George Cruikshank’s Festive Season
As we brace ourselves for the forthcoming festive season, let us contemplate George Cruikshank‘s illustrations of yuletide in London 1838-53 from his Comic Almanack which remind us how much has changed and also how little has changed. (You can click on any of these images to enlarge)
A swallow at Christmas
Christmas Eve
Christmas Eve
Christmas dining
Christmas bustle
Boxing day
Hard frost
A picture in the gallery
Theatrical dinner
The Parlour & the Cellar
New Year’s Eve
New Year’s birth
Twelfth Night – Drawing characters
January – Last year’s bills
You may also enjoy
George Cruikshank’s Comic Alphabet
At Vout-O-Reenee’s
“It’s a tribute to Sophie!” – John Claridge
When Contributing Photographer John Claridge summoned me to the crypt of the Church of the English Martyrs in Prescott St down by the Tower of London, I had no idea what to expect. It was already late in the evening as I descended the stair and rang a doorbell labelled Vout-O-Reenee’s. To my amazement, I discovered this was the portal to a hidden outpost of Soho Bohemia secreted in this unlikely corner of the East End, where John was waiting at the bar to greet me.
Named using the invented language of jazz legend, Slim Gaillard, this new members club is the brainchild of Sophie Parkin who wrote the official history of the Colony Club. It is a charismatic zany netherworld, where you encounter arms protruding from the wall holding lamps in the manner of those in Cocteau films and all manner of knowing Surrealist references, as celebrated by John Claridge in his playful series of montages which accompany this feature.
Instantly recognisable by her scarlet lips, black beret and sense of panache, Sophie presides regally over this subterranean nocturnal world with a feverish intelligence. “I’d like to be called Madam Parkin,” she admitted to me, “I always wear hats because I don’t like umbrellas.”
You can guarantee that if Falstaff returned to Cheapside today and discovered the Boar’s Head gone, he need only walk over here to discover a worthy successor to Mistress Quickly in Sophie, flaunting a flirty line in amusing backchat and knowing innocence.“Even if you’re famous, nobody’s going to ask for your autograph here,” she reassured me unnecessarily, “so you can leave your ego outside at the door.”
“At eighteen years old, when I was a student at St Martin’s School of Art, I got a job at the Zanzibar Club and I got jobs for all the other students too,” she explained, rolling her eyes significantly, “And it worked very well because we were good-looking and mouthy, which suited the customers who came to look at us – so we all had a great time. By the age of twenty-one, I was the manager and I got invited to open a club in Hong Kong – so I thought, ‘You can’t say, ‘No.” but it was a complete disaster.” Sophie gave a shrug and poured herself a glass of red wine, taking a sip as if it were the distillation of her experience.
“In the nineties, when I was bringing up my children by myself and writing books, a friend offered me the job of managing 1 Hoxton Sq,” she continued, picking up the story years down the line, “so I wrote a press release saying, ‘This is where all the artists are, the most fashionable place in London.’ Journalists are so lazy that it only took one person to print it and then the others followed suit, and we were booked solid three months in advance – ridiculous isn’t it?”
I nodded sagely, without being entirely convinced that this was the sole reason for Sophie’s success, and I took a sip of my whisky while she cast her eyes around the room from her commanding position behind the bar. “This is all my imagination, a small reflection of the inside of my brain,” she confessed, “I couldn’t contemplate doing Colony Club II, because what’s the point of that?””
“Soho has gone and it’s never going to come back,” she concluded authoritatively, taking another quaff of wine.
“Those people who don’t fit into Shoreditch need somewhere else to go and going into pubs is not possible for single women – but here everybody talks to everybody,” she confided to me proudly. “People keep asking when we’re going to open a restaurant, but I can’t be arsed. It’s not as if there’s a shortage of places to eat in East London is there?” she exclaimed suddenly, before adding fondly, “If you’ve got a drink, who needs a restaurant?”
