This isn’t the first time I’ve blogged about Hackney Wick, and it’s likely not to be the last time. The thing about the area is that it’s changing – rapidly. In a nutshell, it’s gentrifying. When I first arrived in Hackney, I found out that I lived close to a community of artists – largest in Europe, it claimed – so I wandered over. What I found back in those early 2000s days was a largely derelict area, kind of like a rambling collection of industrial parks, and being me, I was fascinated with the whole thing. I took photos back in those days – of walls and buildings covered in art, some accomplished, some scribblings, and of letterboxes and doors. No official nameplates there – just painted and written flat numbers outside old factories with names listed one below the other. I had flashbacks of being in San Francisco and of communes, everyone in together.
There was a street festival every year, Hackney WickED, so I went back for it. People sat around on the ground, on fire escapes, at booths. There were others spray painting new art. There were cafes, often vegetarian or the not talked about so much in those days vegan. There was live music. I walked by the canal and saw people sitting on rickety chairs. Beatnik, hippy, arty, unconventional, rebellious, eco warrior…I could go on.
I remember going to the Hackney Pearl – everybody loved that place and I thought I must be missing out. One visit there cured me of that. There was a Banksy in those days by the canal. I remember that. The whole place was a mess but somehow glorious. The Olympics changed all that. Hackney Wick was somewhat exempt, being on the over side of the canal to all the action, but it was brushed and that’s all it took.
One by one the scrapyards and the factories tumbled – converted or demolished. The artist-heavy community rebelled. They were always good at that. As far as I can tell, they didn’t get too far, although there are holdouts. What you see in Hackney Wick today is the remnants of what used to be alongside the very smart, but sadly no-personality luxury loft conversions and luxury flats. They have names that are a nod to the past – Bagel Factory, Shoe Factory, Ceramic Works. They don’t fix the past.
The protests continue…for some. Interestingly, in the local paper an interview with an older resident was glowing about all the changes. What works for some doesn’t for others.
Protest art on the side of the Hackney Pearl
The Lord Napier Pub has often been featured as an icon for Hackney Wick, since it’s been covered in graffiti for many years. It also happens to be Hackney Wick’s only pub something I find quite inconceivable for this city of pubs on every corner. On the other hand, Hackney Wick is perhaps just a corner. It’s posh inside now and the art continues (with new works by Tizer, Sweet Toof, Phelgm, Run, Mighty Mo, ThisOne, Oust, DKAE, Lucky, BuskOne, Will Barras, Greg Abbott, Teddy Baden & Cept.) I’ve also heard they have good Northern Thai food, but I haven’t been able to try it yet.
Lord Napier pub before regeneration (not taken by me)The Lord Napier today
On these next photos, with the ominous Phlegm figure threatening with an overhead anvil on the left, you can see the very modern building that’s now close to it.
The map shows how compact the area is and also a rough guess at where we walked. I’m sure I must have left some off but I have a terrible sense of direction and get completely turned around in my memory and in real life. The photos show some interesting sights along the way.
We had plans to eat while at Hackney Wick. I was quite keen to try the food at the pub, but Krish suggested we look for pizza and did some research to see where. He chose Natura. At first it didn’t look like much. A pizza and pasta place at the end of a street where the housing estate is. Inside there were rough wooden block tables with bench seats. At lunch time many of the regular sized pizzas are served with a drink for 8.40, about a third less than at dinner. We ordered a pizza with ham and some spaghetti with meat sauce. They were really friendly in there and we were relaxed, the only people in there. The server told us that it was usually a busy place in the evening but lunch times were quiet – so cheaper pizza! The pasta was so so, the pizza was well done. Krish wants to go back for lunch again and get a different pizza.
The estate hasn’t changed at all. I wonder how the residents feel about their area and all the changes it’s gone through, and their new well-heeled neighbours. And come to think of it, the estate is the third face of Hackney Wick.
We noticed a lot of orange-based graphics as we walked, along White Post Lane. It wasn’t until I got home and read the local Wick paper that I learned more. The artwork was an initiative called Paint the Town Orange by an enterprise called MEUS. MEUS is a tech company focused on the fitness and wellbeing of men. Ten top street artists created art to raise awareness for men’s mental health during men’s mental health month, November 2021. Here are just some of the pieces we saw on our walk.
