The Lost World Of The Alleys
You only walk in the alleys if you have a strong stomach and stout shoes, if you are willing to ignore the stink and the sinister puddles for the sake of striking out alone from the throng of humanity coursing along Bishopsgate.
This whole place was once characterised by the warren of alleys and yards which laced the streets. And, when the fancy takes me to enter those that remain, it is in thrall to the delusion that maybe I can find a way back through the labyrinth to old Spitalfields. There is part of my mind that wonders if I will ever find my way out again and another part of me that yearns for this outcome, longing to find an alley that is a portal to a parallel world.
Of the alleys that tempt the innocent pedestrian emerging from Liverpool St Station, only Catherine Wheel Alley actually leads anywhere, delivering you by means of a dog-leg to Middlesex St. Stepping beneath the arched entrance and passing under the low ceiling above, you emerge behind the buildings which line the street to discover yourself at the bottom of a well where sunlight descends, bouncing off the ceramic bricks lining the walls. You walk dead straight in the blind faith that a route lies ahead and enter a tiny yard, where you may surprise a guilty smoker enjoying an illicit cigarette.
“Can I get through?” asked a lone woman I encountered, approaching from the opposite direction with a disarming lack of wariness. I stood against the wall in the yard here to consider the confluence of buildings that intersect in elaborate ways overhead and, to my surprise, a door opened in the wall behind me and an Eastern European woman asked me to step aside as she hauled out two sack of rubbish before disappearing again. From this yard, a narrow street leads uneventfully to Middlesex St – the drama of the alley diminished once the destination is apparent.
Perhaps most people avoid these empty alleys for fear of what they might discover? Individuals engaged in lewd activity, or relieving bodily functions, or injecting pharmaceuticals, or threatening violence, or robbery, or worse? Yet every corner of every alley has a film camera gazing down, removing the possibility of any truly clandestine activity.
The lack of space in these passages demands that people acknowledge each other and the code of mutual disregard which prevails in the street cannot hold. This is the true magnetism of alleys, as escape routes from the hegemony of the crowd. The spatial disorientation, leaving street sounds behind you, as you enter an ambiguous architectural maze is a welcome respite. You can turn in the alley and look back to the people on the pavement, and you discover you have become invisible – they no longer see you.
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East End Blossom Time
Now is season to welcome the blossom back to the East End again for another year
In Bethnal Green
Let me admit, this is my favourite moment in the year – when the new leaves are opening fresh and green, and the streets are full of trees in flower. Several times, in recent days, I have been halted in my tracks by the shimmering intensity of the blossom. And so, I decided to enact my own version of the eighth-century Japanese custom of hanami or flower viewing, setting out on a pilgrimage through the East End with my camera to record the wonders of this fleeting season that marks the end of winter incontrovertibly.
In his last interview, Dennis Potter famously eulogised the glory of cherry blossom as an incarnation of the overwhelming vividness of human experience. “The nowness of everything is absolutely wondrous … The fact is, if you see the present tense, boy do you see it! And boy can you celebrate it.” he said and, standing in front of these trees, I succumbed to the same rapture at the excess of nature.
In the post-war period, cherry trees became a fashionable option for town planners and it seemed that the brightness of pink increased over the years as more colourful varieties were propagated. “Look at it, it’s so beautiful, just like at an advert,” I overheard someone say yesterday, in admiration of a tree in blossom, and I could not resist the thought that it would be an advertisement for sanitary products, since the colour of the tree in question was the exact familiar tone of pink toilet paper.
Yet I do not want my blossom muted, I want it bright and heavy and shining and full. I love to be awestruck by the incomprehensible detail of a million flower petals, each one a marvel of freshly-opened perfection and glowing in a technicolour hue.
In Whitechapel
In Spitalfields
In Weavers’ Fields
In Haggerston
In Weavers’ Fields
In Bethnal Green
In Pott St
Outside Bethnal Green Library
In Spitalfields
In Bethnal Green Gardens
In Museum Gardens
In Museum Gardens
In Paradise Gardens
In Old Bethnal Green Rd
In Pollard Row
In Nelson Gardens
In Canrobert St
In the Hackney Rd
In Haggerston Park
In Shipton St
In Bethnal Green Gardens
In Haggerston
At Spitalfields City Farm
In Columbia Rd
In London Fields
Syd’s Coffee Stall, Calvert Avenue
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At The Holland Estate
Holland Estate in the eighties photographed by Phil Maxwell
More than six hundred residents of Brune House, Bernard House & Carter House on the Holland Estate (between Brune St & Wentworth St) are understandably alarmed to discover that East End Homes, the housing association which manages their Estate, has applied for pre-planning permission to demolish their homes prior to any consultation.