I was just thinking that this seemed an ideal place to pass the long hours of a cold winter’s night when Sophie said,“I always worked at night when I was running clubs, I think my best time is about ten at night – it’s to do with the time of day you were born, I was born in the late afternoon.” As one who also works nocturnally and was born in the late afternoon, I was grateful for this explanation of my pattern of behaviour.
“I’ve always been drawn towards Surrealism as a style of expression,” Sophie declared unexpectedly in an urgent whisper, interrupting my reverie,“I think if you can’t get a laugh in a day you are living the wrong life.” And we raised our glasses to that.
Unto the dark tower came the Gentle Author….
… and descended to the crypt …
… where Jan Vink waited …
… to open the door to the netherworld (Portrait of Muriel Belcher of the Colony Club upon the floor)
“Jazz Musician Slim Gaillard wrote a dictionary of his invented language and that’s why the club is called ‘Vout-O-Reenee’s'” – John Claridge
Portrait of Sophie Parkin in the ladies toilet
Matt Johnson at the piano – “I knew his dad from the Two Puddings” – JC
Painted tiger rug on a painted wooden floor
“It’s a stuffed bird that I photographed in the Spitalfields Market” – JC
Giant ladybird on the ceiling
Joints of meat hanging in the toilet
“Molly Parkin’s paintings in the Stash Gallery – you have to explore it for yourself” – JC
“I pinned my founder member badge on this doll I purchased recently and that’s Sophie’s lips floating in a Magritte sky” – JC
“Although I photographed Sophie in front of Monet’s garden, this is another tribute to Magritte – with the brolley and the glass of water. Is she going to get wet?” – JC
“The Surrealists played chess all the time and I’ve put in the bishop with the cross because this game is in the crypt – it’s a checkmate” – JC
Homage to Marcel Duchamp in the toilet
“This is a portrait of Sophie from a few years ago and I’ve added the Dali moustache just as Duchamp did with the Mona Lisa, as a homage to the great Surrealist” – JC
Photographs copyright © John Claridge
Vout-O-Reenees & The Stash Gallery, 30 Prescott St, E1 8BB
Group exhibition of members’ work runs in the Stash Gallery until Saturday 3rd January – open from Tuesday to Saturday, 5-10pm
You may also like to take a look at
At The Spitalfields Nativity Procession
There was no doubt whatsoever that the Christmas season had arrived in Spitalfields last week when a procession of characters from the nativity story advanced up Brick Lane accompanied by all the pupils of Christ Church School singing carols. Contributing Photographer Colin O’Brien & I arrived at the school just as the final preparations were taking place.
In the hallway, school governors, members of the parent-teachers’ association and any other adults that could be recruited were changing into colourful biblical costumes. They were joined by the pupils, some of whom had been assigned specific roles in the drama and other who had opted for generic nativity outfits. Once we were all gathered in the yard at the front of the school, there was just time for a group photo before the unlikely procession set off up Brick Lane, singing carols enthusiastically to dispel the grim atmosphere of damp and cold.
The curry touts were astonished by this unexpected demonstration of seasonal goodwill and resisted their natural impulse to offer meal deals and free beers to Mary & Joseph, on the their way to Bethlehem via Brick Lane. In fact, the first destination was the Spitalfields City Farm where the holy couple were to acquire a donkey for Mary to ride on their journey. Although legend has it that farm animals gain the power of speech on Christmas Eve, the pig at the City Farm grew impatient and joined in loudly with the carol-singing last week, much to the delight of the school children.
After readings telling the nativity story and more carols, and once Mary had put on her safety helmet and was securely mounted upon Bayleaf the donkey, we were all set to continue on our Christmas pilgrimage around Spitalfields. The attenuated procession stretched the length of Allen Gardens, offering great amusement to passengers on the East London Line gawping in delight from the train windows as they sped by.
We crossed Brick Lane again and followed the perimeter wall of the Truman Brewery to emerge onto Commercial St. Passing along the side of Spitalfields Market down Lamb St, the procession entered Bishop’s Sq just as it was thronging with office workers at lunchtime. The line of singing children led by a donkey had come to invade the adult workaday world, as harbingers of the approaching festive season – they had come to remind everyone that in less than two weeks everything must stop for Christmas.
