Spitalfields Life

Next Monday 16th June, I shall be giving a MAGIC LANTERN SHOW in St Augustine’s Tower in Hackney, showing one hundred of my favourite photographs of London old and new, and telling the stories of the people and the places.

The event starts at 7:30pm and doors open at 7pm, affording the opportunity to view the medieval tower. Admission is free but numbers are strictly limited, so you must book in advance by emailing info@hhbt.org.uk or calling  020 8986 0029 .

Below you can read my account of my visit to St Augustine’s Tower last autumn.

St Augustine’s Tower

I wonder how many people even notice this old tower, secreted behind the betting office in the centre of Hackney? Without  a second glance, it might easily get dismissed as a left-over from a Victorian church that got demolished. Yet few realise St Augustine’s Tower has been here longer than anything else, since 1292 to be precise.

“It is an uncompromising medieval building, the only one we have in Hackney,” Laurie Elks, the custodian of the tower, admitted to me as we ascended its one hundred and thirty-five steps, “and, above all, it is a physical experience.” Climbing the narrowing staircase between rough stone walls, we reached the top of the tower and scattered the indignant crows who, after more than seven centuries, understandably consider it their right to perch uninterrupted upon the weather vane. They have seen all the changes from their vantage point, how the drover’s road became a red route, how London advanced and swallowed up the village as the railway steamed through.

Yet inside the tower, change has been less dramatic and Laurie is proud of the lovingly-preserved cobwebs that festoon the nooks and crevices of his cherished pile, offering a haven for shadows and dust, and garnished with some impressive ancient graffiti. The skulls and hourglasses graven upon stone panels beside the entrance set the tone for this curious melancholic relic, sequestered among old trees just turning colour now as autumn crocuses sprout among the graves. You enter through a makeshift wooden screen, cobbled together at the end of the eighteenth century out of bits and pieces of seventeenth century timber. On the right stands an outsize table tomb with magnificent lettering incised into dark granite recording the death of Capt Robert Deane, on the fourth day of February 1699, and his daughters Mary & Katherine and his son Robert, who all went before him.

“There was no-one to wind the clock,” revealed Laurie with a plaintive grimace, as we stood on the second floor confronting the rare late-sixteenth-century timepiece that was once the only measure of time in Hackney, “so I persuaded my sixteen-year-old daughter, Sam, that she would like to do it and she did – until she grew unreliable – when I realised that I had wanted to wind the clock myself all along. I would come at two in the morning every Saturday and go to the all-night Tesco and buy a can of beans or something. Then I would let myself in and, sometimes, I didn’t put on the light because I know the building so well – and that was when I fell in love with it.” Reluctantly, Laurie has relinquished his nocturnal visits since auto-winding was introduced to preserve the clock’s historic mechanism.

It was the Knights Templar who gave the tower its name when they owned land here, until the order was suppressed in 1308 and their estates passed to the Knights of St John in Clerkenwell who renamed the church that was attached to the tower as St John-at-Hackney. Later, Christopher Urstwick, a confidant of Henry VII before he became king, retired to Hackney as rector of the church and used his wealth to rebuild it. Yet, to the right of the entrance to the tower, rough early medieval stonework is still visible beneath the evenly-laid layers of sixteenth century Kentish ragstone – bounty of the courtier’s wealth – that surmount it.

When the village of Hackney became subsumed into the metropolis, with rows of new houses thrown up by speculators, a new church was built down the road in 1797, but it was done on the cheap and the tower was not strong enough to carry the weight of the bells. Meanwhile, the demolition contractor employed to take down the old church was defeated by the sturdy old tower and it was retained to hold the bells until enough money was raised to strengthen the new one. Years later, once this had been effected, the fashion for Neo-Classical had been supplanted by Gothic and it suited the taste of the day to preserve the old tower as an appealing landmark to remind everyone of centuries gone by.

Thus, no-one can say they live in Hackney until they have made the pilgrimage to St Augustine’s Tower – where Laurie is waiting to greet you – and climbed the narrow stairs to the roof, because this is the epicentre and the receptacle of time, the still place in the midst of the mayhem at the top of Mare St.

The view from the top of the tower towards the City of London.

A bumper crop of conkers in Hackney this year, as seen from the parapet.

Laurie Elks, Custodian of the Tower

St Augustine’s Tower is open on the last Sunday of every month (except December) from 2pm-4:30pm

While Bob Mazzer has been hanging his photographs at the Howard Griffin Gallery in advance of tomorrow’s book launch, I went over to the City to admire the glories of Goldsmith’s Hall

The Leopard is the symbol of the Goldsmiths’ Company

Whenever I walk through the City to St Paul’s, I always marvel at the great blocks of stone which form the plinth of this building on the corner of Gresham St  and Foster Lane – and observing the fossils interred within the Haytor granite commonly sets me wondering at the great expanse of geological time.

