Ben Rea, Illustrator
Ben Rea has been Illustrator-in-Residence at Dennis Severs House recently, meticulously recording every inch of the rambling old mansion to create the elaborate cross section you can see below, accompanied by his working drawings all annotated with measurements. This picture forms the centrepiece of Ben’s first London exhibition A SLICE OF SPITALFIELDS, which opens at Townhouse in Fournier St this Friday 12th June and runs until 12th July.
(Click on the image above to enlarge)
Ben Rea at the launch of the Save Norton Folgate campaign last February
Drawings copyright © Ben Rea
Portrait copyright © Simon Mooney
Ben Rea’s exhibition A SLICE OF SPITALFIELDS runs from 12th June until 12th July at Townhouse, 5 Fournier St, 11 – 6 daily
Susannah Dalbiac’s Almanack, 1776
Margaret Nairne brought her great-great-great-great-aunt’s diary to show me recently and I publish these excerpts for the first time today. It is an Almanack of 1776 belonging to fourteen-year-old Susannah Dalbiac, whose father Charles Dalbiac was a silk & velvet merchant who ran the family business with his brother James at 20 Spital Sq. The Dalbiacs were Huguenots and Susannah’s grandfather escaped France as a youth in a hamper in July 1681 after his parents and three sisters were murdered. At the opening of the diary in January 1776, London was suffering a Great Frost with temperatures as low as minus eighteen degrees. (You can click on any diary page to enlarge it)
Monday JANUARY 1st 1776
Mama & Lucy drank tea at Mrs Martin’s. I stayed at home to make tea for Papa and Cousin James
Tuesday
Papa & Cousin James Dalbiac went to Town before Dinner.
Wednesday
Mama went to Town in the Coach at nine o’clock, took Harriet & Nurse with her. The man came to take down the Organ.
Thursday
We worked at our muffs, drew and did the same as when Mama is at home.
Friday
The man finished packing up the organ. We finished our muffs.
Saturday
I was very glad to see Papa and Mama. They came to dinner. Mama was so good as to make a present of a fan and an Almanack.
Sunday
We did not go to Church. We read a sermon in the morning… The text was Felix’s behaviours towards Paul explained.
Monday JANUARY 15th
Mr Cooke call’d in the morning. They play’d at Quadrille in the evening.
Tuesday
Papa went to town. Mama read Cyrus in the evening.
Wednesday
At Home alone.
Thursday
Mama read Cyrus in the evening.
Friday
Papa came down to dinner. They play’d at Quadrille in the evening.
Saturday
Papa took a ride in the morning to Admiral Geary’s. They play’s at Quadrille in the evening.
Sunday
We read a sermon in the morning, the text was National Mercies considered. I wrote what I understood by it. I kept up a hundred at Battledore Shuttlecock with Miss Watson.
Monday MARCH 11th
Went to Town. Took CM. Din’d at GM’s. Came back to tea. Mama drank tea at Mr Sebly’s. We at home with CM. Papa went to Bookham.
Tuesday
CKL & CM drank tea here. DK slept here.
Wednesday
Papa came to tea. Sally & Frank came to dinner from Bookham.
Thursday
Papa went to Town. We took a ride with Mama & Aunt L to Hackney. Papa came to Dinner.
Friday
Mama took a ride in the Phaeton with Papa.
Saturday
Papa went to Town. Came back to dinner, Papa went to Mr Paris’s. At home with Mama, Lucy and CM.
Sunday
Went to church with CL & we din’d here Papa & Mama drank tea at Uncle Lamotte’s.
(Susannah mistakenly entered her grandmother’s death on the wrong date and crossed it out)
Monday APRIL 1st
Aunt Lamotte went to town with Papa. Came back to tea. They all came in the evening. Grandmama very ill.
Tuesday
Papa went to town. Took CM with him. Came back to tea.
Wednesday
Aunt & Uncle Lamotte went to town with Papa. Aunt and Uncle came back to tea. We spent the day with Mama at Uncle Lamotte’s.
Miss Louise Delaporte
Thursday
Aunt & CL went to town with Papa. Aunt & Uncle came back to tea. We spent the day with Mama at Uncle Lamotte’s.