The procession assembles at Christ Church School
Advancing up Brick Lane
Arriving at the Spitalfields City Farm
Jasmin as Mary, with Mhairi from Spitalfields City Farm and Bayleaf the donkey
Mary-Jane played the drum with Eleanor on accordion
Hamza, Josh and Kevin as the three kings
Setting out from the farm
Joseph & Mary advancing along Buxton St
Janzaib as the angel
Photographs copyright Colin O’Brien
You may also like to read about
Spitalfields Nippers At Broadway Bookshop
Your last chance to hear me talking about Horace Warner’s Spitalfields Nippers this year is at Broadway Bookshop in Broadway Market, Hackney, next Wednesday 17th December at 7pm, when I shall be showing the photographs and reading biographies of the children in the pictures. This event is free and tickets can be reserved by emailing books@broadwaybookshophackney.com
“Adelaide Springett in all her best clothes” photographed by Horace Warner c. 1900
Adelaide Springett was born in February 1893 in the parish of St George-in-the-East, Wapping. Her father, William Springett came from Marylebone and her mother Margaret from St Lukes, Old St. Both parents were costermongers, although William was a dock labourer when he first married. Adelaide’s twin sisters, Ellen and Margaret, died at birth and another sister, Susannah, died aged four. Adelaide attended St Mary’s School and then St Joseph’s School. The addresses on her school admissions were 12 Miller’s Court, Dorset St, and then 26 Dorset St. In 1901, at eight years old, she was recorded as lodging with her mother at the Salvation Army Shelter in Hanbury St. Adelaide Springett died in 1986 in Fulham aged ninety-three, without any traceable relatives, and the London Borough of Kensington & Chelsea Social Services Department was her executor.
Click here to order a copy of SPITALFIELDS NIPPERS by Horace Warner
You may also like to read about
Upon The Subject Of The Spitalfields Nippers
Lizzie Flynn & Dollie Green by Horace Warner
Annie & Nellie Lyons by Horace Warner
Wakefield Sisters by Horace Warner
Marcellus Laroon’s Cries Of London II
It is my delight today to publish these splendid plates from Volume II of Marcellus Laroon’s Cries of London, from the seventeenth century copy in the archive of the Bishopsgate Institute
Images photographed by Alex Pink & reproduced courtesy Bishopsgate Institute
You may also like to take a look at
Wilfred Owen At Shadwell Stair
When I published my pictures of Wapping Stairs this week, a reader reminded me of Wilfred Owen’s enigmatic poem of 1918, Shadwell Stair, sending me back to the river to take this photograph for you
Wilfred Owen (1893 -1918)
Shadwell Stair in 1937
Shadwell Church
The Prospect of Whitby
Shadwell Church seen from the entrance to Shadwell Basin
You may also like to read about
Nevio Pellicci At New Spitalfields Market
Nevio Pellicci goes in search of Maris Piper
“This is my dad’s old car,” explained Nevio Pellicci as he drove Contributing Photographer Sarah Ainslie & me through Bethnal Green before dawn on Monday morning, “I just use it now for these market trips” – and he patted the dashboard affectionately in remembrance of Nevio Pellicci senior. Each Monday, Wednesday and Friday, Nevio drives over to the New Spitalfields Market to buy fresh vegetables for his celebrated family-run cafe in the Bethnal Green Rd which has been in business since 1900.
“I’m up at five-fifteen and at the cafe by six,” Nevio explained lightly, revealing that he had been working even before we set out that morning,”When I was a boy, my mum used to wake me at four-fifteen and I’d just roll over, but my dad used to switch the lights on. He was of the old school, he was a grafter. You always had be doing something, that’s how he prepared you for life ahead.”
We sped through the empty East End streets towards Leyton, where the nocturnal wholesale market was just winding down after a night’s trading. Once we drove through the security gates, Nevio’s first port of call was Johnny Bates – known as the Legend – a tall man with a shock of white hair, whose role goes by the arcane name of Cartminder. In other words, Johnny keeps an eye on Nevio’s car and makes sure his market purchases are safe when they are delivered to the car by the Porters. “I bring him a piece of bread pudding sometimes,” Nevio confided to me, “Not too often mind you, I don’t want to spoil him.”
