A photo of me at my 80th birthday party in
Ramsgate
Since
my retirement in 1993 I have spent a considerable amount of time trying to
compile a one-name study of our family
name. Firstly by joining The Society of
Australian Genealogists and spending untold hours searching for every item in
their records re Chittendens’ worldwide.
At the same time advertising in Genealogical Magazines and the Genealogical
Research Directory, which resulted in considerable correspondence from the
United Kingdom, the USA, Australia and New Zealand
Having virtually exhausted the research facilities available in Sydney,
and much prompting by Andrew and Christopher to go on the ‘Net” I
eventually accepted their advice and with some doubt and trepidation I took the
‘big step’. It has proved to be a great advantage to
accessing information from the four quarters of the globe, with the minimum of
fuss. Making contacts with researchers, worldwide, and receiving
almost instant replies. This hobby came about because several years
ago I had read that a Thomas Chittenden, from West Farleigh, Kent was, at the
age of twenty-three, given a life sentence and shipped to Australia on the ship
‘Atlas 3’ and arrived in Sydney on the 22nd July
1816. Having, during my lifetime, only met one person named
Chittenden, who was not one of my own family, I
assumed that tracing Thomas would be a simple task, needless to say I am no
nearer tracing his lineage past his parents than I am of concluding our own
family tree. Using a common genealogical expression, I hit
the proverbial ‘brick wall’ in 1784 in the search for my own ancestry.
On
the 20th August 1784 the Banns were listed for Stephen Chittenden
and Mary Williamson at All Saints Parish Church, Maidstone, Kent.
In view of their continued association with that Church after they were married
it must be assumed that their wedding took place there, however I have yet to
find the Marriage record. Their children were Stephon,
born 12th June, baptised 3rd July 1785, John Speek, born 25th November, baptised 24th
December 1786, Mary Ann, baptised 31st May 1789 (who married a John
Apps in 1808) were all baptised at All Saints Parish Church,
Maidstone. The last child recorded, Thomas, was baptised on the 11th
May 1791.
It
does appear that Stephon my direct descendent, born
12th June 1785, married Amelia ?????? at Deptford, Mary
Anns Building, High Street Wesleyan prior to 1817 as on
the 2nd February 1817 the Parish Register reads ‘Amelia Charlotte,
daughter of Stephen and Amelia Chittenden of Greenwich was born on ? of
January 1817. Registered 3rd February by me Joseph
Sutcliffe, Minister’ There were two other children, George, born
1819 and William, born 1828. From the 1841 Census records Stephen
(55 is listed, occupation Bricklayer, his wife Elizabeth (48) (It can only be
assumed that Amelia had died and he married Elizabeth ???? whose
birthplace is listed as Gravesend) and their
son William aged 18.. In the 1851 Census Stephen (65) and
Elizabeth (58) are residing at 20
Pearson Street, Greenwich
and his brother Thomas aged 60, Bricklayer, is also listed with them. Son
William is listed as a lodger at 7
Roan Street, Greenwich.
Elizabeth Chittenden died 6th April 1857 at 20 Pearson Street, Greenwich,
aged 64. Cause of Death: Paralysis. Stephen died
12th December 1857 at 9
Roan Street, Greenwich,
aged 73. Occupation: Bricklayer. Cause of Death:
Passage of Gall Stones.
United
Kingdom Wills: This is the last Will and Testament of me, Stephen
Chittenden, Bricklayer of 20 Pearson Street, Greenwich in the County of Kent,
on this third day of December 1857 wherein I do bequeath unto my three children
at my decease, after all my debts are paid all that remains of my personal
effects and property consisting of a house situated at 9 Roan Street, Greenwich
and three cottages and shed at the back of the said No. 9, Roan Street and also
four houses No’s. 7, 8, 9, and 10 on the east side of Pearson Street,
Greenwich, and I do advise that the rents of these houses shall be collected
and after ground rent, interest on mortgage repayments, insurance, rates,
repairs and collection of any other expenses attached thereto that occur the
quarter the surplus shall be equally divided between my married daughter Amelia
Charlotte Brook and George Chittenden and William Chittenden. And
further I Stephen Chittenden do hereby appoint William Brook or his Agent to
collect all rents, pay all expenses and obtain a new mortgage if possible
should it be required but provided a new mortgage cannot be obtained then the
said William Brook shall dispose of the property on the most advantageous terms
possible with the advise of all interested parties and for which receives a
fair and proper percentage shall be paid together with all needful expenses
incurred in collecting the same. And further that at the decease of
either the before names then all his or her part
that shall be enjoyed by the husbands or wives of the said parties and their
children. And it is my desire that all my building materials and
tools then in possession shall be kept in the shed for the purpose of repairing
the before mentioned property and an equal use of the shed be for the right of
both of the interested parties. I hereby revoke all my former Wills
and make this my last Will and Testament. As witness thereof proof
I have this 3rd day of December in
the presence of ….. signed my hand George Salter, 19 London Street, Greenwich.
STEPHEN CHITTENDEN. Testator: Francis Harding, 10 George Street, Crooms Hill, Greenwich.
Amelia
Chittenden had married William Brook on 16th August 1841:- ‘William
Brook, Bachelor, Profession: Dyer. Father:
Abraham Brook, Bricklayer. Amelia Charlotte Chittenden,
Spinster. Both of Full Age.
Residence at time of Marriage: Charlton. Marriage solemnised by
Banns in the Parish of Charlton
George
Chittenden married Charlotte Mary Walter at the Parish Church of Charlton on
the 2nd December 1839. George is listed as a
Bricklayer. Charlotte Mary Walter was born in1821 and christened at
St Alphage Church, Greenwich
on 4th September 1821 Her Father, Richard Walter
was born in 1785, in Kent,
and was a Blacksmith. George and Charlotte had five children who
were all christened at St Alphage Church, Greenwich.
George born 15th October, christened 8th November 1840,
William James, born 17th September, christened 9th
October 1842, Charlotte 7th May 1845, and Stephen Potts
christened 19th June 1847 and his death is registered in the
September Quarter 1947 At the time of the 1851 Census they were living at
3 Roan Street, Greenwich West, Kent. George (39),
Charlotte (29), George (10), William (8), Charlotte (6) and Maria
(2) ( I have had no success in tracing the birth of Maria Stephen
Chittenden was born on 29th January 1853 at Greenwich.
George
Chittenden, my great great grandfather died in 1867,
aged 48, from an accident at work. The Death
Certificate, dated 8th July 1867 states ‘Injured from an accidental
fall from scaffold. Father: Stephen Chittenden,
Bricklayer present at Death’ I remember my father telling me that
his father and grandfather were both steeplejacks..
George’s wife, Charlotte Mary, died in 1871, aged 50, at 9 Roan Street, Greenwich,
from ‘Congestion of lungs and serious effusion in pericardium’
Stephen
Chittenden, my grandfather, married Rose Bignell in
1878 at Camberwell. Rose was born in
Kingston, Middlesex in 1858, and is listed as a
machinist. Her father Thomas S Bignell was born
in Paddington, Middlesex in 1834 and is listed
as a Cordwainer.
