Old Truman’s Beer Labels
In Spitalfields, we all live in the shadow of the old Truman Brewery founded in Brick Lane in 1666, which makes the history of Truman’s part of the history of the place and thus a subject of fascination to us all. So I was delighted to come upon these pristine Truman’s labels for beer bottles dating from the middle of the last century which have never been used. There is a timeless quality to the elegant simplicity of their design and their unusual use of bold colours, combined with fine hand-drawn lettering, delivers an appealing series of small graphic masterpieces.
If anybody has more old Truman’s Beer Labels or can tell me who designed them, please get in touch
You may also like to read my stories about Truman’s Beer
Picking Hops for Truman’s Beer
First Brew at the New Truman’s Brewery
Tony Jack, Chauffeur at Truman’s Brewery
Textile Designs At Rodney Archer’s House
Rodney Archer, the Aesthete of Fournier St, & his pal Trevor Newton, the Curator, have been busy again, lining Rodney’s magnificent old house with a collection of original French nineteenth century designs for satins and silk velours, created at the Lyons factory of Antoine Donat between 1840 and 1865.
Trevor came upon these designs in a long-abandoned silk mill and they have not seen the light of day since the eighteen-seventies which accounts for their vibrant unfaded colours. Each design is labelled on the reverse with the date and instructions for setting up the loom, and all are for sale – many for as little as twenty pounds.
It certainly makes a splendid display in Rodney’s blue and gold drawing room on the first floor – the one with Oscar Wilde’s fireplace in it – and since these houses in Fournier St were built on the income from silk weaving, it is difficult to imagine a better location to enjoy these rich and extravagant designs, glowing in the February sunlight .
31 Fournier St will be open on Tuesdays, Thursdays & Saturdays from Thursday February 19th until Thursday March 19th – from 10am until 4pm weekdays and 2pm until 5pm on Saturdays. Numbers are limited and visits are by appointment only.
To receive an invitation, please email newtonartist@hotmail.com saying when exactly you would like to visit and how many will be in your party.
You may also like to read about
Snowdrops At The Chelsea Physic Garden
The Snowdrop Theatre
At the weekend, I rose early on an overcast morning and took the District Line over to West London to join the other passionate horticulturalists at the Chelsea Physic Garden at opening time on the first of the Snowdrop Days. The Garden is closed during the winter months but these special openings permit the opportunity to admire the drifts of snowdrops, supplemented by rare species on display in a Snowdrop Theatre and a sale of exotic varieties.
The snowdrops in my garden in Spitalfields have already been in flower for a couple of weeks, encouraging my anticipation of seeing those at the Physic Garden. Through the passing years, the wonder of these flowers that appear in the depths of winter, glowing white against the dark earth as the first harbingers of spring, has never dimmed for me. Yet such is my short-signtedness, I did wonder whether the differentiation of multiple varieties might be no more than academic in my case.
Fortunately, the Physic Garden has strategies to bring snowdrops to your eye level. As you come through the entrance in Swan Walk, you encounter snowdrops growing in moss balls hanging from the trees – in the Japanese style – and then you arrive at the Snowdrop Theatre where sixteen different specimens line up for your scrutiny behind a crimson proscenium. To my mind, there has always been a drama in the appearance of snowdrops emerging out of the darkness and, placed in a theatre, their natural stage presence delivers an effortless performance worthy of applause.
Once you have taken a stroll through the woodland planting upon the southern edge of the garden where clumps of snowdrops may be viewed in an approximation of their natural environment, attending by starry yellow aconites and pale-hued hellebores, you visit the marquee where dozens of varieties are lined up on a long table just waiting for you take them home and cherish them.
I paced up and down, peering over and looking closely to ascertain the precise nature of the fine distinctions between all these snowdrops. The attendants even opened the showcase that contained the most expensive varieties at thirty and sixty pounds a pop, so that I might examine them too. Yet I could not bring myself to favour any particular example over another. The differences were immaterial. I love all snowdrops equally.
Moss balls planted with snowdrops hang from the trees
Hellebore
Aconites
Selecting snowdrops from the dozens of varieties on sale
Sir Hans Sloane leased the land for the Chelsea Physic Garden to the Society of Apothecaries in 1673
SNOWDROP DAYS run at the Chelsea Physic Garden, 66 Royal Hospital Rd, Chelsea, until Sunday 8th February from 10am-4pm – including a variety of lectures, walks & workshops with snowdrop experts.
