James Lowe, St John Bread & Wine
For years I have enjoyed meals at St John Bread & Wine in Commercial St and although I have always been impressed by this smooth operation, I never exactly knew who was running the ship. So, this week I went in to meet James Lowe who has been Head Chef here for more than three years now. If I had simply opened my eyes, I should have realised immediately who was in charge, because on most days you will see James standing behind the counter in the kitchen – commanding the helm of his vessel – with his sous chef to his right and the chef supervising the ovens upon his left.
From this central point, James can see the whole restaurant and beyond to the passing traffic of Commercial St. Standing next to James for the duration of a lunch service this week, I quickly sensed the excitement of this favoured location. The still point of our turning world in Spitalfields, St John Bread & Wine restaurant occupies the central position, both in terms of culture and topography – with the Market opposite, the Church to the left and The Golden Heart to the right. At the centre of this particular universe, James presides attentively, ensuring that all is well in the kitchen.
The waiters deliver your orders to James and he lines up the pink slips of paper upon the front of the metal shelf, scratching his chin as he scrutinises them, working out the correct order of things. With salad coming from one side and cooked food from the other direction, James puts the dishes together on the counter, sliding the slips of paper from left to right as they become ready to serve. Everything is done with relaxed efficiency and the trio maintain a constant changing dance, that forms and reforms throughout the lunch service. There are escalations of energy, there are flames, and even moments of stillness, and when James calls “Service”, the waiter whisks the plate away to your table and James puts the completed order on the spike.
When James shakes your hand and looks you in the eye, you are immediately aware of how intensely present in the moment he is. This quality, combined with a natural openness, creates a striking first impression. James told me he originally set out to be a pilot, but he thought otherwise after the events of 9/11 and became a chef. Even though I would trust James to fly me across the Atlantic safely and with minimal turbulence, I am convinced that he made the right decision. “This is my favourite restaurant in London,” James declared, “that’s why I came to work here.” A bold statement plainly spoken with the absolute, yet not immodest tone, that is his style. “I came to eat at St John and I thought, ‘I’ve got to find out how this is done.'” he revealed, confiding the origin of his grand passion. Within a few short years, James moved from the Wapping Project to La Trompette in Chiswick, Heston Blumenthal’s Fat Duck by way of The River Cafe and arrived here at St John Bread & Wine, full of vitality and creative ideas.
St John in Spitalfields suits James rather than the Smithfield restaurant, because he is as interested in vegetables as in fish and meat. An enthusiasm reflected in the choice of peas in the pod served raw this week, and the unique range of wild leaves – purslane, sea aster, rock samphire, marsh samphire and sorrel – collected by St John’s own forager, and served fresh to bring extra piquancy to cooked fish and meat. During a quiet moment in the lunch service, James let me taste each of these leaves and I was fascinated by the varieties of subtle tangy peppery flavours they offered.
“The produce we use here is the best of anywhere I’ve worked” admitted James, who always carries his mobile with him to maintain contact with suppliers, including Farmer Tom who was imminently expected with lambs and Ben the fish dealer who rings at ten each morning to report the day’s catch. James puts fresh fish on the menu each night at seven, landed that morning and delivered by Ben at seven. An arrangement that ensures freshness, yet can very occasionally yield unexpected dramas if Ben gets stuck in traffic.
Before lunch service began, we enjoyed a brief conference on the art of menu writing, which proved an enlightening introduction to the wider challenge of James’ role. Twice every day the menu is rewritten, taking into account the lyrical contrasts and variety that the restaurant is famous for, and exploiting the culinary possibilities of each season too. But more than this immediate prospect, James is always thinking ahead with his orders and doing preparatory work, making soups, and marinating meat and fish, ready for tomorrow or the next day. Add to this, the fact that St John never reheats food – some meat is slow cooked for up to eight hours and served when it is ready – and you begin to realise what a huge logistical exercise it is.
