Architecture – Page 2 – slightly weird

12th August 2022

Catching up and matchstick girls – Bryant and May

Wednesday, 10 August, 2022

My friend Tari helps me with this blog. She has all the tech know-how I don’t. Thanks, Tari. The other day she messaged me, By the way, you had 279 unique visitors to your blog in July. What? If you are one of them, say hello in the comments. I have no idea who you are, where you live (does Tari?) but I’d be richer knowing. I also hope you like what you’re reading and, if not, let me know what I can do better. Blah blah.

We are looking for somewhere to live. I love moving – well, most of it. The part where you’re looking, though – this part – is horrendous, and right now so disheartening. Rents are high, places are often dire, and competition is stiff. Yet it has to happen. I worry all the time about where, when, and even if. As time goes by the what becomes less important, and yet it doesn’t. I know, no matter how desperate I may get, I can’t resign myself to some of the places I’ve seen that are on offer right now. Part of this is because…Hackney. It’s an area that’s being gentrified – everywhere you look there are scaffolds that tell you that someone else is gutting or improving their living spaces. It’s a double-edged sword. While places are improving, rents are screeching higher, and what passes for an open plan living room is really only a medium sized kitchen with a couch, coffee table and television thrown in for good measure. Couches are backed against ovens, no division, and you can only pray for enough counter space to actually prepare a meal. For a couple of foodies and spontaneous chefs like us, it’s not supportable. Where will we land? Stay tuned.

With the prospect of a move ahead, we’ve been determined to do a few things, even if we stayed local. This includes some restaurant visits. I’m getting lazy about reviews. I have a list of places I want to visit and revisit but the Bryant and May Factory (who manufactured matches, or lucifers as some of their publicity reads, in Bow from 1861 to 1979 when it moved to Liverpool) has been on my list for a very long time.

I’d read about the factory and the Matchgirls Strike several years ago. Bear in mind that this factory and the area is well known to me. It sits somewhere between my paternal grandmother, Sophie’s (and therefore my dad’s and my own childhood) home and my maternal grandmother, Charlotte/Lottie’s (and therefore my mum’s childhood) home. Both of these houses were pulled down many years ago now. The factory is still there.

I can’t really remember particularly noticing it when I was a child. I did, of course, but thought nothing of it. Just another factory, even if a massive one. It’s good to see it again as an adult – through older and more appreciative eyes. But what came first was the matchstick girls’ story. I’ll tell it in short form.

From the mid 1850s this was London’s largest factory, making candles, crinolines and rope. William Bryant and Francis May bought it in 1861 when it was in disrepair. In their match factory the workforce, mostly Irish women and girls, worked fourteen-hour days at poor pay and faced excessive fines for things such as going to the toilet without permission. They also faced a far more serious situation. The white phosphorous that the sticks were dipped in caused ‘phossy jaw.’ This was necrosis that destroyed the jaw, leading to other medical problems.

In the summer of 1888, middle-class activist Annie Besant and her friend Herbert Burrows got involved and exposed the factory conditions in their weekly paper. Management weren’t happy and tried to get their workforce to sign a paper saying it was untrue. They refused and one worker was fired, leading to the now-famous strike. 1,400 women and girls refused to work by the end of the first day. Management quickly said that they would take the fired woman back but the damage was done and the women began to demand more, including the withdrawal of the fining policy. Within a short while the whole factory had stopped work and a deputation of women went to see Annie Besant to ask her to help. She apparently advised them not to strike, but the women were determined and took their plight to parliament. Fearful of the publicity, management agreed to concessions, including a fairer grievance procedure and that meals would be taken away from where they could be contaminated by the dangerous phosphorus . The women’s actions led to the establishment of the first British trade union for women. Many feel that it was Annie Besant who was responsible for the success of this campaign, but she was rather the conduit through which these very brave women were able to get their voices and needs heard. They would have had very little power in their day. The Strike Committee: Mrs Mary Naulls, Mrs Mary Cummings, Sarah Chapman, Alice Francis, Kate Sclater, Mary Driscoll, Jane Wakeling, Eliza Martin…

You might enjoy the Matchgirls Memorial site, which includes a short video about the strike by a young American who was captured by the story and stories about the committee members from their descendents.