You may also like to read about
At The Annual Grimaldi Service
I am publishing my account of a visit to the Annual Grimaldi Service as a reminder to any readers who might choose to join this year’s service which takes place at 3pm this afternoon at All Saints Church, Livermore Rd, Dalston.
The first Sunday in February is when all the clowns arrive in East London for the annual service to honour Joseph Grimaldi (1778-1837), the greatest British clown – held since 1946 at this time of year, when the clowns traditionally gathered in the capital prior to the start of the Circus touring season. Originally celebrated at St James’ Pentonville Rd, where Grimaldi is buried, the service transferred to Holy Trinity, Dalston in 1959 where the event has grown and grown, and where there is now a shrine to Grimaldi graced with a commemorative stained glass window.
By mistake, I walked into the church hall which served as the changing room to discover myself surrounded by painted faces and multi-coloured suits. Seeing my disorientation, Mr Woo (in a red wig and clutching a balloon dog) kindly stepped over to greet me, explaining that he was veteran of forty years clowning including a stint at Bertram Mills Circus with the legendary Coco the clown – before revealing it was cut short when he fell over and fractured his leg, illustrating the anecdote by lifting his trouser to reveal a savagely-scarred shin bone. “He’s never going to win a knobbly knees contest now!” declared Uncle Colin with alarming levity, Mr Woo’s performing partner in the double act known as The Custard Clowns. “But what did you do?” I enquired in concern, still alarmed by Mr Woo’s injury. “I got a comedy car!” was Mr Woo’s shrill response, accompanied by an unnerving chuckle.
Reeling from the tragic ambiguity of this conversation, I walked around to the church where fans were gathering for the service and there, in the quiet corner church dedicated to Joseph Grimaldi, I had the good fortune to shake hands with Streaky the clown, a skinny veteran of sixty-three years clowning. There is a poignancy to old clowns such as Streaky with face paint applied to wrinkled skin -a quality only emphasised by the disparity between the harsh make-up and the infinite nuance of the lined features beneath.
At first, the presence of the clowns doing their sideshows to warm up the congregation changed the meaning of the sacred space, as if the vaulted arches became tent poles and we had come to a show rather than a church service – although both were strangely reconciled in the atmosphere of celebration that prevailed. Yet although the children delighted in the comedy and the audience laughed at the gags, I must admit that – as I always have – I found the clowns more funny peculiar than funny ha-ha.
But it is precisely this contradiction which draws me to them, because I believe that, through embracing grotesque self-humilation, they expose an essential quality of humanity – that of our innate foolishness, underscored by our tendency to take ourselves too seriously. We need to be startled or even alarmed by their extreme appearance, their gurning and their dopey japes, in order to recognise our true selves. This is the corrective that clowns deliver with a cheesey grin, confronting us with a necessary sense of the ridiculous in life.
“This is the best job I ever had – to make people smile and get them to laugh,” declared Conk the Clown, once he had demonstrated blowing bubbles from his saxophone. “How did you start?” I enquired. “I got divorced,” he replied – and everyone within earshot laughed, except me. “I had depression,” Conk continued with a helpless smirk, “so I joined the amateur dramatics, but I was no good at it, so I thought, ‘I’ll be a clown!'” Twelve years later, Conk has no apparent cause to regret his decision, as his mirthful demeanour confirmed. “It’s something inside, a feeling you know – everyone’s got laughter inside them,” he informed me with a wink, before disappearing up the aisle in a cloud of bubbles pursued by laughing children.
Turning around, I found myself greeted by Glory B, an elegant lady dressed in subtle tones of turquoise and blue, and sporting a huge butterfly upon her hat. Significantly, her face was not painted and she described herself as a ‘Children’s Entertainer’ rather than a ‘Clown.’ “Sometimes children are scared of clowns, “ she admitted, articulating my own thoughts with a smile, “so I work with Mr Woo as a go-between, to comfort them if they are distressed.”
Once the clown organist began to play, everyone took their seats and the parade of clowns commenced – old troupers and young goons, buffoons and funsters, jokers and jesters – enough to delight the most weary eyes and lift the spirits of the most down-hearted February day. An army of clowns filled the church with their pranking and japes, and their high wattage personalities. The intensity of an army of clowns is a presence that defies description, because even at rest there is such bristling potential for misrule.
