Sunday, April 1st 2012
We are off to Hastings today, that ever intriguing town with so many historic associations. Despite the sunshine, it is quite chilly and I have a scarf and gloves for extra warmth. We walked down the hill to St Pancras and while Tigger queued for tickets I went upstairs to the Camden Food Co only to find them closed. Instead we made do with coffee and croissants from Paul. We had breakfast on the HS1 as it speeded south.
Caterpillar
Dormant for the rest of the train ride
I have more than once wished that human beings could, like bears, spend the winter in hibernation. The idea of curling up warm and pulling up the duvet over my head to shut out the winter gloom and cold, holds a peculiar attraction for me. It cannot be, of course, because humans, whose ancestors evolved and developed their main characteristics in the tropics, do not hibernate. Shivering under layers of artificial fur, we needs must endure the frigid season as best we can.
These thoughts returned to haunt me the past week because I have in the last few days experienced what the travel industry – if it were to offer hibernation deals – might call a “mini-hibernation break”. Even though I did not sleep all the time nor forgo the pleasant chore of eating and drinking, I remained indoors and my activity was constrained to a low level,
In One of those weeks, I told you I had been suffering the effects of a heavy cold and that, as is usual with me, the wretched malady headed straight for my lungs. My worst days were, I think, Thursday and Friday. My nose was running like a tap, I was coughing continually and I felt tired all day long. I was also slightly alarmed by the fact that just breathing alone made my lungs rattle like a pair of worn-out bellows. I spent most of the day in bed, alternately reading and dozing, but when I dozed, my sleep was disturbed by the vivid and meaningless dreams associated with fever. I had trouble keeping warm, especially my feet, which seemed to be encased in ice.
Nonetheless, there was something comforting about being wrapped up and insulated from the cold wind, the grey sky and the winter darkness. There I lay, books to the left, tissues to the right, duvet pulled up to my chin and Freya curled up contently in the crook of my arm. It was almost – omit the hacking cough, the sore nose and the general feeling of being unwell – like the hibernation I had often dreamed of.
Today, I am feeling, if not completely well, at least on the way to recovery. Fortunately, over the next couple of days there are no appointments or urgent errands requiring me to emerge blinking into the brief winter daylight. Everything can wait a few more days. At least I have been spared the annoyance of being laid low for the Christmas period.
So who have been my literary companions during these days of confinement? Over which books have I pored, marvelled, coughed and sneezed? In no particular order, the main ones are as follows.
Peter Ackroyd, London, the Biography. I bought this for a fiver in a secondhand bookshop and to judge from the hand-written inscription inside, it was given as a birthday present to someone about a decade ago. I haven’t read very far yet; in fact, I have only just started on Chapter 2. I find it is not an easy book to read: for one thing it is so big and heavy, even in paperback, that simply holding it upright to read while lying in bed is already a bit of a challenge; for another, it is so chock-full of information that I find myself reading sentences and paragraphs over and over again in order to derive the whole meaning. London has a long and complex history and, inevitably, the earlier part of that history is lost in myth and legend obfuscated by superstition and pseudo history. To my mind, this makes the first chapter both fascinating and ultimately frustrating because much is hinted at but little known for certain.
Catharine Arnold, City of Sin, London and its Vices. We all know that London has had a well developed sex trade since time immemorial but perhaps most of us are unaware of the depth and the extent of the trade that – most of the time – operates below the the visible surface. One of the defining characters of British sexual behaviour is that society’s attitude to sex is at odds with society’s sexual behaviour. Sex as a commodity to be bought and sold has always existed and its history is nuanced according to whether the authorities tolerate it or try to repress it. The book traces the complex story of brothels, pimps, brothel owners, sex slaves and prostitutes from Roman times onward. I am about halfway through and it has already taught me a lot about the sex industry, its organization, its variegated table of fare and, not least, how thoroughly steeped in licentiousness were the upper levels of society, including the royal courts of James I and Charles II. It clearly shows how deep is the hypocrisy surrounding sex and its commercial exploitation. To give but two examples: the Church, while outwardly condemning adultery and prostitution and locking up “whores” in its own dungeons, was one of the biggest proprietors of brothels, raking in the money to swell the Church’s coffers when not the pockets of the Church’s officers; during the Commonwealth, when the penalty for adultery could be execution, the Lord Protector, Oliver Cromwell, kept a long-term mistress – so much for Puritan values. Religion and hypocrisy apparently make easy bedfellows but, then, we already knew that.