Grandmama died at four in the evening. Though expected at her age it is always a great loss. She was 84 next July
Friday
Aunt and CL went to Town Came back to dinner with Papa. They spent the evening here. CM came in the morning.
Friday
Papa went to town. Came back to tea. Mama drank tea at Uncle Lamotte’s. CM came here.
Saturday
Went to town with Papa, Uncle and Aunt L & CL who was so good as bespeak some mourning for us, Mama not being well enough. Saw G’mama. Did not find her much alter’d.
Sunday
CL came in the morning. We drank tea at Uncle Lamotte’s. Papa came down in the evening.
Monday APRIL 22nd
Drank tea at Uncle Lamotte’s where we met Uncle Dalbiac’s family
Tuesday
CK call’d. Papa slept in town
Wednesday
Papa came to dinner. Mr Paul and Peter L [..?] spent the day here
Thursday
CM spent the day here. CK called
Friday
Papa went to town. We spent the day at Uncle Lamotte’s
Saturday
CK call’d in the afternoon with MJ Lamotte.
Sunday
Went to church with CK. Sukey din’d here. CM came in the morning.
(Susannah’s own mother had died young and her stepmother gave birth to a baby boy in April.)
Monday APRIL 29th
Mama rather low at little boys going out to nurse. We drank at Uncle. Aunt came here to tea and CL in the evening. Note on opposite page – The little boy went out to nurse upon the Forest the nurse not being able to come.
Tuesday
Papa went to town
Wednesday MAY 1st
Went with nurse Flaxman to see the little boy. Found him very well
Thursday
Staid at home. Aunt Ch CS Dalbiac drank tea here
Friday
Went with nurse Flaxman to see the little boy
Saturday
Papa went to Uncle Lamotte’s in the evening where he met a great many people
Sunday
Went to church with CKL. After church we went with CM to fetch little boy. She spent the day with us.
Monday MAY 13th
Sir John Silvester came to see mama, she was so very low. CK call’d
Tuesday
Sir John Silvester came. Papa went to town came back at night
Wednesday
Papa went to town. Came back for tea.
Thursday
Sir John Silvester came
Friday
Papa went, came to back to tea. Took a ride after tea to see little boy. Found him very well. Call’d on Uncle Lamotte
Saturday
Sir John Silvester came. Ordered mama today a bed till Monday as had a little rash. CM drank tea here.
Sunday
There was no service. Took a ride with Papa & Aunt Lamotte. Called at Uncle Dalbiac.
(Sir John Silvester was a doctor from the French Hospital and one of the top physicians of the day)
(Susannah records her winnings at Quadrille on the right hand page)
Monday JUNE 10th
We drank tea at Mrs Brickendon’s with Mr and Mrs B and C. Walles. Met Mr ? and Mr Forbes
Tuesday
At Home. Play’d at Quadrille in the evening
Wednesday
Mr and Mrs Jourdan came down to dinner. Mrs Fellen and Mrs Draper dined here. Played at Piquet with Mr Barbut.
Thursday
Mrs Brickendon and Miss Streton drank tea here.
Friday
Drank tea at Mrs Brickendon. Lucy played at cards after they came home. Went halfs with her.
Saturday
Drank tea at Mrs Fellen’s. Mr Barbut came down in the Phaeton
Sunday
Went to Church with Miss Barbut. Mrs Rose & Mrs Forbes. Drank tea here.
Monday JUNE 24th
Spent the day at Uncle Lamotte’s. Slept there. Left Wanstead Lane.
Tuesday
In the Morning Papa tooke with the Phaeton to Uncle Dalbiac’s. Took a walk in the evening to see Harriet with Aunt.
Wednesday
At home alone.
Thursday
Spent the day at Sir J Silvester’s with Aunt & Uncle, CL & CM. We had a very agreeable day.
Friday
At home all day
Saturday
We went with Aunt in the morning to see little boy. Found him very well at 1 0’clock Mr Gallie called in the coach. We went with him to Uncle Lamotte’s
Monday JULY 1st
The coach came for us after Dinner to go to Town. Found Mama very well which made me quite happy
Tuesday
Went with mama the other end of Town in the morning. Very busy all day.
