September 2019 – slightly weird

30th September 2019

At the Pearly Kings and Queens Festival

Sunday, 29 September, 2019

Sunday the 29th of September has some significance – three ways for me! First it’s Michaelmas day – on Michaelmas day I start to notice the purple Michaelmas daisies and always smile to myself. Then it’s my brother John’s birthday, born eight years after me. And finally the last Sunday of September is the Pearly Kings and Queens Festival, the Pearlies’ biggest event of the year!

The London tradition of Pearly Kings and Queens began in 1875, by Henry Croft. He was raised in an orphanage in Somers Town and, when he was 13 he had to leave to work. Starting as a road sweeper in the local market, he made many friends. He was especially interested in the Costermongers. He was very drawn to their generosity, and custom of sewing pearl buttons, a symbol of status, along the seams of their clothing. He also admired that they took care of each other in times of illness and need.

Henry decided that he wanted to help others too, including the children back at the orphanage. So he drew attention to himself by collecting lost buttons in the market and sewing them to draw attention to himself. So as Henry swept the market streets he started to collect all the lost buttons he found in the market, and when he had enough he learned to sew. Eventually his entire suit was covered and a tradition was born.

The suits are designed and sewn by the Pearlies themselves. They can weigh as much as 30kg, with smother suits having the most buttons and skeleton suits having far fewer.

The designs are symbolic: Horseshoe = Luck, Doves = Peace, Heart = Charity, Anchor = Hope, Cross = Faith,
Wheel = Circle of Life, Playing Cards = Life is a gamble, Flower Pots and Donkey Carts = Costermongers.

You can find a statue of Henry Croft in Trafalgar Square. He and all of his followers to the present day are committed to charitable works for London.

So now you know!

You may have guessed that the reason for this blog entry is that this year I was determined to go see the festival for myself. I lingered in the morning. It was rainy and windy and I felt lazy and just wanted to stay warm and cosy. I pretty much made a last-minute decision to get dressed and leave. I thought that if the church service at St Mary Le Bow would be at 3pm, I needed to arrive outside the church at 2:30. I left the house at 1:40 at a trot. My plans didn’t matter much since the first train arrived at 2:05pm. I wasn’t too optimistic at that point but it’s an eight-minute train ride and I thought if I braved the underground for one stop over to Bank Station, I might just get there on time. And I did!

It wasn’t without incident. It was a long wait for my train to leave Hackney, then when I got on the Central line a tourist family decided to storm the door. Knowing how people have been killed by getting trapped in the door freaked me out a little – there’s another train in just a couple of minutes! – but they were lucky, although they held up the train. At Bank Station, the very long escalator was at a standstill with a half dozen people still on it. Apparently, a young man had been wrestling his case onto the stairs when he fell backwards. He was lucky – people caught him and someone had the presence of mind to use the Emergency Stop. Still, we did have to wait while some people streamed up the stopped escalator and until the station assistant could start the emergency escalator to allow us to get out. Drama, and my day had hardly started!

A subdued Liverpool Street station — A subdued Liverpool Street Station

Down the escalator at Liverpool Street to the Central Line

People climbing up the stopped escalator at Bank

My exit - there are 9 — My exit – there are nine.

22nd September 201927th September 2019

Blogging and Beck Road

Sunday, 22 September, 2019

I’ve always said it doesn’t matter if I don’t blog. I blog when I blog…that sort of thing. Lately there seems to be a lot to blog about and I find myself balancing three lots of photos and loads of words whirling around my head. The photos I took the other day, when the weather was dull and drizzly were quite washed out and that means getting out my editing wand. So we’ll see how it goes.

After Wales came the Geffrye tour, and then Beck Road. My blogs will be dated properly but I’m writing this in reverse. So here we go with Beck Road.

When I hadn’t been in the UK very long, I went to a friend’s Chinese New Year party. There I met someone from the USA who had bought a flat just of the Euston Road. I remember thinking how grand it must be to be able to live there. When she heard I lived in Hackney, she asked me if I knew Beck Road. I didn’t. She said it was a whole street of artists and I should check it out.

All these years later I finally did.

First I made a stop at Mare Street Market for a muffin and a hot drink, while I waited for Lisa to show up. Then we walked two short blocks to our destination.

Beck Road is an unassuming east end street with 56 terraced houses, complete with a railway arch part way down. From the main road, looking at Beck Road, you’d be forgiven for thinking it ordinary, even run down. Yet these homes are valued at close to £1 million, and the residents are significant artists. Some homes have private art galleries but during London Open House 18 doors were opening to the public. It was a busy weekend for me and I thought I’d have time for only event a day. Sunday it was Beck Road.