As James blithely took me through his MEP (mise en place) list, the tasks that are necessary for the dishes on next day’s menu to be ready, with every job assigned to a different member of staff, my head began to swim. Yet James holds the entire process in his mind comfortably, fourteen evolving menus each week, ordering from suppliers, choreographing the tasks and ultimately bringing it all to the plate with such eloquent clarity that the quality of the food speaks for itself. This is what I love about St John, the artful simplicity of the dishes, presented in a unelaborated style, allows you to savour the ingredients for their true distinctive flavour. And now I know who is the talent responsible for this subtle art that conceals its own sophistication.
Spitalfields Antiques Market 12
This is the eminent John O’Brien who has been dealing in lighters for over forty years and has a stock of around four thousand. “I have collectors from all over the world who buy my lighters. At the moment it’s the Russians – anything Russian sells.” declared John, his green eyes glittering in delight, before snatching one lighter after another from his collection, flipping and snapping them to produce flames in innumerable ingenious methods. “At an early age, I was given a collection of lighters and I loved the mechanisms, especially perpetual lighters from the eighteen nineties.” he told me, revealing the catalyst that sparked his life-long enthusiasm.
This is Linda Lewis who has been a dealer in kitchenalia, vintage china and glass for twenty years. With enviable stamina, she gets up at four thirty to drive here in all seasons from her home in North Essex. “My partner is a banker, so this is just part-time,” Linda whispered discreetly, adding “but now he’s been made redundant, maybe I’ll have to go back to doing it full-time.” Yet, demonstrating her appealingly buoyant nature, Linda qualified this by saying, “I love it, I wouldn’t do it otherwise. It’s a passion, and because I like it so much, it doesn’t seem like work.”
This is Jan Gordon who has been trading in Spitalfields for five years and six weeks. “Personally, I deal in jewellery though I rarely wear it,” she confided to me eagerly, “it’s just a magpie instinct – whenever I open a box of glittery things, it’s such a wonderful uplifting feeling. Now I’ve got the best of both worlds because I enjoy it and I seem to do well out of it too.” When I admired the box of old lead figures amongst all the toby jugs and old china tea sets on her stall, Jan explained that some of the stock was her husband’s, “Toys are really his thing.”, she revealed with an affectionate grin.
This is Ian Jeffries and Wayne Shires, who describe themselves as a couple of Spitalfields virgins, enjoying their first day on the market. Two old friends, both shopaholics, now downsizing and decluttering, Ian & Wayne were positively bristling with excitement. “We’re just here to see what the ride is like today,” quipped Ian, an interior designer with a saucy grin and suave attitude. Already they had sold a lot to the other dealers, “I think they smelled fresh meat!” declared Wayne, a former club promoter and DJ, rubbing his hands in gleeful anticipation.
Photographs copyright © Jeremy Freedman
Ricardo Cinalli, artist
When artist Ricardo Cinalli graduated from the University of Rosario in Argentina, a mentor offered to introduce him to Salvador Dali, if Ricardo was prepared to travel to London. In 1973, travelling by boat across the Atlantic to Barcelona in anticipation of encountering his hero, Ricardo was unfortunately delayed by two whole weeks and when he arrived in London, Dali was gone – but instead he discovered a whole new life.
At a party, Ricardo met Eric Elstob who was buying a house in Fournier St, opening the door to a surreal world of an entirely different nature. “We came to Spitalfields on a very depressing day. My God, it was a dump! I said to Eric, ‘Are you crazy?’ It was overwhelming – the market, the rats, the prostitutes and the meths drinkers outside the house. And the minute he opened the door I could see the place was in a horrible condition. But Eric explained to me to the history of the Huguenots, and the bells in the church rang and suddenly I understood the magic. He said to me, ‘You are invited to join my life’s project to restore this house.’ I had nothing to lose, so I said ‘Yes.’ He was a brave man to want to come and live here when no-one was interested. We had no money, we did all the work ourselves.”