Jack London, The Road. Jack London was a curious figure. Unlike George Orwell who came from a well educated and affluent milieu and took to being a down-and-out in order to facilitate an abiding interest in society and politics, London was born in poverty, endured a chequered upbringing and became a member of that unique species, the American hobo. He was irresistibly drawn to the life by the tales of hobos he met and quickly entered fully into its spirit. While Orwell became a tramp with an eye to writing about it later, London first become a hobo for its own sake and only later became a writer, almost by accident. Where Orwell observes, meditates and draws political conclusions, London attempts simply to record his adventures and show you how much fun the life was. Orwell evaluates and judges but London largely takes things as they come, whether it is being attacked and thrown off the train by brakemen or participating in mugging drunks for their small change or giving two naive elderly sisters a “story” in return for providing him with a generous breakfast. Does this make London’s the more honest account? It’s hard to say and I think the reader must judge for him- or herself, but London’s is certainly the racier and less polished of the two, though in some ways I like it better.
Whereas I have been reading the first two books in paper editions, I have read Jack London in ebook form. If you remember me saying that our Archos tablets have stopped working, you might wonder how I can read an ebook. The answer may or may not surprise you, depending on whether you read How do you read ebooks? in which I discussed the online facility Ibis Reader and explained how you can use it to read on virtually any electronic device from computer to smart phone.
I read the whole of Jack London’s The Road and, after the failure of the Archos, finished reading Mark Twain’s Roughing It, on my Blackberry, courtesy of the Ibis Reader.
The Ibis Reader performed flawlessly, whether I used the Blackberry’s native browser or Opera Mobile which I also have installed. You may think that reading a book on a screen 5 cm wide and 3 cm high is less than ideal. If so, you would be right – then again, that’s similar in size to a paragraph in a column of newspaper text, which millions of people read every day without complaint. Ibis Reader fits the text to the screen’s width and you just scroll down as you read. There’s no irritating side-to-side scrolling required. The only restriction with the Ibis Reader is that as you have to upload your books to their site and read them from there (though this is an advantage where a device has only a small memory), so you need to be online to read. No reading on the tube, then, or, indeed anywhere where you do not have a WiFi connection.
This weekend, though suffering a cold herself, Tigger has looked after me and sent me packing to bed whenever the tiredness descended on me. She has fed me, made tea, dispensed cough lozenges and generally taken care of me. She even went out this afternoon and confronted Sainsbury’s on her own, a noble and courageous deed. Now on the threshold of a new week, albeit still coughing as though I have gravel in my lungs, I hope I can start getting back to normal life. Amid the December greyness, though, I admit to retaining a slight hankering for my mini-hibernation nest, bulwarked with good reading matter and shared with my furry companion…
Copyright © 2011 SilverTiger, http://tigergrowl.wordpress.com, All rights reserved.
Were you wondering about the progress of my “sore paw”, aka my finger that suffered minor surgery in order to remove an annoying “bobble”? Probably not, but just in case you were, here is an update. (See Sore paw and Paw not as sore as before.)
The last stitch was removed on Monday and that is, to all intents and purposes, the end of the story as far as the doctors and nurses are concerned. I was warned that a scar might remain after the operation but this was not something to cause me undue concern.
You can still see the marks left by the stitches (or sutures, as medical staff prefer to call them) but I assume these will fade with time. The area looks a little puffy compared with what it was before (and with the analogous area on other fingers) but this too may decrease in time. All in all, I think you would not notice anything had happened to the finger unless it was pointed out to you.