Beck Road with the railway arch half way down

On each house between the doors was listed the inhabitants on the 1901 census. This was fascinating – first, there were way too many people living under one roof but also most of them seem to have been born within a mile or so of Hackney Central. Some of them were artisans but it wasn’t until the 1970s that Beck Road started to attract many artists. By the 1980s they had begun creating private galleries in their homes.

There wasn’t a lot of time so we spent just a few minutes in each open home. I was just as fascinated with the interiors as I was with the art, maybe more really. Much of the art didn’t interest me that much, to be honest, although there were a few pieces I did enjoy. Strangely, I didn’t photograph any of it. Oops!

Sometimes the owner was there. Sometimes the owner was also the artist. Sometimes the owner was someone who knew the artist. It varied. As did the interiors. So many ways to interpret the same space. As always, I fantasised about living in each one. Pieces of each home were roped off to the public but we could wander around the rest, taking in the architecture and the canvases and sculptures and other works of art.

These houses was a gallery n the outside — These houses had made an outside gallery

A man called us into a house. I thought we were going to get a tour but instead we watched a film, ‘A woman’s hair.’ It was sweet and sad, and Lisa said ‘Well, that was depressing.’

So on we went. Half way along under the railway arch there was a door and through the door was a long hallway with doors on each side, and a steep staircase leading up to the top of the arch where there were some very strange paintings. ‘Too much acid,’ I told Lisa.

Door leading into the space under the railway arch

There was no time left. So I scurried off home. It was interesting to see Beck Road finally. I wonder what it’s like to live life as an artist on a street where everyone else is the same…

21st September 201929th September 2019

I wear a hard hat to the Geffrye Museum

Saturday, 21 September 2019

I took a chance on something I had never done before the day after getting back from Wales.

I saw that Open House London was coming up and that the Geffrye Museum was running hard hat tours for its renovations. The museum has been closed since last year and will reopen in 2020 some time. It’s my favourite museum in London and it’s right here in Hackney, so I’ve really missed it. There were only four tours and each had ten places so I booked a ticket and got one!

I’ve written about the Geffrye before but it’s a lovely concept. It’s housed in some almshouses , which once was home to 56 people. The almshouses were built in 1714 with a bequest from Sir Robert Geffrye, former Lord Mayor of London and Master of the Ironmonger’s Company. At that time the area was quite rural but within a couple of hundred years it became one of the most densely populated areas in London so the owners closed up and moved. The London County Council bought it and the Arts and Crafts movement persuaded them to turn the houses into a museum.

It opened in 1914 and showed off the furniture from local trades people – this was, after all, The Furniture District. From that, the collections were moved into period rooms to show how middle class people lived over the centuries. I find it fascinating to see the rooms – the fashions and customs changing from period to period – and my favourite time was always Christmas. Amazing to see how each generation has celebrated it. Now I’m missing that and here comes another Christmas without those gorgeous tableaux.

The new museum is going to be larger, with a lower level and an upper level, as well as a new cafe, and two pavilions either end for events and education. I do hope I’m in London when it opens its doors properly again.

On Saturday they opened the door to a small ante room where we left our bags and ventured into the construction site, putting on a hardhat and a high viz vest each. The tour guide was Irish so it took me a while to retune my ear. The goal of the new museum will be to feature more than just the middle class home and to improve the flow of traffic. Before there was a narrow corridor that took you past each room and, when done, you returned the same way. This caused traffic jams! Now there will be a one-way system, which will allow you to move through the periods comfortably.

This will be the green roof for one of the new event pavilions. To the right you can see the Hoxton Overground station

Hoxton Overground Station with the hoarding to the left. When that goes down, there will be a brand new entry to the museum straight from where the majority of visitors arrive

Our guide shows us the finished pavilion photo

The basement has been dug deeper to allow higher ceilings and good storage space for cables. Formerly blocked windows will be exposed now to let in more light

This glorious tunnel will be a sound tunnel - a space to reflect on the periods you have passed through — This glorious tunnel will be a sound tunnel – a space to reflect on the periods you have passed through

A construction staircase leading up to the new upper level. When I started up I thought I could do it. Halfway up I almost panicked but, with four people behind me, I had to complete the climb!

The new upper floor. Plenty of ceiling space!