The heart of Hackney Wick is small enough to discover all in one go, but we tend to take things in smaller bites, especially when they are so close by. There’s a barbecue spot I’ve been wanting to try for quite some time so there’s a good reason to be back soon. We headed back towards the Lord Napier, to our bus stop, and home for tea!
I already knew that Sheffield is a mecca for street art. One of the foremost street artists, Phlegm, is based there. He once did a huge mural in Toronto and I went by a few times, once seeing him at work and, when he came to get a coffee (black) at the bar where I was sitting, I uncharacteristically lost my nerve to say hello and ask him some questions. Well, I’m not always that person. To be honest, I don’t really like the St Clair mural he did then and I don’t understand why he diverted somewhat from his usual style. Whatever that is, I’ve seen it elsewhere in the world because it’s unique and unmistakable.
But…back to Sheffield. I had a street art map and some notes from my friend, Susanne. I also knew that I couldn’t walk that much so I would see what I’d see, not look for anything specific, and I was sure to come across things in the centre of town. This page is a landing space for the art I did see.
I have almost definitely put some things in twice (you may not even notice, but tell me if you do) and I will caption only the ones I have something to say about.
On Kelham Island – You could insert yourself into the scene and these young women were taking photos of each other doing just that. They scurried away when they saw me ready to take a photo. Considerate!
On Kelham Island – There was a good representation of art made from different coloured bricks in walls. I’d seen this done in Milan before…Framed art on Kelham Island. It was a bit curious seeing it there, tucked out of the way in a little mews type road – would be a lovely spot to live
More brick art near Castlegate. This one seemed iconic – its called Steelworker
We were on our way out of Sheffield to the train station and we passed this hill. There’s no way I could have climbed it, no matter how much I wanted to. It’s a goal nowSign language near the train station – can anyone read it?OK – Gruesome!
These last three photos are Phlegm art
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Phlegm art taken by Krish when he wandered without me
Looking out of my window this morning, I saw the white tagging on the black utility box opposite being swiftly painted over by some Hackney workers. They posted a notice on the box, no doubt discouraging any future painting. As if they could really.
Eliminating street art
Not all street art is skilled. I’m particularly not fond of the lettering graffiti or so-called tagging, which is just scrawled writing, often on top of other nicer art. I used to like Banksy, but got bored of the political statements and sameness, although he still produces some nice images. In fact, I’ve had favourites that fall from the top of my list as my tastes change or I get weary of the consistent style.
Down in Penge, there’s a street art group that nurtures and organises street art in South-East London. I’m pretty sure there’s nothing in East London, which strikes me as odd when so there’s so much here.
If you’re a fan, you’ll find a lot in Penge and Annerly, Camden, Croydon, Shoreditch and thereabouts. Hackney Wick has always been plastered with art, but this is changing as the new luxury flats and corporate offices are appearing. (Time to go back and see how that’s coming along.) Hackney Central and Dalston aren’t really on the list. I find it, of course – this is London – but there’s not a lot of note. Perhaps if someone produced something splendid on that black box there’d be less hurry to paint it over…
Walking down Brick Lane a few weeks ago, I decided to photograph some of the lesser known, not as attractive stuff. I wonder how long it would take to cover the length of Brick Lane on both sides, taking in the streets that intersect it… Even when it’s untidy or unskilled, or just consists of ‘paste-ups,’ the colour and chaos lifts my mood and intrigues me. Some of it has been there for so many years that I no longer know what came first and what might have popped up recently. The chaos of it creates equal chaos in my brain – how can I remember it all when it’s like a giant memory game. In fact, if anything here is posted twice, it won’t surprise me.
I’m putting this next one last so I can explain: it’s a Dan Kitchener art piece that’s been tagged over and over. Now, Dan often includes some tagging in his own art, a sort of tongue-in-cheek nod to the practice. The original art is now pretty much hidden, but look at the droplets of water he created. I’m glad they’re still there. He’s famous for rain soaked, multi-reflective and muted work and this is a great reminder of that.
