Colin O’Brien at E.Pellicci
Nevio Pellicci at Pellicci’s Cafe, 1990
If you were to go to E. Pellicci at 332 Bethnal Green Rd in 1990, you would have been welcomed by Nevio Pellicci and if you were to go back this week you would be greeted by Nevio Pellicci. You would recognise many of the staff from before and the cafe would be almost identical to your previous visit. Yet it would be a different Nevio Pellicci that welcomed you in this new century, working alongside his sister Anna, as one generation has passed away to be succeeded by another at London’s most celebrated family-run cafe, in business since 1900 and still going strong.
Such was the experience of photographer Colin O’Brien when he returned this week to show the Pellicci family the pictures that he took there in 1990 and take a new portrait featuring the Nevio Pellicci that presides today. “I was very interested in cafe culture at the time, so many were closing down” recalled Colin, as he tucked into ham, egg and chips before commencing his photographic assignment, “I’ve always been fascinated by traditional cafes because they’re wonderful social meeting places.”
Taken in the golden sunlight of early evening, Colin’s pictures might have become an elegy to a lost era, yet happily they exist today as a celebration of the continuity which exists at this very special East End institution where everyone meets as equals in the charmed realm of the Pellicci family. “I was scared to ask because it meant they had stay after closing time.” recalled Colin, “If you look at the clock in one of the pictures, it says seven o’clock, but they couldn’t be more welcoming even though I brought in a lot of equipment with me. And I shot on film in those days, which meant taking Polaroids as trial shots too.”
Once the cafe emptied out of customers at four in the afternoon, Colin was able to set up his lights in readiness for the new picture while the Pelliccis, who had now finished work, enjoyed great delight to see his photographs of their former selves for the first time. In 1999, a fire that began in the kitchen nearly destroyed the cafe, but fortunately the irreplaceable art-deco marquetry by Achille Cappocci from 1946 was saved, gaining a deeper golden hue as a consequence of the conflagration in contrast to its paler appearance in Colin’s pictures. Much amusement was had at the prices on the menu in the photographs, Spaghetti Bolognaise £2.40, Liver & Bacon £1.40 and Cheese Salad 70p. These pictures were taken before the coffee machine arrived upon the counter when caffeine culture overtook London in the nineteen nineties while, on the menu, the most significant culinary innovation has been the introduction of toast in 1996. “I asked him why he had bread and butter on the menu not toast,” admitted Nevio, rolling his eyes as he recalled the conversation with his father, humorously nonplussed, ” but he just said, ‘I don’t like it.'”
In Colin’s new picture, Maria Pellicci – who has worked in the kitchen since 1961 – occupies the same spot at the centre of the composition, just as she is at the heart of the Pellicci family, while her nephew Salvatore Zaccaria (known as Tony) supports her on the right with his arms crossed as before. Nevio Pellicci junior takes the position against the counter in which his father stood in 1990. He admitted to me that he had tried wearing a shirt and tie like his father when he first came to work, but it did not suit him. Yet Colin confirmed that, in other important ways, Nevio resembles his father closely. “He was very friendly, just a lovely man,” said Colin, recalling Nevio senior, “Nevio junior has it too, he’s interested in everyone and they become family. It’s just a wonderful way of making people feel at home. It’s an art.”
Salvatore (known as Tony), Maria, Nevio and Alfie.
Nevio and Tony.
Alfie, Maria, Tony and Nevio.
Nevio Pellicci
The clock is eternally ten to seven for Nevio Pellicci senior, flanked by his parents, Elide and Primo Pellicci, who ran the cafe before him.
Nevio (senior), Maria and Tony at Pelliccis in 1990.
Nevio (junior), Maria and Tony at Pelliccis in 2012.
Photographs copyright © Colin O’Brien
Take a look at these other Pellicci stories
The Meatball Queen of Bethnal Green
or these other Colin O’Brien stories
Colin O’Brien’s Kids on the Street
Travellers’ Children in London Fields
Ian Harper’s Spitalfields Door Parade
Woodgrainer, Ian Harper, with a rosewood door he painted in Elder St.
