A boy from Germany: from photographer to factory owner

In a previous posting ( https://activeauthor.substack.com/p/why-did-my-great-grandfather-leave ), I discussed the reasons that my great-grandfather Franz Ginsberg (1862-1936) left Germany in 1880 to settle in King Williams Town (‘King’) in the eastern part of the Cape Colony in what is now South Africa. This article describes how Franz became a successful industrialist within a few years of arriving in southern Africa. Eventually, he manufactured three items that were in daily use in nineteenth century southern Africa: matches, candles, and soap. His achievements in industry were eventually accompanied by his ever-increasing involvement in politics.  But first, let me introduce the man, Jakob Rindl(1853-1937), with whom Franz worked at first in southern Africa.

By 1882, Jakob Rindl was an established professional photographer in King. Jakob, who was born in Engelsberg (now ‘Mosnov’ in the Czech Republic) ran a photographic studio some of whose pictures bore the words ‘J Rindl, Photographer, King Williams Town, South-Afrika’, Africa being spelled the German way with a ‘k’. Young Franz worked with Jakob, who was nine years older than him. How and where they met has been forgotten. All that I know is that my late uncle Felix Bloch, Franz’s grandson, once told me that Jakob was already established in South Africa when Franz arrived. Felix also told me that Franz was at first apprenticed to a draper in Germany. The draper did not treat him well, and he soon left, and then became apprenticed to a court photographer in Berlin.  Both Franz and Jakob were German speakers, and this may have appealed to the numerous German settlers in the area, who wanted photographic portraits, maybe to send back to their relatives in Europe. A report[i] on the Kaffrarian Agricultural Show held in King early April 1884 shows that portraits were Jakob’s forte:

“Photographs were in the competition only for colonial scenery, and hence Mr Rhindl [sic] was not a competitor, but his frame of portraits was worthy of attention, a better collection of portrait photographs being rarely seen.”

While working with Jakob, Franz experimented with colour photography. When I first learnt of this, I was surprised, but then I discovered that by the 1880s many people were looking into ways of producing true colour photographs rather than hand-tinted black and white images. No one, including Franz, managed to perfect a technique that worked until about 1892, when a Jew from Luxembourg Gabriel Lippmann (1845-1941), who won the Nobel Prize for Physics in 1908, hit upon a method that worked.

Photography is both an art and a science. The scientific side of it involves both physics and chemistry. Franz, who is unlikely to have attended university before setting sail for Africa but had a father who was well-versed in science, was able to ‘dabble’ in colour photography.  This shows that he had an innate flair for chemistry. This was a skill which would prove useful in many of his manufacturing endeavours. Almost everything that he produced, usually on an industrial scale, involved processes that required a knowledge of, or at least a masterly ‘feel’ for, chemistry.

In May 1885, an advertisement announced Jakob’s move from Cathcart Street to new premises in Downing Street[ii]. Franz’s name does not appear in this announcement. This suggests that the relationship between Jakob and Franz was that of employer and employee.  This situation, if it existed as such, was not destined to last much longer. For, in July 1885 the town of King was about to become the home of a new factory, and Franz would soon be the leading light in this enterprise.

Just after Jakob shifted to Downing Street, readers of the Cape Mercury (‘Mercury’), a local newspaper in King, would have read:

“A MATCH factory will shortly be established in this town, the necessary machinery being now on its way.  Mr. Stray of Stray and Toenesson, is starting it, and hopes to be able to find employment for a good number of hands. The kind made will be the Locomotive brand of Tandstickors. … The factory will be on the outskirts of the town.[iii]” 

Tändsticka (plural Tändstickor) is the Swedish word for a match, or type of match. Safety matches were patented by Johan Edvard Lundstrom of Sweden in1855. H Rider-Haggard (1856-1925), author of King Solomon’s Mines who lived and worked in South Africa in the late 1870s, uses the Swedish word in his story Long Odds:

“It was so dark that I could not see anything, though I could smell a great deal, so I lit a match. It was a ‘tandstickor’ match, and burnt slowly and dimly, and as the light gradually increased I made out …” 

In 1886 when this was published – a year after the advertisement was published, the Swedish word was in common use. On the 21st of July 1885, newspaper readers in King learnt that the promoters of the local Match Manufactory were going to be “Messrs Toenessen and Ginsberg”. Their offices were situated near to Jakob’s photographic studio in Downing Street.

