Tif Hunter on Maltby St
Over a year ago, Tif Hunter began taking portraits of those who worked selling food in Maltby St near his studio in Bermondsey, where he went each Saturday to buy his provisions. Having completed a fine series of these, he turned his attention to the produce, creating the magnificent still-lifes you see here. Using a hand-built wooden camera with nineteenth century lenses and employing the wet plate collodion process upon glass and metal plates, Tif has conjured an extraordinarily intense vision of these familiar rations, as if they were images plucked from a gastronomic dream. Offering the ideal complement to your visit to Maltby St, an exhibition of Tif’s polaroids and tintypes opens tomorrow at his studio and runs until 3rd November.
Romanesco
Three tomatoes
Golden beets
Carrots
Lemons
Cherries
Flat peaches
Blackcurrants
Loaf one
Loaf two
Loaf three
Loaf four
Peach danish
Goat cheese
Cheddar and stilton
Ham
Three hams
Honeycombs
Sausages
Eggs
Flowers
Photographs copyright © Tif Hunter
ON MALTBY STREET 2011 – Polaroids & Tintypes by TIF HUNTER, runs from 20th October until 3rd November at 18a Wild’s Rents, Bermondsey, SE1 4QG. Saturday & Sunday, 10am-6pm. Tuesday – Friday, 2pm – 7pm. Closed Mondays.
You may also like to see
Tif Hunter’s Maltby St Portraits (Part One)
Tif Hunter’s Maltby St Portraits (Part Two)
and
Nicholas Culpeper in Spitalfields
Celebrating the birthday today of Nicholas Culpeper (1616-1654), it is my pleasure to publish this portrait of the famous herbalist of Spitalfields by Patricia Cleveland-Peck, gardener and writer.
Of all Spitalfields’ past residents, one name stands out above others – Nicholas Culpeper, born on October 18th 1616, a herbalist and medical practitioner operating from Red Lion St (now Commercial St) who devoted his life to healing, and especially to healing the poor.
While apprenticed to the apothecary Francis Drake of Bishopsgate, Nicholas accompanied Thomas Johnson (later editor of the 1633 edition of Gerard’s Herball) on plant hunting excursions. He loved herbs since boyhood and became expert at their identification, essential in those days when almost all ailments were treated with plants. Herbals served as handbooks for doctors in which each plant was named together with its ‘virtues’ or uses. Nicholas’ skill in this subject, coupled with the fact that he was very caring, meant that the people of Spitalfields flocked to him – sometimes as many as forty a morning – and they commonly received treatment for little or no payment.
This was not popular among Nicholas Culpeper’s qualified medical colleagues who were infuriated by his view that, “no man deserved to starve to pay an insulting, insolent physician.” He also believed in “English herbs for English bodies,” and went out gathering his own herbs from the countryside for free which did not endear him to the apothecaries who often insisted on expensive imported exotic plants for their ‘cures’.
In those days, there were strict divisions between what university-educated physicians, apothecaries and barber-surgeons (who drew teeth and let blood) were allowed to do. Physicians were expensive, so for most sick people the first port of call would be their own herb garden or still room, the second the ‘wise woman’ down the road, the third a visit to the apothecary – after which, for many, there was no other option but to let the illness run its course.
In 1649, Nicholas inflamed the establishment by producing an English translation of their latin ‘bible’ the Pharmacopoeia Londinensis which included all the recipes for their medicines. Published as A Physical Directory, it not only revealed the secret ingredients but gave instructions on how to administer them – one of his most important contributions, as it provided the first effective self-help book to which people could turn.
Even more galling for the medical fraternity was the fact Nicholas had never completed his apprenticeship, and chose Spitalfields to set up a semi-legal practice because it was outside the City of London and thus not governed by the rules of the College of Physicians. Spitalfields in those days was quite different from today, beyond the site of huge priory of St Mary Spital stretched the farmland of Spital Field. The priory had been dissolved under Henry VIII although parts of the precincts were still inhabited, and it was an area which attracted outsiders like Nicholas who, as well as treating his patients, was something of a political radical. In his pamphlets, he railed against the king, priests and lawyers as well as physicians. Consequently he was no stranger to controversy and at one point was even accused of witchcraft – just one of the many troubles which accumulated to beset him during his life.