If you should ever require an excuse for a stroll around Spitalfields one Sunday, what could be a more relaxing and gently informative diversion than to take a tour of the doors painted by Ian Harper, the woodgrainer? Your journey commences at the ancient Bell Foundry in the Whitechapel Rd where Ian painted the entire facade with a spectacular mid-oak effect.
“I walked in one day, ten years ago,” Ian told me,“and they asked if I could restore the wood-graining because it was damaged, so I said, ‘Yes,’ and since then I’ve repainted it twice.” The graining here dates from the Victorian era with constant repair over the last century, yet such is Ian’s skill in achieving an authentic effect , you would never guess that any maintenance or repainting has been done.
Mid-oak was an effect commonly used by small businesses and trades that wanted to look solid, Ian revealed to me, whereas more ostentatious effects were the preserve of classy private houses such as you find on the next stop of your walking tour, in Princelet St. At number twenty-four, where Chris Dyson has reconstructed an eighteenth century facade to blend with the rest of the street, he commissioned Ian to paint a dark-oak effect on the wooden frontage, and burr walnut upon his front door and that of his neighbour John Alexander at number twenty-two. In such close proximity to Brick Lane, Ian was wary that his work might get tagged but, a year later, it remains pristine. “Some of the roughnecks came along to watch me at work and I think I earned respect,” he confided to me with a relieved smile.
Round the corner at Marianna Kennedy‘s showroom and workshop at three Fournier St, there are a pair of doors in old-oak that Ian has painted and repainted in recent years. “They are much repaired and much loved, patched in keeping with the battered exterior of the house,” Ian admitted, “So many tramps have slept against it and bookbinders battered against it.” Similarly, there is an interior door in mahogany in this house that has been frequently repaired by Ian and coated with multiple coats of Copal varnish to imbue a rich marmalade glow.
Across the marketplace, over in Elder St, you will encounter three beautiful wood-grained front doors displaying contrasting effects – mahogany, rosewood and walnut. Robin Waite, the owner of nine and eleven, commissioned Ian to grain both doors. In each case, Ian was lucky enough to uncover traces of original graining around the edges and regrained them based upon these discoveries, with number nine in mahogany and number eleven in rosewood.
The final stop on your tour in Elder St is Dan Cruickshank’s burr walnut front door, first grained when the house was part of the Isaac Tillard Estate in the early ninetenth century. “It is the most perfect example of traditional graining in Spitalfields” declared Ian, “I’ve repaired parts of it, and occasionally maintain it with new coats of Copal varnish. You can tell it’s early because the style is very loose, very painterly – it’s slightly mad!”
On your walk, you will have wondered at the realism and surrealism of wood graining, learnt to distinguish walnut from rosewood, and maybe you will have succumbed to the paradoxical charm of wood graining which derives from the delight in being deceived by it, even when you know it is fake?
“It’s seen as something expensive today, whereas the whole point of graining done in the past was to put a gloss on poor materials.” Ian explained to me, savouring the irony of the prestige now placed upon wood graining, when once it was a cheap option to fake a bit of class for those who could not afford true quality. Yet it is Ian’s bravura talent that makes his work so fascinating, and the parade of his lush glossy doors in Spitalfields is the public gallery of his mastery. “I’ve done miles of graining for grand interiors, but Spitalfields is where I have most exterior doors.” he assured me proudly.
The mid-oak wood graining on the front of the Whitechapel Bell Foundry in the Whitechapel Rd dates from the Victorian era with regular discreet maintenance and repainting by Ian.
Mark, manager at the Whitechapel Bell Foundry, steps outside to admire the wood-graining.
At Chris Dyson’s house, number twenty-four Princelet St, Ian painted dark-oak upon the facade and burr walnut upon the front door.
At John Alexander’s house, number twenty-two Princelet St, Ian painted burr walnut.
At Marianna Kennedy’s showroom, three Fournier St, Ian has painted old-oak which has been patched up and acquired many coats of Copal varnish.