By mid-December 1885 the factory was operating at full speed, as was reported in a local newspaper:

“The match factory is now in operation, and cannot get through with the orders, consequently further labour saving machinery is being imported. Twenty lads are employed, and the manufacturers wish to double the number at wages, which are gauged according to ability. The other day a visitor saw 375,000 matches tipped in one hour.

By the way, why do Colonial manufacturers not adopt a Colonial insignia for their wares? Kaffraria has a coat of arms, now disused since its absorption in the Colony; why not revive the emblem of independence, even if it is on a bottle of local made sweets or a box of Kaffrarian matches.”

Three points come to mind. The first is that the potentially hazardous business of making matches requires competence in applied chemistry. Franz appeared to have had this. Second, maintaining the complex machinery, which was imported from Europe to make matches on an industrial scale, required someone with mechanical skills. Toenessen had this. He had been awarded prizes in King for manufacturing goods that required this skill – for example: lock-making, door plates, and later weaponry. In 1894, Messrs Stray and Toenessen advertised their skills as practical engineers:

“Stray & Toenessen … are prepared to undertake all kinds of work connected with machinery, locks, lamps…”

The third, is ‘Colonial Manufacture’. That is to say, the manufacturing of goods within the colony. One thing that encouraged this was that the duty applied to imported manufactured goods did not apply to goods manufactured in the Colony. The promotion and protection of colonial industry was to become an important concern of Franz during his lifetime. Franz and Toenessen began manufacturing matches during 1885. They were able to exhibit matches at the Port Elizabeth Exhibition held at the end of that year.

By January 1886, Franz had not only begun making matches but also another product, ink. Its manufacture needed chemical knowledge. His Kaffrarian Ink Factory also had its offices in Downing Street.

Average life expectancy for someone born in 1862 was much shorter than that of someone born now. Therefore, there was a need to achieve success earlier in life than now. Even taking this into account, Franz had made a significant leap in his career ‘trajectory’ by 1886, remarkably early in his life (when he was only about twenty-three years old).

The capital costs involved in setting up a match factory and a separate ink-making plant must have been considerable. I feel that it is unlikely that Franz would have arrived in South Africa with much money – his father with twelve children to support probably had little spare cash. Also, however successful Rindl’s photography business might have been, there would have probably been little that Franz would have been able to invest. It is possible that he had saved some money, and/or maybe, Toenessen had sufficient capital to start the match factory with Franz. Franz might well have had to approach a financial house like a bank for finance. If this was the case, whoever lent Franz the money must have felt, quite correctly as it turned out, that he was a good bet.

The match factory soon began doing well. In April 1886, Franz and Toenessen carried off prizes at the annual Kaffrarian Agricultural Show. In addition to winning “…the prize for the best collection of Colonial Matches, £2-2s.”, they also hosted a stand showing the full process of manufacturing matches. As if this was not enough, Franz and a Mr Klinkhardt won a prize for the manufacture of plant pots using local clay. These pots, which were very much below the prices of imported ones, were, in the opinion of the show’s judges likely to sell well. Elsewhere in the same show, in its ‘Art Department’, Franz was awarded yet another prize. This one was for photography. According to the newspaper reporter writing in the Cape Mercury:

“Messrs. Rindl & Ginsberg took the prize of £1 – 10s. for portraits, which were certainly as fine as can be produced in the Colony, both in taste and photographic excellence.”

The prize for portraits shows that Franz was still associated with Jakob Rindl, and that his name had been added to Jakob’s in connection with the photographic studio. Franz’s triumphs at the 1886 show demonstrate that he had his fingers in many pies, but none of them suffered because of his ‘multi-tasking’. In addition, this twenty-four-year-old man was creating much new employment in the town.

Four months after his successes at the Agricultural Show, Franz attended a meeting held at the town’s Council Chamber to consider the advisability of forming a Gold Prospecting Company, to be called the ‘Pioneering Gold Prospecting Company’. Its proposed aim was to prospect for gold and other minerals in the district around King. Franz was a member of the ‘Provisional Committee’, which included other members of the town’s business community.  Two weeks after this, he was elected to Board of Directors of The King Williams Town Pioneer Prospecting Company. Impressive as this assimilation into the town’s business hierarchy may seem, it was not enough for him to get an invitation as a guest to an important ball, organised by the town’s Freemasons, held a few days after the meeting[iv].