Wednesday
We all went down to Uncle Lamotte’s in the evening.
Thursday
Went to Town in the morning. CL & CM with us. We all went to Vauxhall in the evening & I found it much greater than my expectations as I had never see it before. In the morning we saw little Harriet and little boy.
Friday
Very busy all day. Mr Laport din’d with us. He came from New Providence to see Grandmama his sister but was disappointed.
Saturday
We set out a journey…
There is a gap in Susannah Dalbiac’s diary between 6th July and 14th October, after which she is in Paris and from then on many of the entries are written in French. It may be that her stepmother’s illness led the family to return to France where she had relatives or that the turbulence of the Weavers’ Riots in Spitalfields at this time caused James Dalbiac to withdraw his business. Susannah never married or had children but, living with her sister Louisa, she died at her brother-in-law Peter Luard’s house, Blyborough Hall, Lincolnshire in 1842, aged eighty.
Click here for details of events in the current HUGUENOT SUMMER festival
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Andrew Scott’s East End Photographs
Yesterday, I presented Caroline Gilfillan’s poems with Andrew Scott’s pictures from the early seventies and today I show more of Andrew’s photography from this era, published for the first time
In Sclater St, Spitalfields
In Sclater St, Spitalfields
In Sclater St, Spitalfields
In Sclater St, Spitalfields
“In the autumn of 1974, we stuffed our belongings into a van and headed for London. Like all newcomers, we had to find somewhere to live – and fast, since none of us had family or friends in the capital. Someone who knew someone directed us to the Tower Hamlets Squatters’ Union, a grass roots community organisation who could help us squat an empty property. The people who ran the Union believed that the amount of council property sitting empty or scheduled for demolition was a disgrace. And we agreed with them.
We were first ‘put into’ two prefab dwellings in Shadwell. The next morning we were evicted (and secretly relieved). The Squatters’ Union then delivered us to a terraced house in Stepney where we stayed for several months, hardly able to believe our luck. There was no bath or indoor toilet, but did we care? We were in our early twenties, hungry for everything London could offer. That included the East London street markets – rich repositories of fresh fruit, vegetables, and every sort of tat.
We adored London – its throb and thrum, its variety and eccentricity. Our East End neighbours were tolerant of us, but others were not so lucky. We witnessed blatant racism for the first time. Andrew took photographs for the Squatters’ Union to help publicise their anti-racist work with Bangladeshi families and to document the re-housing of some of those living in the worst housing conditions.”
Caroline Gilfillan & Andrew Scott
In Spitalfields
In Stoneyard Lane, Poplar
At Stephen & Matilda Houses, Wapping
In York Sq, Stepney
In Stoneyard Lane, Poplar
In Bromley St, Stepney
In Corfield St, Bethnal Green
In Corfield St, Bethnal Green
In Corfield St, Bethnal Green
In Corfield St, Bethnal Green
In Aldgate
In Corfield St, Bethnal Green
In Poplar
South of Commercial Rd, Stepney
In Commercial Rd, Stepney
At Stephen & Matilda Houses, Wapping
In Whitechapel
In Whitechapel
In Whitechapel
In York Sq, Stepney
In Ben Jonson Rd, Stepney
In Ben Jonson Rd, Stepney
In Ben Jonson Rd, Stepney
In Broad St Station
In Bromley St, Stepney
Dock Wall, St Katherine’s Basin
South of Commercial Rd
South of Commercial Rd
In Aldgate
In Whitechapel Rd
In Commercial Rd, Stepney
The George in Commercial Rd, Stepney
Photographs copyright © Andrew Scott
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David Hoffman at Fieldgate Mansions
Caroline Gilfillan & Andrew Scott’s East End
It is my pleasure to present these poems by Caroline Gilfillan with photographs by Andrew Scott – dating from the early seventies and encapsulating that era when Caroline & Andrew were squatters in the East End, they are published for the first time today
Spitalfields Street Sweepers
Council issue donkey jackets slung over saggy suits,
the street sweepers get to work,
broom heads shooshing over concrete and tar,
herding paper and peel and fag ends into heaps,
strong fingers grasping the broom handles,
knuckles big and smooth as weathered stones
moving easy in their bags of skin, watchful eyes
on you, your finger-clicks, your lens.
