Taking a Walk: East End

Led through the streets of east London…

patrick barkham

I’ve always resisted guided walks, because they’re what tourists do. Especially in Spitalfields, just east of the City of London, where I lived 20 years ago. Then, as now, most guided walks consisted of gaggles of holidaymakers goggling at Jack the Ripper fables.

This, though, was a guided East End ramble with a difference. Within seconds of meeting our guide, the enigmatic blogger known only as the Gentle Author (TGA), I felt my prejudices blow away like litter on the pavement.

‘We’re going time travelling and this is how we’re going to do it,’ said TGA, standing outside Nicholas Hawksmoor’s Christ Church, Spitalfields. He removed a talisman from around his neck to reveal his mother’s wedding ring, his grandmother’s wedding ring, half-acrown from Elizabeth I and a Roman coin he bought from a grave-robber, worn for good luck two millennia ago.

‘Before Spitalfields was anything, it was a cemetery,’ TGA explained, and we were off. Our guide walked briskly ahead, after filling our heads with pictures of this busy inner-city neighbourhood in the 12th century, when it was marshland beyond the City walls. Rough sleepers were shunted to the homeless shelter of Spital.

TGA, a local resident since 1981, began telling the stories of neighbours past and present on his blog more than a decade ago. His guided walks are new. In the flesh, TGA is an even better storyteller, a magician of social history, who not only brings the past alive but reanimates the present. We see how today’s travails would be grimly – or amusingly – familiar to our ancestors.

Our first stop is outside a building with ‘Soup Kitchen for the Jewish Poor 1902’ engraved above its doors. This area, then known as Little Jerusalem, was filled with exiles fleeing Russian violence in what is now Ukraine.

Fishing the first of many laminated photos from a leather satchel, TGA told of four-year-old Harry from Ukraine, whose mother lied to the authorities about having a second child to obtain extra food tokens. Smelling a rat, the official asked Harry what his little sister was called. ‘Rosie,’ he deftly replied. From that moment, Harry Landis became an actor, growing up to take the lead role in The Kitchen (1957) by Arnold Wesker, another citizen of Spitalfields.

We twist through tiny streets, toxicscented wheelie bins enlivening stories of poverty, ancient and modern. We learn the origin of ‘tenterhooks’ and ‘refugee’, brought by the Huguenots, the Protestant silk weavers who fled persecution in 17thcentury France. We also discover recently minted words such as ‘façadism’. TGA illustrates this by showing us a decorative brick frontage – all that remains of a 19th-century pub, behind which there are shoddy, ugly 21st-century student flats.

A theme emerged, pertinent to all London. Because new-builds are VAT-free but the tax is levied on refurbs, ‘There’s a financial imperative to destroy old buildings,’ explained TGA.

At first, TGA was avowedly apolitical, but he’s been sucked into campaigns to save what is still a resolutely mixed neighbourhood of homes and small businesses from being swallowed by the City’s concrete-and-glass conquest.

‘Every old building in Spitalfields is left only because there was a fight over it that was won,’ said TGA as we marvelled at what remained of Elder Street, possibly the prettiest Georgian street in London. Behind it, 86 per cent of the fabric of a ‘conservation area’ is being destroyed by new development.

This is not just an architectural tour but a walk where people are constantly present. Photographs whipped out of TGA’s satchel include everyone from Indian freedom fighter and assassin Udham Singh to artist Tracey Emin.

We end, without a single mention of the Ripper, at TGA’s home, for tea and cake, baked to a 1720 recipe. As I wander away, I feel humbled by how ignorant I was as a resident of Spitalfields. How enlightened I have become as a tourist, realising that every street in every city holds a marvellous fund of stories, if only we stop, sniff and listen.

Spitalfields tour (two hours) www.thegentleauthorstours.com

el sereno

Across

1 & 4 Food? - providing it for defence possibly … (6,6) 4 See 1 8 & 13... and, accepting I understand deliveries will be tasty morsels (7,5) 9 Sailors must be surrounded by those angry insects (7) 11 Piece rate adjusted by day will give decrease in value (10) 12 Hit one hundred thousand (4) 13 See 8 14 Immediately and with fatal consequences holding court (8) 16 A supporter employing nurse for delegate (8) 18 Attitude adopted by jet-set hostesses (5) 20 Became aware of misery surrounding king (4) 21 Need review into writer’s bad spelling (5,5) 23 Struggle to accept northern term for old (7) 24 Explicit mostly about old church organ part (7) 25 Tries tucking in top of trouser suit (6) 26 A second hearing should release one of the stars (6)