Even a successful venture can hit snags. This was the case with Franz. At the beginning of 1887, Franz and Mr Toenessen published the following announcement[v]:

“DAMAGED MATCHES. SOME of the Matches damaged in the course of manufacture which we advertised for some time ago, are still being sold. We shall be happy, not only to exchange perfect goods, but will pay the carriage on such matches. GINSBERG & TOENESSEN”

This problem appears to have been resolved, but others loomed. For example, the street lighting near the factory was defective and the ill-lit streets made a perfect place for ‘Natives ’ to drink away their woes. In connection with the lighting problem, Franz and Toenessen requested the Town Council of King to:

“…to have the bottom of Wood Street repaired, and lamps erected in Buffalo Road or Victoria Street, which was a thoroughfare used by drunken Natives.” To which the Mayor commented that the drunken ‘Natives’ could be arrested. At the following Council Meeting, Franz and his partner’s request was partially turned down. The Council resolved not to “…enlighten the darkness…” of the locality, but instead they allocated a sum not exceeding £20 for mending the main roads and bye-ways[vi].

By 1890, Franz had diversified his product range. This is illustrated by the following announcement that he published in the local press:

“Notice OUR MR. GINSBERG having returned after a lengthy visit to England, Germany and Sweden, we beg to notify to the public that the work in our factories will be carried on WITH ALL LATE IMPROVEMENTS, and in a most efficient manner, so that we can guarantee the quality of our matches and candles as SECOND TO NONE.”

This shows that Franz had added candles to the household essentials that he was producing on an industrial scale. Like matches and ink, candle-making requires some appreciation of applied chemistry, which Franz certainly possessed. The advertisement also shows that Franz travelled abroad. He was to do this a great deal, as I shall describe later.

A description of the candle factory exists in a scrapbook[vii] which belonged to Franz and is now stored in the archives of King’s Amathole Museum:

“In the candle factory I saw the various greases and tallows being boiled, after which, by means of powerful hydraulic presses, the oils are extracted from them. After crystallising, the fats are put into tins and placed in hot chambers, heated by steam, where further oil is extracted from them. They then go to the candle moulding machines, of which I saw a great number at work. Another room was occupied by girls who were deftly making boxes, each one to hold a dozen candles, and in the next room wood boxes were being made for packing the candles in. The work in the candle factory is carried on night and day, and to shew its capacity, I was informed that it could produce 35,000 to 40,000 candles a week. A great deal of water is required in this factory, which is supplied from an artesian well on the premises, and a steam pump, which I saw at work, was raising 1,800 gallons per hour. Mr Ginsberg however desires a more ample supply, and with that object in view has purchased a drill with which he is now boring to a greater depth, and in a short time hopes to have a pump which will raise 4,000 gallons per hour.”

The same writer then continues to comment on another of Franz’s factories:

“In the match factory, which is nearby, I saw the various operations of this industry being carried on, and was rather surprised to be informed by Mr Ginsberg that the labour alone in this industry represents 75 percent of the total cost, and the proof of this was not far to seek, for I found about 130 people employed here, which is a very large number in comparison to the work turned out, the production of the factory being about 1,800 to 2,000 gross of boxes per week.”

The writer ends his piece by discussing yet another of Franz’s enterprises, his soap-making business:

“The soap works belonging to the same firm, have the capacity of about 18 tons of soap per week, so that altogether Messrs. Ginsberg and Co. may be said to be very largely interested in Colonial industries, and have done their share towards developing them. I was given to understand they are prepared to go in for further extension, but are holding back at present until they see what is going to be the result of the approaching Customs Convention.”

The Convention, held in 1898 and mentioned above, was concerned with eventually harmonising customs regulations between the four separate parts of South Africa: the two British colonies and the two then independent Boer republics.

The references to artesian wells as a means of gaining an adequate supply of water for his factories, is an early indication of Franz’s concerns about water resources. Later, I will describe his involvement in a major water supply improvement scheme for King. His use of artesian wells was publicly praised[viii]:

“Messrs Ginsberg & Co. are to be congratulated on the success of their boring operations. Not a few persons were sceptical over the matter, or at least that the borer would have to be sent to an extreme depth, but the firm has tapped a good supply at a depth of little over 180 feet. This enterprise will doubtless lead to other artesian wells in the town, and make householders independent of the present service for irrigation purposes. Government is encouraging well-boring, more especially among the country people, by supplying machines at half cost. It will be a pleasure to report that the Natives are giving attention to this simple method of irrigating land, or obtaining a healthy supply of water in their communes.”