Three Fournier St in old-oak.
Interior door in Marianna Kennedy’s showroom in mahogany.
At nine Elder St, Ian painted a mahogany effect inspired by residual fragments of original graining.
At eleven Elder St, Ian painted rosewood in the loose early-nineteenth century style.
Dan Cruickshank steps out of his front door with original walnut wood graining believed to date from the 1840s when the house was part of the Isaac Tillard Estate.
Photographs copyright © Jeremy Freedman
You may also like to read about
Michael Marriott, Designer
When Leila McAlister commissioned Michael Marriott to design and make a shelf to sell copies of Spitalfields Life at her cafe in Calvert Avenue, it gave me the ideal excuse to walk along the canal to the former Briggs Tarpaulin Factory where Michael has his workshop and pay him a call. Briggs Bros have let their complex of dignified shabby nineteenth century buildings to an assortment of small trades and craftsmen, thereby retaining the chaotic working life of the place, and at the heart of this warren of diverse enterprises is Michael’s den. Anyone would break a into a large smile, as I did, to step into this extraordinarily crowded yet meticulously organised space with myriad bicycle parts hanging from the ceiling and every corner crammed with scraps of salvaged timber, metal and plastic, leaving just enough space for the pair of small workbenches where Michael realises his designs.
With the restless animated energy of a teen and the eccentricity of a favourite uncle, Michael is a designer who excels in what I call “wonky modernism.” In other words, he creates designs of pared-down functionalism in which their form is dictated by their utility and the use of materials is unapologetic, yet as objects they possess something else as well – an undefinable idiosyncrasy which gives his pieces their unmistakeable personality. Michael is no mere bricoleur though, he teaches furniture design at the Royal College of Art and is internationally recognised for his innovative work. So, as you can imagine, I could not wait to discover what the Spitalfields Life shelf was going to look like.
“I always made things when I was a child, but once my mum took me to the Ford factory at Dagenham and I saw this metal pressing machine that was the size of a house and I was totally entranced by it,” Michael told me, recalling his childhood in Essex, when I asked him how it all began. “I’m quite an unusual designer,” he admitted, “in that I make my own designs and I enjoy it.” Trained as a cabinetmaker at the London College of Furniture, Michael recognises that the making can inform the design and that if, for example, you are designing something with a handle then you need to know how it feels to touch. No Luddite, Michael commonly works on a computer and then takes the idea into the workshop to refine it further through realising it in three dimensions.
“I work in lots of different ways, I have designed furniture for SCP on-and-off for fifteen years, I do quite a bit of exhibition design, and lot of other things that are less easy to describe.” Michael explained to me enigmatically. Anyone that has been to Leila’s Shop will recognise the cafe tables that he designed and the counter made of an old chest of drawers. He is especially adept at using found materials and creating poetic juxtapositions in which materials of acknowledged quality such as oak or douglas fir are set in unexpectedly sympathetic contrast with plywood or pegboard, revealing a democratic, craftsman’s appreciation of their relative merit and utility.
For the Spitalfields Life shelf, Michael salvaged some oak drawer fronts that were once part of a thirties chest of drawers, which he artfully mis-matched with some douglas fir scavenged from a packing case and combined with a piece of mdf perforated by two mysterious holes that were the result of its previous use. As we spoke, Michael set to work trimming the pieces to size and placing them side by side to appreciate their contrasts while contemplating the angles of the supports, the proportions of the differently-sized shelves and making all the subtle judgements which would result in a piece with its own consistent rationale. “I often reuse things that have been discarded, I think it’s more interesting to reuse than to recycle.” he said, absorbed in his occupation.
Later, I met with Michael at Leila’s Cafe when he was installing the shelves. At once, it became apparent both that the design fitted the contours of the room and that the individual shelf for copies stacked on their side, counter-balanced the other shelves displaying the book face out. The spectrum of mid-brown wood tones complemented the deep blue of David Pearson’s book jacket nicely and, once in place, the shelf looked as if it had always been there – a continuum with the cafe tables and all the other woodwork in the room.