Stephen and Rose had six children:-
Stephen
Thomas 1879, William Valentine 1881, Rose Charlotte 1883, Florence Marie 1886, Maud Mary
1890 and George Henry 1893. The 1881 Census shows Stephen (31)
Factory Engineer, Rose (23) Stephen T (2) and William V (7 months), residing at
12 Champion Terrace, Camberwell, Surrey. They were still residing at this
address in the 1891 Census, but in addition to the four occupants shown in the
1881 Census, Thomas Bignell (57) shoemaker, Rose (7),
Flora (5) and Maude (8 months) are listed. Rose Charlotte
Chittenden married Herbert McPhurr at Camberwell in
1909. Stephen Chittenden died 17th April 1925, aged 72, at 19 Kerfield Crescent,
Camberwell of Bronchites and Heart
Failure. He left his effects of Three Hundred and
Thirty Two Pounds to his wife Rose, who died 25th February 1937 at
23 Redpost Hill, Herne
Hill, London SE 24, and her documentation
reads ‘Administration London, 15th March 1937 to Rose McPhurr (Wife of Herbert McPhurr)
The lawful daughter and one of the persons entitled to share in the estate of
the said intestate. Effects of One Hundred and Sixty Three
Pounds and Sixpence’.
George
Henry Chittenden, my father, married Margaret Elsie Trower
on 26th November 1921 Margaret Elsie was born on 17th
January 1899 at Cedar Lodge, Harrow Weald. Her father Percy Trower is listed as a servant and
her mother is shown as Harriett Mary Trower, formerly
Trower. The marriage certificate reads
‘George Henry Chittenden, age 28, Bachelor, House
Decorator. 19 Kerfield Crescent, Camberwell. Father: Stephen Chittenden, Secretary of
Friendly Society. Margaret Elsie Trower,
age 24, Spinster, 95 Wyndham Road,
Camberwell, in the presence of H.J. Whalley and
Alfred Trower. George and Margaret had eight children:- Marguerite Elsie born 13th
May 1922 at Camberwell and died Stoke Newington 24th April
1999, George born 1925 at Mile End, he died young but have been
unsuccessful in finding a record of death it is possible that he died at
birth. The following births were all registered in Stepney Stephen Alfred 7th July 1926, Arthur
Sidney 30th June 1927, James William 16th January 1930,
John Ernest 8th March 1932 and Dorothy Ethel 2nd November
1933. The Birth of a further
daughter, Pauline R was registered in the March Quarter 1937 at Lewisham and
her death was registered in the June Quarter. I do not remember her
coming home from the hospital. My mother, Margaret Elsie, died on
the 9th March 1938 at St George in the East Hospital,
age 39. ‘Resident of No. 2 Rupert
Street Mansions, Stepney E.1..
Wife of George Henry Chittenden, Painter and
Decorator. Cause of Death: Acute Heart Failure. Toxic Myocardites. Carcinoma of Cervix Utery’.
My father, George Henry, died on 28th October 1956 at Hackney Hospital, age 63. ‘Resident of 123
Shakespeare Walk, Stoke Newington, Builders Painter. Cause of Death:
Congestive Cardiac Failure. The Certificate was signed by my
brother, Stephen Alfred
who at
that time lived at 47 Clissold Avenue, Stoke
Newington, N.16. Unfortunately I was at sea on an old cargo
boat called the SS ‘Tekoa’ serving as Chief Steward
and did not return to the UK
until December.1956.
Now,
Arthur Sidney comes into the picture, born 30th June 1927 at the Whitechapel Maternity Hospital.
Which is located within the ‘sound of Bow Bells’ this
makes me a bona fide Cockney As far as I can recall my childhood
was not an unhappy one.
We lived at 3 Rupert
Mansions, Goodman Street. Stepney, in the heart of the East End of London.
The term Mansions did not mean a thing to me at that age however I have often
chuckled since, when I think back to a ground floor apartment, one main living
room, three bedrooms, outside toilet, shared by the
occupants of other apartments, no bath or shower. Saturday night
was bath night, a tin bath, placed in front of the stove in the main living
room, water heated in kettles on the stove, smallest in the family first in and
as each child finished they went to bed and the elder children took their turn,
kettles of hot water being heated on the stove as the Saturday night ritual
progressed. The rest of the week you just washed your hands
and face in a tin basin before school or on very special
occasions. This may sound rather sordid when considering our
modern concepts of hygiene, however we did survive To my knowledge we never had problems of skin infections,
acne or boils. I well remember that in our bedroom, shared with
three brother in two beds, we were not allowed to
touch the wallpaper because the slightest knock would bring the bugs out in
droves. At school it was a weekly ritual to have our heads checked
for nits and it was always a proud moment to be able to go home and say they
could not find any. To my knowledge the only time I was ill was
with a dose of ‘double pheumonia’, that is what my
sister told me, when the doctor had me admitted to St Bartholomew Hospital,
which was founded in the year 1123, and is known worldwide as
‘Barts’. My only other comment re health is that I never owned a
toothbrush until I joined the army in 1949 when we were issued with a
‘regulation toothbrush’ and told to use it, however I have never been a
ritualistic tooth cleaner but will give them a brush on ‘high days and
holidays’ which were rare.
When
I think back and ponder on eating, all I can say it was very
little. In the morning we usually had sliced bread and
dripping. If we were lucky we got some of the dark brown,
rich dripping, from the bottom of the basin but if we did not get in first it
was just the light coloured fat on which we
poured plenty of salt. We did get a meal, midday, at school
and these were always devoured without complaint, excluding Monday when a suet
pudding was the fare of the day and it was absolutely ghastly.
Whenever I felt that I was so hungry I had to eat it I invariably had to run
outside and vomit the lot up. I can now understand the reason for
this disgusting concoction being served on Mondays was probably the lack of
time to purchase fresh food supplies - no refrigeration in those ‘good old
days’. I can vaguely remember my Mother cooking meals at
home, mainly roasts, ‘toad in the hole’, sausages and mash and stews.
When mother died I remember our father, who did his best on what he could
afford, specializing in boiled sheep’s head and pigs trotters - this put me off
any form of food with the exception of a roast or a grill for many
years The other disadvantage was that there was no dripping.
After school we were allowed bread and jam. And if we were
financial a feed of fish and chips or just the chips made into a sandwich we
all thought that they were fantastic. Maybe I often went hungry, but I never
starved. Within close proximity to where we lived was Spitafields Wholesale Fruit & Vegetable Markets and we
used to go there on Saturday mornings to search the heaps of unsaleable fruit
picking out mainly apples, bananas, oranges and pears, which had some rotten
spots, taking them home and cutting out the bad bits.
I
learnt at a very young age that working for pennies not only gave you affluence
but very often included food. When I was about seven years
old I managed to get a ‘job’ after school at a grocery shop, on the corner of Leman
and Cable Streets, on the route between home and school. In those
days there were no packaged biscuits, they were delivered in tin boxes and the
grocer sold them in paper bags, the outcome was a lot of broken
biscuits. My job was to go through all the boxes and place the
broken pieces into bags which were then sold at
discounted prices. Needless to say that
whilst that job lasted my desire for food was greatly decreased.
I also discovered how to look after ‘number one’. In my innocence I
introduced a ‘friend’ to the grocer with the good intentions of getting my
school friend a job and aiding the ‘boss’ with another pair of
hands. My first major mistake in the world of employment!, within a short time, my friend took over my job and I was
out, maybe I was eating too many biscuits?. The loss of the job did not
worry me but I sure missed the feed. My next enterprise was on
Saturdays, the Jewish Sabbath, I had a job stoking the fires and boiling the
kettles in two of the apartments in our
‘Mansions’ for a couple of Orthodox Jewish families. They were
people who had left Germany
before the Second World War and were just as poverty stricken as we
were. They paid me a penny for my chores and very often gave me
some of their Matzos bread to take home. I still enjoy matzos
today. My next job of significance was with an Irishman who sold
papers in Aldgate High Street, he wanted somebody to sell the papers whilst he
made his frequent visits to the boozer across the street to ‘wet his whistle’.