Today I received a letter telling me that the analysis done on the tissue sample from the bobble revealed nothing suspicious. Altogether a successful conclusion, then.
Copyright © 2011 SilverTiger, http://tigergrowl.wordpress.com, All rights reserved.
Over last weekend I started to feel unwell and very soon started suffering the symptoms of a heavy cold. As is usual with me, this went down onto my chest causing a painful cough.
As luck would have it, I have also been suffering one of my periodic bouts of back pain, though fortunately, not a very severe one. It’s worse in the mornings when I have difficulty standing upright without a physical support. When I cough, it hurts, of course. The scene would be comic if it wasn’t so painful!
You may recall that we bought an Android tablet PC each, the model chosen being the Archos 7 Home Tablet (for example, see here). This week, both tablets failed, both exhibiting exactly the same symptoms. Either this is a coincidence or there is some undetected influence at work. No matter, the tablets will have to be returned to see whether anything can be done to salvage them (they are still under warranty).
Amidst the gloom came a flash of relief. You may recall that on November 19th, we visited Croydon (see Rambling around Croydon and Morden), where we spotted an intriguing but then anonymous sculpture.
Not knowing the title or subject of the work or the name of the sculptor, I had searched unsuccessfully on the Web to identify the sculpture. I then emailed my enquiry to Croydon Council and this week received a helpful and friendly reply from the Borough Archivist, supplying me with the needed information. You will find this added to the original article as an Update.
I have also been thinking about the future of the blog. At some point I will run out of picture space as I have now used up 60% of my allocation. With perhaps a couple of years to go, it’s as well to give occasional thought to remedial action. This is really a debate with myself but if you have any views, feel free to express them.
When I finally run out of space, I will have three options:
1. To buy more space from WordPress;
2. To continue blogging here but uploading pictures to another site;
3. To start a new blog.
Being a skinflint, I like option 1 the least as it’s not a simple one-off purchase: you have to keep paying year after year for the extra space (and any more space bought after that).
While option 2 is possible, it’s also fiddly. I know a lot of people do it, for example uploading their photos to Flickr or Picasa and referencing them from the blog, but few people include as many pictures in a post as I do!
Option 3, starting a new blog, carries the risk of losing readers but is in most ways the easiest to implement. If I were to start a new blog, I could think of using a new format. For example, I might choose a wider one, allowing me to post larger “thumbnails”. I also like simplicity – one of the attractions of the “theme” (format) I am using – and would want a similarly simple theme on the new blog.
With this in mind, I have created an experimental blog, using the theme called “Twenty-Ten”. It’s wider but almost as simple as the one used for this blog. Take a look, if you wish, and see what you think. Should I adopt a different theme or stick with the tried and trusted one? I am so far undecided.
Copyright © 2011 SilverTiger, http://tigergrowl.wordpress.com, All rights reserved.
It had rained over night but now the sun had come out though it was colder than I liked. Did I mention how much I hate the cold? Numerous times, I think…
Mylne Street, Islington
Lit by low winter sun
The low winter sun, reflecting off the wet ground lit an otherwise shaded street. We cut through here, across Amwell Street and into Baron Street. If you are an arachnophobe, skip the next picture.
A large spider…
…was building a fine, extensive web
Love them or hate them, you have to admire spiders for their industrious nature. This one had built a fine large web. Only the direction of the light made the threads visible. I imagine spiders have a hard time of it in the winter when there are few insects about. Judging by his size, this one was a successful individual and probably has a good chance of surviving the cold season.
Bleeding Heart Court
Named after a famous murder? Probably not
On our way down Skinner Street we spied a pub called the Bleeding Hear with this old cobbled courtyard behind it, named Bleeding Heart Court. These buildings, with some of the hoists still in place, would once have been warehouses, but today they are occupied by restaurants and offices.