Franz’s factories were consuming water at a high rate. Had this come from the municipality, his firm would have had to pay for it. After paying the initial outlay to bore the wells and obtain the pumps, the water itself cost the firm nothing.

Franz added yet another product to the range of household goods that he manufactured. This was another item whose manufacture made good use of Franz’s practical skills in applied chemistry. By March 1893, he had begun making soap.  This was only seven years after the future Lord Leverhulme (founder of what is now the Unilever company) opened his first soap-making factory in the UK.

At the 1899 King ‘Agricultural and Industrial Society Show’, Franz’s company was awarded £5 prizes for each of the following categories of exhibits: soap, candles and matches. Year after year, his company’s products won prizes at similar shows. In 1907, the local newspaper, reporting an annual show, wrote:

“GINSBERG & Co. have two stalls. On one, is displayed samples of their “XXX Pale Soap”, an article made out of colonial products. This soap is growing rapidly in popularity and in many quarters is completing successfully with blue mottled. The second stall in the form of a kiosk, on which are several new lines that Messrs. Ginsberg and Co. are pushing. One of these is “Electra Soap”, made up in attractive cartons containing three bars. Another new line is the “Mining Candle”, which is daily growing in popularity. The feature of this candle is that it is very hard, and calculated to resist a very hot atmosphere, therefore highly suitable in mines. Messrs. Ginsberg’s other lines in candles and soaps are also nicely displayed...”

Conspicuous by their absence are matches. By 1907, Franz was no longer producing them.

I have described how my great-grandfather, Franz Ginsberg, became a successful industrialist. Within about 10 years after having left Germany as a young man, he had become one of the leading businessmen in King Williams Town. In a future essay, I will outline how he combined his commercial activities with a profound involvement with politics, both at local and national levels.


[i] CM: Cape Mercury, publ. King Williams Town: 5th April 1884

[ii] CM: 30th May 1885.

[iii] CM: 18th July 1885.

[iv] CM: 21st August 1886

[v] CM: 4th Jan 1887

[vi] CM: 4th & 11th May 1889

[vii] A newspaper cutting dated 22nd November 1895, copied me by Stephanie Victor , a curator at the Amathole Museum

[viii] Undated and unidentified newspaper clipping from Franz Ginsberg’s scrapbooks in the Amathole Museum

Two artists from Japan in London

‘Kensho‘ is a Zen Buddhist term meaning ‘seeing one’s essence’. It is the name used by the London art gallery Tristan Hoare (in Fitzroy Square) for an exhibition being held until 31 October 2026.

The exhibition features ceramics by Taizo Kuroda (1946-2021) and works in ink by Sousai Inada (born 1949). Both are Japanese.

The exhibition is small but very satisfying and the gallery provides a wonderful setting for the artwork.

Why did my great grandfather leave Germany for Africa in 1880?

In 1880 at the age of 18, my great-grandfather, Franz Ginsberg (1862-1936) left Germany and migrated to King Williams Town (now ‘Qonce’) in the Cape Colony, which, after 1910, became incorporated into the Union of South Africa. In what is now South Africa, he became a successful industrialist as well as a politician – both at local and national levels. This essay discusses why a German Jew left Germany in 1880, and why he chose to go to a part of Southern Africa where there were few of his co-religionists – and to an area where neither gold nor diamonds were being mined, rather than to the USA, where many other Jewish people from Germany and other parts of Central Europe tended to migrate.

To begin to understand why Franz left Germany in his late teens in 1880, it is helpful to know something about his father Dr Nathan Ginsberg (1814-1890).

Nathan was born in Breslau (now ‘Wroclaw’ in Poland). At school, according to his school report which I have seen, he was recognised by his teachers as being a brilliant student. Based on this report, he was admitted to the University of Breslau. After graduating at Breslau, again with great reports from those who taught him, which I have read, he wished to apply to be awarded with a doctorate (‘PhD’). However, the University of Breslau did not permit Jewish people to be awarded with doctorates unless they converted to Christianity, which was something Nathan did not want to do.

Nathan ‘shopped around’, and applied to the University of Halle, which he discovered would award a doctorate to unconverted Jewish candidates. I have seen his letter of application and the various theses he had written in subjects including mathematics and astronomy. Halle awarded Nathan a doctorate. Next, Dr Nathan Ginsberg, being an academic, attempted to apply for teaching posts in German universities.