It wasn’t until 1901, after the Salvation Army opened its own match factory nearby using less toxic red phosphorus and paying better wages, that Bryant and May stopped using white phosphorous.

Some of the first welfare institutions in Britain for industrial workers began on this site and the factory finally closed in 1979, when it still employed 275 people. At its height more than 3,000 women and girls worked here. In 1988 the site was redeveloped, one of east London’s first urban renewal projects. It’s now a gated community of apartments. Most of them are in the former factory and office buildings dating from 1874. The beautiful Victorian cottages near the entrance were originally homes for the company directors. There are now modern buildings inside the gates. All of the buildings have American names: Arlington, Manhattan, Staten…

We were walking down to the back of the factory. The flats behind us were called Matchsticks Apartments

Colourful — I was struck by how modern and colourful this street was – we are heading towards the A12

Clayhall Tea House plaque — “On the front wall of 50 Blondin Street. In the 18th century, Londoners wanting to go for a jaunt into the country, often used to visit this tea house, which was situated to the east of the plaque. Some time before this, Samuel Pepys described in his diary how he visited Bow and had eaten a memorable dish of cherries and cream here.” (Into the country? Hard to imagine now.)

A12 — Who knows how many homes were destroyed to create this motorway? At first there were trees shielding against the sight and noise of it, then just a metal fence…

First glimpses — I had my first glimpses through the gate at the back, then there was a delivery area. Not much of a clue at this point what the whole would look like

Boundary moved plaque — It’s not clear why the boundary was moved at the back. There was a nice plaque that explained the strange ‘platform’ or curb that seemed without purpose. In this area all the lampposts were made to look like gaslights

It was a hot day, hotter than expected. We walked pretty slowly around from the back towards the side of the factory boundary. First we had to go under the railway bridge. It wasn’t very pretty. Underneath, the area was fenced off with signs of construction and new lampposts stacked up ready to be installed. I wondered if there’d be anything else there. Once you got past it and headed up towards the factory site, there were houses that must have been old but I’d never seen them before. They were completely out of old Bow character.

We were on Wrexham Road. The factory was to my right but you couldn’t see anything from this street. We walked up until we got to a low wall. From here I could see one turret from the original building, but also along the wall, some stone plaques. The wall seems to be much newer than the plaques.

I felt pretty excited to see the factory on Fairfield Road, but first we passed Bow Garage. It’s a huge hangar for London transport buses and, since it was daytime, there weren’t too many buses parked in there.

Houses opposite the garage — To understand this, you have to know that I grew up in a slum area in a ‘two up, two down’ (although it was actually more than two) terraced house where the door opened directly to the street. As a child I thought these houses were for rich people…

Finally, after going under the railway arch again, the red brick wall and buildings were in full sight. For more photos, you have to click More. Continue reading “Catching up and matchstick girls – Bryant and May”

24th June 2022

Bradford Day 1 – Arriving and Yorkshire Puddings

Wednesday, 16th June, 2022

I had left packing until the morning we left for Bradford. My packing phobia – what if I forget something? what if my packing takes forever and I miss the train? – is tempered by my eventual realisation that, as long as I had my medications, my phone, and my bank cards, I was going to be fine.

It was Krish who had decided on Bradford. Hard to say why really, and backed up by the number of people who, when I mentioned I was going to Bradford answered with ‘Why?’ or ‘Bradford? Well, I’m game for anything and anywhere really. Nothing to lose.

We’d been watching the weather forecast – rain, then no rain, then cool, then very warm. My preferred weather when going anywhere to explore is 15-21C, not windy, a few light showers OK. We were in for 23C on average. I anticipated lots of rest in between short excursions.

Traffic was crawling as we left Dalston and we decided to get on the tube for the rest of the journey – just one stop. This got us to Kings Cross with about 40 minutes to spare. I spent some time trying to upgrade our journey but the bidding was too high. Our train was at the very far end of the station but we got our seat and were on our way. A three-hour, easy journey with some brunch along the way.