The first of these even occurred thirteen days before his life began, for it was then that his father died leaving his mother without support. She and the new-born Nicholas were obliged to return to the protection of her father, William Attersole, vicar of the little village of Isfield in Sussex. Attersole was not happy about this arrangement but, although he did not welcome the child, he did see it as his religious duty to provide instruction for him as he grew. Young Nicholas learned the scriptures and the classics, he studied mathematics and, under his grandfather’s guidance, began to take an interest in astrology which later featured in his own works. He even stole a book on anatomy out of the library (where he was only supposed to read the bible) and read it in a barn.
Importantly, he also spent a lot of time with his mother who we know owned a copy of Gerard’s Herball. She was responsible for the health of the household and, from his later works, we can glean the fact that he soon became familiar with all the local Sussex ‘simples’ or wild herbs. We know only little of this period of his life, but it is thought that he went to school in Lewes before – at the age of sixteen – setting off for Cambridge ostensibly to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps by studying theology. Once there, he began to attended lectures on anatomy and, perhaps frustrated that he couldn’t change to medicine, he spent most of his time smoking, drinking and socialising in taverns.
Yet the reason for his dropping out is a sad one. Young though he was, before leaving Sussex, Nicholas had fallen in love with Judith Rivers, a local heiress. She reciprocated his love and thus, knowing her family would never consent to the relationship, they planned to elope. They were to meet near Lewes and marry secretly, but on the way Judith’s coach was struck by lightning and she was killed. Nicholas was devastated and spent months sunk in melancholy. There was no question of his returning to Cambridge to study medicine or anything else. Eventually he chose to come to London and become an apothecary. Socially, this was a step down but he enjoyed his time at Bishopsgate and became very proficient.
Nicholas was twenty-four when he found love again. Called to treat a Mr Field for gouty arthritis, his eyes fell upon the fifteen-year-old daughter of the house, Alice. By a stroke of good fortune, she too was an heiress and it was her considerable dowry which enabled Nicholas to build a house in Red Lion St, Spitalfields from which he conducted his practice.
When the Civil War broke out two years later, the anti-royalist Nicholas signed up with Cromwell. Once his profession was discovered however, the recruiting offer commented, “We do not need you at the battlefield…come along as the field surgeon since most of the barbers and physicians are royal asses and we have use for someone to look after our injured.” Later, during the battle of Reading, Nicholas himself was wounded.
On his return to Spitalfields, he devoted himself to study and writing, and produced a number of books including a Directory for Midwives. Nicholas recognised that this was an unusual topic for a male herbalist, writing in the dedication, “If you (the matron) by your experiences find anything not according to the truth ( for I am a man and therefore subject to failings) first judge charitably of me…” Having grown up so close to his mother, Nicholas had a deep respect of women but this book may also have been inspired by some painful experiences in his own family for, although Alice bore him seven children, only one daughter lived to adulthood.
In 1652, Nicholas published his master work The English Physician also known as Culpeper’s Herbal which became the standard work for three hundred years and is still in print. It was sold cheaply and made its way to America where it had a lasting impact too. By 1665, ten years after his death, Nicholas’ name was so well-known that the Lord Mayor of London chose to use it alongside that of Sir Walter Raleigh in a pamphlet about avoiding infection from the Great Plague.
Nicholas Culpeper deserves to be remembered. He was always on the side of the underdog, he opposed the ‘closed shop’ of earlier physicians and he promoted sensible self-help. He also tried to offer reasonable explanations for what he wrote – “Neither Gerard nor Parkinson or any that ever wrote in a like manner ever gave one wise reason for what they wrote and so did nothing else but train up young novices in Physic in the School of Tradition, and teach them just as a parrot is taught… But in mine you see a reason for everything that is written.”
He died in 1654, aged only thirty-eight, of tuberculosis and is believed to be buried beneath Liverpool St Station.
Title page of the 1790 edition of Culpeper’s English Physician & Complete Herbal, published by C.Stalker, 4 Stationer’s Court, Ludgate St.
Plates from the edition published by Richard Evans, 8 White’s Row, Spitalfields, August 12th, 1814.