Sitting comfortably in a green leather chair rescued from the Market Cafe, Ricardo speaks lyrically about his memorable introduction to Spitalfields, now these Herculean labours are safely in the past. It was an era when an imaginative few first recognised the beauty in the neglected houses and set about restoring them by their own labours, as Ricardo and Eric did at 14 Fournier St, taking seven years to bring it to conclusion.“It was a very exciting time, but for a person like myself it was very difficult, because I wasn’t used to this kind of dereliction, I was brought up in a house with ceilings and floors. We restored these houses with our own hands. Gilbert & George next door, they restored the panels one by one personally. To me it was unthinkable that I could do that, I was a painter, an artist. I came from a petit bourgeois background where you get someone else to do it. Yet I really had a fantastic time – it was horrible sometimes but there were moments of great joy too. And in the process I learnt something of the history of old London.”
After pausing to collect his thoughts silently,“I did that,” said Ricardo philosophically, gesturing towards Fournier St,” and then I did this,” he continued, referring to the house in Puma Court where he lives today. “And then I said, ‘Enough is enough!'”, he added, adopting the understated heroic tone of a Roman emperor reflecting on past victories, a role that suits his gracious nature and venerable Latin features perfectly.
Until this week, I only knew Ricardo Cinalli from his portrait on one of Simon Pettet’s tiles at Dennis Severs House, so I was exhilarated to walk into his five metre by five metre cube studio, dug into the ground beneath his narrow old house in Puma Court, complete with a glass pyramid ceiling looking up towards the lofty spire of Christ Church, Spitalfields. With supreme politesse, Ricardo opened the panel set into the floor of the studio to show me all the proud artefacts that he found in the construction of his studio, which are preserved there. As he dug down, Ricardo realised he was excavating a rubbish dump, with broken ceramics stretching from the sixteenth to the nineteeth century, innumerable oyster shells and clay pipes, rollers used by men in the eighteenth century to curl their wigs and even a pot of perfume with an address in Paris – once belonging to one of those Huguenot weavers that Eric Elstob first told Ricardo about, so many years before.
Working in his Spitalfields studio, Ricardo creates spirited and passionate paintings that are Baroque in their emotionalism and Surrealist in their imaginative extravagance. Over a career spanning more than thirty years, he has become internationally renowned for his works on canvas, his huge pastel drawings, his theatre designs and his murals which include a vast fresco in a cathedral in Umbria and now his magnum opus – more than five years in the making – a giant fresco covering all the walls of a custom-built edifice in Punta del Este in Uruguay. An Argentinian of Italian descent, with his modest manners and ambitious paintings, Ricardo convincingly incarnates the spirit of his Renaissance predecessors in the art of fresco.
Ricardo led me from his minimalist studio into the tiny old house balanced on top of it. We ascended a narrow staircase with trompe l’oeil panelling into a living room lined with actual wooden panelling rescued from the former synagogue in Fournier St. Each floor comprises just one room and on the next storey is Ricardo’s bedroom and bathroom, all in one space, with every surface painted with classical designs. Finally, we reached the kitchen under the eaves with windows on both sides – like the foc’sle of a ship – allowing us exciting views in both directions over the roofscape of Spitalfields.
As we drank our tea quietly, gazing up from the kitchen window to the spire that overshadows the house, Ricardo told me the story of how his cat “Dolce” went missing when he was living in Fournier St, while the church was being renovated. One still moonlit night, Ricardo heard a distant “miaow” coming from high up. Cats will always climb upwards, and Dolce was found at last, stuck at the top of the spire.
“Spitalfields has some magic element, don’t you think?” Ricardo proposed delicately with a sympathetic smile, casting his deep brown eyes contemplatively upwards to Hawksmoor’s bizarre edifice looming over us. Seeing it through Ricardo’s eyes, from his sunlit painted kitchen, at the top of this narrow house, perched above his extraordinary cube studio with the pyramid on the roof, it was only natural to agree. Ricardo Cinalli never met Salvador Dali but he found his own magic instead, here in Spitalfields.