Aldgate Gent
Shoes shined, trilby brushed, ears scrubbed
clean as a baby’s back, he chugs through the
sun drops and diesel clag of Aldgate.
No crumbs in his turn-ups, no fluff in his pockets:
the wife, at home in one of the new flats
over by Mile End, keeps him spruce.
He’s on his way to meet Solly at Bloom’s
for gefilte fish and a chinwag. We flew
past him in a dented van, croaky from
last night’s pints, hair in need of a good cut
and ears a good wash behind. And No,
we didn’t notice him, but he was a good
father to his sons, if inclined to sound off.
His wife went first but his sister cooked for him
after, and the nurses at the London
did him proud when the time came.
Us? We played our gigs and tumbled on,
leaving scraps of quavers and clefs
scattered across the pavement, the kerb,
the bang, rattle and clank of Aldgate East.
Stoneyard Lane Prefabs
Two ticks and the fixer of the Squatters Union
has done the break-in, courtesy of a jemmy.
The door creaks in the fish-mud breeze blowing up
from Shadwell docks. Here you are girls.
Faces poke, glint through curtain cracks.
A man comes back for his hobnailed boots. Stands lit up
by orange street lights, his meek face
breathing beer. We got behind with the rent, he says,
muddy laces spilling over knuckles.
Thought we’d leave before the council chucked us out.
The next morning two hoods from the council break the lock,
bawl through the drunken door, Clear out or we’ll
board you in. Bump-clang of an Audi brings bailiffs.
The fixer flies in, fists up to his chin.
Has words. We hunch on the kerb with our carrier bags.
Mile End Automatic Laundry
Natter chat, neat fold, wheel carts of nets, sheets, blankets, undies, pillow-slips,
feed the steel drum, twirl and swoosh, dose of froth, soaping out the Stepney dirt.
Say hello to the scruffs from the squats off Commercial Road, more of them now,
breaking the GLC doors off their hinges, and I don’t stick my nose
where it’s not wanted, though you can tell a lot by a person’s laundry,
can’t you? That girl with the hacked-off hair, no bras in her bag, and no
fancy knickers, though the boy brings in shirts, must go to work
somewhere smarter than the street where they live and that
pond-life pub on the corner. Speaking of which,
walking home the other night I heard music,
a group, with drums, guitars, the lot,
so I peeped in and there was
the girl, earnest as a nun, singing
You can get it if you really want
and I thought
just you wait
and see.
Poems copyright © Caroline Gilfillan
Photographs copyright © Andrew Scott
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Roy Clark In Norton Folgate
When I first saw Roy Clark’s photograph of this eighteenth century terrace in Norton Folgate, currently threatened with demolition by British Land, I was startled by the the ethereal beauty of the image. The old building is shrouded, as if swathed in a fine organza silk studded with diamonds, and we are intended to understand this is because it has reached the end of its existence.
In fact, this wrapping of the building is an unlikely fiction implying that without such protection it might fall apart, yet the actual effect is to draw our attention to the quality of the terrace. Rather than being rendered worthless, it becomes a cherished artefact.
Such is the transformative vision of Roy Clark’s photography, illuminating detail and texture which reveal the human presence that might otherwise go disregarded. It is the patina which tells the story of the place, offering evidence of those who have passed through before us in the centuries that the buildings have been in use.
These dreamlike photographs record the play of light and natural elements which transfigure the urban landscape, manifesting the genius loci and capturing the intangible beauty of Norton Folgate that developers mean to destroy, but we are fighting to save.
In Sun Passage
In Elder St
In Elder St
In Blossom St
In Folgate St
In Elder St
In Elder St
In Elder St
In Elder St
In Elder St
In Elder St
In Elder St
In Norton Folgate
Photographs copyright © Roy Clark
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William Anthony, The Last Of The Charlies
William Anthony 1789-1863
Behold the face of history! Photographed in 1863, the year of his death, but born in 1789, the year of the French Revolution, seventy-four-year-old William Anthony trudged the streets of Spitalfields and Norton Folgate through the darkest nights and thickest fogs for half a century, with his nose pointed into the wind and his jaw set in determination, successfully guided by a terrier-like instinct to seek out miscreants and prevent the outbreak of any unholy excesses of violence, such as erupted on the other side of the channel at the time of his nascence.