Some claim that the name comes from the brutal murder in 1626 of Lady Elizabeth Hatton, wife of Sir William Hatton who owned much of the surrounding area. In fact, it is more likely that the name derives from the sign of a pub called the Bleeding Heart which showed the heart of the Virgin Mary pierced with swords.
Hatton Garden
The heart of London’s jewellery industry
We walked down to Hatton Garden, London’s famous centre for precious stones and jewellery. Given the fame of this area, you might be disappointed by its appearance. But for the unusual density of jewellers’ shops, it looks like so many other streets where the buildings are occupied by offices, studios and workshops.
The name comes from Sir Christopher Hatton (c.1540-1591), who was one of the favourites of Queen Elizabeth I. He held a number of important posts, including commander of her bodyguard and Lord Chancellor. It is said that the Queen was first attracted to him by his elegant style of dancing. She coerced the Bishop of Ely into ceding Ely Place to Hatton and it became his residence.
St Andrew’s Parochial Schools
From church to school and today, offices
On the corner of Cross Street with Hatton Garden stands this notable building. It was originally built around 1670 to replace St Andrew’s Holborn after the Great Fire of 1666. In about 1696 it became a Chantry School. During the Second World War, the interior of the building was gutted by incendiary bombs and has now been rebuilt as offices with the exterior restored to its original design.
Statues of scholars
Dressed in 18th century costume
Above the door is this pair of statues representing scholars dressed in 18th century costume. They were removed to Bradfield College in Berkshire during the war to avoid possible damage – a wise move as it turned out. The boy holds in his right hand what looks like a prayer book or possibly a Bible (there is a cross on the cover), while the girl holds a document. I don’t know what was originally written on it but today the lettering reads as follows:
THESE STATUES
WERE DECORATED ON
BEHALF OF JOHNSON
MATTHEY
1968 PAINTED BY A. WALLIS
1979 “ “ “
1988 “ “ A. WISE
1994 “ “ P. POOLE
“Ingot”
By Tom Dixon 2006
In a complete contrast of artistic styles, on the opposite corner above the door of the Johnson Building, is Tom Dixon’s 2006 work entitled “Ingot”. Down one side, perhaps reflecting the hall-marks that would appear on a real ingot, is a row of ten icons. These were designed by a graphic design studio called Mind Design and represent various historical aspects of the area. Note that the bottom icon represents a mouse pointer – a reference to the Garden’s other main industry, design.
Floor mosaic
It reminded me of the spider we saw earlier
At number 53 in nearby Leather Lane (guess what they used to produce there!) stands this double-fronted shop, a survival from a previous age. Today there is a barber’s on one side and a charity shop on the other. What attracted my attention, however, was the virtually complete floor mosaic whose motif reminded me of the spider and web we saw earlier. Imagine the time and work that goes into making such a mosaic as this. No wonder they are no longer made in our day.
Once the Clock House
Now boringly renamed
On the corner of Leather Lane with Hatton Wall stands a mid-19th century Grade II listed pub with a clock prominently displayed. Not surprisingly, the pub was once called the Clock House, an appropriate and colourful name. Unfortunately, it has been taken over by an outfit called the Craft Beer Co who have renamed the pub boringly after themselves. It is such a pity when this happens and a perfectly good name is lost. Let’s hope the pub will soon find new owners with better taste and regain its old name. There is a picture of the pub in its previous incarnation on the Pub History site.
Black Bull Yard
What crimes has it witnessed?
In Hatton Wall is Black Bull Yard, named after the Black Bull Inn that once stood hereabouts. Today, what was once warehousing has been converted into an apartment block but in the 19th century there would have been stables here, and thereby hangs a tale.