Then Michael climbed on his Mini-Moulton bicycle with a shopping basket strapped onto the back and, looking for all the world like a latter-day Professor Branestawm in a baseball cap and aviators, he gave an extravagant wave as a flourish and peddled away up Calvert Avenue.
“With the restless animated energy of a teen and the eccentricity of a favourite uncle”
Installation for Tokyo Design Week, 1999. Fifty lampshades hanging from a one metre square grid, and accompanied by a soundtrack of Morecambe and Wise performing ‘Bring Me Sunshine’.
Reworking of the Windsor Chair, manufactured in solid ash in Hereford, and available in natural ash or white finish, with red dipped feet, 2009.
Coffee table with float glass top and four turned beech legs attached directly through the glass top, 1995.
Shoe storage unit. Aluminium and re-claimed wood panels, with painted top and oak feet, 2009.
Drawer unit constructed from birch plywood, pegboard and Spanish fruit crates, 1996.
Side table made in Spain with paella dish, 2011.
Chopping board for Polish foods producer, Topolski, for chopping and serving Polish sausages in particular, 2006.
Michael fits the Spitalfields Life bookshelf at Leila’s Cafe.
Michael’s design for the Spitalfields Life bookshelf.
The Spitalfields Life bookshelf at Leila’s Cafe – note the third hole added for compositional effect.
At Mick’s Flat
Mick Taylor invited me over to his flat in Whitechapel. After hanging around outside the Beigel Bakery for the last half century, and becoming renowned for his personal sense of style, so familiar is he as a living landmark upon Brick Lane that I was honoured to accept Mick’s invitation and discover his actual place of habitation.
As soon as I entered the large square between the modernist housing blocks, filled with huge trees in blossom, I lifted up my eyes to the top balcony where Mick was waiting, immediately recognising his white beard and red neckerchief, as he sat perched upon a stool outside his front door on that bright April morning. We exchanged salutes and I ascended the concrete stairs quickly, hurrying along the top balcony which gave a panoramic view of the estate, eager to shake his hand and step inside. A skinny cat ran between my legs as I crossed the threshold and walked through into the room at the back, where Mick and I settled ourselves down upon two armchairs to savour the quiet in this hidden corner amidst the clamour of Whitechapel.
The room was almost empty save for the chairs and a wardrobe with a few clothes hung carefully on hangers. Sleeping on a camp bed at one end, was a homeless young woman from the street that Mick had offered shelter and protection to, so we spoke in whispers to avoid waking her. Nevertheless, Mick was keen to talk, relating how he came to the flat and thinking out loud for my benefit, contemplating the nature of his lifelong relationship with Brick Lane.
“I was living in rented accommodation in one room on the ground floor in Fieldgate St for a year before I came here. It was opposite Rowton House – that was a rough place – and sometimes at night young people used to come and take drugs right outside my door. I didn’t know much about that side of life then.
When I went to the housing office, they gave me this flat and, since I came here seven years ago, I never looked back. They said, “If you want this flat, you must view it tomorrow.” It was in a state but I took it at once. I had all the walls done and new fittings, and I had curtains that I got down Wentworth St. I held them out and said, “They’ll do me.” I had a wall of mirrors too, it looked good. Everyone that came liked it. But I’ve cleared the flat out and I’m going to start again. I want to strip the walls and paint the ceiling with a roller. That old lamp’s been there so long, I can’t remember where I got it. Maybe it was Brick Lane?
Originally I went down the “Lane” to find things, you can’t find things there anymore. The days are gone when people used to leave things out to take. I didn’t do anything bad really, I think I’m pretty straight. I’ve grown a beard and it makes me look like a hundred years’ old man but it gives me freedom. I’m sixty-seven. I’ve changed a helluva lot. Maybe it’s going down the Lane has ruined me? I know all the people there in the shops. If I go anywhere else, I’m lost. A girl who works in the coffee shop, she asked me, “Why do you wear that red suit?” I said, “It’s the way I am.” You can only be what you are.