I really enjoyed that job until one day I accidentally took his pocket knife
home which we used for cutting the string that tied
the bundles of newspapers. Unfortunately, that night my friends and
I were wandering down Leman Street
when we discovered that the knife would open the power boxes on the street
lights, consequently we went from lamppost to lamppost opening the boxes and
turning the lights off.. It was not
long before the local Bobby caught up with us and in our panic to disappear
from the scene of out crime we left the knife stuck in a
lock. Next afternoon when Paddy asked for the knife I had to
tell him that I had lost it so I collected a tirade of Irish abuse and told
never come back.
A view of the school taken in July 2007
We
attended St Pauls School, Wellclose Square,
which was situated between our home and the London Dockland, within walking
distance from our dwelling, although I must admit that our philosophy was never
walk if you could get a ride. Our mode of transport was to hang on
the back of the horse drawn carts which traveled up
and down Leman Street,
to and from the docks. You soon learnt to be shrewd and never
picked an unloaded cart because if the driver saw you he would lash out
with his whip and believe me if he hit you it would really
sting. The secret was to choose the fully laden carts because
the drivers vision was restricted. by the
load Thinking of horses and carts, I recall the occasion when
I dashed out of our ‘Mansions’ and ran into a vehicle, luckily I was not
seriously hurt but the wheel of the cart, fortunately unloaded, run over my
instep which left me with one instep higher than the other.
Cannot remember the pain but still think of the driver who
came round to visit me a few times with goodies and to see how I was
recovering. Such was the sincerity amongst Cockneys St
Paul’s Church of England School for sailors and their families
was attached to St Pauls Church for sailors,
in Dock Street,
Whitechapel. The school was built on the site of a Danish Church,
which had served the needs of the Danish merchants who traded in timber for the
rebuilding of London
after the Fire of London in 1666. The school was opened on 30th
June 1870 by the Prince and Princess of Wales. Wellclose Square
is about half a mile from the Tower
of London an area we
often went to play after school. Alongside the Tower were a flight
of stone steps which led down to the river and was often used as an access area
for the bargees. There were no side railings to these steps and at low tide the drop would have been about 20
feet from the highest step to the mud flat. One afternoon, when it
was high tide we were larking about when I slipped over the edge into the
water, needless to say I could not swim, the only
water I was ever in was the Saturday night tin bath. I still
remember going down and touching the mud a couple of times before a hand pulled
me out. Fortunately a man had come down the steps, probably to
relieve himself and gave a little bit of relief to me
instead. He disappeared and the other kids helped me strip
off and ring my cloths out, by the time I got home they must have dried
out. I never dared mention my mishap at home as it would have
resulted in a belting from my father. In
fairness I must say that our father never abused us but I did seem to create
occasions when he would take the belt off that held up his trousers, and give
me a few good, maybe well deserved, whacks. I often wondered how
his trousers stayed up!. I cannot recall
any trauma during my schooldays at St
Paul’s. My term reports were average
in most subjects and apart from the usual comments ‘very talkative’, ‘could do
better if he gave more attention to detail’, and ‘restless’- probably most of
the kids in the school got the same comments by teachers who had large classes
and who worked under a great deal of pressure. The only time
I remember having to front the Headmaster, who was a Mr Smith, was when I took
my father’s war medals to school. I cannot remember whether I
disposed of them for a couple of pennies or were
stolen from me - I do remember that the recipient showed them to our teacher, a
Mr Murdoch. Unknown to me, my father’s name and Army Service Number
was engraved on the edge of the medals, so I was ‘sprung’ and the headmaster
was given the task of caning me in front of the class. Strangely
enough, years later, after my father died I asked my sister, Elsie, did she
find Dad’s army records and medals amongst his ‘things’. She said
there were none, hence I have never been able to trace
his records in the First World War.
Until
our mother died we regularly attended St Pauls
Church, Dock Street and I was a choirboy at the Sunday morning services,
although I don’t think I contributed much to the singing as I seemed to have
had a habit of fainting whenever we stood up to sing and often ended up
stretched out on a bench in the vestry. As proof of my religious
upbringing I still have a Book of Common Prayer & Hymns Ancient and Modern
presented on January 19th 1938 for regularity - no commendation for
my singing ability or other attributes..
When our mother died in March 1938 my church attendance
ceased. It was not until I started compiling our family
history I realized what a sad period this must have been for my
father. His mother, Rose died in February 1937, his father, Stephen
had died in 1925 and Margaret Elsie had lost her last child, Pauline, born
earlier in 1937, and he then lost his wife a few months
after. Immediately after our mother’s death I was aware that
the Council Officers and the Church Authorities were pestering my father to
give up us kids and have us placed in a ‘home’ My father
would not hear of it and claimed that our sister Elsie was able to care
for us.
With
all this turmoil and uncertainty there was no compulsion for us to attend
church on Sunday’s and my Jewish school friend was able to get me a job with a
Jewish lady who had a fish stall in Petticoat Lane, she sold mainly Kosher fish
like Rollmops, Soused Herrings, Pickled Fish, Sardines,
etc. This employment continued for some time and
although I did not care for the rollmops, sardines in a couple of slices of
bread were okay - trying to live by the old saying ‘If it won’t fatten at least
it will fill you up’. Unfortunately my career as a Kosher fish seller came to an end due to the lady’s
philandering husband. She explained to me that her husband was
having an affair and I was to follow him and his girl friend to find out the
address of the residence they visited. I was given money for bus
fares and sent on my mission. I vaguely remember that there
was no problem following them. They caught a bus going to
Mile End and after a couple of stops they got off, so did I, and they walked a
short distance and then turned left with me on
their heels - as I turned the corner they were there waiting for me - it taught
me another important lesson in life - always try to get some training before
taking on a new venture or at least do some homework. They were
very friendly and gave me some money - cannot remember how much - and sent me
on my way. Needless to say I did not go back to the fish
lady I continued to earn my Sunday pocket money in Petticoat Lane
helping on a fruit stall by unpacking the boxes of fruit and sorting out the
overripe stuff. One other job with a difference was working for a
‘quack’ medicine salesman. All I had to do was sit on a kitchen
chair and put on an act that I had a pain in the arm, or leg or whatever was
his speil for the day and he would try and convince
the crowd that he had the perfect cure using me as the guinea pig to apply his
bandages and potions - the only trouble with that job was every time I seemed
to get comfortable he got the wink that the ‘Law’ was approaching so I had to
pick up the chair and ‘scarpa’, meeting him at a
pre-arranged spot to set up for another session. That job did
not last long as there was nothing to eat.
The
year was now 1939 and in August my childhood came to an abrupt end and my
father’s dispute with the Council and Church officials
were all resolved thanks to Adolf
Hitler. War was imminent and the London County Council started
planning the evacuation of mothers and children from London
The
history of the East End of London goes back to medieval times and has been a
place of notoriety for the past five hundred years. The records
state that Wellclose Square
is situated in the dockland area south of the Tower of London
and St Katherine’s Dock, adjacent to Cable
Street, Dock
Street and the Highway. Historical
records go back to the 9th Century. In the 1600’s there
was a factory on Salt Petre
Bank
to the west of the Square In the nineteenth century a stone cistern
containing the remains of two children was unearthed in the Square.
Robert Mutton who died in 1669 owned houses, yards and wharves near Execution
Dock, and lived there himself. Francis Hooper who died in 1692 had four,
sixty pound houses on the Highway and eleven smaller, thirty pound, houses in Wellclose Square.