Yet Goldsmith’s Hall has stood upon this site since 1339 and the current hall is only the third incarnation in seven hundred years, which makes this one of the City’s most ancient tenures. The surrounding streets were once home to the goldsmiths’ industry in London and it was here they met to devise a system of Assay in the fifteenth century, so that the quality of the precious metal might be assured through “Hallmarking.” The origin of the term refers to the former obligation upon goldsmiths to bring their works to the Hall for Assaying and marking and, all these years later, Goldsmiths’ Hall remains the location of the Assay Office. The leopard’s head – which has always been the mark of the London Assay Office – recalls King Richard II, whose symbol this was and who granted the company its charter in 1393.

Passing through the austere stone facade, you are confronted by a huge painting of 1752 – portraying no less than six Lord Mayors of London gazing down at you with a critical intensity. You are impressed. From here you walk into the huge marble lined stairwell and ascend in accumulating awe to the reception rooms upon the first floor, where the glint of gold is everywhere. The scale of the Livery Hall is such that you do not comprehend how a room so vast can be contained within such a restricted site, while the lavish panelled Drawing Room in the French style with its lush crimson carpet proposes a worthy stand-in for Buckingham Palace in many recent films, and exists just on the right side of garish.

A figure of St Dunstan greets you at the top of the stairs, glowing so golden he appears composed of flame. A two thousand year old Roman hunting deity awaits you the Court Room, dug up in the construction in 1830. A marble bust of Richard II broods upon the landing, sceptical of your worthiness to enter the lofty company of the venerable bankers and magnates whose names adorn the board recording wardens stretching back to the fourteenth century. In every corner, portraits of these former wardens peer out imperiously at you, swathed in dark robes, clutching skulls and holding their council. I was alone with my camera but these empty palatial rooms are inhabited by multiple familiar spirits and echo with seven centuries of history.

“observing the fossils interred within the Haytor granite commonly sets me wondering at the great expanse of geological time”

St Dunstan is the patron saint of smiths

The four statues of 1835 by Samuel Nixon represent the seasons of the year

Staircase by Philip Hardwick of 1835

William IV presides

The figure of St Dunstan holding tongs and crozier was carved in 1744 for the Goldsmiths’ barge

Dome over the stairwell

Richard II who granted the Goldsmiths their charter in 1393

The Court Room

Philip Hardwick’s ceiling in imitation of a seventeenth century original

Roman effigy of a hunting deity dug up in 1830 during the construction of the hall

The Drawing Room

Clock for the Turkish market designed by George Clarke c.1750

Eleven experts worked for five months to make the Wilton carpet

Ormolu candelabra of 1830 in the Drawing Room

The Drawing Room, 1895

Mirror in the Livery Hall

The Livery Hall

The second Goldsmiths’ Hall, 1692

The current Goldsmiths’ Hall, watercolour by Herbert Finn 1913

Benn’s Club of Alderman, 1752 – containing six Lord Mayors of London

Although the Hall is not open to the public, as part of the forthcoming Huguenot Threads festival, there will be a free visit in July.

It is also possible to join a tour booked through the website of The Goldsmiths’ Company and to attend the Goldsmiths’ Fair held annually each autumn.

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At The Vintners’ Hall

At The Drapers’ Hall

This is the secret door concealed behind the fireplace that connects the dwellings of Jocasta Innes, the Cook, Writer & Paint Specialist, and Richard MacCormac, the Architect, in Heneage St. It was my good fortune to step through this doorway upon my very first visit to Spitalfields, many years ago, and I think the wonder of this experience was instrumental in drawing me to this place.

Even then, it was apparent that this extraordinary architectural feature revealed the metaphorical nature of the two different houses it linked, each manifesting their owners’ contrasted sensibilities yet by their connection emblematic of the personal relationship which bound them together. Now Richard MacCormac has published a book entitled Two Houses In Spitalfields with atmospheric photographs by Jan Baldwin that serves as a poignant record of the life he shared there with Jocasta Innes who died last year.

Hallway of Jocasta Innes’ house

Jocasta Innes’ kitchen

Jocasta Innes’ library with portrait of her mother

Chest in Jocasta Innes’ bedroom

Secret door on the landing in Jocasta Innes’ house leading to Richard MacCormac’s house

View back from Richard MacCormac’s house towards the secret door

Stairwell with display of medals belonging to Richard MacCormac’s ancestors

Richard MacCormac’s library

Folding desk in Richard MacCormac’s study

“The two Spitalfields houses, and our lives, were bound together, continually touched by our shared interests. They have many characteristics in common – illusion, allusion, surprise, humour and, of course, colour, but with the distinct identities which reflect us both” – Richard MacCormac

All photographs except exterior shot © Jan Baldwin

Exterior photograph © Hélène Rollin

A limited number of copies for Two Houses in Spitalfields by Richard MacCormac with photographs by Jan Baldwin are available for sale in aid of Maggie’s Centres from www.maccormac.net

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Jocasta Innes, Cook, Writer & Paint Specialist

At Jocasta Innes’ House