Crowded tube — The tube was busy and we were the lone mask wearers

Busy Kings Cross — Kings Cross was busy. I hoped not too many of these would be on OUR train

Waiting at Kings Cross – the platform is sometimes announced very close to departure time, then it’s a rush!

Inside train carriage — Here we go again! We’re on our way

Quality Street poster — A promising sign – Quality Street is made in Bradford

Arriving at Bradford Station — And we arrived a minute or two early to a station that reminded me of Southend

I liked Bradford at first glance. It was more wide open than I’d expected and some of the architecture was quite arresting. It was an easy 10 or 15 minute walk to the hotel too, although the last bit was uphill for a short distance. We checked in, were told that we had to pay extra since I’d booked for only one. I was sure they were wrong but later on discovered they were right – oops. The hotel was a grand one and quite old. It felt official. When we got off the elevator, it took a while to get my bearings. Which way? I had to find a cleaner and ask where to go – ah, I see. But when we walked in we were in a small room with twin beds. Nothing to do but go back down to reception and get a new room and new keys. The ‘right’ room was large and very brown as usual (can the hotels please leave the 70s) with a king bed, bath and walk-in shower as requested. And no fridge. Damn – there go plans to have some food and real milk for tea available.

Henry Irving plaque — One of the strangest hotel plaques I’ve ever seen. Very encouraging!

We rested for just a short while and then wandered around the city centre. There was almost no one around and it was rough – lots of closed shops, lots of aimless and homeless people, indoor markets that had seen better days and no sign of anywhere promising for dinner. The markets were full of Indian places serving deep fried snacks and small crowds sitting together eating.

Bradford - wool city — I loved this needle and thread structure , which -reflects Bradford’s past as a major woollen textile producing city. Near the hotel and opposite Forster Square Station

Fascinating building — I was really attracted to this building, which was smothered with all sorts of signs and advertising posters. The busiest shop exterior I’ve ever seen!

Solly's Fruit and Veg — An interesting sight. In a city populated by many Asians today, there’s Solly’s – a reminder of a Jewish immigrant past, in Oestler Market

Here and there remnants of Eid — Some streets still had Eid lights. I was hoping they’d be switched on at night, but they’re waiting for next year…

Bradford has bid for and won city of culture for 2025 and remarked that they had a LONG way to go. I asked Krish where he thought the regeneration might be happening and then we saw where it would be – right next to a market, with hoarding all around….excavating – for something tall, I’m sure. This will be weird for the city, which is stuffed with very old (many, many listed) buildings housing pubs and nail bars and the like. We walked around a few blocks, managed some steep hilly streets, and took in the chaos. ‘It’s beat up and run down,’ I told Krish. He said ‘that’s the same thing’ but I don’t think so.

This isn’t the day we’d go in, but the Wool Exchange is an amazing building – the exterior is soiled but you can’t help noticing all the beautiful detail.

As you leave the Wool Exchange, and before you get to the Midland Hotel, there’s a brand new mall, The Broadway. We picked up a snack and some water and on up the hill to our room.

Now, my first mention of food. Bradford is known as the curry capital of the UK. It has a huge Asian population. How many Asian restaurants would you think there were? Two hundred! That’s what they say. So much curry that, when Krish and I did our usual ‘where to eat’ research, we couldn’t really see anything other than curry. There were a few pubs, some also serving curry, a bunch of burger places, some kebab shops, a couple of fish and chip cafes…one restaurant looked promising – the 1914 in the Alhambra theatre, but sadly it opened only during performances and we’d hit a period where nothing was playing. We did searches for Best Places to Eat in Bradford and Google was great at coming up with places…in Leeds. We were determined to not let this get to us and for the first night we’d 90% decided that we’d go to a nearby pub and have their Giant Yorkshires.