In the 1660s’ John Knight, gent, had a timber yard and
a fine house: the lease was worth two hundred pounds (the equivalent of some
500.000 pounds in 19th century money. Parades of solid
sea-captains residences intermingled with sailors cottages and lodging houses,
interlaced with drinking establishments of every
variety. Daniel Defoe (1670 - 1731) wrote about the
area ‘one of the foulest districts in London.
A warren of alleys ran northwards from the Ratcliffe Highway
to Cable Street
in which bawds offered insalubrius
lodgings to seaman too drink-sodden to care where they fornicated.
Throughout the eighteenth century the cheapest and most pox-ridden prostitutes
in London plied their trade around Wapping and
St Katharine’s, a class of whore too low to satisfy the rakes who frequented Hogarth’s ‘houses of ill-fame, off the Covent Gardens
piazza’. The Royalte Theatre, Wellclose Square
was opened in 1787 and burnt down in 1826. The Brunswick was built on the site in seven
months, rather too hastily, as it turned out. During rehearsals,
three days after it was opened on the 28th February 1828, it
collapsed, killing several actors, technicians, the proprietor and a passing
team of horses. Wellclose Square’s third
theatre,’ Wiltons’, named after the owner, a former
Bath publican called John Wilton, was opened in 1859 to fill the needs of the
West End theatre-goers who loved to ‘slum it down the East End’. It
was said that on the opening night lines of cabs filled with West End toffs
stretched back to St Pauls They marveled at the luxury of Wilton’s - its ‘Sunburner’ chandelier had not fewer that 300
crystals. Great music hall entertainment’s of the calibre of George
Leybourne appeared there: he earned the then
staggering amount of one hundred pounds singing such songs as ‘Champagne
Charlie’ - about a chap who drinks only champagne with friends ‘from Dukes
and Lords, to cabmen down, and from Coffee and from Supper Rooms from Poplar to
Pall Mall’ songs that emphasized the Cockney’s disregard of any sort of
class barrier. Like other East End music hall, Wilton’ developed a reputation for drunken
and bawdy behavior - prostitutes were said to lure
sailors there, get them drunk and rob them. Their victims were then dropped
through a trapdoor, dragged down a passage and dumped in the neighbouring
streets. Following a fire it was closed down in August 1880 and
rather incongruously, became a Wesleyan mission, then
in 1950s’ a rag warehouse. In 1965 it was acquired by the Greater
London Council and was used for various purposes, including the BBC filming of Bleak
House. An appeal launched by the London Music Hall Trust,
with the support of such stars as Liza Minnelli, Lord
Olivier and Roy Hudd,
aim to restore Wilton’s as part of a ten million
pound theme park, a national variety centre with London’s oldest music hall at its heart.
The
street where we lived, Goodman Street, which ran parallel with Leman Street,
was named after Mr Thomas Goodman, one of the local well-to-doos’
and where he probably had his residence. In the 1860s’ there was a
temporary shelter and soup kitchen for Jews. Between
1870 and 1914. 120.000 Jews came to England
most stayed, at first, in the East End.
Those that did not have relatives to take them in went to the Jews temporary
shelter in Leman Street
then off to mean lodgings in the surrounding streets..
The Soup Kitchen for the Jewish Poor was still in existence in Byrne Street, near Petticoat Lane in
the 1950s’. Leman
Street was developed in the late 17th
century by Sir William Leman, however the history of this area goes back to
Saxon times and was said to be an area of thieves and robbers at the time of
William the Conquerer. At the time of the
Great Plague 1603 - 1647 and 1665, the top end of Leman Street was know as Red Lion Street and
close by, in Aldgate was the Great Plague Pit
I
remember the great street party we had in 1936 when Prince
Albert, Duke of York
became George VI - this all came about by the abdication of King Edward VIII
because the Church would not permit him to marry the love of his life Mrs
Simpson. It was the first party I had ever been too - paper hats,
balloons etc - and the best part of all ‘a good feed’. The school
gave every child a commemorative mug. The other memorable occasion
was the ‘Cable Street Riots’. In the East End,
there was always some envy and resentment of the success of certain hardworking
Jewish families - despite the fact that the Jews were just as impoverished as
other East Enders. To capitalize on this fairly limited anti-semitism, the British Union of Fascists, known as the ‘blackshirts’, and led by Sir Oswald Mosley, set up branches
in the East End, where they ranted against Jewish residents and their sworn
enemies the Communists. In 1936 they declared their intention
to march through the East End on Sunday 4th
October. Attempts to ban the march was
unsuccessful and fearing trouble, 6.000 police were mobilized. In
the morning, a barricade was set up in Cable Street to obstruct the Fascists,
but was soon cleared by the police, and the anti-Fascists crowd (who were mainly the local residents objecting to the
march), that assembled were charged by the mounted police. This all
happened before Mosley had even arrived near the Tower of London.
By mid-afternoon the disturbances were so serious that Mosley was asked to
cancel the march, and under protest did so. The following Sunday
gangs of thugs - probably including Fascists - stormed through the East End, smashing shop windows, attacking Jews and
looting shops. Although my friends and I wandered up and down Leman Street and
along Cable Street,
where there was plenty of noise and excitement, to us it was just another
experience and we never sensed any fear as far as our own well being was concerned . Halfway along Goodman Street there was a Public House
and I remember seeing fights at closing time that made the Cable Street riots look like a Teddy
Bears Picnic. The Public Order Act passed soon afterwards outlawed
political uniforms, such as black shirts, and the police were given the
authority to ban processions.
I
had one very good Jewish school friend whose father
was the caretaker of the Brick Lane Synagogue,
where, if
his Dad was not around we would sometimes go and play after
school. It was interesting to read that this particular
building was first, a French Chapel catering for the Huguenot Immigrants who
started settling in the East End to escape the religious persecution in France, which
commenced in the 1500s. With the decline of the Huguenot community
it was taken over and became a Wesleyan Chapel and then in 1701 it became “The
Great Bevis Marks Synagogue” and was said to be the oldest place of Jewish
worship in the UK.
When they moved on, in 1975 it became a mosque for the influx of Bangladeshi
immigrants who settled in the area. I mention these facts
because I believe the true ‘Cockney’ is the least racial person in the
world. The desire of most East Enders prior to the second
world war was to try to get out of their rut and move elsewhere, and whilst
endeavouring to achieve this goal, which for most was an impossible dream you
learnt to live with your neighbours and accept all races and creeds with the
knowledge that in many cases their plight was far worse than your own.
For
many years I had a yearning to take a trip and have a walk down ‘memory
lane’. That was until I heard that it is now almost
impossible to recognize the area. Apparently the whole area between
the Highway and the Wapping river front has been redeveloped. The
old Western and Eastern Docks have all been filled in
and the biggest single activity now is newspaper production - News
International (Rupert Murdoch’s empire) has its United Kingdom Headquarters
there.
The
great evacuation of Londoners started a few days prior to the 3rd
September 1939. My father decided that Elsie and Steve could stay
in London but
the rest of us would be better off in the country. It all began as
an adventure, something similar to a school excursion when we were once taken
for a day trip into the country by charabanc. ‘Into the country’
for us was a drive to an outer London
suburb called Blackheath but it was a day out of school and we were all happy . This time we were all issued with gas
masks and identification labels and given an inventory of clothing and other
incidentals we had to take with us. It is rather strange how events
bring awareness into childrens
lives. When I looked at the list of clothes it came as
a surprise to learn that you should have things called pyjamas, underpants,
four pairs of socks, two jumpers, mackintosh, slippers, etc,
etc. It was then I realised that I could never remember
having a new piece of clothing or footware.