In Ricardo Cinalli’s giant mural-in-progress in Uruguay, entitled “Humanistic Homage to the Millennium,” the figures are eight metres high. Click on this image to enlarge.
The glass pyramid on the roof of Ricardo Cinalli’s Spitalfields studio.
Banana boxes that are souvenirs of the seven years Ricardo spent restoring 14 Fournier St.
Finds discovered while digging the hole for the studio. Note the eighteenth century clay curlers for men’s wigs and the Huguenot perfume pot from Paris.
Looking towards Fournier St from the rear of Puma Court.
In Search Of The Walbrook
Ever since the Rev Turp pointed out to me the spot outside Shoreditch Church where the river Walbrook had its wellspring, I have been curious to discover what happened to this lost river which once flowed from here through the City to the Thames. This photograph of the Walbrook, which was taken by Steve Duncan, the urban explorer, deep beneath the Bank of England in 2007, gives the answer. The river has been endlessly covered over and piped off, until today it is entirely co-opted into the system of sewers and drains.
Yet in spite of this, the water keeps flowing. Irrespective of our best efforts to contain and redirect water courses, the movement of water underground always eludes control. A fascinating detail of this photo, which shows the sewer deep below the City, built in the eighteen forties, is that today the water table in the City has risen to the level where water is actually pouring from the surrounding earth into the tunnel between the bricks.With astonishing courage, Steve Duncan enters these secret tunnels through manhole covers and undertakes covert explorations, bringing back photos of the unseen world that he finds down there, as trophies. I was captivated by this nightmarish subterranean image, which reminded me that the primordial force of nature that this river manifests still demands respect.
Lacking Steve’s daredevil nature and experience in potholing, I decided to keep my exploration above ground, following the path of the river and seeing what sights there are to be discovered upon the former banks of this erstwhile tributary of the Thames. The Walbrook has attracted its share of followers over the years, from anti-capitalist protestors who attempted to liberate the river by opening hydrants along its route, to milder gestures adopted by conceptual artists, sacrificing coins to the river through storm drains and releasing fleets of paper boats into the sewers.
The historian John Stow is the primary source of information about the Walbrook, writing in his “Survey of London” in 1598 – though even in his time it was already a lost river, “The running water so called by William Conquerour in his saide Charter, which entereth the citie,&c. (before there was any ditch) betweene Bishopsgate and the late made Posterne called Mooregate, entred the wall, and was truely of the wall called Walbrooke… it ranne through the citie with divers windings from the North towards the South into the river of Thames… This water course having diverse Bridges, was afterwards vaulted over with bricke, and paved levell with the Streetes and Lanes where through it passed, and since that also houses have beene builded thereon, so that the course of Walbroke is now hidden under ground, and therby hardly knowne.”
Arriving at St Leonard’s Shoreditch, as the first drops of water from the ominous lowering clouds overhead began to fall, the Rev Turp’s description of the poisoning of the Walbrook (when seepage from the seventy-six thousand human remains in the churchyard found its way into the watercourse) came to mind. The Walbrook, which entered through the wall beside the church of All Hallows on the Wall, was the only watercourse to flow through the City and was both an important source of freshwater as well as a conduit to remove sewage, two entirely irreconcilable functions.
There is no evidence of the route of the brook outwith the wall and so I walked straight down Curtain Rd, entering the City at London Wall, with the church of All Hallows on the Wall to my left. I turned right on London Wall, where the brook was once channeled along the wall itself. At Copthall Avenue, I turned left where the watercourse flowed South down through Token House Yard, under St Margaret’s Church and the Bank of England. As I left Copthall Avenue to walk through the maze of narrow lanes, including Telegraph Alley and Whalebone Alley, the changing scale indicated I was entering the ancient city. Then I enjoyed a breathtaking moment as I passed through the dark low passage into Token House Yard, discovering a long tall street with cliffs of grey buildings on either side, that ended in the towering edifice of the Bank of England.