Meanwhile a twenty million pound refurbishment programme, including the installation of lifts, promised in 2006 has not materialised and an image of a twenty-five storey high rise development replacing the current dignified brick structures dating from 1928 has done nothing to allay residents’ fears. Consequently, they are reluctant to take part in any ‘consultation’ lest this be interpreted as tacit consent.
Instead, they are planning a protest against the proposals outside the offices of East End Homes at Resolution Place next to Denning Point, tomorrow Saturday 11th April between 11am & 3pm, and anyone who would like to learn more and show their solidarity with the residents is very welcome to attend.
In celebration of the vibrant community of the Holland Estate, I publish this gallery of photographs by Phil Maxwell recording life on the Estate in the nineteen-eighties.
The Holland Estate today
Looking north-west across Spitalfields from Denning Point, East End Homes’ proposal for the redevelopment of the Holland Estate with a twenty-five storey block in the centre
Photographs copyright © Phil Maxwell
You can follow the Residents Against Demolition campaign on
&
Twitter @bbcresidents
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Jasmine Stone & Samantha Middleton , Campaigning Stratford Mothers
Lindsey Garrett, Chairman of the New Era Estate Tenants Association
Auriculas Of Spitalfields
The auriculas on my window sill have begun to sprout in the spring weather, inspiring me to publish this account of the history and lore of the auriculas of Spitalfields
An Auricula Theatre
In horticultural lore, auriculas have always been associated with Spitalfields and writer Patricia Cleveland-Peck has a mission to bring them back again. She believes that the Huguenots brought them here more than three centuries ago, perhaps snatching a twist of seeds as they fled their homeland and then cultivating them in the enclosed gardens of the merchants’ grand houses, and in the weavers’ yards and allotments, thus initiating a passionate culture of domestic horticulture among the working people of the East End which endures to this day.
You only have to cast your eyes upon the wonder of an auricula theatre filled with specimens in bloom – as I did in Patricia’s Sussex garden – to understand why these most artificial of flowers can hold you in thrall with the infinite variety of their colour and form. “They are much more like pets than plants,” Patricia admitted to me as we stood in her greenhouse surrounded by seedlings,“because you have to look after them daily, feed them twice a week in the growing season, remove offshoots and repot them once a year. Yet they’re not hard to grow and it’s very relaxing, the perfect antidote to writing, because when you are stuck for an idea you can always tend your auriculas.” Patricia taught herself old French and Latin to research the history of the auricula, but the summit of her investigation was when she reached the top of the Kitzbüheler Horn, high in the Austrian Alps where the ancestor plants of the cultivated varieties are to be found.
Auriculas were first recorded in England in the Elizabethan period as a passtime of the elite but it was in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries that they became a widespread passion amongst horticulturalists of all classes. In 1795, John Thelwall, son of a Spitalfields silk mercer wrote, “I remember the time myself when a man who was a tolerable workman in the fields had generally beside the apartment in which he carried on his vocation, a small summer house and a narrow slip of a garden at the outskirts of the town where he spent his Monday either in flying his pigeons or raising his tulips.” Auriculas were included alongside tulips among those prized species known as the “Floristry Flowers,” plants renowned for their status, which were grown for competition by flower fanciers at “Florists’ Feasts,” the precursors of the modern flower show. These events were recorded as taking place in Spitalfields with prizes such as a copper kettle or a ladle and, after the day’s judging, the plants were all placed upon a long table where the contests sat to enjoy a meal together known as “a shilling ordinary.”
In the nineteenth century, Henry Mayhew wrote of the weavers of Spitalfields that “their love of flowers to this day is a strongly marked characteristic of the class.” and, in 1840, Edward Church who lived in Spital Sq recorded that “the weavers were almost the only botanists of their day in the metropolis.” It was this enthusiasm that maintained a regular flower market in Bethnal Green which evolved into the Columbia Rd Flower Market of our day.