When I questioned my father about it he just said that all our clothes were
‘hand me downs’ supplied by the church. Hence when we arrived
at the school all we had was our brown paper carry bags with a few ‘odds and sods’
to make it appear that we were properly outfitted. But it did not
cause us any undue worry as many children did not have a carrier
bag. The only problem, which did worry me, was my footwear, just
before leaving home it was found that the soles of my shoes were completely
worn through - one of our previous pastimes was running a few yards down the
street and sliding the rest of the way - it was
decided that I could not wear them so father found a pair of boots, two sizes
larger than my shoes, and I was told they would have to do. I
always remember when I arrived at my billet they questioned me about my
footwear and I told them that they belonged to my elder brother and in the rush
I had put them on by mistake. Not surprising that we did not
get off to a good start!
We
were transported to the railway station in buses and then checked onto the
train. Nobody had a clue as to our destination. ‘Had to be kept secret just in case there was a German spy in the
station’. The good thing about the trip was the issue
of a packed lunch - sandwiches, fresh fruit and dried sultanas - it was the
first time I had ever tasted dried fruit and I still enjoy
it. Being grouped in classes I had no idea how
Jim, John or Dorothy were faring, but as I had always been a loner, this did
not worry me. When the train eventually pulled out of the station
our spirits were high and the teacher encouraged us join in singing songs like
“We’re going to hang out our washing on the Siegfried Line” which referred to
the German front line - the French had built the Maginot
line opposite the German defences - it was claimed to be impenetrable - which
proved correct because it was never put to the test - when the Germans attacked
in May 1940 they invaded Belgium and the Netherlands and just went round the
side of the French defences. Another song was ‘Run Adolf, Run Adolf, Run, Run Run.. The train
eventually arrived at Eastbourne and we were
all told to assemble in lines of three on the platform. The
teacher called the roll and we were marched out of the station and boarded a
fleet of buses which transported us to a Hall .
When we entered, led by our teacher, still formed up in lines of three we were
surprised to find the room almost full of people. As soon as all
the children had arrived one of the local dignitaries
made a speech which I doubt if any of the evacuees listened to, or ever
remembered. It was then ‘open sesame’ for all the would
be foster parents to walk through the rows of children and take their
pick. At the time it was hard to comprehend what was happening, but
a few years later when I started attending cattle auctions I immediately
remembered our reception at the Hall - the main difference was that at a cattle
auction you had to pay for the stock you selected whereas you picked your
evacuees for free and then the government paid you a weekly sum for feeding,
clothing and a little bit of TLC. Knowing the English class
system I think the procedure was for the local dignitaries to have first pick,
then the local upper class and the working class to take what was
left. At this stage I was unaware what had happened to my
sister or brothers. Eventually, when there were only a few children
left, we were taken by organisers and driven off to be deposited with would be
Foster Parents, who had not been able to attend the gathering at the
Hall. I was delivered to the kitchen entrance of a big house,
this really was a Mansion, and placed in the care of the housekeeper, who was
very kind and offered me some milk and biscuits. She then showed me
to - my bedroom - it was bigger than any room we had at home and in my
childhood language could only be described as ‘posh’. There was
even a washstand in the room and the housekeeper had brought in a jug of hot
water and told me to wash my face and hands and comb my hair and then come back
downstairs. When I did return downstairs she took me into one of
the front rooms and introduced me to my foster parents - who was a clergyman
and wife - having enjoyed my freedom from all things ecclesiastical for the
past few months this put me into a state of shock and I was completely tongue
tied - a most unusual experience for a born and bred
Cockney. As events proceeded through the following weeks
I started to convince myself that this was a
punishment for not attending Church after our Mother had died.
The
regimentation at the Vicarage was something completely foreign to my
upbringing. I ate in the kitchen,
the housekeeper fed me well and tried to make me feel at home. I
caught the bus to and from school, but was instructed to come
straight home and following a glass of milk and biscuits to go up to my bedroom
until dinner time. On Saturdays’ I was allowed to mix
with local children nominated by my foster parents. This was
not unreasonable but I really missed the companionship of my school
friends. On Sundays’, the Vicar decided that I would attend his Church to
pump the organ at the morning service, attend Sunday School in the
afternoon, and return again to the Church in the evening to pump the
organ. He ruled that as it was the Sabbath I would walk to Church,
as it was wrong for fit and healthy children to ride in buses on the Lord’s
Day. I always thought that his Church, which was in the town
of Eastbourne was probably some two and a half miles from his residence, but
having recently made a few enquiries it was most likely less than a
mile. This would still have been over five miles walking every
Sunday.
It
was whilst we were at church that the outcome of the British ultimatum to
the German Government that its troops should leave Poland was delivered at 9 am
on Sunday 3rd September 1939. It expired at 11 am
without a reply and the Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain made an
announcement on the radio sic I have to tell you that no such assurance
has been given and that therefore we are at war with Germany
The British people accepted without complaint, that
they were at war with Germany.
The Phoney war was over.
Needless
to say the Vicar did not have me as a guest for long. I was given
pocket money every Saturday, I believe that this was part of the sum paid to
the foster parents by the government, and fortunately due to my restricted life
style, after a couple of months I had saved up enough to buy a train ticket to
London. So one Saturday morning, at breakfast, I told the
housekeeper that a friend and I were going walking on the Downs for the
day So after breakfast I went up to my room and packed all my
clothes, I should really say their clothes because they had disposed of
everything I had arrived in and replaced them with ‘second hand’ garments and
footwear of which I was most proud and had no
intention of leaving behind. I managed to get clear of the house
with my shopping bag and caught a bus to Eastbourne Railway Station and arrived
home in the early afternoon. You could say I went from the frying
pan into the fire. There was no family welcome, no sisterly love,
just a long tirade from my father who had to contact the Vicar and let him know
that I was back in London.
While my father negotiated with the authorities for my return to Eastbourne I tried to adapt to my previous life style
until I realized that the evacuation had finished that forever. My
old friends were no longer around, people were worried about possible attacks by the Germans, bombing, rationing, where their
children were and especially how their loved ones, husbands, brothers and
sisters who had joined the Services were managing. They were
certainly not interested in a stupid evacuee who had decided to return to the
danger zone. At the outbreak of war my father had become a
special constable. These were appointments for the duration
of the war created to replace the regular constabulary who had joined the
services, consequently when my father had finalized the arrangements for me to
return to Eastbourne, he accompanied me, in
uniform. This caused me considerable embarrassment and when
people on the train stared at us I just said to them ‘No I am not under arrest
he is just my Dad’.
When
we arrived in Eastbourne my father took me to
the address of my new billet and met the Foster Parents, who were a Scottish
Lady and her son, who was an Electrician, they both seemed very old to me, but
I had my own bedroom and they were very kind. They were Methodists
and we went to Chapel every Sunday morning, first to service and then Sunday School. I was not there long enough to
comprehend their religion but found it boring. They had a Boy
Scout Troop, which met at the Church Hall and I was allowed to join and made
friends with the other scouts. On Saturdays we went out on the
Downs blackberry picking or down to the shore picking winckles,
little snail like creatures, which you took home and boiled and had to use a
needle to extracted the boiled flesh from the shell.
Eastbourne
is a town, in the County
of Sussex, the population
in 1939 was about 50.000. In those days it was classified a country
borough with three miles of promenades above a shingle beach.