From here, I walked down Princes St to emerge at the front of the Bank facing the Mansion House, basking for a moment in the drama of this crossroads, before walking onwards down Poultry past Grocer’s Hall and then turning left to arrive at the Temple of Mithras. Just an outline in stone today, the former temple which was discovered in 1954 on the bank of the Walbrook, eighteen feet below modern ground level, and moved to this location. Desolate and disregarded now, collecting litter beneath the condemned blocks of Temple House, it is a miraculous survival of two millennia, standing at the head of the navigable river where barges were berthed in Roman times .
At the time of these excavations, a square token of lead with the name Martia Martina carved backwards on it was found, once thrown into the Walbrook – in Celtic culture this was believed to bring bad luck to the subject. Also, in the eighteen sixties, Augustus Pitt Rivers uncovered a large number of human skulls in the river bed, which could be either those of a Roman legion who surrendered to the Britons or the remnants of Boudica’s rebellion. Both these finds may reflect a spiritual significance for the watercourse.
Next stop for me was Christopher Wren’s church of St Stephen Walbrook on the far bank of the Walbrook. My favourite of his City churches, this is always a place to savour a moment of contemplation, beneath the changing light of the dome that appears to float, high up above the roof. The name of this street, Walbrook, within the ward of Walbrook confirms beyond doubt that you are in the vicinity of the lost river, and from here it is a short walk down Cloak Lane by way of College Hill to Walbrook Wharf on the riverfront below Cannon St Station, where the Walbrook meets the river Thames. In the end, whatever route they came by, this is where the raindrops that fell outside Shoreditch Church arrived eventually.
I am entranced by the romance of the lost river Walbrook – even if it may have been a stinking culvert rather than the willow-lined brook of my imagination – because when you are surrounded by the flashy overbearing towers of the City, there remains a certain frail consolation in the knowledge that ancient rivers still flow underground beneath your feet.
All Hallows on the Wall, where the Walbrook entered the City of London.
The passage from Whalebone Alley to Token House Yard.
Approaching the Bank of England.
The Roman temple of Mithras stood on the bank of the Walbrook.
Christopher Wren’s church of St Stephen Walbrook with altar by Henry Moore.
The dome of St Stephen Walbrook.
Joanna Moore, Artist
When I arrived to meet Joanna Moore at the end of an afternoon’s drawing in Christ Church, Spitalfields, a small crowd had gathered to peer over her shoulder at her work. As you can see from the photo above, it is an interior that presents a considerable challenge to an artist. I would not choose to sit down with a pen and paper and try to draw it, but this was precisely what Joanna had done. It was her first attempt and, in a single session lasting just a couple of hours, she succeeded with such style that as the drawing approached completion, people stopped to marvel at her facility with lines.
I took Joanna to the Market Coffee House afterwards, to celebrate her remarkable afternoon’s work, of which she appeared modestly unaware. In the Coffee House she opened a portfolio to show me her other drawings of Spitalfields. Last year, Joanna came to live in an old house in Hanbury St for a couple of months and while she was here, something extraordinary happened, she discovered a compulsion to draw. “Life started changing and I went part-time in my job because I needed to see how well I could draw. I realised that if I didn’t do it now, I’d never do it. And this coincided with moving to Spitalfields – I found it so inspiring here.” explained Joanna, recalling this last harsh Winter which proved such a cathartic and creative time in her life.
As Joanna produced an array of the fine drawings from her portfolio which record her time here, she spoke of the excitement of the circumstances from which they arose. “It was lonely living here in this beautiful old house, but I was determined to draw – separated from the people around me, I didn’t know anyone, I was just renting a basement. I bought myself fingerless gloves to work outside, but it was so cold I could only do an hour’s drawing at a time. You can deal with the cold in your head and body, though when your hands get cold, then you can’t control your fingers to draw anymore.”
It was apparent from these fluent drawings that Joanna’s achievement was far greater than simply retaining control of her fingers, but more than this, I was inspired by the personal discovery these works manifested. The nest of lines within these quiet yet sophisticated drawings trace the birth of a vibrant talent. Within the pluralism of contemporary art, there is a resurgence of drawing and a recognition that a talent and facility for draughtsmanship – which Joanna has found within herself – is not to be under-rated. In architectural drawing, most people struggle to get their lines in the right place when attempting to record structures, but for Joanna this is second nature, she can do it with ease, and brings wit and humanity along too.