The menu read ‘A giant yorkshire pudding filled with your choice of filling from below, served with rich and tasty home made gravy.’ and below that – Yorkshire Burritos ‘Wonderful home cooked fillings wrapped in a light fluffy giant yorkshire pudding, served with rich and tasty home made gravy.’ We’d been to Yorkshire a couple of times and not been able to find a menu with Yorkshire pudding (very odd) so this is where we had to go.

Shoulder of Mutton — If they’d had food here, we would have gone. It looked so charming.

The City Vaults was once an old (Lloyds) bank built in 1880. This is a grade II listed building on a street intriguingly named Hustlergate. (Hustlergate is named for wool merchant John Hustler (1715-1790) a man credited with turning Bradford from a village into a city, a city which was to become the world centre of the wool textile industry because of his work.

We were an oddity in that pub, which was filled with half-drunken people who seemed at loose ends, many sitting alone. We shared a giant Yorkshire filled with a vinegary (was it red wine?) stew, and a Yorkshire burrito – a YP wrapped around pulled pork, stuffing and apple, accompanied with a large gravy boat. This was a heavy meal really so we didn’t try to eat it all but we’d done it – had a Yorkshire pudding in Yorkshire!

‘Home to bed’ and to ponder the obvious question. Is a Yorkshire pudding done better in Yorkshire? The answer – NO!

1st June 20221st June 2022

Nottingham 3 – The university, a tram journey and leaving

Friday, 20 May, 2022

The time had sped by. I’d been mostly sleepless overnight. The noise from the street was even heavier than the night before and when the sun started to rise in the morning there were still revelers slowly winding down their drunken, chatty, sing-y time out. I knew I was going to spend as much time resting before checking out as I could possibly wring out.

We made the unusual decision to go to the Wetherspoons pub across the road for a cheap breakfast. Before that I’d gone up to the top floor to see what Krish said was a rooftop restaurant – not there, just a short corridor filled with what I guessed were the fancier rooms. On the first floor, I checked to see what was on offer there. A lot of boring looking typical breakfast foods were sitting in their serving containers. Nothing to see here, so Wetherspoons it was. The pub is in a beautiful building called Lloyds, so a former bank? The inside was typical, quiet, vast and somewhat gloomy, We ordered our ‘American pancake breakfast’ – small for me, large for Krish. It arrived, the usual chewy-never-fluffy British take on an American pancake along with sausage for me, while Krish’s had sausages and eggs. Strangely, there was a layer of an attempt at streaky bacon in between my two pancakes. Amusing. But we were fed!

We looked about George Street, which had some interesting buildings and then I took some photos of the hotel, which itself has an interesting history as Nottingham’s oldest inn.

Viscosa House, George Street — Viscosa House – Krish wondered if it was Italian in some way – an ordinary building with some nice details. Now home to Attenborough Dental. Attenborough must be a Midlands name.

At the hotel, we continued to pack and check for stray items and took our case down for reception to store.

The last day of a trip is always an odd one. There are all the bits and pieces you haven’t seen yet, and the train journey is looming. We’ve had our share of almost missing those trains. Today was a day without much of a plan.

The plan we did have was to get a tram and bus pass and look about a bit further out. (This never happened.) Krish wanted to see the university campus and I wanted to see if we could see any signs of the original Boots building – Boots first store was in Nottingham and it was here that ibuprofen (originally Brufen) was developed by Dr Stewart Adams’ team in the late 50s, coming to stores in 1969 after several clinical trials. Boots had started as a herbalist on Goose Gate (just by our hotel) in 1849. I’d not done the research so didn’t notice the building. Later Krish told me he had seen it there. No photos.

We walked over to the university, which proved to not be very far away. You don’t have to walk too far from the centre of town to find yourself in more open and residential territory.

The university was just after the shopping centre area and before the road widened. On the way I’d checked to see if there was a market but there was no sign of one, only a few stalls and vans scattered in the side streets. I wasn’t finding it easy to walk anymore so I said no to climbing the steps up to some of the higher street areas, and Krish said he wouldn’t go alone but stay with me instead.