When we first went there the beaches were all open but early
in 1940 huge rolls of barbed wire was stretched along the foreshores in
case of invasion by the enemy. The town had several theatres and a
pier. Beachy Head is a row of steep chalk
cliffs, a very prominent landmark, about three miles from the town centre and
overlooked by a lighhouse
erected to guide the ships navigating the English Channel.
The South Downs rise to the west and north of
the town.
Having
settled into my new billet, enjoying the scouts and all my new friends it came
as a shock to be told that I would be moving. Maybe my
‘foster mother’ found that having a child in the house was too demanding or
maybe her health was not good, or it could have just been a temporary home
until a permanent billet was found, anyway I was on the move. The
one outstanding memory I have is of the fantastic Yorkshire Pudding
she used to make when we had our Sunday roast dinner, and very often when it
was not a roast she would make a sweet Yorkshire Pudding and serve it with
custard.
My
new billet which was situated in the Old
Town area of Eastbourne
and just a few minutes walk from the school was into a home of seven children
and three evacuees and it was a very happy experience.
Our foster father, who was shorter that his eldest son, was
an upholsterer by trade and had a shed in his backyard where he worked on the
furniture. He was Mr Friendship and we all got on well
together. He was always happy to have us in the shed and gave us
lessons on upholstery. The one thing I have never forgotten was
that as he worked he would fill his mouth with upholstery tacks and when he was
tacking the webbing as he hammered each one in
he would spit the next one out onto the webbing almost on the spot where he
wanted to insert it. Needless to say we were fascinated, but
no matter how hard we tried it we never mastered his skill At
this time the government introduced the ‘Dig for Victory’ Campaign and all Councils were encouraged to divide up their
parks and recreation areas into allotments so that the residents could grow
their own vegetables. Our family acquired about four allotments and we spent many hours digging and
breaking up the soil and putting in the vegetable seeds, sad to say we never
saw the fruition of our labours but it certainly melded us together as a big
happy family. Due to the changing circumstances of the
war, German had successfully invaded France
and the invasion of England
was said to be Germany’s
next goal our happy family was split up as we prepared and waited for out next
move.
This
occurred in May 1940 when the decision was made that we were to leave
Eastbourne for a destination, unknown, and eventually after a journey which we
began to think would never end were told that the train was in the County of
Pembrokeshire, South Wales. At each station the train stopped and a
group of children disembarked. Following many stops our group were
put off in a small town called Clarbeston Road and were transported to a village hall. It had been
a long journey and it was now dark. The next thing I remember was
being surrounded by the local people, and disposed of as if we were in a cattle
market to be claimed by the highest bidder. ‘Any two brothers’?. ‘Two girl friends’?.
When allocated, our classmates and school friends,
disappeared with persons unknown and we knew not where? These
proceedings seemed to go for hours until there were only a few of us left and
obviously nobody to claim us The
organizers then had the problem of placing us in temporary billets.
Wiston
Sign 2007
Wiston
Church 2007
Wiston
School 2007
For
my first couple of nights I was lodged at the Vicarage, in the village of Wiston, which
comprised of a church, a school and a shop. About a quarter
of a mile away was a blacksmith shop other than that the area
was just small farms. The vicar and his wife were very kind,
however once the sorting out took place I was fostered with my brother John on
a farm called ‘Woodlands’, about five miles by road from Wiston,
or three miles across fields. Our new family were called
Morris, Mrs Morris and two children, Cissy was the eldest, and John who was 21, this I well
remember as his birthday was the same day as mine. Mrs Morris had two other
children, Bill, the eldest son who was married and lived about three miles away
and Nella who was no longer at home. Once again
we were faced with a changed lifestyle and although our new foster parents were
kind and very concerned with our welfare living on a farm meant assisting with
the many chores and because of the distance between the farms, being isolated
from other children. Once we arrived home from school playtime was
over. John and Cissy encouraged us to
feed the fowls and animals, bring the cows in for milking, showed us how to
milk, taught us to ride the work horses, drive the pony and trap and
acquaint ourselves with a way of life which would have seemed unbelievable a
few months early. ‘Woodlands’ had no electricity and no
water, for lighting in the house kerosine lamps were
used in the main living areas and candles in the bedrooms In the
stables and cowsheds outside hurricane lamps were in standard
use. Using the pony and trap after dark the lamps had candles
in them. When I eventually got a bicycle I
had what was known as a carbide lamp. Carbide was a chemical
which was placed in the lower chamber of the lamp and an upper chamber
contained water. When the water dripped into the carbide chamber it
created a gas which exuded through a jet in the front of the lamp and when lit,
with a match, a jet of flame controlled by the mixture gave a varying degree of
light from fantastic to hopeless. If the flame was too high
it would soon use up all the carbide and if the flame was too low it was better
to turn the thing off and just hope there were no animals on the
road. Our household water supply came from a well about
three hundred yards from the house and this was carried in buckets twice a day.
It was often several trips before there was sufficient water for the household
requirements. Fortunately there was a stream that ran through
the property so it was not necessary too haul water for the animals.
The kitchen range was fueled by a mixture of coal
dust and clay. The coal dust was delivered by truck a couple of
times a year and the clay was dug from the river bed. It was then
mixed, a much harder task than mixing cement, until the clay and dust was a slurry, as it began to dry it was rolled into balls, about
half the size of a tennis ball, and then stored for use. This
fuel maintained a continuous fire, twenty-four hours a day and three hundred
and sixty five days a year. As life evolved around the
kitchen the only time a wood fire was lit in the ‘front room’, what we now call
a lounge, was on special occasions during the
winter. Our only other form of heating was a hot water
bottle for our bed during the winter months.
Woodland Farm Gate
Our
evacuation to South Wales in early summer was
a pleasant way to be introduced into rural life as the weather was pleasant and
there were a multitude of new activities to become acquainted with.
Hay making was a busy time. John would mow the grass with a
machine pulled by a pair of horses and his brother Bill would be kept busy
sharpening the mower blades which were frequently being changed. We
were shown how to rake the mown hay into heaps and after a few days it was
loaded into hay carts and taken into the farmyard and built into a rick, the size of a large shed. When it
had settled down it was then necessary to cut reeds from the river bank so that
John and Bill could cover the top with a gable type thatch
roof. At the end of the war it was not long before machines
became available which mowed the hay and trussed it into bales and they were
stored in sheds with tin roofs. Progress cannot be stopped but it
did bring to an end some of the community effort and fun of the old
ways. Raking the hay was hard work but Cis
and the girls would make regular trips with home made ginger beer and fresh
made scones to keep us motivated and the luncheon spreads out in the meadow
were the best picnics I have every experienced. At the end of
the day there was always a good dinner with a glass of home brewed beer and off
to bed so that we would be up early and ready for more of the
same. Harvesting the corn was an easier task for
us as the harvester cut the corn and automatically tied it in sheafs so we did
not have any raking to do. The sheafs
were carted into the farmyard and stored in ricks. When the corn
had all been harvested the threshing machine contractor was booked and
eventually the date was booked for our threshing day.
Re
Country Life: Milking - The main income from the farm was milk and
cream and I believe that every farmer had a cow called Daisy.
We had an average of fifteen milking cows Milking was a twice
daily chore. The cowshed was certainly the warmest
place to be in winter but rather hot and smelly in summer.