“Culpeper’s house, of which there are woodcuts extant, it is of wood, and is situated the corner of Red Lion Court and Red Lion Street, Spitalfields. It is now and has long been a public house, known by the sign of the Red Lion, but at the time it was inhabited by the sage herbalist, it was independent of other buildings. While in the occupation of Culpeper, who died in 1654, this house stood in Red Lion Field and was as a dispensary of medicines (perhaps the first) of very considerable celebrity.” The European Magazine and London Review, January 1812. Red Lion St and Red Lion Court as shown on John Horwood’s map (1794-99) before Commercial St was cut through in the nineteenth century.

Paul Bommer’s delft tile commemorating Nicholas Culpeper.
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The Dogs of Spitalfields in Autumn
Spitalfields Life contributing photographer Sarah Ainslie and canine correspondent Andrew McCaldon have been out again in the parks, kicking up the leaves, enjoying the October sunshine and continuing their survey of East End dogs.

Storm (Staffordshire Bull Terrier) & Abeni & Leilah & Kermia
“We love dogs and we found Storm abandoned under a bridge. We washed her and fed her. We all liked her and we took her to the vets. She didn’t have any diseases or fleas and the vet said she was fine, so we decided to keep her.
At first she was called ‘Lightning’ but then we heard of another dog called that, so we changed her name to ‘Storm’ – we called her Storm because she’s so fast.
We also have a cat and a parrot at home. We used to have a rat too but the cat killed it. We’re all of us friends and Storm’s another member of the family. Things are different for us now we have her – life is happier.”
Glider (Chinese Crested/Yorkshire Terrier/Jack Russell cross) & Simon Rees
“It’s her birthday – she’s thirteen today!
She’s a bit deaf now and if she sees a pair of heels she just follows them. In Cambridge, she went off with a jogger one day – it took a lot of running before I eventually caught up with them both.
She has some sort of brain abnormality. I saw the result of the CAT scan, there was a huge mass on her brain and I was told she’d only have two weeks to live. That was five years ago and in fact, other than making her epileptic – thankfully – it hasn’t had any other affect.
You know, I’m never sure if Glider likes these walks or whether the real trigger for going out is the food she knows she’ll get afterwards.”
Rusty (Collie/Doberman cross) & Catherine Ray
“You wouldn’t believe his father was a Doberman, would you? But under his fur are black hairs. He’s twelve years old too but when I have him shaved off, every three months or so, people think he’s a pup.
They call me ‘The Biscuit Woman’ because I give all the dogs in the park little treats. The dogs were always trying to get into my pockets though, so now I have to keep the biscuits in a container.
My previous dog, Troy, was with me for fourteen years. When it came time for him to be put to sleep, I didn’t have the money and I wasn’t getting benefits around here, so I had to take him on the number eight bus all the way to place near Victoria. I met a woman on the bus and it was breaking her heart to see us. She put me in a taxi, paid the driver and said, ‘Take this woman where she needs to go.’
Now I’ve got Rusty with me. You see, a few years ago I buried my daughter and then I lost my husband and my brother in the space of a year. So Rusty’s company for me now.”
Clotty (Long-haired Jack Russell) & Gian Paolo Gori
“She’s sweet, polite and hyper. That’s because she’s a Jack Russell – she never tires and she really keeps me in training.
She’s clever too. We never had to struggle to teach her anything. She trained herself to fetch balls by putting them at the top of the stairs, letting them roll down and then taking them up to the top again.
Clotty has her meals cooked for her, usually beef or lamb mincemeat with some rice and vegetables, like carrots, broccoli or peas. I make cookies for her too, with ingredients like rice, flour, parsley, eggs and liver!”
Roxy (Labrador) & Ali Mclean
“Roxy’s so playful today! Horses get friskier when it starts getting colder – so maybe the same thing happens with dogs?
She’s two years old and she’s my first dog since I’ve been living in London. I grew up in Aberdeen where we always had dogs and I went back to Scotland to get Roxy, as my friend owns her father. So she’s a piece of home and it’s nice to have that connection.
I share the responsibility for Roxy with my boyfriend, which is good because she’s got so much energy. She needs three hours walking a day – at least.”
Anatole (Brussels Griffon) & Natasha Mason
“His full name is Anatole Wolfrus Zucowsky the Second. He was named after my Dad.
