On the market

London’s markets–selling all manner of goods from livestock in the east to lavender in the south-west–used to be ubiquitous. Patrick Galbraith visits the ones still soldiering on

DOWN at East Street Market, a lady on crutches stands by the fish stall in the Saturday-morning sun. ‘Harrington’s, that’s my local,’ she says to the trader in the white coat. ‘No,’ the lady standing next to her replies, ‘the pies there don’t taste as nice.’

‘Anyway, how you been, girl?’ the trader asks, as he hands over a pint of whelks. ‘Well it was my brother’s inquest last week,’ the lady on crutches replies, ‘they said he didn’t do it on purpose, so that’s something.’

By the time I get to the front of the queue, the shrimps are gone, so I ask for half a pint of prawns and, as Brian fills the pewter tankard—his name is printed on the street vendor’s licence, pinned above the weighing scales—I ask him why markets are so special. ‘Community, isn’t it?’ he replies with a shrug. ‘I’ve got customers who’ve been coming 40 years, and it’s locality.’

There’s been street trading in Walworth since the 16th century and the market on East Street—the same street where Charlie Chaplin was born—has been running since 1880. But, in that time, London has lost a great many markets and part of the city’s soul has gone with them.

In Islington, from 1852–1939, the Caledonian Market, which sat on a 75-acre site, was a riptide of rags and riches. In her 1989 book Up the Cally, Marjorie Edwards wrote that, initially, it was a livestock market, but eventually, due to its success, ‘cockney costermongers came along as well’. The gates opened at 10am and traders would pour in to battle it out for the best pitches. When war broke out in 1939, the market closed and, after it ended, six bloody years later, the gates stayed shut. For 20 years, the site stood empty, until, in 1967, ‘the Market Estate’, consisting of 271 social-housing units, was built. Three of the estate blocks, Tamworth, Kerry, and Southdown, are named after breeds of pig, cattle, and sheep, which would have once been sold on the site where they now stand.

In some instances, it’s clear why markets have gone. From 1660 until the early 20th century, there was a bustling hay market in Whitechapel, so bustling in fact, that the authorities and the traders often found themselves at loggerheads. The untidy carts, according to the authorities, tended to ‘annoy, obstruct and endanger passengers in carriages and on horseback’. Eventually, the hay salesmen were taken to task for obstructing motor vehicles, which, of course, were the very things that ultimately ruined their trade. In 1928, according to the long-running Survey of London, the Whitechapel hay market ‘succumbed to the motor’. It is interesting to note the words of a local china merchant, William Stout, who was sorry to see it go. It was, he believed, ‘the last relic of old English life in the neighbourhood’. We can assume Stout would have been disappointed that in 2015, fruit and veg stands right down the road,’ Toby, who runs the stall, tells me, as he gives me the last scallops. ‘When it used to be more of a Caribbean area, the market did well, but, when the English came, they wanted supermarkets. Markets aren’t how posh English shop.’ On my way home, I pass a truck selling doughnuts, an olive stand and a florist, but where the rest of the pitches once stood, tables from the bars sprawl across the pavement. In the 18th century, this part of Battersea and Clapham was where lavender was grown to be sold at markets.

Whitechapel High Street, on account of the chicken shops and tanning salons, was voted the least healthy street in London.

That sense of markets providing a connection to the pastoral is a fascinating one. It’s hard to imagine it now, but, from 1721 until 1876, Oxford Market, which stood in Fitzrovia, sold fish, vegetables and meat. The vegetables came from market gardens, such as those in Deptford, which were famed for onions and asparagus.

On the train that evening, I pass New Covent Garden, which moved from its original site in the West End to its current location at Nine

Markets today

Columbia Road Flower Market, E2

One of the largest flower markets in Europe

Brixton Market, SW9

Home to some brilliant street food

Portobello Road Market, W11

Prof Browne’s words in Bedknobs and Broomsticks, ‘anything and everything a chap can unload, is sold off the barrow in Portobello Road’, still ring true. Expect everything from clocks to old vinyl

Walthamstow Market, E17

A wonderful old-London feel. Get your jellied eels

Maltby Street Market, SE1

Bermondsey’s Maltby Street is chic. Try the duck frites

Elms in 1974. When it moved, something was inevitably left behind. Not long ago, it was announced that London’s other great markets, Billingsgate Fish Market, Smithfield Meat Market and New Spitalfields, are also going to be moved. It is no longer convenient for them to exist in the city that bred them, so they’ll be stuck together at a large site in east London. When they merge, three cultures will be merged, too. It’s hard to define what markets mean because they mean an awful lot, but to lose them is to lose a connectedness: it’s to lose a connection to each other and a connection to food. When they go, we become unbound, and the homogenisation of London grinds on.

The loss of markets across London and the process of markets evolving—often becoming swamped by chain restaurants—is ongoing. In 1987, Elizabeth Meath Baker was writing a column for Tatler about London streets. ‘It’s a while ago now,’ she tells me over a cup of tea, but she vividly recalls game dealers in Leadenhall Market, which has been active since the 14th century. ‘There were these two men and the way their fingers moved over the birds. Pluckety, pluckety, pluckety. It was a partridge, I think—they were just so fast.’ Mrs Meath Baker, who today runs the Walsingham Farm Shop in north Norfolk, says she’s quite sure you wouldn’t see that wonderful sight at Leadenhall today.

The boys at The Fish Stall on Northcote Road in Battersea have almost packed up when I get there. ‘I remember when it was

GROSVENORROAD, SW1V

£15,000 PCM (£3,462 PW) UNFURNISHED

[4 bedrooms] [4 bathrooms] [2 underground parking spaces][Available 15th March]

Acontemporaryapartment offeringfabulous lateral livingand sensationalsouthfacingviews which canbeenjoyedonanextensive private terrace. Theproperty has beenprofessionallyre-designed to utilise theremarkable3,500 sq ft of internal space. CouncilTax Band H:EPC C:6wks Deposit.

02078347316PIMLICOLETTINGS@HAMPTONS.CO.UK

What part of London is home to you?

I live in Camberwell in south-east London. It’s the capital at its best: wonderful Georgian homes mixed into a maelstrom of modern life and the sights and sounds of a younger, more diverse London. I love that the shops are always open, that I know my neighbours and that King’s College Hospital (Denmark Hill, SE5) is close by if anything serious goes wrong!

You’ve seen more of London in the early morning than most people as a longstanding presenter of Today. What do you love about dawn London?

What on earth are people doing at that time? I mean, I have an excuse; often, everyone else seems not to have seen it or to have forgotten it. The most poignant sight is the cleaners going home after servicing the offices in central London. Or the police, carefully preserving evidence after some late-night altercation. It’s strangely comforting to see it all happening and know that it would be even if I was tucked up asleep.

Is there a café or restaurant near Broadcasting House ( pictured ) where you go to cool off after recording?

My favourite cafe is FCB in Denmark Hill station (Windsor Walk, SE5). I go home by train and often pick up a coffee there for my wife and daughter, who both work at home. I never stay around Broadcasting House: one of the advantages of my hours is the quick escape.

What are your favourite parks and museums in London and why?

My favourite park is Ruskin Park close to where I live. It is small with a wonderful community feel and I think I know almost everyone in it— enough at least to nod at. The view across London is staggering, a whole vista from the City and The Shard in the east through to Battersea Power Station [in the west] and beyond. Greenwich Park is also a great south London viewpoint. I never go to museums. My favourite place to pop into in central London is the very conveniently placed library at the London School of Economics—I am an alumnus in Aldwych (10, Portugal St reet , WC2).