The cows were milked by sitting on a three legged stool with a bucket
between your legs held secure with your knees, just in case the cow should
kick, not an unusual happening, it was also wise to keep your head pressed
against the animal’s flank as a cranky cow could give you a severe clout with
her tail. By squeezing the teats and pulling the milk would
flow. This was fairly easy with the old cows who
had large teats, but a rather tedious task with the first timers as their teats
were small and rather thin. When the milking was
finished the milk for market was placed into ten gallon churns for collection
by the daily milk run. But it was always necessary to keep
sufficient for cream and butter making. The milk was poured into a machine
called a separator, this was a device that used
centrifugal force to spin the lighter cream from the heavier
milk. It was manually operated and by turning the handle the
milk from the upper chamber divided the cream from the skim milk which were
directed into their separate outlets.. The
skim milk was used for the feeding of calves and pigs.
The cream was used in the kitchen for cooking and also for making
butter. The cream was placed into a large wooden urn which was
fitted with a handle that had to be manually turned until the contents became
almost solid, it did not require any inspection as the handle would begin to
jam and jerk and would be very difficult to turn, the
raw butter would then be separated from the buttermilk. After adding salt
the butter would be shaped into small blocks with two wooden spatula type
utensils.
Bread
baking was another routine chore. The flour was placed into a large
mixing basin and with a dash of milk and water was mixed into a dough, yeast was then added and the mixture placed into
the open oven overnight. In the morning it was divided into loaf
sized pieces and then placed into the baking oven and in a short time the
freshly baked bread was ready for consumption. Following the
bread baking it was standard practice to place whole
freshly caught, skinned and cleaned rabbits into the oven which were
always a popular luncheon dish.
It
was customary for all farmers to breed a pig for home consumption
. The slaughter of the creature was almost a
ritual. Firstly it was necessary to have a keg of ‘home
brew’ ready for the occasion. The pig killing always occurred in
the late afternoon, after the milking was completed and a few neighbours came
to assist. The brass ‘brewing pan’, which
was large enough to hold twenty gallons of water and sat on an iron frame under
which a fire was lit. A gallows was
erected with hook spreader and endless chain was alongside the ‘pig block’ a
solid timber bench, six feet long, three feet wide and raised about three feet
above the ground. The animal had to be manhandled from the
sty and placed on the block, requiring plenty of manpower, usually between six
and ten men would lie on the screaming pig whilst the nominated butcher would
stick a knife into the pig’s throat and all hands plus bodies holding the pig
down until it had bled and given a last grunt. It was impossible to
keep pig killing private as the creature’s squealing could probably be heard
for a radius of five miles The next
task was to cover the exposed side with cotton sheeting and pour the scolding
water over the carcass. The sheeting was then removed and we all
got scraping with rather rustic type scraping tools. These
were normally curved hoop iron gadgets with a metal bar welded across the top
under which the fingers fitted to clasp the outside edge.
They were kept razor sharp and very efficient. When the skin
was clean and white the carcase was turned over and the other side was given
the same treatment. On completion the carcass was attached to
the hook and with the help of many hands was pulled up rear end first on the
gallows. The animal was then gutted, the offal was taken into
the house most of it being usable. The heavy work having been
completed the keg of beer was tapped whilst the women cooked up the ‘fry’ which
was usually served with freshly baked bread, etc. The carcass
was left hanging overnight to cool. The following day it was cut
down the centre, from tail to head and when dissected into manageable
sections was taken into the house for
butchering. The hams and sides of bacon were rubbed
with salt and placed on a timber slat rack suspended from the kitchen ceiling, above the dining table and operated by
pulley. The smoke from the kitchen range cured the meat on the rack. The offal
was used for sausage making, brawn, etc. It was customary for
neighbours to rotate their pig killing so that an exchange of fresh meat was
standard practice.
To
be continued – when I find the time (-;)
St. Paul’s C. of E. Primary School was opened officially in
1870. It was called St. Paul’s Church of England School for Seaman,
and was attached to St. Paul’s Church in Dock Street Whitechapel, itself a
Church for sailors and their families. The building of the school
was the plan of the Rev. Dan Greatorex, who pioneered
many social reforms in the East End of London until his enforced retirement in
1897, when he had become partly paralysed by a stroke. Part of the
cost of the school was raised from subscriptions. The school was
built on the site of a Danish church in Wellclose Square,
serving the needs of the Danish merchants who traded in timber for the
rebuilding of London,
after the Fire of London in 1666. The church which had become in
effect redundant, was, according to the Rev. Dan Greatorex, in too great disrepair to be converted and so it
was demolished, all graves having been duly removed from the crypt.
The school was opened on 30th June 1870 by the Prince and Princess
of Wales.
Four years later, an Infant Nursery was opened in a new house next to the
school, and on this occasion the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh attended the
opening, with a grand flower show and exhibition of caged birds.
The school initially was divided into three separate schools, Infants, boys and
girls. Until 1897, the Vicar was Manager of the
schools. One of the first intake of pupils
was Margaret Doyle. She became a pupil teacher and later Head
Mistress of the Infants
School.
Margaret Doyle resigned in 1897, when the Rev. Dan Greatorex
also resigned his ministry. In August 1897 they were married at Dover, where they lived
in Castle Street.
The Rev. Dan Greatorex died in 1901. The
school still has a collection of large photo albums from the 1860’s onwards,
showing scenes from the Vicar’s world
travels. Hugh Sinclair
1994.
WELLCLOSE SQUARE
Wellclose Square is situated in the dockland area south of the Tower of London and St Katherine’s Dock
adjacent
to Cable Street,
Dock Street
and The Highway. St Pauls School was in
the centre of the square.
St
Pauls Church was in Dock Street. History records
go back to the 9th century - in the 1600s there was a factory in Salt Petre Bank to the
west of Wellclose
Square. In the nineteenth century a
stone cistern containing the remains of two children was unearthed in the
Square. “Robert Mutton who died in 1669 was one such he had houses , yards and wharves near Execution Dock and
lived there himself. Francis Hooper who died in 1692
had four sixty-pound houses in the Highway and eleven smaller thirty pound
houses in Wellclose
Square. In the 1660s’ John Knight, gent, had a timber yard and a fine house: the lease was
worth two hundred pounds (the equivalent of some 500.000 pounds in 19th
century money. Parades of solid sea-captains residences
intermingled with sailors cottages and lodging houses, interlaced with drinking
establishments of every variety.
In
Wellclose
Square was the home of the formidible
Dr Mayo an ‘independent’ pastor held in high esteem by Samuel Johnson, while in
Stepney an organised pressure group of Protestant Dissenting Deputies had links
with the East India Company.
‘Garricks departure marked the end
of good theatre in the East End for at least
half a centruy. The patentees at Drury Lane and Covent Gardens
were so powerful that they even secured the closure of the playhouse Shepherd
had built for Giffard. Odell’s converted
shop in neighbouring Leman Street
survived for another nine years as it provided what were, in effect, burlesque
music-hall turns rather than plays.. In
December 1885, six years after Garrick’s death work
began on a new playhouse, off Well
Close Square to be called the Royalty
The
Royalte Theatre, Wellclose Square
was opened in 1787 and burnt down in 1826. The Brunswick was built on the site in seven
months - rather too hastily, as it turned out. During rehearsals
three days after it was opened on 28th
February 1828, it collapsed, killing several actors, technicians, the
proprietor and a passing team of horses!. Wellclose Square
third theatre, Wilton’s - named after its owner,
a former Bath
publican called John Wilton - was opened in 1859. Its foundation
stone declared:
To Great Apollo, God of early morn…. We
consecrate this shrine of gentle music.