The guide points out the larger pavilion space, the most complete part of the project so far

Inside the larger pavilion - this is right next to where the old entrance area was — Inside the larger pavilion – this is right next to where the old entrance area was

The furniture and other artifacts are safely boarded up for safety and the construction continues. I liked the fact that the building would be as green as possible. I asked about solar panels but was told this wasn’t possible right now. That’s a shame. The gorgeous atrium cafe space is going to be turned into the new entrance area – I’ll miss sitting in there with tea and scones. The new cafe will be housed in an old pub on Cremer Street, which they want to renovate to the period that it once belonged to.

All of the plans were exciting and I hope to be one of the first ones in the door. As for Christmas, well, the Geffrye has had special events and pop ups since it closed and Christmas will be no exception. I think I’ll take the wreath course again.

After I left the museum, I went to Song Que. I haven’t been for years. It’s the most popular Vietnamese restaurant in Hackney. I’m not 100% convinced. However, I wanted to give it a chance. I ordered a small soup (was asked if I was sure since it wasn’t a big bowl – yes!) and some cold rolls that were slightly too tough. But it was a pleasant time-out after the tour. Not sure I’ll bother again.

Perfect size but not rare enough rare beef pho and those chewy Summer rolls

A quick stop at The Grocer, a Whole Foods type store on Kingsland Road. Left with nothing

20th September 201929th September 2019

My week in Wales

Friday, 20 September, 2019

Wales is beautiful…well, Pembrokeshire is. I’ve not seen that much of Wales – bits and pieces and some of it so long ago that I no longer remember the details.

Pembrokeshire is in southwest Wales in that sticky-outy part of the coast where, if you look up to the sky, there are planes travelling from and to North America. In fact, when I cross the Atlantic from Toronto, I’m aware that I’m probably flying over Emma’s town as we reach the coastline.

The trouble is – look away you country folk – Pembrokeshire is rural, dotted with little villages and towns, and it’s wasted on me. Somehow the gene that makes people sigh with relief when they reach the countryside and drink in all that greenery and smell that fresh air skipped me.

Give me the urban life.

But there were five days, more or less, in Wales. Precisely in Goodwick (in Welsh, Wdig) a small coastal town that is twinned with Fishguard (in Welsh, Abergwaun, meaning “Mouth of the River Gwaun”) . There are about 5,000 people living in Fishguard and Goodwick – yes, it’s that small. Emma’s little part of Goodwick is called Stop-and-Call. Confused yet? The photos below show the view from Stop-and-Call, 330 feet from the centre of the town. You can see that you’re high above the harbour.

View of the countryside from Stop-and-Call

View of Fishguard Harbour from Stop-and-Call

Most my time at Stop-and-Call was spent sitting with Emma in her bedroom. Since she’s become less mobile, she’s set up the space with an armchair she can sleep in, a work space, and a small area with a microwave and bar fridge. She goes downstairs when she’s going out. Emma has carers and her son, Sam, helps out. Most of the time it’s Julie, who lives a short walk away. There seems to be a regular routine to all this but Emma says that, after years of yearning for time alone, she spends hours by herself now. She misses London, where she once owned a flat off Brick Lane. I used to love visiting her there.

Emma’s husband, Colin, has been living in a rest home for some time now. He has’end-stage’ MS and so there’s also a complex routine for him, which is shared by Julie and another carer, also called Emma. A lot of Emma’s time is taken up with advocating for Colin and for herself and her family. It’s interesting to see the choreography of it all.

After a quiet but chatty day spent with Emma in her room on Tuesday, we made plans to get out on Wednesday to a spa hotel called The Cliff on the edge of Cardigan. We were promised a stunning view so why not. Elaborate plans were made for the drive – Sam’s friend, Dave, drove us there along many narrow, hedge-lined road, country highways with all the attendant farm vehicles intruding briefly, and through the lovely little towns of Newport and Cardigan – two places I’d consider going back to should I be in Pembrokeshire again.

The Cliff hotel was at the very edge of the Irish Sea. We ate lunch in the sun on the patio, Emma with her wheelchair umbrella. I chose a pasta with local cockles but regretted my choice. It was heavily sauced and this completely swamped the flavour of the cockles, and it was heaped with some crisp, crumbled bacon, which I pushed aside after a couple of tastes. So much for my food review. Well, not quite… Krish and I strolled down to the edge of the cliff to look at the sea, where I took a couple of photos. Then we walked back to have dessert on another bit of the patio that had more comfortable chairs. A deconstructed cheesecake to share…hmm. Three ice cream scoops of under-flavoured dense cream cheese, some biscuit crumbs, a slice of dried orange and some (I thought bitter) blood orange sploshes on the plate. Awful!

(P.S. we preferred the view from Goodwick!)