Out of all the breeds, Griffons are supposed to have the most human features and their character traits include having a big heart and an air of self importance! My Mum skypes Anatole from Spain and she’s already had her call this morning. She gives him a virtual tummy rub and I have to provide the real thing at the other end.
Having a dog has led to so much for me – I’ve been organising dog shows, I want to start a dog magazine and I’m about to go out to India to train as a canine behaviourist.
I’ve invented a new word – ‘dogalyst.’ A catalyst is something that causes a change, so a dogalyst is when a dog changes your life. Dogs have changed mine.”
Maudie (Toy Poodle/Yorkshire Terrier cross) & Glenn Cleary
“I’m an only child and everyone in my family died, so I had nowhere for my feelings to go. Then I got Maudie. Now, I don’t have a life of my own.
When I was young there was an aristocratic cartoon character in the newspapers called Maudie Littlehampton, drawn by Osbert Lancaster. I loved her and I thought it was a fun name to give my dog.
Although she’s small, Maudie’s one of the fastest dogs in the park, other dogs give up chasing her because she doesn’t give them a chance.
I had a hip replacement, and I wanted a dog that didn’t pull me over – but instead I got one that trips me up.”
Max (German Shepherd) & Joe
“My granddaughter wanted a German Shepherd. Max was the runt of the litter and we really had to build him up.
He’s very fussy though, he doesn’t mind if it starts to rain while we’re out, but if it’s already raining before we leave he just won’t go anywhere.
I’m retired now. I was shafted and forced to leave my job, but actually it was the best thing that ever happened to me. These days, Max is my pastime. He’s my baby.”
Horace (Blue Whippet) & Agatha
“Although I’m a photographer, Horace is very camera-shy, he’ll always look away when anyone takes a picture.
Horace comes with me for my work. He’s only three but he’s very well travelled. He’s got his own passport, has been to Paris and he loved the train to St. Petersburg. I used to take him on the tube and buses when he was a puppy, I wanted him to get used to the idea. It worked wonders – now he’s obsessed with trains.
I’m a very active person and that’s why I chose to get a whippet. I love watching Horace run.”
Mary Jane (Staffordshire Bull Terrier) & Riccardo Raia
“I am from Milano but life is hard in Italy in right now and there are no jobs for young people.
I came here alone and I wanted some company, so I found Mary Jane. I had another dog called ‘Blue’ in Italy but now my parents are looking after him. I would like to bring him here so they can be together.
Owning a dog here is better than at home. There’s a lot of parks and everyone loves dogs here. I’m very happy to now be part of London and, of course, Mary Jane is a British breed of dog!”
Neen (Lurcher) & Caroline Meadows & Bertie
“Neen is a rescue dog. I was driving to the Dogs Trust to look for a dog and saw Neen walking along a main road, looking very skinny and frightened. I had a tin of dog food in the back of the car and that’s how I managed to attract him. He had no microchip, no collar and I handed him into the police but no one claimed him, so he came to live with us.
We lived in a village in the Peak District until this January. It was a beautiful place, but of course dogs don’t care about gorgeous scenery. Neen prefers living here, where he can scavenge and there’s lots more different smells.
I think it will be great for Bertie to grow up with a dog. Children love animals, so many songs and books are about animals, and now he’ll have the real thing.”
Photographs copyright © Sarah Ainslie
The Dogs of Spitalfields in Spring
Nazir Tanbouli, Painter
“I was born into a family of painters, I’m the third generation,” Nazir Tanbouli revealed to me, “But when I came to London from Alexandria ten years ago as a thirty-one year old painter, I found it was impossible to get the chance show my paintings.”
We were walking around the Kingsland Estate in Haggerston, a housing development built in 1952, expressing the optimism of the year of the Queen’s Coronation, and now pending demolition in 2012, the year of the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee. Most of the windows were bricked up in the decayed modernist blocks, with only the last die-hard residents awaiting the end of days. But in the meantime, Nazir has cunningly adorned the structures with a monumental series of murals. Counteracting the melancholy of dereliction, they brought the world to wonder at the poignant spectacle this summer, winning Nazir the audience he always sought for his work. Now that the crowds and news-crews have been and gone, Spitalfields Life Contributing Photographer Simon Mooney and I decided it was time to take a look for ourselves.
