Spitalfields Life

I left my home near the Old Spitalfields Market early and walked East for an hour through Bethnal Green and Hackney Wick, as the dawn came up and the empty streets filled with people, until I reached the New Spitalfields Market where I had the honour of a breakfast with Jim Heppel, the Chief Executive of the Market Tenants’ Association, at seven. Jim joined the Spitalfields Market on 11th February 1983 and retires this week after twenty-seven years service that included masterminding the move to this new site on Walthamstow Marshes in 1991.

In spite of the vast scale of the trading operation, as Jim stood grinning like a schoolboy to have his scarf tied round his neck by his secretary I realised the atmosphere in the Tenants’ Association office was closer to that of a small family business, with plenty of affectionately cherished quirks and idiosyncrasies displayed by the long time employees. Without a doubt, Jim is the least corporate executive I ever met.

As we set out across the car park from the office towards the market structure that loomed in front of us, filling the field of vision entirely, I could see the trading aisles crisscrossed by a hundred fast-moving forklift trucks, receding into the far distance beneath the yellow vaulted steel roof. At the entrance, I was dazzled by the spectacle of armies of traders dealing more fruit and vegetables that I could dream of. Then, once we entered the trading area, people ceased their labours which were all-engaging the second before and came over to shake Jim’s hand in recognition of the unique role he has played in the history of the market.

It was a touching sight to witness these men open up to Jim with exuberant smiles and to recognise that the market enjoys a vigorous life as a human community which is as vibrant as it ever was. But even more remarkable to me at first was the strange air of familiarity about the whole scene. The stacks of crates, the busy traders, the trashed boxes and spilled produce, even the scavengers scrabbling for stray tomatoes in the car park, I recognised all these from my memories of the old Spitalfields Market and Mark Jackson & Huw Davies’ photographs taken there in 1991.

As we walked through the market, I found myself looking over my shoulder at the forklift trucks careering like dodgems in every direction but Jim walked with relaxed assurance, owning the space as if he were  a ring master at the centre of his own personal circus, entirely unafraid of collisions with acrobats or stray elephants. He wanted to be photographed beneath the clock that was all they brought from the old market yet, as I was introduced to men who were six generation fruit and vegetable sellers, I realised the market itself is an enduring social organism that has greater longevity than the buildings and their fixtures.

Back in Spitalfields, even nearly twenty years after the move, there remains a sense of absence that something which defined the place for centuries has gone. But the market has not disappeared, I am happy to report that like the island which sailed away it still exists and thrives. More than this, the island has grown to become a continent, because while the old market provided ten acres of trading there are now thirty-two acres, providing employment for fifteen hundred people. And, although in recent years supermarkets have taken 80% of the fruit and vegetable trade, New Spitalfields Market has been re-invigorated by new traders of diverse ethnicities who now make up 60% of the tenants.

In this microcosm of the world, fruit and vegetables from every corner of the globe are traded by European, Asian, Afro-Caribbean, Turkish, Chinese and Egyptian traders (among others), creating a marketplace of Babel. A dignified Hasidic Jewish gentleman passed me clutching a Horseradish root in one hand while his behatted colleague proudly carried a box of fine pink Pomegranates, in preparation for Passover, and reminding me how essential fruit and vegetables are to the cultural vocabulary of almost every people. It filled me with a vertiginous sense of wonder to be at this turning point of the world, where so much produce passes through, coming from farmers on its journey to the people who will eat it.

After breakfast in the Floral cafe, Jim and I retreated to the peace of his office which was empty of people by nine in the morning after the night’s work. He explained that Spitalfields Market was created by a royal charter in 1682 signed by Charles II, which meant that only Parliament could alter the charter when the move was proposed, and so Jim spent two and half years in Westminster seeking the approval of both the House of Commons and House of Lords on behalf of the traders.

Jim is a phlegmatic yet good-humoured man with whom it is very pleasant to spend time. He seemed remarkably placid for someone who has spent his life bringing conflicting parties to agreement and managing the move of the market that caused plenty of controversy in its time. In these last days now before his retirement, I was touched to sit alone with him as he explained modestly that it all happened because he failed his eye test for the Merchant Navy. Instead he found himself working as Secretary to the Traders’ Federation at the old Covent Garden Market and then in 1974, when that moved to Vauxhall, he had the opportunity to travel around Britain visiting all the regional markets. These visits and the sense of markets as communities of people that he experienced on these trips, touched Jim in some way, because at this point in his story he changed his tone and turned to me, realising what he really wanted to say.

“I fell in love with the industry and the trade. As you walk around the market, it’s like a small village where you know virtually everyone and everyone knows you. We’re off the road here in our own private world in the New Spitalfields Market. I think the traders can be a bit insular because it’s a very competitive business and since market prices can alter by the hour – every price is negotiated every time like the old stock exchange.” After this discreet summation, Jim considered, to add what he had learnt,“One of the most interesting things now is that it is such a mixture of people, Christians, Muslims, Hasidic Jews and other cultures too – yet if anyone spills a load, everyone comes to help. Outside there is religious conflict but here in the market everyone works together.”