In those far-off days, German universities did not admit Jews as members of their academic staff unless they had first converted to Christianity. Several of Nathan’s teachers at the University of Breslau had been born Jewish, but had converted to Christianity. As the author Amos Elon pointed out in his excellent book about Jewish life in Germany, “The Pity of it All”, many of these converts working as university were non-practising Christians.

Nathan Ginsberg was unwilling to convert to Christianity, and had to forego his ambition to become a university teacher.  After working for some years in the observatory at Breslau, he moved to Beuthen (now ‘Bytom’ in Poland), where he became a founding member of a new school for Jewish children. It was a school for educating Jewish children, rather than a religious school, one of which already existed in the town. In 1870, when restrictions on the activities of Germany’s Jews eased considerably, the school was adopted by the state, and became known as the Städtisch jüdische Volksschule. It was in Beuthen that my great-grandfather was born. He was one of 12 children born to Nathan and his second wife, Rosalie (née Berg). He had a half-brother, Leo, who was born in Breslau when Nathan was married to his first wife, who died young.

During Franz’s childhood, Germany experienced economic problems that were blamed on the Jews, and this led to an increase in anti-Semitism. Before this became serious, Prussia and France went to war in 1870. Leo, who was old enough to do so, enrolled in the Prussian Army and took part in the invasion of Alsace and Lorraine, which became German territory after 1871. When he married, he and his wife were obliged, as were all newlyweds, to buy a set of chinaware from one of the Royal Prussian porcelain factories. They settled in German occupied Strasbourg (or ‘Strassburg’ as the Germans called it), where they produced four children.

Nathan, a far-sighted person, realised that the future of Jews in Germany was likely to deteriorate. That he did so as early as in the 1880s is indicative of his great wisdom. From the mid-1870s, German anti-Semites regarded the emancipated Jew as (to quote the historian Heinrich von Treitschke {1834-1896}):

“…a symbol and profiteer of modernity, of liberalism and capitalism.”

As well as stating:

“Die Juden sind unser Unglück!” [‘The Jews are our misfortune!’]

Nathan must have realised that as the Jews acquired more equality in Germany, hostility to them would grow. Many other Jews discovered this much later; some too late. Franz and some of his siblings left Germany when they were old enough to do so. The atmosphere of anti-Semitism in late nineteenth century Germany was likely to have been a potent reason for Nathan’s children to seek a better life elsewhere. Another reason might well have been the difficulties of achieving his ambitions Nathan, a Jewish man unable to give up his religion, had already encountered.

But why did Nathan Ginsberg’s children head for Southern Africa rather than the USA or elsewhere?

I cannot answer this question for certain, but can suggest the following.

Nathan Ginsberg, who was born in Breslau and lived in Beuthen, must have known the Friedlander and Goldmann families – Jewish people – living in those cities. He would have known that some of their offspring had gone to South Africa in the 1860s and before, and had done well.

And what attracted Franz to King Williams Town?

Whatever was the actual reason for leaving Germany, Franz set off for, and arrived in, South Africa in 1880, aged eighteen. His destination was not one of those most chosen by nineteenth century migrants. It was neither the diamond-rich area in the Cape Colony nor the goldfields of the Boer Transvaal Republic. Instead, he headed for King Williams Town, a small town in the eastern part of the British Cape Colony.

To understand why Franz chose to go to King rather than Kimberley or the Witwatersrand, we must turn the clock back to before his birth. Long before the arrival of Europeans in what was to become the Cape Colony, there were few inhabitants in the area. As time went by, this land was colonised from the sea by first the Dutch and then the British, and from the north by various African peoples. Where the Africans and Europeans met, there were frequently territorial conflicts. One of these trouble spots was the Eastern Cape, and in particular the part that became known as ‘British Kaffraria’, in which King Williams Town – founded in 1835 – was located.

Just before British Kaffraria became a British colony, a huge conflict was taking place far north of the Equator in and around Southern Russia. This was the Crimean War (October 1853 to February 1856). The armies of Great Britain, France, the Ottoman Empire, and Sardinia, were pitted against that of the Russian Empire. As the war dragged on, the British need additional manpower.

The British Government decided to recruit men from neutral European states to strengthen its forces in the Crimea. The German States provided a number of soldiers, who came to England, and were formed into the British German Foreign Legion (the ‘Legion’). Only a small part of the British German Legion had reached the Crimea when the war ended. The British Parliament was now faced with the problem of what to do with the men. They had all joined for the duration of the war and for one year after.