Known variously in the past as ricklers, painted ladies and bears’ ears, auriculas come in different classes, show auriculas, alpines, doubles, stripes and borders – each class containing a vast diversity of variants. Beyond their aesthetic appeal, Patricia is interested in the political, religious, cultural and economic history of the auricula, but the best starting point to commence your relationship with this fascinating plant is to feast your eyes upon the dizzying collective spectacle of star performers gathered in an auricula theatre. As Sacheverell Sitwell once wrote, “The perfection of a stage auricula is that of the most exquisite Meissen porcelain or of the most lovely silk stuffs of Isfahan and yet it is a living growing thing.”
Mrs Cairns Old Blue – a border auricula
Glenelg – a show-fancy green-edged auricula
Piers Telford – a gold-centred alpine auricula
Taffetta – a show-self auricula
Seen a Ghost – a show-striped auricula
Sirius – gold-centred alpine auricula
Coventry St – a show-self auricula
M. L. King – show-self auricula
Mrs Herne – gold-centred alpine auricula
Dales Red – border auricula
Pink Gem – double auricula
Summer Wine – gold-centred alpine auricula
McWatt’s Blue – border auricula
Rajah – show-fancy auricula
Cornmeal – show-green-edged auricula
Fanny Meerbeek – show-fancy auricula
Piglet – double auricula
Basuto – gold-centred alpine auricula
Blue Velvet – border auricula
Patricia Cleveland-Peck in her greenhouse.
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A Walk Down Commercial Rd
At Aldgate
As is so often the case in this country, the day following the public holiday offered better weather than any of those that preceded it. So I decided to take advantage of the sunlight to enjoy a walk down Commercial Rd with my camera. Apart from the crowds at Watney Market and those visiting the many short terraces of shops, nobody walks along the Commercial Rd much and, for most of my nearly-two-mile journey, I found myself the lone pedestrian as the traffic hurtled past.
In its name and nature, Commercial Rd was a utilitarian endeavour from the start, constructed between 1802-6 by the East India Company to bring their goods from the East & West India Docks to the City. Running in a straight line through the fields from Aldgate to Limehouse, the road was entirely lined with terraces by 1830 and many of these remain to this day as its defining characteristic, although every time I come down here more gaps appear as redevelopment fragments the remains of nineteenth century streetscape further. Yet Commercial Rd is far from featureless and, as my photos show, there is plenty to offer interest to the curious.
In 1828, the volume of traffic was such that Commercial Rd was paved over with granite and the surrounding areas upon both sides soon became a dense warren of housing and factories. By 1860, road tolls were abolished and Commercial Rd was extended to Gardiner’s Corner where it met Commercial St, cut through Spitalfields in the eighteen-fifties, delivering traffic from the docks up to the Eastern Counties Railway terminus in Shoreditch.
The Proof House
At Adler St
In Back Church Lane
Fine nineteenth century terraces
Cheviot House
Eighteen-thirties terrace
Synagogue of the Congregation of Jacob
George Tavern
George Tavern
St Mary & St Michael – Bingo Every Friday
Lea Valley Steam Laundry
Fail Solicitors
Chick King
Troxy
Popular Cafe
Popular Cafe
A favourite Greengrocer
A favourite Fishmonger
A favourite Restaurant
At Limehouse Station
Brunswick Terrace
In Flamborough St
At Limehouse Basin
Our Lady & St Frederick Church
Limehouse Town Hall
St Anne’s Limehouse
Caird & Rayner
George Baker & Sons
Sailors’ Palace
After walking the length of Commercial Rd, a refreshment at The Star of the East is essential
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At Caird & Rayner
In January, I published photographs by Paul Talling of Derelict London of the abandoned Caird & Rayner building in Limehouse and today, thanks to historian Tom Ridge, I am able to reveal the proud story of innovation and enterprise that lies behind the current state of sorry dereliction
In 1893, Edward Bonar Caird & Thomas J Rayner patented a design for device that could evaporate seawater and produce drinkable freshwater. It was an essential piece of nautical apparatus that was to sustain the company for more than a century. Rayner was an inventor of considerable talent and Caird had the financial resources to develop the commercial potential.
They set up a partnership in 1889 and took a lease upon 777 Commercial Rd, a former sailmakers, spending more than fifteen hundred pounds in equipping it with machinery for their purposes. The company prospered and in 1893 – the year of their patent – Caird & Rayner, were described in a publication entitled ‘The Thames, Waterway of the World’ as ‘Gentlemen of Conspicuous Endeavour.’