“I was always attracted to draw bigger than myself, “ Nazir admitted with an unapologetic grin,“When I was two years old, I was in my uncle’s studio and I destroyed his new canvas by drawing on it while he went out to get some cigarettes.” The Kingsland Estate murals saw the fulfilment of Nazir’s ambition to work on a large scale, painting fourteen buildings in three months and battling the inclement weather to finish in time for the scheduled demolition on the first of July. “After ten years of no maintenance and neglect, the flats were sold to a housing association, who are knocking some down and building some new,” Nazir told me, bemused that the long-awaited demolition is currently in abeyance, “My work was a reaction against their slow death, making the place fresh before they knocked it down, but since they haven’t knocked it down yet it has now entered another phase of slow death.”
We stood in front of the paper and paste mural that was the first of Nazir’s phantasmagorical Kingsland Estate murals. “It’s a lot of teeth, it’s a lot of bulging eyes and there’s a lot of tragedy but it’s communicated in a semi-comic way, “ he assured me as I cast my eyes at the grotesque faces coming at me from every direction, erupting like the angry spirits of the bricked-up buildings. “I used glue that cost me thirty pounds a bucket for this and it stayed,” he explained, before gesturing around sadly to the empty walls that surrounded it, “And I used glue that cost me two pounds a bucket for these and they’re gone – but the whole project only cost me £400.”
“Every entrance to the Estate had to have something to invite people in. I wanted them to become part of the experience and not just an audience. You see one picture and then another in the distance, and you find yourself in a labyrinth.” Nazir continued, as we turned a corner to arrive at the first of the painted murals that he did, using salvaged paint upon the base coat of the wall which had been painted blood red. On that rainy autumn afternoon, the bricked-up edifices which surrounded us gave the appearance of tombs sealed against grave robbers, yet Nazir’s paintings brought rampant chaotic life, manifesting creatures that crawled from the murky world of myth and the subconscious, creatures that would not be denied your attention. Creatures that challenged the rationalism which led to the conception of these little boxes stacked-up for people to live in.
Nazir’s studio is at the heart of the Estate, on the ground floor of Hebden Court, where he shivers now in a building without heating that has emptied out of tenants. I asked him how long before the flats will at last be demolished and he pointed to the new structure across the yard. “When the red building is complete,” he said, indicating the top floor flat that he is waiting to move into. Until then, Nazir is doing paintings to keep warm. “Drawing is like thinking on paper, but painting is a physical activity,” he informed me, “So, at this time of year, I come in and start painting at once or I get cold.”
On our walk, Nazir reserved his fondest affection for a painting in ink on concrete, a dynamic medium which permitted no error or correction and produced an absorbency of line not unlike ink on paper. He stood next to the wall, almost caressing it. “I’m not an artist if I cannot deliver something that people need daily, like the butcher and the baker do.” he declared, thinking out loud, and surrounded by the monsters that he both conjured and exorcised, “My purpose is to get rid of bad things. I am not an artist in residence, I am the resident who is an artist.”
Photographs copyright © Simon Mooney
Visitors are welcome to visit Nazir Tanbouli’s studio at 75 Hebden Court, Laburnum St, Haggerston E2 8BG, open each Friday, Saturday and Sunday from 2-6pm.
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John Claridge’s Boxers (Round One)
Photographer John Claridge returned to the East End recently to visit the London Ex-Boxers Association and take portraits of the members. Coming from a family of boxers and being an ex-boxer himself, John possesses a natural empathy with these spirited men who were once the fiercest of opponents but are now the closest of friends.