At the tram stop was a university building called Boots Library. I got excited, thinking that they might have some historic stuff in there, then saw they had a roof garden. I asked the security guard if I needed ID to get in and he let me know that, because it was exam week, no one was allowed in. I asked if I could use the lift to see the roof garden, since it was located right at the entrance but he said no again, telling me to come back in a couple of weeks. So no go. Disappointing but I’m glad I tried.

My tram ticket for the day was a concession price of £3, for Krish it meant £1 for any short hop (covering the four or five stops in the city centre) journey so he decided on that option. I love trams and try to go on one in every city we arrive in. This one wasn’t as modern inside as it looked outside. It was like a Toronto streetcar, but not newest generation.

We took it to the last stop for short hop – one station too far, said Krish as we got out in a sparse residential area. The suburbs had already begun just one stop south of the station. With nothing much to see here, we turned back to the city in search of a seat for me, and lunch for both of us. To be honest, I was done and knew I didn’t have another step in me.

But there were several hundred more! Looking for a restaurant, we fell into the usual frustrating trap of not seeing one that pleased us both. I was ready for a pizza and a seat but Krish is dairy-phobic right now so that was out. We sat in a Chinese restaurant looking at an uninspiring menu, then left. We walked around the block and back again, settling for a very disappointing fish and chips between us. It was so bad but I had my seat and enjoyed the rest. I really didn’t care what we ate.

We had a little time before we needed to head to the station and I wanted to see Sneinton Market. There were signs pointing to it so I asked Krish to go find it and let me know if it was worth the hilly walk. He came back into view and waved me to come down the hill. The market is a small area of shops in two or three rows. It was very quiet. Two young women sat eating the mandatory avocado on toast outside a shop. I considered buying chocolate and then left without it, took a few photos and out of the market again. Not really worth it, not at that time of day at least.

Sneinton Market - deserted — Sneinton Market – deserted

Up the hill again, grab the suitcase, a quick hop into Sainsburys to get a drink and a snack for later, and then to the tram stop. I had my ticket already and Krish would get a short hop. I had a mental block when the tram arrived suddenly and went into Toronto mode thinking he could buy his ticket on the tram. In I went and, as the door closed behind me, noticed that Krish wasn’t with me but was at the ticket machine at the stop. A forehead slapping moment. Luckily his tram arrived just a couple of minutes after mine. There was a lift down to the station hall waiting area and we were about 20 minutes early. There were absolutely no seats available anywhere and Krish went off to explore the area promising to be back within 15 minutes. I was really relieved to see him about 10 minutes later. I’d had to stand the whole time and knew that Krish was often late for things. But all was fine, we got down to our train and were on our way home.

The journey to St Pancras went by quickly. On our way down the escalator I noticed a huge queue doubling back on itself right across the central hallway of the station. As we headed towards the exit and turned the corner, the queue continued gathering strength with at least one double-back. There were masses of people and my only guess what this was now how it looked when you take the Eurostar during Covid and Brexit. This was a really sobering thought. We’d travelled by Eurostar many times and never encountered more than a few people in the queue ahead of us. Mind boggling.

The bus was coming just as we reached the street, the easiest connection from Kings Cross that we’d ever made. From the bus to our Hackney stop, to the flat, a light dinner, a cup of tea or two and finally back to our own bed. Nottingham done!

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Nottingham 2 – Old friends and castles – A very full day

Thursday, 19 May, 2022

We’ve remarked since our Nottingham visit how the ‘Quarter’ system in Norwich and Colchester might not be so silly after all. Not for tourists, at any rate. Quarters, which although pretentious, allowed us to explore areas in good-sized portions and kept us organised. Nottingham seemed to have a large central and spreading core, surrounded by randomness. Yes, the map showed neighbourhoods, but they weren’t as cohesive as those other places. We weren’t as focussed as we, or at least I, wanted to be. I expect to find out I missed something super important or I actually see things I think I didn’t but I’ll focus on what I do remember seeing, for now.

The full day of any trip is full indeed, as you will see.

As an afterthought I’ve done a map to help readers navigate.