After some discussions between the Government in London and the authorities in the Cape Colony, it was decided to recruit as many as possible of the Legion to become military settlers in British Kaffraria. These settlers were offered land and help to build homes on condition that they would be available for military purposes when the need arose. Before departing for Africa, the men were encouraged to marry if they were not already espoused, because this was thought to be good for encouraging stability and also an increase in the European population of the area. Despite the prospects of good conditions in the Cape presented to the men, only 2362 officers and men out of a possible 8000 took up the offer, and of these only 361 of them were married. Many of the Germans left the Cape to fight for the British in India in 1857, when the so-called Indian Mutiny commenced.

It was believed that one of the reasons for the limited success of the settlement of British Kaffraria by the members of the Legion was the general lack of wives amongst them. Sir George Grey (1812-1898),

Sir George Grey, the Governor of the Cape Colony from 1854 to 1859, proposed re-settling the area with emigrants from the German States. He felt that those of the Legion who had decided to settle in the area would welcome them, and then help them to establish livelihoods. Using an agent, JC Godeffroy of Hamburg, Grey managed to help German families circumvent the laws that discouraged their emigration, and thus they made their way to the colony. After much hardship at first, they became good hardworking residents of British Kaffraria.

When the author Anthony Trollope arrived in King in 1877, three years before Franz Ginsberg, he found it to be:

“… a thoroughly commercial little city with a pleasant club, with a railway to East London, and with smiling German cultivation all around it …”

Some of the Germans were distributed to settlements around King Williams Town. Many of these were given German names such as Frankfort, Berlin, Braunschweig, Potsdam, and Stutterheim.

Franz Ginsberg, whose mother tongue was German, might have chosen to move to King – the town in the heart of British Kaffraria – because it was in an area full of German speakers. The Suez Canal, which had not been open when the German settlers arrived in the late 1850s, was in use by the time that Franz set sail. Whether or not he sailed through it, thus making a faster voyage than by the Atlantic route, and where he disembarked in South Africa, remain unknown. Other questions that remain unanswered are: was he travelling with a companion or alone, and did he know someone who was already there? These are not idle queries because their answers might establish how he came to know his first business partner (or maybe employer) Jakob Rindl (1853-1937).

I will end here, but in future publications, I will reveal how my great-grandfather made his fortune, and something about his political activities. I will also, eventually, discuss his attitudes towards his African, Indian, and Chinese neighbours, but this must wait for another day.

This article about Franz Ginsberg has been written with reference to my biography of Franz Ginsberg, “Soap to Senate: A German Jew at the dawn of apartheid”, which is available from Amazon.

A hidden haven in north London: Tolmers Square

Most people have heard of London’s Trafalgar Square, Leicester Square, and Parliament Square, but far fewer people will know of Tolmers Square in the London Borough of Camden. Located just north of Euston Road, it is hidden south of Drummond Street between North Gower Street and Hampstead Road. Today it is a peaceful, leafy retreat surrounded by low blocks of dwellings and a pub. I knew of its existence but visited for the first time today in October 2026. However, it has not always been like it is nowadays …

Tolmers Square began life in the 1860s as a housing development with grand residences, as Patrick’ Allen revealed in an essay (https://tolmers.net/stories/how-i-came-to-tolmers-square/) :

“Tolmers was a large, horseshoe shaped square of grand houses built in the 1860s with porticos and balconies.”

By the 1960s, the properties in the square were in a bad state, and this potentially valuable plot of real estate came under the eyes of  a property developer, as Allen noted:

“Many houses had been unoccupied for years and were in a very poor state with broken and boarded up windows. The balconies were crumbling and on some houses had fallen down or been removed. I later learned that most of the square had been bought up covertly by Joe Levy and his company Stock Conversion Ltd. Joe Levy was a property developer who had made his fortune developing bomb sites after the war. His company had been responsible for building the massive and unsightly Euston Tower (his greatest achievement) which overlooked Tolmers Square on the corner of the Euston Road and Hampstead Road. Apparently, he wanted to knock down Tolmers Square and build another tower. For this he needed planning permission from Camden Council, then led by Frank Dobson.”

Levy became interested in the square in 1962, and a year later the London County Council (‘LCC’) began trying to demolish unfit houses. Three years later, the LCC became the Greater London Council (‘GLC’) and borough boundaries were changed: the borough of St Pancras, in which the square was located, became incorporated into the new Borough of Camden. Between 1966 and 1971, further ‘unfil’ buildings were demolished.