Once upon a time the small streets of Spitalfields were crammed with articulated lorries every night and on the restricted site there, the market could never have held its own against the supermarkets. It was the move achieved under Jim’s brave stewardship which permitted expansion and ensured its survival.

We have learnt to despise the marketplace as an image of the world, but Jim changed my mind because in contrast to the corporate dominance of the supermarket, the New Spitalfields Market thrives as a collective enterprise of traders which exists supplying smaller independent businesses. Over coming weeks, I am planning some return visits to interview the proprietors of the oldest family businesses here and learn their stories, now I have found my way from Old Spitalfields to New Spitalfields.

Photographs copyright © Sarah Ainslie

In Nicolai Gogol’s drama “The Government Inspector”, Khlestakov, the young playboy from Moscow who turns up to cause hullabaloo in a provincial town is described as having hair that resembled “a rabbit on fire.” For many years I puzzled, trying to imagine what this could be like, until I met John recently and saw his hair. Conservatively short around the sides but with a spectacular mass of long curls erupting from the crown and spiralling recklessly in every direction, it is like a fountain in the wind or even, you might say, like a rabbit on fire.

Although, as editor of Pigeons & Peacocks magazine, John William presents an appearance that is striking to behold, there is far more to him than meets the eye on first impression. Upon introduction, when John talks, it is with a maximum number of exclamation marks, so it was no surprise to me when I received an email from him that commenced in the same way, “Hello!!! John here!” I can only admire how John has made audacity into a style because I surmise he is at heart a shy person who has adopted this demonstrative self declaration as a means to overcome his natural reserve and engage with the world openly. As such, John’s construction of himself represents an heroic and engaging triumph of style, qualifying him as a one of life’s true fashion pioneers. He is a true original voice in the barren wilderness of conformity crying out, “Hello!!! John here!”

On the day we met, dressed down for the working day, John was rocking a chunky eighties sweater with images of cocktail glasses, carnival streamers and harlequin masks knitted into it, accessorised with a gold chain round his neck displaying the name “Divine” (referring to the star of John Waters’ masterpiece “Pink Flamingos” who is John William’s personal inspiration). Baggy trousers rolled up to his ankles revealed two-tone wet-look and suede brogues with Forget-me-not blue socks. Yet in spite of his loud clothes, when John settles down to a conversation he speaks quietly and thoughtfully, presenting his opinions lucidly.

Speaking of his unremarkable upbringing in Liverpool, John revealed, “I knew what I wanted to do since I was ten, at thirteen I bleached my first pair of jeans, cut them up and safety pinned them back together again, and it was the first example of the power of presentation – because it completely changed the way everyone saw me and taught me the power of constructed identity. Monthly, I wrote to every fashion magazine from Sleaze Nation to Vogue asking for an internship and when at fifteen I was invited to do work experience at Dazed & Confused, I worked at McDonalds until I saved up the money to come to London for the first time.”

Clearly an operator, John was disappointed by the lack of initiative shown by other students on his fashion journalism course and went out and won commissions, submitting a portfolio of his published work at the end of the year. With equal aplomb, he persuaded the London College of Fashion to give him the budget they would spend on their prospectus to publish his magazine, Pigeons & Peacocks, and allow him freedom to pursue his own innovative editorial policy. An enlightened decision that has proved to be a sympathetic reflection upon the college itself.

I wondered if John’s ambition was to pursue the fast track of success in fashion journalism, but he dismissed it. “I don’t want to be Anna Wintour!” he protested, as if the unlikely transformation were literally at hand, before he proceeding to elaborate upon his own more egalitarian philosophy of fashion, “Pigeons & Peacocks is not prescriptive, it is a collection of diverse opinions and stories, I want people to feel they can become involved and I get emails from fifteen and sixteen year olds submitting ideas. It’s not about selling someone the shoes they can’t afford or the sweater they don’t need. Fast fashion is horrible and people are wising up to it. As a weirdo, at least you are spared the pressure to accept the package that is being sold to everyone else through advertising, because as a weirdo you don’t want it in the first place. I think that whole Tom Ford idea is embarrassing now. Who’s got that money to spend? And who wants to live that life that’s presented top to tail and floor to ceiling?”

John is twenty-two and articulates the voice of a generation who have seen the excesses of consumerism and reject the waste of resources and the human exploitation it represents. In its place he proposes a manifesto of do-it-yourself creativity that does not involve spending a great deal of money but requires thought to decide who you are and how clothes can be part of your individual expression. I was inspired to meet someone who has grown up through the sordid events of recent history and emerged idealistic.

When he proudly rolled up his sleeve to show me the fine tattoo on his arm of Casper, his beloved blue-eyed Siamese, and the one on his shoulder that reads “I want to be the girl with the most cake”, I could not help smiling because there is a rare playfulness about John that is equally disarming and appealing in its candid emotionalism. All John’s thoughts are in motion, pursuing his ideas about people and the culture of clothing open-mindedly, to see where it will take him and what he can learn.

Pigeons & Peacocks is currently preparing an East End issue that looks at the role of clothing and style in the diverse and complex cultures here, far beyond the realm of fashion. We look forward to it with eager anticipation.