Down

1 Stick around love boat (5) 2 A breather from riots breaking out in the Netherlands (7) 3 Worried, seeing driver’s head underneath train (9) 5 Australia working with energy and gas (5) 6 Fundamentalist may be cooler - and a jerk! (7) 7 Snares fish caught in new nets (9) 10 Burden on reserve’s attachment to bike (9) 13 A bit loth to change on hot rocky outcrop (9) 15 Impressive thing put up to protect rise of iron bonds (4,5) 17 Complex vote in Rwanda without magic stick (7) 19 Girl from hospital featuring in Sun, perhaps? (7) 21 Clever - avoiding right stretch of coastline (5) 22 Perfect cards handed out by one (5)

How to enter Please scan or otherwise copy this page and email it to comps@theoldie.co.uk. With regret, owing to the coronavirus epidemic we are temporarily unable to accept postal entries. Normal procedure will be restored as soon as possible. Deadline: 24th August 2022. We do not sell or share your data with third parties.

First prize is The Chambers Thesaurus and £25. Two runners-up will receive £15. NB: Hodder & Stoughton and Bookpoint Ltd will be sent the addresses of the winners because they process the prizes.

Moron crossword 416

Across

1 Irish police (5) 4 Suckle; entertain (5) 8 Dispirited (3) 9 Countless (11) 10 Ban (7) 12 Minimum (5) 13 Burden (with) (6) 14 Talkative (6) 17 Enthusiastic (5) 19 Peeved (7) 21 Announcing publicly, promoting (11) 23 Atmosphere, appearance (3) 24 Old-fashioned (5) 25 Hotel client (5)

Down

1 Cunning, trickery (5) 2 Managed (3) 3 Senior naval officer (7) 4 Restricted (of opening) (6) 5 Rise up (against) (5) 6 Smartly (9) 7 Rapidly (7) 11 Personal minder (9) 13 Not ordinary or common (7) 15 Searching (7) 16 Divine, holy (6) 18 Metal pin or bolt (5) 20 Finger or toe (5) 22 Form of water (3) Genius 414 solution

Winner: Alan Pink, Crowhurst, Battle, East Sussex Runners-up: Bill Goodge, Birchington, Kent; Linda Davenport, Tattenhall, Chester

Moron 414 solution: Across: 1 Aisle, 4 Beeb, 7 Load (I’ll be blowed), 8 Renounce, 9 Liability, 10 Elk, 12 Shorts, 14 Pronto, 16 Try, 18 Committee, 21 Homespun, 22 Path, 23 Byre, 24 Title. Down: 1 Abolish, 2 Sideburn, 3 Enrol, 4 Blue, 5 Excel, 6 Instep, 11 Soft spot, 13 Sloppy, 15 Theatre, 17 Roomy, 19 Monet, 20 Cede.

A successful bridge player will focus not merely on what the other players did, but also on what they didn’t do.

Sophie Ashton of Sydney recalled what East didn’t do in the auction. This helped her to capitalise on a misdefence and so make Four Spades.

Dealer West Neither Vulnerable

(1) In the protective (aka ‘cheat’) seat, the One Notrump overcall shows about 11-16 points. (2) Stayman, asking for four-card majors.

West had a tricky opening lead and selected the ace of hearts – perhaps he could give his partner a ruff. East signalled encouragement by playing the seven, and West continued with the three of hearts to East’s king. At trick three, East switched ‘safely’ to a spade, and the Australian declarer had her chance.

Here is the key point. East did not respond to West’s one-heart opener, so presumably held fewer than six high-card points. East had turned up with the king of hearts, so could not hold a black-suit king. Declarer rose with the ace of spades, hoping West’s king was a singleton.

West’s king did not fall, but declarer was not doomed. Unblocking dummy’s ten of spades, she cashed the king-queen of diamonds (crucially removing West’s diamonds) and led the queen of hearts, carefully ruffing in dummy (with the jack) in case East was out of hearts and could ruff.

The scene was set. At trick seven, declarer exited with dummy’s queen of spades. West won the now-bare king, but was endplayed. If he led a club, declarer could avoid a loser by rising with dummy’s queen. In practice, West led a fourth heart. No good either – declarer ruffed with dummy’s eight of spades and shed the club loser from hand. All that remained was to cross to the ace of clubs, draw East’s last trump and cash diamonds. Game made.