Johnny Barnham (First fight 1950 – last fight 1955)
Ron Whittham (First fight 1950 – last fight 1961)
Joey Khan (First fight 1950 – last fight 1955)
Dynamo Colin Dunne (First fight 1993 – last fight 2003)
Peter Cragg (First fight 1966 – last fight 1970)
Sylvester Mittee (First fight 1977 – last fight 1988)
Ronnie Smith (First fight 1956 – last fight 1966)
Sammy McCarthy (First fight 1946 – last fight 1957)
Billy Graydon (First fight 1949 – last fight 1960)
Ron Cooper (First fight 1944 – last fight 1953)
Dave Cooper (First fight 1966 – last fight 1972)
Paul Fairweather, Committee Member of London Ex-Boxers ( fought in 1965)
Photographs copyright © John Claridge
You may like to read these boxing stories
Sylvester Mittee, Welterweight Champion
Ron Cooper, Lightweight Champion
Sammy McCarthy, Flyweight Champion
and take a look at these other pictures by John Claridge
Along the Thames with John Claridge
At the Salvation Army with John Claridge
A Few Diversions by John Claridge
Signs, Posters, Typography & Graphics
Views from a Dinghy by John Claridge
In Another World with John Claridge
A Few Pints with John Claridge
Some East End Portraits by John Claridge
Sunday Morning Stroll with John Claridge
The Doors Of Old London
The door to Parliament
Look at all the doors where the dead people walked in and out. These are the doors of old London. Some are inviting you in and some are shutting you out. Doors that lead to power and doors that lead to prison. Doors that lead to the parlour, doors that lead to the palace, and doors that lead to prayer. These are the doors that I found among hundreds of glass slides once used for magic lantern shows by the London & Middlesex Archaeological Society, many more than a century old, and housed today at the Bishopsgate Institute.
Looking at life through a doorway, we are all either on the way in or on the way out. Like the door to your childhood home that got sold long ago, each one pictured here is evidence of the transient nature of existence, reminding you that you cannot go back through the portal of time.
Yet there is a powerful enigma conjured by these murky pictures of old doors, most of which will never open again. Like the pauper or the lost soul condemned to wander the streets, we cannot enter to learn what lies behind these doors of old London. But a closed door is an invitation to the imagination and we can wonder and dream, entering those hidden spaces in our fancy.
London has always been a city of doors, inviting both the curiosity and the suspicion of the passerby. In each street, there is a constant anticipation of people popping out, regurgitated onto the street by the building, and the glimpse to be snatched of the interior before the door closes again.
I cannot resist the notion that every door contains a mystery and all I need is a skeleton key. Then we can set out to explore as we please, going in one door and out another, until we have passed through all the doors of old London.
The entrance to the Carpenters’ Hall
The doors of Lambeth Palace
Door in the cloisters in Westminster Abbey
The door to the chamber of Little Ease at the Tower of London.
In St Benet’s Church, Paul’s Wharf.
Back door of 33 Mark Lane
Back door to Lancaster House.
In Crutched Friars.
14 Cavendish Sq.
The door to 10 Downing St
39a Devonshire St.
The door to the House of Lords
Wren doorway, Kensington Palace.
The door to Westminster Abbey
St Dunstan’s in the West
The entrance to Christ Church, Greyfriars.
The door to St Bartholomew’s, Smithfield
Temple Church
The Watchhouse, St Sepulcre’s, Smithfield.
Door by Inigo Jones at St Helen’s Bishopsgate.
Prior Bolton’s Door at St Bartholomew the Great.
At the Tower of London
Glass slides © Bishopsgate Institute
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The Leather Shops of Brick Lane
Everything at Oceanic Leather is made in Brick Lane
Not so long ago, almost all the shops north of the railway bridge in Brick Lane sold leather jackets and bags manufactured locally, but now there are only a handful of these businesses left. So Spitalfields Life Contributing Photographer Sarah Ainslie and I went along to find out what is going on in the world of East End leather, and we encountered an entire spectrum of human emotion.
The manufacture of leather garments is an age-old industry on this side of London, existing as part of the clothing and textile trade that was a major source of employment here for centuries. A hundred years ago, the industry was predominantly Jewish but when Asian people arrived in significant numbers in the last century they worked as machinists in a trade that they eventually took over and now, a generation later, they find themselves presiding over its slow demise.
At Truth Trading, 151 Brick Lane, I encountered the father and son in a family business that began in 1978, sitting facing each other across a desk in an empty shop. “It’s dead! I make but I can’t sell,” declared Abdul Bari, leaping up almost apoplectic with frustration at the seventeen pounds they had taken that day, while his son sat watching with visible concern for his father’s distress. A skilled man who trained as a cutter and knew everything there is to know about the making of leather garments, Abdul Bari worked in the trade locally since 1968. Then he started making clothes at home before opening a shop in Commercial St, graduating through premises in Wentworth St and Bell Lane, then purchasing the Brick Lane premises in 1986. “We have a factory in Pakistan with one hundred sewing machines but it is closed down because there are no orders,” he lamented, leaving me searching for words that might console him.