By about 1970, Camden hoped to redevelop the area into office accommodation. A deal was truck with Joe Levy, but before building was about to start, opposition to the plans began and ‘The Battle of Tolmers Square’ commenced. By 1973:

“The issue starts receiving considerable publicity. Squatters start moving into empty property. Camden Council approves the ‘Levy Deal’. Students from University College London survey the area. Claudius Offer (masterminded by Christopher Booker & Bennie Gray) presented to Camden Council. It still involves building offices but the profits would go to the Council. Tolmers Village Association (TVA) formed. Stop the Levy Deal campaign launched. Camden Council reject the Levy Deal.” (https://spitalfieldslife.com/2018/01/24/the-battle-of-tolmers-square/) .

Meanwhile, the old buildings in and around the square continued to deteriorate seriously. In 1979, Camden evicted the squatters from Tolmers Square, and its redevelopment as a primarily residential precinct commenced. This was completed by 1982, and is what can be seen today. Now, more than 40 years later, the trees and vegetation in the square have matured beautifully and the much fought over patch of real estate has become a delightful peaceful haven in a very busy part of north London.

The story of Tolmers Square and its escape from being transformed into characterless office blocks is a great example of ‘people’s power’.

Albert Einstein and me

Once when I was about 12 years old, an American, who claimed to be related to my mother, came to dinner at our family home in north London. I had the impression that my parents had no idea who he was. He brought with him a file filled with papers, which he looked at while we were eating. During dinner, he turned to my mother, and said:

“You know you are related to Dr Albert Einstein.”

My mother thought he was pulling her leg, but the event remained in my mind.

Several decades later, I was researching my family tree. One of my mother’s ancestors, her grandmother was Hedwig Ginsberg (née Rieser). Hedwig’s grandmother was one Sarah Rieser, whose maiden name was Sarah Einstein. When I spotted this, along with her dates of birth, marriage, and death, I contacted two leading Einstein genealogists. Both were certain that Sarah Einstein was a blood relative of the famous physicist Albert Einstein. To cut a long story short, my mother was Albert Einstein’s third cousin three times removed – a relative, but not a close one.

Some years later, I was looking into whether Albert Einstein had ever applied to Albania for a visa so that he could emigrate from Nazi Germany. As part of my enquiries, I contacted an Einstein archive in Israel, mentioning en passant the nature of my relationship with the great man.

I received an email that confirmed what I had suspected. Namely, that Einstein never approached Albania for a visa.

Then came a blow to my ego. The lady who wrote to me from Israel pointed out that at the very most I shared only 1% of my genes with those of Albert Einstein.

Still, even 1% of such a genius’s genetic material must be worth having! What do you think?

Smart casual in South Africa and a portable chapel

While researching for an essay about STEVE BIKO, I consulted the diary I kept when I visited South Africa in August 2003. We spent a night in an old-fashioned hotel in the heart of the bleak Karoo. Here is what I wrote about it:

After the village of De Doorns, the Karoo begins: the countryside becomes emptier and emptier, trees become scarce, the ground is covered patchily with small round bushes. The country is desert-like, wild and also hilly.

After about an hour of driving through this empty, though very beautiful, landscape, we spotted the tiny settlement called Matjiesfontein. 

This place, in the middle of nowhere, consists of one street, a 19th century grand hotel, the “Lord Milner”, a few cottages, other buildings, and a railway station on the main line from Cape Town to Jo’burg.  When we arrived, we were fortunate to be there whilst the famous, luxury “Blue Train” was making a halt. It stops there for a couple of hours three times a week. To travel on this train, a sort of luxury liner on rails, one needs to part with R10, 000 (£880, about) per person. The train takes 3 days and 2 nights to get from Cape Town to Pretoria.

A building along the platform at Matjiesfontein station contains the Rawden Museum that contains a jumble of assorted items extending back to Victorian times.  This includes a good selection of bedpans as well as a portable field toilet, housed in a mahogany case, complete with porcelain bowl and a flushing mechanism – an essential item for winning a war (i.e. the Anglo-Boer War).  A particularly intriguing item was a portable chapel: it was like a suitcase, which opened up to reveal a folding crucifix, a lectern and a special space to keep a Bible. There were also a great number of Victorian clothes in various states of disintegration. 

Near the Hotel there is a “Museum of Transport”, containing a collection of cars, some of which I remember as being new models in the 1960s. There is also some old railway rolling stock that can be entered by visitors.