‘Couldn’t you have switched to a club at trick three?’ asked West disappointedly. ‘I did lead my lowest heart (as a suitpreference signal), you know.’ ANDREW ROBSON

West ♠ K 7 ♥ A 8 6 4 3 ♦ 8 5 ♣ K J 5 4 North ♠ Q J 10 8 ♥ J 9 ♦ A 10 7 6 ♣ Q 10 7

South ♠ A 9 5 2 ♥ Q 10 2 ♦ K Q 4 2 ♣ A 6 East ♠ 6 4 3 ♥ K 7 5 ♦ J 9 3 ♣ 9 8 3 2

The bidding South West North East 1 ♥ Pass Pass 1 NT(1) Pass 2 ♣ (2) Pass 2 ♠ Pass 3 ♠ Pass 4 ♠ All pass

TESSA CASTRO

IN COMPETITION NO 282 you were invited to write a poem with the title Unpacking. Basil Ransome-Davies, in a poem on the wars between sonic (prettysounding) and confessional poets, made me laugh with the couplet ‘Confessionals unpack their hearts, / Like Hamlet or repentant tarts.’ Wally Smith began promisingly: ‘Unpacking the tent was quite an event’. Martin Elster wrote of Jackie and her boyfriend, Jack, who ‘sleep on a deserted sidewalk / (Not in any place where I’d walk)’. Ted Lane imaginatively took on the unpacking of a fritillary from its chrysalis. Commiserations to them and to Katie Mallett, Peter Wyllie, Mike Morrison and Martin Brown, and congratulations to those printed below, each of whom wins £25, with the bonus prize of the word-packed Chambers Thesaurus going to Heather Uebel.

Shirts on top – that awful check – I doubt Even charity shops would take. I think nowt To his trousers either, so loud, I’ve never liked His taste in clothes. When we hiked Up Snowdon even multi-hued climbers cringed. Next, pants and socks. How he whinged At attempts to ditch the ones with holes. Slippers now; oh strewth, spare inner soles. At bottom cough sweets, Strepsils, Elastoplast. Died-in-the-wool hypochondriac to the last. Well, that was one short break. I’d looked forward to Our hols and then the selfish idiot threw A tantrum by the river. Couldn’t swim. Can’t say I’m sad to see the back of him. Heather Uebel

That’s it! I’m done! Packed each of eighty years Into a memory that’s fit to burst. My brain’s retrieval system chugs more slowly now; Each sought-for item needs to be coerced, Unpacked from some far wrinkly cranial recess, To that part where the brain and mouth collide. But somehow the cerebral baggagehandlers Show signs of being otherwise occupied, And the memories I’m desperate to articulate Don’t make it to the ‘Arrivals’ carousel. And though they might well turn up sometime later, By then the bucket’s long since left the well. And whether it’s a tale to share with grandkids, Or what colour bins need to go out today, The seemingly recalcitrant baggagehandlers Are well aware they’ll have the final say. Con Connell

How neatly packed the outward case – but not, Alas, the tired home-bound travelling bags. A disarrangement, total loss of plot, As earlier, ordered, good intention flags. Holiday hopefulness is quite worn through And all that’s left’s the desperate need to squeeze More or less everything, somehow, in to A jumbled screwed-up messiness like these.

Upending on the floor (the only way) Reveals how fashion’s cool and casual look Has turned to creased and crumpled disarray. A sandal dips into a half-read book. A sun-bleached swimsuit and a flip-flop lie Tangled like high-tide debris, and no hope Of solving the eternal question: why The toothbrush always rubs against the soap. D A Prince

Our joint journey, each of us carrying The imponderable baggage of our pasts, Our mutually unknown, unshared pasts. But the past is what the present is about For, imperceptibly, as time passes, Past and present become a continuum; And our belongings from the years BM (Before marriage!) that were folded away In our metaphorical suitcases Have become, somehow, common property –Not that they were so ‘private’ in the first place! So here we are, after all these years, still In the continuing present: retired Residents in the Grand Hotel of life, Baggage unpacked – all of it, now, our own! I White

COMPETITION No 284 You are invited to write a poem called Difficult Delivery, in any sense. Maximum 16 lines. We cannot accept entries by post, I’m afraid, but do send them by e-mail (comps@ theoldie.co.uk – don’t forget to include your own postal address), marked ‘Competition No 284’, by 25th August.