Joanna never set out to draw, she trained as an architect yet became alienated at the idea of life in front of a computer terminal, switching to Art History in the middle of her studies. Since leaving Cambridge in 2007, Joanna worked as an architectural historian but found herself increasingly fascinated with looking at the buildings she was working on. Now, at twenty-five years old, Joanna has discovered who she is and exactly what she wants to do, embarking on a year’s course at the Prince’s Drawing School in Shoreditch this September.
“Now I’ve started, the more I draw, the faster I get and the freer I get – so when I go to drawing school I want to be pushed, because it’s something I have to do.” admitted Joanna, her eyes gleaming with determination and passion for her chosen course in life. The loss of income will mean moving back home to South London to live with her parents, though as both her mother and father also possess the talent for drawing, this could turn out to be the supportive environment Joanna needs to launch herself upon her new path.
“It’s a very pure pleasure,” said Joanna with a gentle smile, considering her portfolio and aspiring to find words for the dynamic experience of drawing,”That’s why I’m driven, it’s the purest art form you can get – to record what’s in front of you. I don’t want to use my drawings as the basis for paintings because I’m more interested in drawing the next thing.”
Too few people follow their enthusiasms, and so I was inspired to meet Joanna Moore at this crucial moment in her life. In learning of the special meaning that Spitalfields has for Joanna, I encountered a young woman of willpower, intelligence and talent commencing a great journey, astute yet open to all the possibilities that life can bring.
You can see more of Joanna’s drawings on her website www.town-mouse.co.uk and I hope you will see more here too because Joanna will be accompanying me upon some future assignments.
Princelet St
Petticoat Lane Market
Spitalfields Antique Market
Fournier St
Christ Church, Spitalfields
Columbia Road Market 39
Last night, I wandered down to Limehouse and enjoyed a quiet supper of haddock & chips at The Grapes on the river. On this beautiful Summer’s evening the place was pleasantly empty, on account of the lack of a television set on the night of the commencement of the World Cup. I was woken at four thirty by the chorus of birds in Spitalfields and, before seven, my neighbour and I strolled up the road to the flower market in the sunlight and breeze of the morning – where we found the place similarly deserted. I can only assume that many drowned their sorrows after the match last night and are feeling the effects today.
We bought a tray of Tobacco Plants (Nicotiana), eight plants for a fiver, to share between our gardens. For myself, I bought a Scabious for £5, and another Astrantia (Major) for £6 my collection. Although I already have several Astrantia Major, the plant I bought today was distinctly different. I must admit to a growing fascination with the subtle detail and variety of these starry flowers which draw the eye with their exquisite detail.
All the roses of East London are in bloom now, and everywhere I walk around the territory I come across extravagant fragrant displays, from Spitalfields to Limehouse. In my garden, this old moss rose, Alfred de Dalmas (a variety of 1855) has come into flower. With its multiple layers of petals and sherbet scent, it resembles some fancy confection, conjured out of meringue by a pastry chef.
A Walk With Mike Myers
This distinguished gentleman is Mike Myers, known as the Spitalfields Crooner, whom I wrote about earlier this year. You may recall that I republished his 1986 pub profile of The Golden Heart from “Spitalfields News”, which Mike edited during the nineteen eighties.
Last week, Mike and I took a walk together through Spitalfields. Undaunted by the cold weather, he was waiting for me eagerly, sheltering from the rain under the market canopy – just outside the front door that leads to his flat above the shops in the old market building. In spite of the dismay weather, Mike looked cheery with his colourful golfing umbrella in one hand and his file of photos in the other. We were going to undertake an epic journey through time and emotion to the other side of Spitalfields, where Mike grew up in the nineteen thirties. For Mike, Spitalfields is a rich mythical landscape of the imagination filled with colourful images and legendary characters from his long life in these streets surrounding Christ Church.