In their primary-coloured parodic suits, I could recognise the styles of many periods, from both the twentieth and the nineteenth centuries, and when a clown stood up to carry the wreath to lay in honour of ‘Joey Grimaldi,’ I saw he was wearing an eighteenth century clown suit. At the climax of the service, the names of those clowns who had died in the year were read out and, for each one, a child carried a candle down the nave. After the announcements of ‘Sir Norman Wisdom,’ ‘Buddi,’ ‘Bilbo’ and ‘Frosty,’ I saw a feint light travel through the crowd to be lost at the rear of the church and it made tangible the brave purpose of clowning – that of laughing in the face of the darkness which surrounds us.
Mr Woo once worked with Coco the clown at Bertram Mills Circus until he fractured his leg.
Conk the clown once suffered from depression.
Arriving at Holy Trinity, Dalston.
Streaky at Grimaldi’s shrine with the case of eggs recording the distinctive make-up of famous clowns.
Streaky the clown, a veteran of sixty-three years clowning.
Glory B., Children’s Entertainer.
The commemorative window for Joseph Grimaldi.
You may also like to take a look at
Mattie Faint, Clown & Giggle Doctor
John Claridge’s Clowns (Act One)
Lucinda Rogers’ Cards
Contributing Artist Lucinda Rogers who did the beautiful drawings of the East End streets in my first book Spitalfields Life, has now produced this set of six greetings cards printed in London which you can order direct from her website Lucinda Rogers’ Shop and she will post them off to you direct from her favourite Post Office in the Hackney Rd.
Spitalfields drawn from a rooftop in Brick Lane in 2002
Columbia Rd Flower Market drawn from the back of an empty flower lorry looking over the market
Smithfield Market – The General Market has been under threat for many years, but in 2014 was given a stay of execution when the Secretary of State agreed that the proposed demolition to build an office complex was wrong. However, the buildings are still deteriorating while we wait for the owners to swallow their pride and let the alternative scheme go ahead.
Brick Lane seen from the junction with Hanbury St before the construction of the minaret at the mosque
The Grassy Bridge – This view down Kingsland Rd from the time when the railway was still out-of-use is now altered by all the buildings that have appeared since and would be rendered unrecognisable by the Bishopsgate Goodsyard proposals
Hackney Bus Garage – This was drawn at night in the bus depot at Hackney Central when Routemasters were still running
Drawings copyright © Lucinda Rogers
You can buy these cards along with prints and original drawings direct from Lucinda Rogers
You may like to take a look at more of Lucinda Rogers’ work
Frost Bros, Rope Makers & Yarn Spinners
Founded by John James Frost in 1790, Frost Brothers Ltd of 340/342 Commercial Rd was managed by his grandson – also John James Frost – in 1905, when these photographs were taken. In 1926, the company was amalgamated to become part of British Ropes and now only this modest publication on the shelf in the Bishopsgate Institute bears testimony to the long-lost industry of rope making and yarn spinning in the East End, from which Cable St takes its name.
First Prize London Cart Parade – Manila Hemp as we receive it from the Philippines
Hand Dressing
The Old-Fashioned Method of Hand Spinning
The First Process in Spinning Manila – The women are shown feeding Hemp up to the spreading machines, taken from the bales as they come from the Philippines. These three machines are capable of manipulating one hundred and twenty bales a day.
Manila-Finishing Drawing Machines
Russian & Italian Hemp Preparing Room
Manila Spinning
Binder Twine & Trawl Twine Spinning – This floor contains one hundred and fifty six spindles
Russian & Italian Hemp Spinning
Carding Room
Tow Drawing Room
Tow Spinning & Spun Yarn Twisting Room
Tarred Yarn Store – This contains one hundred and fifty tons of Yarn
Tarred Yarn Winding Room
Upper End of Main Rope Ground – There are six ground four hundred yards long, capable of making eighteen tons of rope per ten and a half hour day
Rope-Making Machines – This pair of large machines are capable of making rope up to forty-eight centimetres in circumference
House Machines – This view shows part of the Upper Rope Ground and a couple of small Rope-Making Machines
Number 4 House Machine Room
The middle section of a machine capable of making rope from three inches up to seven inches in circumference, any length without a splice. It is thirty-two feet in height and driven by an electric motor.
Number 4 Rope Store
Boiler House
120 BHP. Sisson Engine Direct Coupled to Clarke-Chapman Dynamo
One of our Motors by Crompton 40 BHP – These Manila Ropes have been running eight years and are still in first class condition.