‘Are you sure you went to the right sperm bank?’

‘He didn’t want to go on holiday with his family – so they took the dog instead’

Overseas Travel

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Food & Drink

Older lady seeks gigolo

QI’ve read all the publicity around Emma Thompson’s film Good Luck to You, Leo Grande and gather it’s about an older woman finding a young man who teaches her how to have an orgasm. I’ve never had an orgasm in my life and I’d love to experience good sex before it’s too late. I’m 68. Like Emma in the film, I’m a widow and I’ve got enough money to hire someone to help me. But can you tell me where on earth I can find such a man?

Name and address supplied

AI’m afraid there’s no reputable Royal Guild of Male Pleasurers. And, for heaven’s sake, don’t go trawling around escort agencies asking if they’ve got anyone who could help. You could end up with the weirdest and most abusive creep or be open to all kinds of blackmail attempts. Remember this film is a fantasy, and the man involved is exceptionally kind and emotionally intelligent. The first thing to find is a very nice, kind, single man. A friend. If you make it clear you aren’t after long-term commitment, he might be interested in helping you. (Although in my experience a lot of men are in a similar position to you: although they’re able to orgasm, they’ve never experienced the wonderfulness of good sex, let alone learned how to help a woman reach sexual satisfaction.) There are dozens of books on the market that could outline the basic mechanics. But, without trust, kindness and, dare I say it, love, or at the very least deep affection, your chances of enjoying a brilliant sex life are not very high. You could try finding a reputable psychosexual therapist – ask your doctor to recommend one, or find one yourself via the Institute of Pyschosexual Medicine (ipm.org.uk) – who might be able to put you on a more sexually fulfilled path.

virginia ironside

I want to feed the birds

QMy husband and I are moving house in six months and I am anxious about leaving all the local cats and foxes and strays I’ve been feeding over the years. There are seven cats who depend on me, not to mention a family of foxes – and that’s not counting the birds. I feel terrible about just leaving them – I want to come back to see they’re OK, but my husband says we must just harden our hearts, leave them and not feed any strays in our new home. Because, for a start, it’s becoming far too expensive. Do you have any ideas?

Gilly, Enfield

AThis is the dark underbelly of being a lady bountiful. You foster such dependence that the poor wildlife may not know how to cope without you. There’s enough time for you to start cutting the food down gradually, leaving less and less out every day until the animals simply stop coming. They will slowly find other sources of food. And if you find this too difficult, contact Mayhew (themayhew.org), an animal welfare charity, who may be able to trap the cats and eventually find them good homes. They could certainly advise you; you can’t be the first animal-lover to face this predicament. Or if you have a WhatsApp group in your area, you might be able to find someone nearby who could take over. And, perhaps, if any particular cat looks too wretched, could you think of taking it with you?

Let them eat Granny’s cake

QWe have brought up our children, aged six and nine, to eat wholesome food – no, not the goat yoghurt and quinoa type, but what is generally regarded as good nutrition. Unfortunately, when they go to visit their widowed grandmother, she stuffs them with everything we wish to avoid – crisps, sweets, chicken nuggets and all kinds of processed food. Now they are getting grumpy and rejecting the food we give them, saying, ‘Why can’t we have food like what Grandma gives us?’ and having temper outbursts. We have tried to remonstrate with Grandma, but she pooh-poohs the idea, saying, ‘Give the children what they want, not all this faddy rubbish they don’t like.’ We don’t want to stop them seeing Grandma, because she dotes on them and is still grieving for her late husband. We are at a loss as to what to do. Can you advise?

A G, Sheringham, Norfolk

AThe odd day of what is scathingly known as ‘junk food’ (despite a lot of it being perfectly nutritious) is not going to do your children any harm. And this difference is a very good lesson for them to learn – that there is home and there is ‘Granny’s house’. There must be lots of things that their granny insists on that perhaps you are lax about – good manners, perhaps? She may feed them crisps but she might also insist they say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, wash their hands after going to the loo, and shake hands with visitors. And it’s a lesson for you to learn, too – that you can’t control your children’s every move. A day or so of treats isn’t going to kill them, and a day of being thoroughly spoiled by someone who loves them to bits is going to benefit them for ever. Their grandmother, too, now she’s widowed, is desperate for someone to love and spoil. Do try to be more kind and relaxed about all this.

Please email me your problems at problempage@theoldie.co.uk; I will answer every email – and let me know if you’d like your dilemma to be confidential.

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