The blue area was around the train station. Orange is the old area including the Lace Market. Yellow is Hockley, where our hotel was. Green is the city centre. Purple is the university and pink is the castle. Now we all know.

Thursday morning we talked briefly about breakfast and I decided that I’d get dressed while it was still early and go to any place that was open in the pedestrian street by the hotel for a sandwich type thing to bring back to the hotel. I chose Hockley Kitchen at the corner. They were just setting up and here I was to disturb their routine. I ordered a bagel (cream cheese and smoked salmon) then wondered which sandwich to get for Krish. So I ordered that too (his dairy-free life cross so many things off the list). This caused confusion – I paid a very reasonable sum at the till and waited at a seat where I could watch life outside. When my bag arrived only Krish’s sandwich was inside. Somehow, maybe because I was alone, they thought I’d changed my mind from the bagel to the sandwich. They hustled to make the bagel…hustled slowly. No fast food here. I thought then about how so far Nottingham folk weren’t the warm, chatty sort. My attempts at some idle chatter and humour were mostly wasted. I hope to have my mind changed some time.

This morning I was meeting an old work friend, Sue. We’d arranged it some time ago when Krish realised that Lincoln, where she lives, isn’t so far away from Nottingham. She was coming in for lunch and Krish had booked at Fletcher’s again. She messaged me earlier than expected that she was in town and I let her know that I’d get dressed and meet her. Krish would go solo exploring until lunch time.

Meet me at the lions, Sue said. It felt very Nottinghamy. Those lions! I have to say it was an easy task – straight down the gentle hill on the lower pedestrian street to the Old Market Square, where I sat at Leo’s feet and waited, watching people walk by and contemplating my new surroundings. This wasn’t London – no rushing about, no sense of urgency, a quieter form of chaos. Sue arrived and we walked around a few streets chatting until we found a good bench to sit at. I was in yet another shopping street, an older one. Sue told me I was in the less attractive side of town now, the bit that hadn’t been regenerated yet. It felt only slightly shabbier with perhaps fewer people.

To our left was a tunnel where Sue said we’d go to get to lunch. At this point I felt quite disoriented. Surely the tunnel was leading away from where we needed to go. I questioned it but Sue said, yes, it was going the right way, while I decided to remember my poor orienteering skills and go where I was led. The tunnel had a security gate – airport style – at the entrance, and police officers standing by. Was something going on, we asked? Apparently not. We didn’t have to go through the gate at all – not suspicious enough, I suppose. Maybe this was football-related, we never did find out. The tunnel was of hoardings – a long diverting wooden structure, lined with childish but interesting paintings showing Nottingham’s history.

When we came out of the tunnel, our place on the map made more sense. We’d turned left to the tunnel and now we would be heading left again in the direction I hoped the college would be. Right beside us was a large modern Broadmarsh bus station and car park where Sue had parked earlier. It wasn’t until later I realised this was the same bus station we’d seen when we came out from the train the day before. The place is completely new and very modern and spacious. It’s not open yet but will be amazing when it is. I thought back to Victoria Bus Station, that seemed barely changed over the years. Something like this would be fantastic. Sue had already made friends with the security guard who told us the best way to get out of the mammoth building and on to Fletcher’s.

It was easy – out the door, straight ahead and we were already almost at Fletcher’s door. And we were early so sat in the sunshine chatting until Krish arrived – ten minutes late but finally there.

Fletcher’s experience was more relaxed than the evening before. We all had a good meal, chatting about old times and what’s next. I miss this sort of interaction with real humans. The pandemic had robbed me of that. My usual weekly meetings with friends and having people over and returning their visits seem distant. How to get them back? Sue hadn’t left yet and I already felt lonely.

Something about Fletcher’s. It’s a great idea to search out culinary school restaurants. You can’t do better really and I recommend it. I had a funny chat with one of the student chefs. On the walls were framed chef shirts signed by the chefs who had visited here. Pierre Marco White was one – and he had two shirts. The young chef was enthusiastic, telling me that this was the chef he most wanted to meet and emulate. His eyes were shining. He told me that on his shirt PMW had signed ‘Hurry Cooling,’ which meant that you wanted the food to cool down so that you could eat it. I was amused – I am quite sure it read “Happy Cooking.” Which one of us was right?