Leaving the dark of the car park, we entered the vast market hall that stretched away into the distance with a bewildering array of stands displaying enough vegetables to feed a city, stacked up in tall metal towers. Nevio knew what he was looking for and went straight for the spring greens at Ernest Hammond, where he is a familiar customer – enough to be welcomed liked a long-lost relative by the fellows behind the desk. The current Mr Hammond informed me he is sixth generation in this family business, the oldest in the market.
When I looked around, Nevio was off searching among the produce, since the greens were merely the overture to his essential quest – for potatoes to make the chips for which Pelliccis are famous throughout the capital.“Mum won’t use anything else but these!” he announced, holding up a sack of Maris Piper in triumph.
“We used to get our veg delivered,” Nevio confessed to me, rubbing his hands in glee as we strode through the cavernous hall together, “But I prefer to come here, you get to see what you are buying and you save a lot of money.” Next stop was Aberdeen Stanton, third generation traders in the market. “This is where I get 95% of my stuff,” Nevio assured me with a proprietorial smile, “If they haven’t got it, they’ll find it for me.”
“I’m in and out in no time, I get everything and I’m back to the cafe,” admitted Nevio, once he had run through his list. But, since Sarah & I were there, he agreed to take a stroll around, and we were drawn by the pungent aroma of Christmas trees, which put Nevio in the seasonal spirit, encouraging him to buy four decorative wreaths – one for his mother Maria, one for his wife Nicola, and one each for his sisters Anna and Bruna.
Our last destination was Dino’s Cafe, that was formerly in Crispin St, Spitalfields, and moved here in 1991. “I used to come in here when I was bunking off school,” Nevio whispered to me. Taking a moment to shake hands with Ernesto Fiori, the proprietor, and greet Jim Olney, the paper bag seller from Donovans, we carried off cups of tea to drink on our way. As we were leaving, I met Keith Edwards, a Porter of forty-eight years standing – “I’ve Porters in my family in the London markets going back over a hundred years,” he told me.
Before I could pursue the conversation with Keith, we were outside in the sunrise as Porter, Terry Holt, arrived with Nevio’s order – delivered at the car where Johnny Bates was waiting. Terry boasted fifty-one years in the job. “I had three uncles down here as Porters in 1963,” he informed me proudly. Johnny Bates, thirty years a Cartminder, was not to be outdone –“My grandfather worked in Spitalfields Markt when he was eight years old and when the Market closed in the morning, he walked up through Quaker St, under the arches, whistling and then his mother came out the house with a piece of toast and his schoolbooks for him, and off he went to school.” After this disclosure, I knew why Johnny is known as ‘the Legend.’
We were chilled to the bone and, lacking the inborn vitality of market traders, Sarah & I were happy to be back in the warm at Pelliccis in Bethnal Green eating a hot breakfast. It had been an adventure, but for Nevio it happens three nights a week, every week, as a prelude to a day’s work in the cafe. The lengths some people will go to for fresh vegetables are astonishing.
Spring greens from Ernest Hammond
Lawrence
Ernest Hammond, six generations in the family business
Nevio with Ernesto Fiori of Dino’s Cafe
Nevio with Keith Edwards, Porter
Jim Olney, right, celebrated paper bag salesman
Nevio with Johnny Bates, legendary Cartminder
Terry Holt senior and Terry Holt junior – both Porters
Nevio’s order for Pelliccis Cafe
Delivering the fresh veg at Pelliccis
Photographs copyright © Sarah Ainslie
E.Pellicci, 332 Bethnal Green Rd, E2 0AG
You may like to read my other Pellicci stories
Christmas Ravioli At E Pellicci
Maria Pellicci, The Meatball Queen of Bethnal Green
Colin O’Brien’s Pellicci Portraits ( Part One)
Colin O’Brien’s Pellicci Portraits (Part Two)