Continue reading “My week in Wales”

17th September 201927th September 2019

We go to Wales – arriving

Monday, 16, 17 September, 2019

Getting ready for a trip – well, one seems to blur into another – I get this strange pit of stomach feeling, like someone has died. And I wouldn’t say excitement – but certainly anticipation or hope. I love the destination part of travelling but am not so good at the actual journey.

I find my agoraphobia kicks in. Will I be OK? Will something awful happen? What if I never get there? That’s the worry gene. But then the expectation of something different, what I want to explore, what I want to taste, what will it all feel like? Inevitably, when planning a trip near the time to leave, other places creep into my brain. These are the places I’ve been before and would like to say hello to again, but also the places I’ve not made it to…and then the anticipatory anxiety of will I be OK and what if something awful happens… Gah.

Our journey was very smooth yesterday. We arrived at Swansea on time and quickly. Then it fell apart. The little two-carriage train we transferred to on the next platform couldn’t be used. Somewhere in the muffled Welsh accented announcement the word ‘broken down’ popped in. Instead we had to wait a half hour for another train that would take us to a bus, and then on to our destination. It would add about 90 minutes to our journey.

The replacement train had only one carriage but it smelled better than the first one. These little trains are like toys. They whirr, they are filled with cheery passengers, the guard walks through making small talk to pass along to the driver where people might want to stop. We pass through little villages, see cows in small intimate hollows of fields by the tracks, and then we’re alongside the sea. There’s sand, and inns, and water, and that muddy waste you see when the tide goes out. I can smell meadows, then the sea, and sometimes soil. We’re not in London any more.

When Emma reaches me by phone, I’m on my way to the bus. I’d asked the driver for the washroom. Go in that gate, see, right along to the end, don’t worry, we’ll wait for you. And so they did. Emma lets me know that ‘Colin the taxi’ (not her husband, who has MS and is in a rest home) will meet us when we get to the station.

Another almost 90 minutes on the road, in a school bus brought in for extra duty and driven by a rather elderly man, and headed straight into a large and relentless sun, causing the driver to constantly lower and raise a rickety sun blind as he went. After the first stop he announced that he didn’t know his way to Fishguard station. Not to worry, the lady next to me did so she’d be happy to direct him. We were entertained by the winding road and by two rather spectacular funnel clouds illuminated by the setting sun and looking ominously like twin tornadoes!

By time I could get a clear shot, the two cyclone shapes in the sky had dwindled and were golden in the setting sun

Finally we saw Fishguard Harbour at the end of our journey

Colin the taxi picked us up, along with two other weary travellers and finally we were here, at Emma’s in Goodwick! A delicious dinner, cooked by today’s carer Julie and eaten on trays on our laps in Emma’s bedroom, listening to her stories of battles with doctors, politicians, and lawyers. She doesn’t leave her room any more but there’s so much going on for her from her armchair that’s taken the place of her bed these days. I feel very lucky.

I’m sitting in Emma’s kitchen. I opened the top of the window, knowing that someone will come down eventually and ask why it’s open. The air is fresh. Outside the road is steep and birds are singing. If I lean out of the window, there’s the harbour – not the best view I’ll see today – but there it is. I havent been here for four or five years. And I made a makeshift breakfast – a cracker, cheese, and half a banana. Opposite is the cottage that Sam, Emma’s older son, lives in. I will see him today and I know what to expect. I’ve known Sam since he was a teenager.

Opposite is Bramble Cottage, where Sam lives with Charlie. We're staying in Emma's - Lavender Cottage — Opposite is Bramble Cottage, where Sam lives with Charlie. We’re staying in Emma’s – Lavender Cottage. This part of the hill is gentler than the next

Beyond Bramble Cottage, just before the road turns and the hill gets serious

Strangely, there is an oven in the middle of the floor. Hmm. Coming in or out, I’m not sure. Perhaps out since I notice the main oven has stickers on the doors. A new one?

There's an oven in the middle of the floor — There’s an oven in the middle of the floor

This place is very cottagey. I can’t help thinking what I would do with it were it mine, although it never will be. I find it interesting how differently we all like to arrange our spaces. I’m not a big fan of the kitchen table being the main socialising area but Emma’s amazing living room was flooded some years ago and it hasn’t recovered. In there, Colin had many years ago put some fantastic carpentry there. No couch sitting for me this week.

The living room window and the view beyond

There’s talk of the battles, the family, politics – Brexit of course, and even time for some frivolity – clothes and hair talk. Always welcome. And so to bed. I’ve been awake for a couple of hours now and will spend some time organising my clothing and electronics. Krish packs so I don’t know where most things are. I hope they both sleep for a bit longer. My alone time is more precious than anyone knows.