Krish and I had noticed the church up on the hill and some older streets just before the restaurant so that was our next adventure. This is Lace Market. a historic quarter-mile square area. It was the centre of the world’s lace industry, now a protected heritage area. The streets here were interesting and we found some nice little passages and architectural details. Continue reading “Nottingham 2 – Old friends and castles – A very full day”

27th May 2022

Nottingham 1 – Arriving and Central Nottingham

Wednesday, 18 May, 2022

Nottingham has also been on my list and was the last trip we took during the Rail Sale. Just like Norwich, we planned three days, two nights and booked our hotel.

Our train was leaving from St. Pancras at 11:35 and unlike the mad scramble we’d had when going to Sheffield and Leicester, we allowed plenty of time and had a short wait at the station.

Since we were last here they opened The Francis Crick Institute, a biomedical research institute. On my list!

The train ride went by quickly. And we got to Nottingham about 13:10.

When we first left the station I was reminded of Leicester. The street ahead of us was very quiet and lined with red brick buildings. After a block or two we turned in front of a new bus station and the college and up a hill where the tram tracks ran on an elevated road. Just a few blocks up and we reached our hotel, The Mercure.

The area we were staying in – Hockley – was considered trendy, bohemian. It was a small grid of streets with a pedestrianised central road lined with small restaurants and bars. We’d decided on Chinese food before we got there but had to choose between three. The area seems to have a bit of a Chinatown and we ended up in one that had two large posters showing that Giles Coren had loved this place. We thought it would be fun to see if Giles was right.

The restaurant was Shanghai Shanghai. We ordered eggplant with green beans and rice, some crispy chilli beef and something called Sweetie Pumpkin Tarts – a sweet-for-sure pumpkin croquette that tasted like dessert. The verdict – Giles Coren hasn’t a clue!

Time to explore a bit. The first thing we discovered was that Nottingham is full of ‘chambers.’ I’ll assume these little hidden mews were solicitors’ offices that have been turned into small cafes and boutiques. They were everywhere. What does this say about Nottingham, that there were so many lawyers?

Meandering just off the main pedestrian way to the market square we came across a church and more alleyways and chambers, but once back onto the busier area we found The Exchange. Saying we found it is a bit silly. How can you miss it?

As soon as we went in, I told Krish that we were surely back in Turin or even Naples. The whole thing looked just like every Italian galleria.
The Exchange Buildings were built between 1927 and 1929, replacing an earlier 18th century building. It was Nottingham’s first shopping centre occupied at that time by Joseph Burton. In the 80s it was called Burtons Arcade before it was refurbished to its present state. I found a virtual tour. See what you think. The Exchange adjoins The Council House, which houses a 200ft high dome. Under the dome at the top are four murals, each showing a key historic time for the city. I photographed the one showing Robin Hood and later Krish took photos of all of them, which will follow in a later post.

Council House is home to Little John, the ‘deepest bell in the UK’ – with an E flat tone. We had heard this bell chiming each quarter hour – where was it, we asked – and remarked that it sounded exactly like Big Ben, an unexpected sound in little Nottingham. Turns out that we aren’t the only ones since it has been considered as a replacement should the ‘delipidated’ Big Ben fail. We’d hear the bell and think, where is it, why does it sound like Big Ben, and then wondered if it came from the Whitechapel Bell Foundry (it doesn’t – it’s from John Taylor & Co).

The Old Market Square had no market, and we never saw one while there. It’s pretty vast and people sit around any area that has ledges. I felt it had huge potential for more and I’m sure there must be events at times, but not while we were there. One story said it was the largest public square in England (UK?) while another said it was the second largest. In front of the Council House were two stone lions – nicknamed Oscar (on the right) and the much-loved Leo (on the left). Krish took a liking to Leo and I got to see this Nottingham pet up close the following day. Continue reading “Nottingham 1 – Arriving and Central Nottingham”