Not actual street art but the instantly recognisable Doc Martens soles – clever pavement artOakley street art inspired pavement stencil. Increasingly, corporations are taking note and these days you’re likely to see corporate-sponsored art by known street artists on the walls around town. Maybe it’s a slippery slope…On Brick Lane, many shops have art over the whole facade, sometimes only the doors. This one has decorated the outside, inspired by everything around it
On the weekend, I went on a walk called Global Dalston. I learned something about Dalston’s multiethnic roots. I’ll blog about that another time.
The one nice Dalston mural in Gillet Square is obscured by hoarding as they regenerate. I hope it’s left intactOn Kingsland Road, I wasn’t sure if this was street art or painted by the business, or sponsored by them. No signature
Sometimes I take people on a walk and it always includes street art. Occasionally, I pick up cues that the person with me has zero interest in what I’ve shown them. That’s OK. It’s not for everyone. I have friends who think street art is nothing but vandalism. I have friends who favour street artists I don’t care for. It’s nice when a disinterested person walking with me is tempted to take out their phone and capture the art for themselves. When I think about taste in art, my mum comes to mind. She was an accomplished artist who showed talent from a young age, but whose art career was cut short by WW2 and then marriage. She was repulsed by black velvet paintings and said so at every sighting – ‘They have terrible taste.’ One day I couldn’t resist – ‘You know, mum, thousands of people love them. Maybe it’s your taste that’s off.’ It was naughty of me and earned me a sideways glare, but there it is.
I’ve always liked dereliction and chaos, unattracted by tidiness and order. I put it down to my childhood, growing up in what people called the slums and I called home, playing in the bomb-damaged streets, and my earliest memories of London as a crumbling, sooty, rundown city that I somehow loved. Maybe I’m right about where this love came from and maybe I’m not. No point in making excuses. I see no merit in Picasso. Taste is taste.
This is the saga of going to Southend for our first overnight visit since September 2019. When I started writing it out, I thought it would be a short one. I was wrong.
I suppose we all romanticise about how a holiday will be. This one had a pretty rocky start – let the fortune telling begin.
We hadn’t seen my aunt, who will be 94 this summer, since late 2019. We both knew that, once we were vaccinated and things weren’t so weird, it would be our first visit anywhere. Krish suggested that we spend overnight in a hotel and see her for a short time on both days. We were a bit back and forth, to make sure everything fit – we were going for two days, we were going for one day, he wasn’t going at all, he might come for a bit – and then there we were, on our way.
But first there was a railcard glitch. Railcards are a great thing. There are various kinds, but each will give you 30% off train travel. Ours was a Two Together card – as long as we travelled together we got the discount. I let this one lapse over the pandemic, so I couldn’t simply renew it and reuse the old photos. Many snaps later against a pale background and I created my digital card with our photos. I needed to get an app for my phone and then I could open it if I were asked. Only the app wouldn’t download. I tried many times over the next few hours. Krish tried it too and had no luck with his phone. The morning we were to travel, I tried again and gave up after a couple of hours. With any luck, no one would ask for our card.
Krish left for his appointment at Guys and half an hour later I left to wait for him at Liverpool Street Station.
Liverpool Street Station is busier these days. I sat near platform 12I love the roof at Liverpool Street Station
Then another setback. Krish’s appointments have been brief and he’d booked earlier than usual so that we could get away around 11am. It was unlikely we could get the 11:06 train but the 11:33 seemed promising. At 10:57 he texted ‘very busy here today, the wait is at least an hour.’ I let my aunt know that not only would we be late but that we might not be able to get the fish and chips she always asked for. They close from 2-4:30pm. Nothing to do but relax in the station with a drink.
And I tried the app again. It downloaded quickly the first time. So much for my internet provider at home. Time to switch!
Then at 11:18 another text ‘finished, just getting dressed’. we’d missed the 11:33 so took the 11:54. It was the hottest day of the year, at 30C but the train was a new, air conditioned one. We sat in first class, no one bothered us.
On his way to meet me, Krish ran into some sample people – there was iced coffee or gelato. This is what he chose, being a chocoholic. We shared it on the train – Hackney Gelato, of course. In this heat it turned liquid after a whileArriving at Southend Victoria Station. Wearing the mask the whole time wasn’t so bad. I switched to a lighter, disposable one
While Krish went for fish and chips, I walked on to my aunt’s. She lives on the top floor of a house. I think she owns the whole house, but I’m not quite sure. The bottom is rented out. This area is quite suburban and doesn’t feel like it’s only one mile from the shore.