No wonder the Watch Book of Norton Folgate recorded an unbroken sequence of “All’s Well” for his entire tenure. No robbery was reported in fifty years. There was no nonsense with William Anthony. We need him at night on Brick Lane today.
The origin of the term ‘Charley’ for Watchman may originate in the time of Charles I when the monarch improved the watch system, although Jonathon Green, Spitalfields Life Contributing Lexicographer of Slang, who informed me of this possible derivation, can find no subsequent use in print for another one hundred and fifty years, when the term achieved currency in the early nineteenth century.
‘Charley’ as a derogatory term for a foolish person has survived into modern times, yet – as these photographs attest – William Anthony was unapologetic, quite content to be a ‘Charley.’ Behind him stand a long line of ‘Charlies’ stretching back through time for as long as London has existed and I think we may discern a certain dogged pride in William Anthony’s bearing, clutching his dark lantern in one hand and knobbly staff of office in the other, swaddled up in a great coat against the cold, wrapped in an apron against the filth, shod in sturdy boots against the damp and sheltered under his stout hat from the downpour.
Now I know his appearance, I will look out for William Anthony, lest our paths cross in the wintry dusk in Blossom St or Elder St – others might disregard him as another homeless old man walking all night but I shall hail him and pay my respects to the last of the ‘Charlies.’ He is the one of whom you could truly say you would be glad to meet him in a dark alley at night.
In Norton Folgate, the Watchman recorded an unbroken sequence of “All’s Well”
Tom & Jerry “getting the best of a Charley” at Temple Bar engraved by George Cruickshank, 1832
“Past one o’clock and a fine morning!” from Thomas Rowlandson’s ‘Lower Orders’
The Watchman, 1819 from ‘Pictures of Real Life for Children’
“Past Twelve O’Clock and A Cloudy Morning! & Patrol! Patrol!” from ‘Sam Syntax’s Cries of London’
“Past twelve o’clock and a misty morning! Past twelve o’clock and mind I give you warning!” published by Charles Hindley, Leadenhall Press, 1884
Watchman by John Thomas Smith, copied from a print prefixed to ‘Villanies discovered by Lanthorne and Candlelight’ by Thomas Dekker 1616. “The marching Watch contained in number two thousand men, part of them being old souldiers, of skill to be captaines, lieutenants, serjeants, corporals &c. The poore men taking wages, besides that every one had a strawne hat, with no badge painted, and his breakfast in the morning.”
Images courtesy Bishopsgate Institute
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In Search of the Relics of the Liberty of Norton Folgate
At Dr Johnson’s House
I walked over to Fleet St yesterday to pay a visit upon Dr Samuel Johnson who could not resist demonstrating his superlative erudition by recounting examples of lexicography that came to mind as he showed me around the rambling old house in Gough Sq where he wrote his famous Dictionary
House. n.s. [hus, Saxon, huys, Dutch, huse, Scottish.] 1. A place wherein a man lives, a place of human abode. 2. Any place of abode. 3. Place in which religious or studious persons live in common, monastery, college. 4. The manner of living, the table. 5. Family of ancestors, descendants, and kindred, race. 6. A body of parliament, the lords or commons collectively considered.
Acce’ss. n.s. [In some of its senses, it seems derived from accessus, in others, from accessio, Lat. acces, Fr.] 1. The way by which any thing may be approached. 2. The means, or liberty, of approaching either to things or men. 3. Encrease, enlargement, addition. 4. It is sometimes used, after the French, to signify the returns of fits of a distemper, but this sense seems yet scarcely received into our language.
To Rent. v.a. [renter, Fr.] 1. To hold by paying rent. 2. To set to a tenant.
Ba’ckdoor. n.s. [from back and door.] The door behind the house, privy passage.