Every day I walk along the Bethnal Green Rd, across Weavers’ Fields, over Vallance Rd and up Cheshire St to Brick Lane. So many places to go looking for things, back alleys and streets where once you could pick up things. It was a funny way of life I had but I enjoyed it. All I know is to go down the Lane. I trust all the people down there, there’s no bad ones. A photographer from New York took more than twenty pictures of me and gave me one pound fifty. I said, “Are you short of money?” and give it back to him. I’ve had a few arguments with people, but things get better. You’ve got to see the good in people. Life’s never what you want it to be, but you learn a little humility along the way.
It’s nice to come back home and sit down in the peace and warm. It’s a good feeling to sit here and know the rent’s paid, and be enjoying a bit of grub. Whereas if you sit in a coffee shop, you wonder what you’re going to do with your life? “
All this time the girl slept, unaware of our conversation. Mick explained that, to give her privacy, he had spent the previous night in the flat below belonging to his friend Johnny. And so, recognising that perhaps this was the reason Mick had sat outside awaiting me and that maybe he intended to visit his neighbour upon my departure, I took my leave. “I’ll go down to Johnny’s flat in a bit,” Mick admitted in a low voice, as we shook hands, “He takes care of me and I take care of him. He’s a good friend, we’ve always got along well. We hit it off when we met on the day I moved in. He takes care of his grandfather who’s ninety-odd.” Walking back down the stairs, I was struck by the modesty of Mick’s frugal dwelling and touched that, when he had so little, he would sacrifice his only room to one more vulnerable than he.
“It’s a good feeling to sit here and know the rent’s paid, and be enjoying a bit of grub.”
She asked me,“Why do you wear that red suit?” I said, “It’s the way I am.”
“I’ve grown a beard and it makes me look like a hundred years’ old man but it gives me freedom.”
You may also like to read about
At M&G Hardware & Ironmongery
Sarfaraz Loonat
If you need to have a key cut, get scissors sharpened or buy a sturdy metal bucket, there is no better place in Whitechapel to go than M&G Building Supplies, Hardware & Ironmongery at 20 Cambridge Heath Rd, where you can be assured of a generous welcome by proprietor Sarfaraz Loonat. Sitting behind the counter like the captain at the bridge of a great ship, he waits poised to supply your every need in do-it-yourself and household maintenance. In his mind, Sarfaraz has an exact virtual replica of the shop and, by searching this mental labyrinth, he can instantly recall where every single size and type of nut, bolt, watering can, hinge or spanner can be located in the crowded shelving, cupboards, racks and draws of his actual shop. Sarfaraz relishes the opportunity to offer a personal service that cannot be matched by the superstores and, for connoisseurs of ironmongery and hardware, M & G is a rare delight.
If you should ask, Sarfaraz will be proud to tell you that the business was started in 1884 by James de Hailes, as a locksmith and ironmongers, just around the corner in the appropriately-named Key Close. He will bring out the old photographs and explain that the shop moved to its present location after the original premises was destroyed in the blitz, and he will inform you that it once occupied three generations of the de Hailes family. First there was James, then his son James George, and finally his daughter Dorothy who ran it with her husband Ronald Bull until September 1985, when they put the shop up for sale. At sixty-two, Dorothy, who had worked for her grandfather James since she was a small girl, recalled affectionately, “My only clear memory of him was when burnt me with his cigar by accident.” Adding regretfully, “It is sad to go, but we have worked here a long time and we want a bit of enjoyment.”
Fortunately, Malagar Singh bought the shop, succumbing inexorably to the irresistible magnetism of ironmongery and cherishing the endeavour with equal devotion to that shown by the de Hailes family – so that when he came to retire four years ago, he was diligent to appraise his successor. This was the point at which the young contender appeared, ambitious twenty-seven year old Sarfaraz, graduate in business management and rising employee of Philip Green’s Arcadia Group in the West End. “For two years I enjoyed working there,” Sarfaraz admitted to me, leaning over the counter at M&G to confide, “but when I decided to get married, I need more money to buy a flat for me and my wife to live in. And, even though I saved the company hundreds of thousands of pounds in my work preventing fraud, they refused to give me a pay rise. It was always my dream to have a business of my own. So I sat down with my grandfather, my uncles and my father, explained my situation and told them that I needed to do something with my life.”