Across the road in the compact corner shop packed with glistening leather, Open Space, 200 Brick Lane, Mohammed Kamran was resolutely cheerful, explaining that his uncle Mohammed Yusuf Nagory started the business, making leather jeans and selling them at Kensington Market in the seventies. Moving to Brick Lane in the eighties, he started a factory with twenty-five people in Cheshire St which his nephew joined at fifteen years old. Today, as a smaller business they are sustained by loyal customers and have recently made costumes for Harry Potter and the West End theatre. Astonishingly, you can buy a handmade leather jacket there for as little as thirty-five pounds.
Mr Mahmood at the Brick Lane Boutique, 137 Brick Lane, who began working as a machinist twenty-six years ago and started his own business twenty years ago, explained the root of the problem to me. “When I started here, I used to sell everything I made, but now the Chinese use artificial leather and in the chain stores people can buy one of these jackets for £15. So why are they going to come here and spend £100 for real leather?” he asked, his eyes glistening with emotion as he gestured around his shop which was more-than-half given over to t-shirts, with leather jackets consigned to a corner. Fortunately our conversation was interrupted by a customer who did want to spend £100 for a real leather jacket and so I left Mr Mahmood to it, thankful that his salesmanship had been given an opportunity to shine.
Bashir & Sons (London) Ltd at Bashir House is a towering landmark at 180 Brick Lane, where you can walk in to admire a vast stock of leather jackets in every permutation of design upon rails in a labyrinthine ground floor showroom. I was welcomed by the ebullient Mr Ahmed, one of the brothers in this family business which started forty-six years ago in Commercial St and moved to the current premises thirty-five years ago. “I started when I was sixteen,” he admitted to me in a nostalgic tone, “In those days, the customers just came and bought the stuff but now we have to sell it.” With outlets in Birmingham and elsewhere, this is an elaborate operation, manufacturing in Asia and distributing throughout Europe. “We’re not the biggest but the best,” Mr Ahmed assured me, demonstrating professional charm while boasting Dustin Hoffman and Lennox Lewis among his customers, “And we sell the largest selection of fancy sun glasses in London.”
Further down, at 168 Brick Lane, another Ahmed, proprietor of Oceanic Leather was the most frank of the leather sellers, in spite of his self-effacing demeanour. “A lot of people left or went bankrupt. We had a regular business and then one day it dried up.” he revealed with a melancholy frown, “I’ve suffered pain, but I rode out the worst part of it.” In his store, everything has been made in the workshop above, though there is nothing to indicate this to customers, just piles of pieces of high quality leather stacked up in the crowded space attesting to the distinction of the garments on display.
My final call was Rana Leather, 160 Brick Lane, where I discovered the proprietor Mr Rana and his beefy assistant trying to squash an impossibly large number of leather jackets into a tiny cardboard box. The beefy assistant held the box shut while Mr Rana wrapped it in tape and they succeeded in packing a curious irregularly-shaped parcel. Afterwards, Mr Rana wiped perspiration from his brow while explaining that he was one of three brothers who ran the business which started on Fashion St in 1975. This busy shop was filled with boxes of clothes in transit, as much a warehouse for the wholesale trade as a retail outlet, and it indicated that a certain volume of business was being done on the premises.
All but one of the leather shops I visited owned their buildings, which proved to be the key factor in their survival when others that paid the escalating rents had gone. I was fascinated to find that most were run by skilled men, experienced leatherworkers who offer the facility to have clothes and bags made to order. It was even more remarkable to learn that for a modest price you can buy a good quality jacket which has been made by hand in a workshop on Brick Lane. There may be only a few left, but my discovery was that these leather shops still have plenty going for them – if people only knew.
Abdul Bari, Truth Trading, founded his business by making clothes at home in 1978.
The grandchildren of M.Schulman, the kosher poulterer, gave this photo to Truth Trading, now operating from the same premises.
Mohammed Kamran’s uncle founded the business, Open Space, by selling leather jeans in Kensington Market in the seventies.
Mr Mahmood, Brick Lane Boutique, started as a machinist twenty-six years ago.
Mr Ahmed at Bashir Leather – “We are not the biggest but the best”
Ahmed, proprietor of Oceanic Leather.
Mr Rana of Rana Leather
Photographs copyright © Sarah Ainslie
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