It’s hard to see my aunt look smaller and thinner. It makes me realise that, although these journeys are hard, there won’t be many more of them, if at all. We spent the afternoon eating our fish and chips, sitting while she watched tennis at Queens, and chatting about times gone by. It felt like only yesterday that we’d done this before, and at the same time a very long time ago. The plan was to come back for a brief visit the next day, so off we went to our hotel saying we could play it by ear and call her in the morning to see what she wanted to do
At the bus stop where my aunt lives. This is a new build. We’ve seen it being built over the years. Even this old suburban area is changingOn my aunt’s street. It’s a pretty dayThe two-tone house is our destinationWe always order the same thing – two pieces of haddock, a large chips. It’s the nicest we’ve had anywhere and the pieces of fish are really large.
We took two buses to the hotel. the second one had a really grumpy driver who just grunted when I asked if he were headed the right way. We seemed to be going far out of our way but I got off when my bus app prompted me and there it was, right besides us, the Premier Inn.
I’d wanted to stay somewhere fancier really, but this was cheap and basic for one night. I took no photos of the room. Once in, it was nap time.
We were in a hotel right on the Eastern Esplanade. This was the view from the landing near the lift.And this was the gorgeous view from our roomPremier Inn, Eastern Esplanade, built in the old gasworks
We woke up around 8pm and started the process of finding some dinner. Definitely not burgers, maybe a milkshake, though. The hot day had turned a bit cooler, but a walk might be nice, to see what we could see.
One interesting sight when leaving the hotel were two big concrete blocks. We looked closer. They had been put here in 1940 during World War II.
The War Office had seen how flat the Southend foreshore was, the gentle slope to the beach leading up to a sloping seawall and then on to the footpath and onto the road, many roads coming off leading to the heart of Southend would have offered any invading force an easy way to encroach deep in land, setting up a beach head for further landing.
Southend is very flat and during war times the slope that the beach makes would have made it easy for invading forces to creep up on the town. To help prevent this happening, the War Office built 1,804 concrete anti-tank blocks long the entire length of the seafront on the edge of the esplanade. They strung barbed wire between them. This must have been an incredible sight. The beach itself was lined with scaffolding intertwined with more barbed wire.
When the war was over, the structures were removed, and the blocks were destroyed leaving only two, opposite the gas works, now the Premier Inn. However, on 31st January 1953 there was a huge storm, bringing large quantities of water from the Atlantic and the North Sea southwards. To make things worse, the storm was reaching its peak just as high tide was due. The storm surged 5.6 meters above normal sea levels. There was flooding at the Kursaal, Gasworks, Esplanades and roads along the seafront.It was worse nearby and 59 people were killed at Canvey. After this disaster, a raised seawall was built. We were walking beside it.
“On the threat of invasion by the German Forces in 1940, 1804 of these concrete blocks were constructed on this sea front as part of the coastal defences.”
The walk beside the sea wall started out quietly. Southend is one of those seaside towns that must once have been genteel. I imagine ladies in long skirts and hats strolling by the beach with their parasols. I imagine that more than I imagine rowdy kids, red-faced dads with their trousers rolled up and handkerchiefs knotted on their heads, exactly like the naughty postcards that were around when I was younger. Today I’d describe Southend as a tacky seaside resort. It has a dark yellow sand, and when the tide is out, it seems like it goes out for miles. Britain’s beaches can be like that. I have very fond memories of such beaches, waiting till dark and going out with our buckets and spades and digging for cockles, which made a lovely late dinner. There were people out there now, digging. There are arcades, ice cream shops, kiosks selling burgers, hot dogs, chips, candy floss in little plastic buckets, big round lollipops in lurid colours, sets of buckets and spades, cheap sunglasses, plastic fishing nets…but i didn’t see any sticks of rock.
I love being by the sea. As afraid as I am of water, I feel alive near bodies of water. Is it the London in me? I’m not sure. My father loved to swim, although rarely did as he grew older. I never learned how, much to dad’s exasperation and disappointment. My grandfather was a dedicated fisherman, and I often went with him on his fishing days, stopping to buy mealworms from the tackle shop – I remember they were packed in screw top tins and I’d peer at them crawling around together. And now I love the smell of the ocean. I could wake up to it every day and never tire of it, I think. When I said so, Krish surprised me by saying how much he hated it. Wow.