Door. n.s. [dor, dure, Saxon, dorris, Erse.] The gate of a house, that which opens to yield entrance. Door is used of houses and gates of cities, or publick buildings, except in the licence of poetry.
Hábitable. adj. [habitable, Fr. habitabilis, Lat.] Capable of being dwelt in, capable of sustaining human creatures.
Time. n.s. [ꞇıma, Saxon, tym, Erse.] 1. The measure of duration. 2. Space of time. 3. Interval. 4. Season, proper time.
Stair. n.s. [ꞅꞇæᵹꞃ, Saxon, steghe, Dutch.] Steps by which we rise an ascent from the lower part of a building to the upper. Stair was anciently used for the whole order of steps, but stair now, if it be used at all, signifies, as in Milton, only one flight of steps.
Chair. n.s. [chair, Fr.] 1. A moveable seat. 2. A seat of Justice or authority. 3. A vehicle borne by men, a sedan.
Díctionary. n.s. [dictionarium, Latin.] A book containing the words of any language in alphabetical order, with explanations of their meaning, a lexicon, a vocabulary, a word-book.
A’ftergame. n.s. [from after and game.] The scheme which may be laid, or the expedients which are practised after the original design has miscarried, methods taken after the first turn of affairs.
Mystago’gue. n.s. [μυσταγωγὸς, mystagogus, Latin.] One who interprets divine mysteries, also one who keeps church relicks, and shews them to strangers.
Box. n.s. [box, Sax. buste, Germ.] 1. A case made of wood, or other matter, to hold any thing. It is distinguished from chest, as the less from the greater. It is supposed to have its name from the box wood. 2. The case of the mariners compass. 3. The chest into which money given is put. 4. The seats in the playhouse, where the ladies are placed. (David Garrick’s box illustrated)
Fascina’tion. n.s. [from fascinate.] The power or act of bewitching, enchantment, unseen inexplicable influence.
A’fternoon. n.s. [from after and noon.] The time from the meridian to the evening.
Intelléctual. n.s. Intellect, understanding, mental powers or faculties. This is little in use.
Prívacy. n.s. [from private.] 1. State of being secret, secrecy. 2. Retirement, retreat. 3. [Privauté, Fr.] Privity; joint knowledge; great familiarity. Privacy in this sense is improper. 4. Taciturnity.
Lexicógrapher. n.s. [λεξικὸν and γράφω, lexicographe, French.] A writer of dictionaries, a harmless drudge, that busies himself in tracing the original, and detailing the signification of words.
Ca’binet. n.s. [cabinet, Fr.] 1. A set of boxes or drawers for curiosities, a private box. 2. Any place in which things of value are hidden. 3. A private room in which consultations are held.
A’bsence. n.s. [See Absent.] 1. The state of being absent, opposed to presence. 2. Want of appearance, in the legal sense. 3. Inattention, heedlessness, neglect of the present object.
Work. n.s. [weorc, Saxon, werk, Dutch.] 1. Toil, labour, employment. 2. A state of labour. 3. Bungling attempt. 4. Flowers or embroidery of the needle. 5. Any fabrick or compages of art. 6. Action, feat, deed. 7. Any thing made. 8. Management, treatment. 9. To set on Work To employ, to engage.
Way. n.s. [wœʒ, Saxon, weigh, Dutch.] The road in which one travels.
Court. n.s. [cour, Fr. koert, Dut. curtis, low Latin.] 1. The place where the prince resides, the palace. 2. The hall or chamber where justice is administered. 3. Open space before a house. 4. A small opening inclosed with houses and paved with broad stones.
Cat. n.s. [katz, Teuton. chat, Fr.] A domestick animal that catches mice, commonly reckoned by naturalists the lowest order of the leonine species.
To Mew. v.a. [From the noun miauler Fr.] To cry as a cat.
Visit Dr Johnson’s House, 17 Gough Square, EC4A 3DE
As part of Huguenot Summer, Beatrice Behlen of the Museum of London will be giving a talk at Dr Johnson’s House entitled MADE ACCORDING TO THE MODE – OBTAINING CLOTHES IN EIGHTEENTH CENTURY LONDON tomorrow, Thursday 4th June at 6:30pm. CLICK HERE TO BOOK