The
East End had long attracted threatre-goers from the West End, ‘slumming
it’. On Wilton’s opening night,
lines of cabs filled with West End toffs
stretched back to StPauls. They marveled at the luxury of Wilton’s - its was ‘Sunburner’ chandelier had no fewer than 300 burners and 300
crystals Great music hall entertainment’s of the calibre of George Leybourne appeared there; he earned the then staggering
amount of one hundred pounds singing such songs as ‘Champagne Charlie’ - about
a chap who drinks only champagne with friends from Dukes and Lords, to
cabmen down, and From Coffee and from Supper Rooms/From Poplar to Pall Mall - songs
that emphasized the Cockney’s disregard of any sort of class barrier.
Like
other East End music halls, Wilton’s
developed a reputation for drunken and bawdy behavior
- prostitutes were said to lure sailors there, get them drunk and rob them;
their victims were then dropped through a trapdoor, dragged down a passage and
dumped in the neighboring streets.
Following a fire, it was closed in august 1880 - and rather incongruously,
became a Wesleyan mission, then in the 1950s a rag warehouse. In
1965 it was acquired by the Greater London Council and was used for various
purposes, including the BBC filming of Bleak House and as a setting for
the video of Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s song Relax. An
appeal launched by the London Music Hall Trust, with the support of such stars
as Liza Minnelli, Lord Olivier and Roy Hudd, aims to restore Wilton’s
as part of a $10 million theme park, a national variety centre with London’s oldest music
hall at its heart.
There
was, however, in the early eighteenth century one enclave in the Tower Hamlets
where it seemed as if the pattern of development might run parallel to Holborn or Marylebone, Wellclose Square,
elegantly centred on a Danish church and prospering from a timber trade boosted
by the rebuilding of London after the Great
Fire, actually antedated Mayfair
planning. But Wellclose Square was less
than half a mile from the walls of the Tower, and the combination of an
enterprising foreign community and speculative builders was able to take
advantage of a charter granted by James 11 in 1686 which extended the
autonomous ‘Liberties of the Tower’ to the immediate vicinity of the
fortress. Even Nicholas Barbon, the most
roguish builder-financier of the age of Wren, had an interest in the leases of Wellclose Square,
although it was for his ventures around Fray’s Inn
that this proto-tycoon son of Praisegod
Barebone MP became notorious? There was a
parallel development a few hundred yards east of Wellclose Square,
in what is now called Swedenborg Gardens.
Off Wellclose
Square there was already,
in Defoe’s time, one of the foulest districts in London. A warren of alleys ran
northwards from the Ratcliffe Highway to Cable Street
in which bawds offered insalubrious lodgings to seamen too dring-sodden
to care where they fornicated, Throughout the eighteenth century
the cheapest and most pox-ridden prostitues in London
plied their trade around Wapping and St Katharine’s, a class of whore too low
to satisfy the rakes who frequented Hogarth’s’houses
of ill-fame’ off the Covent Gardens piazza.
Whitechapel parish had a Danish chapel in Wellclose Square
The East End also had London’s
first Co-op, established in Leman
Street in 1879.
(My family lived in Goodman
Street which ran parallel with Leman Street, nearest
cross street was Alie - we
walked down Leman Street,
crossed Cable Street to our
school in Wellclose Square.
Our Church, St Pauls, was in Dock Street, adjacent
to Wellclose Square).
Goodman’s
Fields Theatre in Leman Street,
Whitechapel, was converted from a shop in 1729. In 1733 it was
moved to new premises in Ayliffe Street - it even had the
same architect as Covent
Gardens. The
famous actor David Garrick’s debut was at Goodman’s
Fields, where he appeared as Richard 111 in 1741.
The
way in which the immigrant groups changed, almost from one generation to the
next, is exemplified by a single building on the corner of Brick Lane and Fournier Street in Spitalfields.
It was built in 1742 as a Huguenot chapel. With the decline of the
Huguenot community it was taken over by Methodists in 1809. In 1897
it was converted into a synagogue, and in 1975 it became a mosque for the
Bangladeshi community.
The
Fanny Waxman’s Yiddish Theatre operated in Adler Street from 1936. Adler Street, off Whitechapel Road,
was itself named after a prominent Jewish East Ender: Chief Rabbi Hermann
Adler. Many Jewish artists and intellectuals grew up in the East
End, such as Israel Zangwill , author of Children
of the Ghetto, and Jacob Bronowski, as well as
many notable left-wing politicians, among them Mannie
Shinwell. Arthur Morrison, who was born in Poplar in 1863,
published two East End novels: Tales of
Mean Street in 1894 and A Child of the Jago in
1896. He stayed with the Vicar of Holy Trinity, Shoreditch,Arthur Osborne Jay, and was introduced by him to Old
Nichol Street, the area with the highest incidence of crime and infant
mortality in London Calling it the ‘Jago’,
Morrison used it as the setting for his ‘story of a boy who, but for his
environment, would have been a good citizen’. Jay had been battling
for slum clearance for years, but is was due to the popularity and impact of a
Child of the Jago that the work was finally done
and in 1900 a new housing estate was opened by the Prince of Wales
Clement
Attlee was Secretary of Toynbee Hall before becoming mayor of Stepney, and MP,
succeeding George Lansbury as leader of the Labour
Party and becoming the first Labour Prime Minister in 1945. Clement
Attlee wrote the following poignant poem:-
In Limehouse, in Limehouse,
before the break of day,
I hear the feet of many men who go upon their way,
Who wander through the City,
The grey and cruel City,
Through streets that have no pity
The streets where men decay.
In Limehouse, in Limehouse,
by night as well as day,
I hear the feet of children who go to work or play,
Of children born of sorrow,
The workers of tomorrow
How shall they work tomorrow
Who get no bread today?.
In Limehouse, in Limehouse,
today and every day
I see the weary mothers who sweat their souls away:
Poor, tired mothers, trying
To hush the feeble crying
Of little babies dying
For want of bread today.
In Limehouse, in Limehouse,
I’m dreaming of the day
When evil time shall perish and be driven clean away,
When father, child and mother
Shall live and love each other,
And brother help his brother
In happy work and play.
The Soup Kitchen for the Jewish Poor still exists in Brune Street
near Petticoat Lane
The
Cable Strret Riots There was always some envy and resentment of the success
of certain hard-working Jewish families - despite the fact that many Jews were
just as impoverished as other East Enders. To capitalize on this
fairly limited anti-Semitism, the British Union of Fascists, known as the ‘blackshirts’ and led by Oswald Mosley, set up branches in
the East End where they ranted against Jewish residents and their sworn enemies
the Communists. In 1936 they declared their intention to march
through the East End on Sunday 4th
October. An attempt to ban the march was unsuccessful, and fearing
trouble, 6,000 police were mobilized. In the morning, a barricade
was set up in Cable Street
to obstruct the Fascists, but was soon cleared by the police, and the
anti-Fascist crowd that assembled was charged by mounted police - all before
Mosley had even arrived near the Tower
of London. By
mid-afternoon, the disturbances were so serious that Mosley was asked to cancel
the march, and under protest did so. The following Sunday gangs of
thugs- probably including Fascists - stormed through the East
End, smashing shop windows, attacking Jews and looting
shops. The Public Order Act passed soon afterwards outlawed
political uniforms, such as black shirts, and the police were given the
authority to ban processions.
Leman Street was developed in the late 17th century by Sir William
Leman, however the history of this area goes back to
Saxon times and was said to by an area of thieves and robbers at the time of
William the Conquerer. At the time of the
Great Plague 1603 -1647 and 1665 the top end of Leman Street was known as Red Lion Street and close by, in Aldgate was the Great Plague
Pit.