Engineers’ Shop with Smiths’ Shop adjoining
Carpenters’ Store & Store for Spare Gear
Exhibit at Earl’s Court Naval & Shipping Exhibition, 1905
View of the Factory before the Fire in 1860
View of the Factory as it is now in 1905 – extending from Commercial St
Images courtesy Bishopsgate Institute
You may also like to take a look at
Graham Kennedy, Directions Man
“People often ask me what the ‘i’ stands for,” admitted Graham Kennedy proudly, “and I tell them it is the internationally recognised symbol for Information.” Everyone who goes through Liverpool St Station regularly will recognise Graham, he is the eager Directions Man who stands at the Bishopsgate entrance in all weathers, performing a public service by pointing out the way to visitors, those who are lost and anyone who needs guidance to find Spitalfields, Brick Lane and other local destinations.
“I approach people who are looking around and politely ask where they are looking for and are they ok,” he explained to me, “You’ve got to be able to read people and understand their body language, because you can’t just go up to anybody and ask if they need directions.”
When I first noticed Graham, I thought he might be employed by the railway station or the bus company or the tourist board, but then I quickly realised that his was a self-appointed role and I grew curious to know how and why he got there. So I asked the man who spends his days giving directions to others to explain his route to this particular point in his life, standing outside Liverpool St Station.
“I’d from Romford but I was born in the Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel and I grew up in Dagenham, the car manufacturing city. I ended up in this situation after getting divorced eight months ago after being married for twelve years and having two daughters.
Me and my wife started fighting after she began to drink and became someone I didn’t even know. I ended up feeling like a bad person and my children became scared of me and I didn’t like that. I didn’t like myself. So I decided to leave and, for six weeks, I stayed on friends’ settees until I outstayed my welcome.
I got divorced from my wife and I signed the council house over to her, and applied to Dagenham & Barking to get rehoused. I’d been in a council house since I was eighteen years old until the age of thirty-nine and never missed paying my rent. They gave me an interview and, after a thirty minute chat, they said, ‘You’ll get your a decision in ten minutes.’ They said they couldn’t help me because I’d chosen to leave and made myself homeless. They gave me a list of homeless shelters and I was shocked. If I’d lied and said she threw me out, they’d have given me a council home. That was when I realised that it doesn’t always benefit you to be honest.
My parents have been divorced for twenty years. My mother lives in Dagenham and my father has just been put in prison for six years at seventy-three years old after being caught delivering a packet of cocaine. But I’ve always been working, I had a job ever since I left school at fifteen years old and I was an electrician for twenty-two years. It’s impossible for me to find a job now because my ex-wide sold all my tools. I did contract work for Tower Hamlets, Westminster and City of London Councils. That’s why I came up to London once I became homeless, because I know my way around the city.
I started living on the street and I got a fireman’s key from a hardware shop so I could sleep in stairwells, to keep safe and warm and charge my phone. But then I became part of a circle of people that I was taking heroin and crack cocaine with, which I’d never done before in my life. I was on heroin for six to seven months until I got myself medicated, and that went on for three months. I’m no longer on medication, so now I am clean.
I started giving directions four months ago. I didn’t want to beg and I’ve always thought about what people need, and I’m keen to be useful and of service to others. It’s quite legal as long as I don’t ask for money. So, once I have given directions, I say, ‘Excuse me, would consider buying me a tea or coffee?’ There are three things that will happen. They’ll say, ‘No,’ or they’ll give me their spare change, or they’ll buy me a tea or coffee. I’ve learnt that being helpful is a lot more appreciated than just hanging around asking for money.
On Sunday, I stand outside Aldgate East but mostly I am here at Liverpool St. Thursday is the biggest day, it’s been like that for a while. People work until Thursday then go for a night out to relax, and then they get through Friday and rest at the weekend. From four until eight, you will find me at Aldgate East then I go to Liverpool St until midnight, and afterwards I go to Shoreditch and wander around and give directions until six in the morning.
I meet people of all nationalities and walks of life. I’ve had people give me their number and say, ‘Call me if you need help or money,’ but I never call them, I don’t know why. After a year and a half sleeping on the street and in stairwells, I met a Christian and I gained a friend. For the last seven weeks, I’ve been living with him on Brick Lane and repairing his flat and mending all his appliances.
I’ve learnt that you don’t need to have money, you can find anything you want in the city if you know where to look. If you know what time to go round to the back of Tesco in Commercial St, you can find as much food as you want being thrown out.
In the next couple of months, I’ll start looking for a job and get my own place and start seeing my children on a regular basis. I talk to them on the phone but it’s not the same thing.”
Graham Kennedy
You might also like to read about