Southend has the longest pleasure pier in the world at 1.33 miles. You can walk along it, or you can take a little train the whole way. I haven’t done this for a very long time and I wasn’t doing to this time either. It will cost you £5.60 to take the train, £2 to walk! The link above will tell you more than you need to know – the fishing, the crazy golf, the fairground rides, the museum… and it will show you the photos that are more pristine than my own.
We’d taken a path beyond the road, closer to the beach. As we walked, it got louder and more crowded. There were loads of kids, small and larger crowds. The Essex accents filled the air loudly, the swearing, the arguing, the slightly drunken chats. We left the path and went back to the main street.
Over the raised sea wall, the tide was going out. You can see the dark yellow sand, the almost-muddy shell-strewn shelf, and the pier stretching out in the middle of the photoThe view as we walked west along the Eastern EsplanadeAcross one of the carparks, we could see a large gathering. We stayed well clear.
None of the diners or kiosks had anything we wanted. There was plenty of fish and chips, of course – the mainstay of any British seaside town. We settled on a takeout from a Chinese restaurant not too far from the hotel. It had a large dining room and smaller section for takeout. The food was terrible but not too terrible – the usual soupy mess that passes for good Chinese food here in the UK. We ate most of it and got ready for bed.
This passes for Chinese food everywhere in the UK, but it was edible and filled our empty bellies
The forecast had promised a hot day for Wednesday and thunderstorms all day Thursday. The rain fell overnight and we slept through the storm. When we woke, the sky was leaden and the tide was in.
The short version of trying to have breakfast in a seaside hotel during a pandemic follows. At 9am we went down for breakfast. bit of a story before anyone spoke to us, but they told us we couldn’t come in because we didn’t have a booking. I knew that most restaurants now need a booking to keep numbers down, but the room was very quiet and no one had told us about booking when we’d checked in. I somehow thought that being a hotel guest would make things different. I was wrong. We booked for 10am and went back to our room.
At 10 we went back down. we got seated in a dark place behind a column. we ordered some food. ‘all you can eat’ but we started slowly, not knowing what it would be like. We had some pancakes. Krish had a (small) sausage and one poached egg and some toast. I ordered one sausage, black pudding and a grilled tomato. We both ordered tea. When they brought the tea Krish asked for more tea. Once they delivered it, we didn’t see them again. There was a loud episode where a man let the wait staff know he’d been sitting with no service for some time. Then a man and his daughter showed up and were turned away. They told him he had no booking and breakfast ended at 10:30. Krish decided he wanted more food – we really hadn’t had much at this point. but no one showed up and we’d been asked to remain at our table. Eventually someone walked by and Krish told them he wanted to order. They told him breakfast was finished. I paid the bill while a disgruntled Krish stood by, promising to let them know what he thought of their ‘all you can eat’ breakfast. I’d say I ate enough, but I agree that it wasn’t very much for my money and shouldn’t be called ‘unlimited.’
The mostly empty dining roomAs advertised – Unlimited. Krish wants to complainMy breakfast – slice of toast, a small sausage, a slice of black pudding, and half a grilled tomatoTwo pancakes with some fruit and Nutella. Small and not so fluffy but who can resist?
There was an hour till check out and, while waiting, my aunt called to say that she felt very rude but could we not come back today? I’ll confess to feeling a little annoyed and sad, but I’d been prepared for this. It was dark and raining now, not the best day for wandering around, so should we just head home? We decided we would walk slowly back to the station and leave, seeing what we could along the way.
We checked out and walked in the spitting rain all along the esplanade, past loads of sleazy diners, takeaway kiosks, amusement arcades and rides towards the elevator that took us up to the town level. Krish remarked that Southend was interesting in all its ugliness. He’s right and I think there’s more to explore here, as long as you have a clue what you’re looking out. Many of the buildings dated from the early 1800s, some the 1700s.
One interesting building is the Kursaal. (The link is worth reading.) It was built in 1901 and was the world’s first purpose-built amusement park. The iconic building was on acres of land, used as gardens and fairgrounds. Inside there was a ballroom, a circus, an arcade, and dining room. In more recent years, there was a casino and a bowling alley. Like many such buildings, it’s had a turbulent history and is the victim of disuse and extortionate rents. Its future is shaky.
