. I had entrapped her with the best of intentions as she, I was to learn, often entrapped, also with the best of intentions, the denizens of the feral world to have them spayed or neutered in the interests of control. But to the end, her end, I don’t think she ever trusted or respected me. I once found her surreptitiously laying down Whiskas in my hallway for my own newly-adopted cat which I named Joan in her honour. And she once spat the expletive ‘t***’ at me in a tone of total dismissal. To be called a foolish and obnoxious person was hardly comforting, given that I believe my own adage ‘in dementia veritas’ holds all too often true.
– Clive Murphy
Clive’s cat ‘Joan’ in his kitchen, 6th July 1996
Mustakim and Joan, 11th April 1998
Joan on the rooftops of Brick Lane, 21st February 1996
Mullah’s pupil with Joan, 10th April 2001
15th June 1995
Photographs copyright © Estate of Clive Murphy
You may like to read my other stories about Joan Lauder
Remembering the Cat Lady of Spitalfields
and take a look at my other stories about Clive Murphy


























































