Sarfaraz was overjoyed when his grandfather suggested that he consider the hardware store.“We had a family meeting and they said they’d back me,” Sarfaraz explained, “It was a bit daunting though, when I went along to meet Mr Singh. He was quite up for it, but he said, ‘You’ve got to work here for two weeks and if I like you, you can have it.'” Then, once Sarfaraz confessed that he had no holiday weeks left that year, Mr Singh turned dogmatic. “If you really want this, you must hand in your notice,” he insisted, challenging Sarfaraz to show the whole-hearted commitment which running a hardware store entails.“I wanted to implement the corporate way of doing things at once,” Sarfaraz told me with a blush at his former self, “but Mr Singh insisted I abide by the traditional way. My wife Mohsina came along and worked with me – and, after four weeks, Mr Singh handed over the keys and left.”
And so, with an interest-free loan from his family and after selling his car, Sarfaraz began a new life at M&G Ironmongers as a married man. “It was a complete unknown but with the love and support of my family, it was possible,” Sarfaraz assured me with a tender smile, “they gave me the confidence to believe I could do it.”
“After four years, I have paid back my family. I remember the first day I woke up and had no debt on my head – the shackles were off! I had two fantastic years at first, followed by one year of not taking a penny home due to a drop in sales caused by the economic crisis – we lived hand to mouth – but then this past year has been my best yet. People search on Google to learn how to do-it-yourself, and they are slowly buying tools and making their own toolkits. Through the recession, they have gained confidence in doing household repairs themselves. Often couples come in together, fathers come in with their children or they bring their friends. People are working together to get things done.”
In the meantime, Sarfaraz and his wife had two daughters, and all their friends and relatives now assist in keeping the shop staffed until the children are of school age. “Then it will be me and my wife together in this shop full-time and our aim will be to work towards buying a house for our family.” said Sarfaraz, eagerly envisaging his future.
“Most Asian shopkeepers they go for takeaway chicken or mobile phone shops, but I wanted to do something different. There aren’t many Indian Gujaratis in the hardware trade, it’s mostly white guys and some Sikhs.” he declared, growing passionate in his personal manifesto, “Offering a friendly service is very important to me. If people come in to buy two screws, I will give them five. I want them to know I am trying to look after them, it’s not just about the money. I expect to be here behind the counter with my wife in twenty years time. This shop has a story and a history, and I’m not going to be the one to let it die.”
Making an unexpected radical choice, Sarfaraz Loonat swapped the corporate world for that of the independent shopkeeper and, at thirty-two years old, he has found that the challenge has given him more self-respect and and satisfaction, as well as bringing him back to heart of his family and the centre of his local community in Whitechapel.
Sarfaraz Loonat – “It was always my dream to have a business of my own.”
Sarfaraz’s nephew Mohammed Mayat helps out in the shop.
De Hailes’ Locksmith & Ironmongery in Key Close, Whitechapel, 1890. James George de Hailes stands on the far right with his father James next to him.
M&G Building Supplies, Hardware & Ironmongery, 20 Cambridge Heath Rd, Whitechapel, E1 5QH
You may also like to read about Sarfaraz’s father and uncles
The East End Trades Guild needs you!
With this sign, Paul Gardner, fourth generation paper bag seller and proprietor of Spitalfields’ oldest family business, eloquently expresses the situation that he and other small independent traders find themselves in. “2 & 8” is rhyming slang for “a bit of a state,” as he explained to me when I called round to his shop, Gardners’ Market Sundriesmen in Commercial St, yesterday.
Since the rebuilding of the Spitalfields Market introduced expensive office property and chain-stores into the neighbourhood, landlords have been pushing up rents mercilessly to the detriment of the small trades and family businesses which have always characterised this area at the boundary of the City of London.