On May 12th 1831 at the Old Bailey, one George Smith was indicted of the theft of a brown mare from the stables attached to the Black Bull. The horse was found to be missing between 3 and 4 am on the night of April 29th and was later recovered at Barnsbury Mews. Smith was singularly unlucky because his progress from the Black Bull to the Mews was seen at various points by several police officers who eventually became suspicious. Smith was seen going into the mews upon the horse, lost from sight therein, but arrested as he emerged on foot. The stolen horse was found locked in a stable, to which the key, of slightly unusual design, was found in Smith’s pocket.
In the face of such a weight of evidence, defence counsel could do no more than have recourse to conspiracy theory, suggesting that the officers’ testimonies were not independent but the result of collusion in preparation for the trial. Maybe they were right for the officers do seem to have been unusually observant. Whatever the truth of the matter, the stratagem failed; Smith was convicted and received the death penalty. It seems shocking to us today that horse theft, burglary and similar crimes received a mandatory death sentence but so it was at the time.
It was particularly unfortunate for George Smith because the death penalty for horse stealing and such lesser crimes was repealed the following year, in 1832. However, because many magistrates considered the death penalty unduly harsh punishment for these crimes, sentence was often commuted after the event even when the court records show that a capital penalty was handed down. It is possible, then, that instead of hanging, George suffered some lesser punishment such as transportation. We shall probably never know.
Gateway, Bourne Estate
Designed for horse-drawn traffic
A rather different sort of dwelling is to be found off Leather Lane, to which the above photo shows one of the entrances, obviously designed in the days of horse-drawn transport. This is part of the Bourne Estate, designed and built in the Edwardian period by the London County Council. This, the southern part, was built between 1905 and 1909.
Five storeys of tenements
Free Classical style with Arts and Crafts touches
The buildings, many parts of which are listed for their perceived historic architectural importance, were designed in-house by the LCC’s architects’ department and are seen as important examples of tenement construction. The official description speaks of the “Free Classical style, with Arts and Crafts touches”.
Plaque commemorating Giuseppe Mazzini
Laystall Street, Clerkenwell
From the early 19th century onwards, there was a huge influx of Italians into Islington in search of work. So much so, that the area came to be known as Little Italy. Italian churches were built and Italian clubs and cafes proliferated. Descendants of the original immigrants are still to be found, often speaking Italian and following Italian culture. This made the place an obvious safe harbour for Italian political refugees. Giuseppe Mazzini was one of those who spent time here (as well as in other countries) and this plaque in Laystall Street commemorates his time here.
St Andrew’s Gardens
A burial ground turned park
Turning for home, we strayed off the path to explore St Andrew’s Gardens. This land was once the burial ground of the church of St Andrew Holborn but was closed to burials in 1850. The then St Pancras Vestry bought it and another piece of land adjoining it and opened the whole as a public garden in 1856.
Hilder Family gravestone
Most gravestones were moved to the perimeter
As was usual, most of the gravestones were moved to the perimeter, clearing the area for planting and laying paths. Such a dislodged headstone is shown above, belonging to members of the Hilder Family. Some of the larger tombs, mainly box tombs as was the fashion, were left in place because of their historic or other interest. Today, many of these are badly broken or leaning at crazy angles because of subsidence of the ground beneath them.
Drinking Fountain
Donated by Emily Bessie Orbell 1885
You may have noticed that I am intrigued by drinking fountains and cattle troughs, especially if I can find out about the person who donated them or to whom they are dedicated. This one, no longer working and badly in need of some care and attention, was donated in 1885, as the inscription tells us, by Emily Bessie Orbell.
Not very much is known about the donor. From London Remembers, we learn that Emily was the second of the 12 children of John and Catherine Orbell of Suffolk and that the family emigrated to New Zealand in 1849. Emily would have been ten years old when Victoria came to the throne and she died just one week before that sovereign on January 15th 1901.
Perhaps she didn’t like New Zealand or missed her country of origin because she later returned to the UK. Seemingly Emily never married and for this reason the name Orbell appears on this fountain and its companion, donated in the same year, sited in St George’s Gardens near the Foundlings Hospital in Coram’s fields.