The Kursaal, opened in 1901 as the world’s first purpose-built amusement park attracting both locals and tourists. No one knows its future.
Along the way to town there are lots of colourful seaside attractions.
Fish and chips fish and chips fish and…more chippies than pubs
And before we left Southend, I had to walk along the beach and gather some seashells. It was quiet, it was very cool and a bit rainy, and the wooden piers and jetties are in bad shape, but they’re all part of the seaside experience here.
Southend beach is down what must have once been a cliff. There are stairs to climb to get down there. At the pier, there is an area with an elevator that takes you to up the town level.
From the elevator platform, across the fairground to the pierFrom the elevator platform towards the town centreThe Royal Hotel, a listed property was built in 1791 as a former haunt of Royalty and Aristocracy. It’s been restored and modernised and now has a ground floor cocktail bar and lounge, and a Ballroom on the first floor. I’d love to have afternoon tea here
We walked along the pedestrian high street towards the train station. Some other time I will take photos of all of the crazy buildings but today was not that day. In better weather we would have also done something else – we still want to go to Old Leigh for example. We’d planned to after seeing her Aunt Ruth that day, but not with our suitcase and in the rain.
It was an uneventful journey home. We arrived around 3pm and spent a nap-filled afternoon, having some soup for dinner.
Not the romantic interlude I’d hoped for but it’s done. And the thing is, will we ever go again? Aunt Ruth looks like she’s fading. Krish’s surgery is in July – will we ever hear when – and it’s an expensive journey for a short visit. No bargain fares can be had, even with our discount. It remains to be seen, but Krish swears that the next trip we take will be a nicer hotel and perhaps we’ll make it so.
I really am getting out more. I’m more relaxed about how much my knee hurts while I’m out there and how much it will hurt later! That doesn’t mean I’m actually relaxed, but compared to a month ago, yes. As well, the rain and very dreary weather has pretty much eased up. We even have a sort of intermittent heatwave (which is actually a paradox). Standard moan – yeah, the flipping mask, the crutch, the bag or two, the camera, the phone, the juggling of the whole damned thing makes walking a challenge, and taking photos even more so. I take my photos in a hurry, I see things I just know stopping for to do my juggling act won’t cut it…I think to myself, if only I could just take these photos with my eyes, with my voice…and, you know what, there probably is an easier way and perhaps I need to explore that – or at least figure out why my Huawei phone doesn’t allow me to voice-activate with ‘Smile’ or ‘Cheese’ like my LG phone did. And that’s that! Krish bought me a Gimble, look it up. I know there are great opportunities with it, but I fret about how to use it and how to hold it and how to carry it around. Hmm.
I’d love to get out of my comfort zone a bit with these journeys, see somewhere or something new. At the same time, this is what I can manage, so accept the same old territory. I really do see new things, or old things with new eyes. It helps. For now, at least, I’m treading the same ground.
Anyway, I finally saw the Afghan dresses – fewer of them were displayed than I expected, but I saw them last Wednesday on the hottest day of 2021, at 27C. I went with my friend, Christine.
Above Honest Burgers at 12 – 13 Widegate Street, there are four glazed sculpted panels showing the various stages of baking bread – installed in 1926. They mark the location of the Nordheim Model Bakery, which rustled up beigels and other Jewish delights for those who lived in the surrounding alleyways and beyondKings Stores pub, 14 Widegate Street, is named because it was the site of a huge munitions store under Henry VIII. In this area is Artillery Street and Passage, as well as Gun Street
Inside Townhouse at last, we asked to see the dresses and went through to the small gallery building at the back – it’s the size of a small living room. The exhibition was smaller than expected, but the dresses were lovely. You can read what inspired the exhibit and the dresses’ owner here. I enjoyed seeing the ideas the dresses’ creators had. The mirrors, embroidery, extra braiding and stitching. I mentioned to Chris, it reminded me of the shirts I’d made Jimmy (my first real boyfriend) when I had no idea how to make clothes, but pieced them together in shapes, creating curves with my stitches and not my scissors. You could buy these pieces. They ranged around £250-350.
Townhouse is a lovely store with antiques and crafts, Fournier Street