Now change is in the air, as these independent traders are gathering together to form The East End Trades Guild, a union that can square up to exploitative landlords, demand the concessions from local government that are being granted to corporations, and be an advocate for the interests of shopkeepers and small businesses. It all started after community organiser Krissie Nicolson went to visit Paul Gardner, when she read in the pages of Spitalfields Life that he was being confronted with an overnight rent increase from £15,000 to £25,000 a year. It soon became clear that many others were facing similar pressure and then – in a defining moment – the Duke of Uke, Britain’s only ukulele shop, was forced out of Hanbury St. Matthew Reynolds, the proprietor, had created a destination that drew people from far and wide, encouraging some high-end brands to open there beside him, and raising the value of all the property in the street. Through this example, the simple paradox became apparent – upmarket companies are moving into the area because of the attractive identity created by local businesses, and those same businesses are getting pushed out as a result.
In such a climate, looking to short-term gain, landlords have escalated rents wildly with destructive outcome – as seen in Cheshire St, where exorbitant increases led to the departure of Shelf, Mimi, Labour and Wait, and other businesses which drew customers to come there from across London. Over a year later, many of those properties remain empty in a street that has lost its passing trade as a consequence, such is the hubris of the greedy landlord. The irony here is that the Duke of Uke has now opened in Cheshire St and looks set to bring it back to life by attracting other businesses, just as happened in Hanbury St. Maybe in a few years, he will get pushed out once more when the properties surrounding him are full, after he has put the street back on the map?
Landlords are seduced by fantasies of replacing independent traders with chain-stores, yet I am informed that among the largest chain-stores in Spitalfields some are unable to pay their rents. These overblown corporate enterprises stumble from one financial crisis to the next, seeking constant recapitalisation while still adding to their property portfolios by opening more unprofitable shops. As an alternative to this, a responsible private individual who commits themselves to paying a realistic rent long-term is a more prudent option for the owner of the property – if the landlords were not blinded by the pound signs in their eyes. Pursued to its bitter end, the landlords’ short-term profit motive will result in streets lined with chain-stores, and then the value of the commercial property will fall when the area resembles everywhere else and its distinctive appeal is gone.
Unless this situation can be changed, the outcome will be a complete loss of the culture of artisans and family businesses that has defined Spitalfields historically. As Raphael Samuel, the foremost historian of the East End, wrote with remarkable prescience in 1988 –“The fate of Spitalfields Market illustrates in stark form some of the paradoxes of contemporary metropolitan development – on the one hand, the preservation of “historic” houses, on the other, the wholesale destruction of London’s hereditary occupations and trades and the dispersal of its settled communities. The viewer is thus confronted with two versions of “enterprise” culture – the one that of family business and small scale firms, the other that of international high finance with computer screens linking the City of London to the money markets of the world.”
It was in Spitalfields that the match girls of Bryant & May met to form the very first trade union in the nineteenth century and now, demonstrating the same indomitable spirit, the shopkeepers and independent small businesses of the East End are gathering next Monday 30th April at 6:30pm at the Bishopsgate Institute to inaugurate The East End Trades Guild, which launches formally as a pressure group in September. All local small trades are invited to this open meeting to discuss what can be done to ensure their survival and to contribute ideas which can form the policy for the guild. If you are a shopkeeper or you run a small business in the East End, you need to be there to make your voice heard.
Paul Gardner, whose plight was the catalyst for the founding of The East End Trades Guild is its founder member. When I visited him in the building in Commercial St where his family have traded, serving the people of the East End for over one hundred and forty years, he said to me, “I hope it will unite us and give the little businesses a chance to survive, because unless something is done we’re all going to be gone from here in the next five years.”
Graphic by James Brown
You may also like to read
CHIT CHAT – The Umbrella Maker, The Dairyman & The Paper Bag Seller
and the article that started it all
Paul Gardner, Paper Bag Seller
and Raphael Samuel’s essay