These two fountains give us something rare – a glimpse into the life of an ordinary person of another era – as intriguing as it is frustratingly sparse. It is such a pity that these interesting historic items, given in a spirit of generosity to the donor’s community, should be allowed to decay and and become clogged with dirt and rubbish. I think their donors deserve better of us.
Plaque to William Felton
His steam carriage works was in or near Leather Lane
Copyright © 2011 SilverTiger, http://tigergrowl.wordpress.com, All rights reserved.
Freya is such an important presence in our lives that it is hard to remember a time when she was not with us. It is also difficult to remember that the affectionate and confident cat of today was once a frightened creature, so afraid of me that if I approached, she would run away and hide.
The Freya of today is captured in this close-up portrait by Tigger:
Freya, as you may recall if you had read previous posts, is what is called a “rescue cat”. That is to say, she was taken from her owner by Cats Protection, for reasons of which I am not entirely sure, though I have made some guesses based of Freya’s reactions to people and events. For example, Freya doesn’t like meeting strangers, particularly men. If unknown men come into the flat, such as repairmen or meter readers, Freya runs away and hides until long after they have departed.
When Freya first joined me, this fear of men meant that I could not handle her or even get near to her. Our first week together was a trial, so much so that I began to think that I would have to give her back to Cats Protection. At night, she would run around caterwauling, going from window to window and door to door, obviously looking for a way to escape. During the day, she would hide in corners and under the furniture and show extreme fear if I came near.
Even when the worst of her fear had subsided and Freya no longer ran away and hid when I approached, she wasn’t happy and you could see that she was dreaming of being somewhere else.
Gradually, though, Freya’s attitude gradually changed. I began to be able to play with her even when she would not allow me to touch her. I think games created a bond between us and allowed her gradually to gain confidence and understand that I would not harm her.
I well remember the day when I was able to touch her for the first time and to stroke her. For most people, stroking their pet cat is a quite usual, if pleasant, activity but for me, on that occasion, it was a red letter day.
A number of years have passed since then and today Freya is a calm and affectionate companion, as ready to remind me vociferously that it is time for her dinner as to sleep at night curled up against my legs.
I determined from the start to compensate Freya for her unhappy early life and to make her feel safe and loved. To have succeeded in that plan would have been thanks enough but I have been rewarded far beyond this by the trust and affection that Freya lavishes on me. I could not have foreseen this during that first fraught week of our acquaintance, an experience that now seems like a distant bad dream. But so it is and the story has come to a happy ending.
Copyright © 2011 SilverTiger, http://tigergrowl.wordpress.com, All rights reserved.
Following medical advice, I kept the bandage on my hand for 48 hours. Then came the moment to remove it and treat the wound. Guess how much I was looking forward to that. Correct: not at all.
In the end it was not as traumatic an experience as the dedicated coward that I am had been fearing. The wound appeared as a thin red line across my finger, neatly stitched together.
Each day, after gentle washing, the wound is cleaned by first rolling a cotton bud soaked in hydrogen peroxide solution over it and then rolling a dry one over it to remove the moisture. A squeeze of lotion from a small tube is applied (I think this is anti-biotic) and then a waterproof sticky plaster can be affixed to cover the wound. If you are not too squeamish to look closely at the picture, you can probably see some of the stitching.
t is tempting to call this my unlucky finger as it is the one I damaged once before when I fell over in the street and dislocated the middle joint. This was slightly embarrassing as I was returning home from the supermarket where I had bought, among other items, a couple of bottles of beer. These smashed as I fell over, splashing my clothes with beer. I felt it necessary to explain carefully to the hospital staff that, even though my clothes stank of booze, I had not been drinking before falling over!
I have to return to the surgery on December 1st for the stitches to be removed. After that it will still be necessary to treat the finger with care pending a full recovery. Then, all being well, I can start to enjoy Life without the Bobble.
Copyright © 2011 SilverTiger, http://tigergrowl.wordpress.com, All rights reserved.
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