With minor diversions into swimming pool filters and sewage treatment, Caird & Rayner carried on through the twentieth century supplying distillation and filtration equipment to the maritime industry, both naval vessels and grand liners, from their factory in Commercial Rd until 1972. During World War II, a plant was established in Watford away from the bombing of London and eventually all manufacturing was transferred there, leaving the factory in the Limehouse empty all these years.
Artists impression of Caird & Rayner offices in 1890
The Caird & Rayner building today
777 Commercial Rd in the early twentieth century
On the shop floor in Limehouse in the sixties
Percy Martin in the drawing office in the thirties
Plant to produce 25 gallons per hour
Plant to produce 100 gallons per hour
Diagram of secret communication system in World War II
A beano in 1949 for the company’s sixtieth birthday celebrations
The ladies of Caird & Rayner photographed on the roof of 777 Commercial Rd
The Watford factory opened in 1941, away from the bombing of the East End
Colour photographs copyright © Paul Talling
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At Time For Tea
Johnny Vercoutre
I had always assumed the words ‘Time for Tea’ emblazoned upon the fascia of a narrow building in Shoreditch High St indicated that it was an occasional tea shop. But when I enquired the meaning of this sign from Johnny Vercoutre, who has lived there for the past twenty years and who painted the text in question, he gave an unexpected reply. “It’s my philosophy of life,” he declared with a swagger and a smile, brushing his languid moustache with a forefinger as a mischievously pleasurable thought popped into his mind, “I’d like to drive a long truck with a line of dancing girls into the middle of the street and stop all traffic, and serve tea to everybody.”
Johnny came to the East End as child to buy a tortoise at the erstwhile animal market in Club Row. He likes to brag of his early prowess at splayed brickwork, which was a matter of pride to his father who was a builder in Kilburn and proved to be an invaluable asset in the restoration of his eighteenth century house. Originally constructed as the London Savings Bank, it served as the premises of Andrews the Clockmakers who supplied the timepiece to St Leonard’s Shoreditch next door, before becoming a pawnbroker and finally Clarkes the Stationers, when Johnny first visited to purchase envelopes.
The upper floors had been unoccupied since the forties when Johnny moved in twenty years ago. He has preserved the eighteenth century fabric and reinstated lost panelling, using vintage doors and windows in the restoration, yet pursuing a pre-war style of interior design with an Eau-de- Nil and black colour scheme that would make the last residents feel at home if they were ever to return, transported magically through time.
At street level, one door opens into an ancient flagged alley that once led through from Shoreditch High St to the Old Nichol, the notorious slum which was replaced by the Boundary Estate at the end of the nineteenth century. A side door here retains its metal grille from when the building was a pawn shop and a narrow staircase winds up through three storeys. A series of curious intermediary spaces are lit by skylights with stained glass and, at the first floor, the kitchen leads onto an attractive yard enclosed by age-old railings and overlooked by iron fire escapes. In the living room at the front, a box protrudes from the wall containing the mechanics of the clock on the exterior, installed by Andrews the Clockmakers.
Johnny boasts the last of the Nicholls & Clarke Eau-de-Nil ceramic suites in Shoreditch, imparting an underwater atmosphere to his third floor bathroom. Up above, the attic resembles the weavers’ lofts of Spitalfields with long windows granting views towards the City on one side and over the rooftops of Shoreditch on the other. Names painstakingly carved upon the beams and an elaborate anchor motif marked out in nails upon the a floorboard bear witness to those who passed through here in the eighteenth and nineteenth century.
Johnny’ s labour over past decades has brought this unique building back to life and every inch speaks of the history of old Shoreditch. Yet such are the changes in the neighbourhood in recent years – now that Shoreditch has grown rich – he can no longer afford the upkeep and has to sell. Developers are circling and, since the building is not listed, they would be free to gut it to maximize their return on the property and destroy its historic fabric. But perhaps there is someone out there who would like to buy it and cherish it for what it is? If so, Johnny Vercoutre would like to hear from you itstimefortea@googlemail.com
I was concerned how Johnny will occupy himself in future without his house to renovate. “I have a motor yacht that once belonged to Donald Campbell,” he confessed to me. In response to my exclamation of wonder at this information, he revealed it was sunk. “Oh dear,” I exclaimed. “I still have the pieces,” he reassured me, stroking his moustache thoughtfully, “I can put them back together again.”
One of Johnny’s collection of veteran vehicles
The first floor living room
The attic bedroom
The hidden eighteenth century alley with its original flags
A grille from the building’s days as a pawnbroker
An eighteenth century house in Shoreditch High St
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