Mike hummed show tunes under his breath to raise our spirits as we made our way across Brushfield St, down Frying Pan Alley and up Middlesex St to The Bell at the corner of New Goulston St, where he spent the first forty years of his life. We took shelter under another canopy to survey the empty street in silence, while Mike opened his file of photographs. “At one time it used to be a thriving street and now look at it!” declared Mike, shaking his head in wonder at the transformations time can wreak. Pointing to the closed shops that now only deal wholesale, he indicated the former locations of the draper, the boot & shoe repair, the sweet shop, the shoe shop on the corner, the laundry and the synagogue. “It was a self-contained area, everything you needed you could get in the butchers, fishmongers and delis,” Mike recalled proudly,“People came from all over London to shop here when it was the Jewish quarter.”
Opposite us once stood Brunswick Buildings, one tenement among many, that stretched from here to Aldgate. It was the dwelling where Mike spent his early life and a crowded residence for many hundreds living in overcrowded conditions, with one family to a room, and shared toilets, washing and cooking facilities on stairwells. “There’s been two books written about it,” added Mike, to emphasise the drama of the life that he knew. Yet in spite of the poor housing, Mike has very positive memories of his time in New Goulston St, “Everybody coped with the small amount of space. What you haven’t got you don’t know about, so you don’t grieve for it. I had a great childhood, safe to go out and play. You made your own amusements. We used to play football and cricket in the streets, because you never saw a car – nobody could afford one.”
“We enjoyed the radio at home, but the cinema was the place to go out for entertainment,” continued Mike with enthusiasm, introducing the opening of the Mayfair Cinema in Brick Lane in 1936 where he saw William Powell in “Escapade” in the first week. Thanks to the presence of the Mayfair Cinema, now long gone, Mike became a film buff and was the only one in the audience when Laurence Olivier’s “Henry V” and “Hamlet” were shown, years later. Looking West towards the City of London, Mike indicated the street where he had one of his first jobs, “During the war, I was working across the road, loading dresses into a van and the next thing I knew I was on the floor of the van, because a V2 rocket had dropped just round the corner.”, he revealed, still grateful for his lucky escape.
As Mike and I walked slowly back through Wentworth St in the gentle rain, he admitted that – although the once vibrant market was a wonderful playground for a child – he is not sentimental for the world that is gone. After the war, most of the Jewish people left these streets to seek a better life in the suburbs. “In the seventies, everything started to go down.” he explained dispassionately, “The tenements housed people at cheap rents. They served their time just after the war. But people wanted change. People wanted better homes – especially if you are bringing up five kids in two rooms.”
In 1974, when Brunswick Buildings was compulsorily purchased and demolished by the GLC, Mike was moved to the flat in the 1886 Horner Building where he still lives today, in rooms adorned with movie posters and lined with shelves of DVDs. When we arrived back from our short sentimental journey of less than a mile, I was curious to learn more. But I had to content myself, for now, with photographing Mike there in his home above the Spitalfields Market, his point of arrival, surrounded by the evidence of his passion for cinema that began at the Mayfair Cinema in 1936.
Witnessing the changes in Spitalfields over a lifetime has given Mike a generous philosophical outlook and you will see him most days in the streets about the market, a benign presence – commonly absorbed in thought, yet ever curious about the life of the street – humming show tunes to himself, expressive of his characteristic levity and lightness of touch which have carried him through life with such grace.
As part of the Spitalfields Festival, Mike Myers has recorded an audiotour, enabling you to hear more of his stories of the neighbourhood and follow in Mike’s footsteps along his life’s journey from one side of Spitalfields to the other. You can download it by clicking here.
Mike Myers in Wentworth St, “Singin’ in the Rain.”
Brunswick Buildings, New Goulston St, where Mike grew up.
The explosion of the V2 rocket at the top of Middlesex St in 1944 that gave Mike a close call.