We ate dinner in the Hotel’s dining room for which the dress code rule is ‘smart casual’. I took this to mean that a blazer would be required, Far from it, in South Africa, smart casual simply means: no shorts or sandals. In fact as the temperature was so low (near freezing point outside) many of the diners ate without removing their outer coats. The food, for which the hotel used to be well known, was indifferent but the wine was good.

After dinner we were shown around the private rooms, filled with antique furniture, of Lord Logan, who founded the Hotel. We slept in a cottage, which was, we were told, where the writer Olive Schreiner(1855-1920) used to stay when she visited Matjiesfontein.

Parabolic swathes of cloth in a church in London

The ceiling of the nave of St Cyprian’s church in London’s Clarence Gate is almost 50 feet above the floor. Three swathes of indigo dyed cotton are suspended from it, forming three, parallel, giant, parabolic loops. Each piece of cloth is 88.6 feet in length and together the three strips are 8.4 feet wide, each one separated from the other by a narrow gap.

St Cyprian’s is a gothic revival church built between 1901 and 1903. It was designed by Ninian Comper (1864–1960). It is a perfect example of Perpendicular Gothic architecture, and has a beautiful, intricately constructed, gilded rood screen.

The indigo dyed parabolic swathes of cloth are made with ‘gedog’, a cotton cloth made in Indonesia with cotton grown there and spun by women in East Java. Onto these loops, the Mongolian multidisciplinary artist and silversmith Nomin Zezegmaa (born in Berlin in 1992) has created circular white coloured batik patterns, which relate to, as a handout explained: “… the cosmology of the Javanese world and Mongolian shamanism.” Additionally, the swathes of cloth contain networks of embroidery, which is almost the same deep blue colour as the loops.

The artist commissioned other artworks that can be seen on both sides of the impressive cloth parabolas. These include mask-like copper sculptures created by a craftsman called Erdenebileg Byambatsogt, who also made 108 tiny bells arranged on thin threads that are, like the masks and the loops, suspended from the ceiling. On the floor of the church, there were several cloth mattresses filled with Mongolian wool.

I have described what can be seen of Zezegmaa’s artistic installation, The church is filled with the recorded sounds of Mongolian musicians and singers. Although it was difficult to hear them on the opening night of the exhibition because of visitors chatting, the artist’s idea was to create a Mongolian soundscape, In her introductory speech, she explained that in Mongolia, songs like those being heard in the church are used traditionally to communicate messages over long distances. However, as she pointed out, these songs are usually sung and heard in the wide, open spaces of Mongolia, but she found it interesting to hear them in the enclosed space of a church, whose acoustics are completely different to those of the great Mongolian outdoors. I hope to return to the church to hear the sounds on a day when there will be fewer visitors than on the opening evening.

Although the parabolic, cotton swathes are themselves intrinsically interesting from both visual and intellectual points of view, it is their setting in the beautiful space of St Cyprian’s church that transforms them from being merely attractive to becoming spectacular. Just as the church enhances the artwork, the artwork, in particular the indigo parabolas add to the viewer’s appreciation of Ninian Comper’s superb edifice.

The show “You Who Sing Into Existence”, which is sponsored by the Bagri Foundation, continues until 24 October 2026.

Apart from seeing work by a Mongolian artist, visiting her show brought home to me the fact that in addition to the inherent beauty of an artwork, one’s experience and appreciation of it can be influenced by its surroundings – the environment it which it is viewed.

A savoury snack that can be risky to eat

Bhel is a savoury snack that originated as a refreshment which was (and still is) sold on the beaches of Bombay. It consists of ingredients always including puffed rice, raw vegetables (such as chopped onions and tomatoes), coriander, at least two chutneys (one sweet and another sour). Other ingredients are often added. These might include crushed puris or sev (thin crispy noodles), chillies, and chopped boiled potatoes. There are many variations of this dish which is both sweet and sour and always fresh tasting. All the ingredients are mixed, often stirred by the preparer’s hands. Because of this and the presence of raw vegetables, it is essential that bhel is prepared in a hygienic kitchen.

The bhel which I ate at the Ananda Bhavan in Pondicherry (south India) was prepared in its spotlessly clean kitchen, which can be seen by customers in the restaurant. It did not cause me to suffer any ill-effects.

A week or two later, when sitting in Kamat’s restaurant in Bangalore’s Commercial Street district, I spotted bhel on the menu, and could not resist ordering it. The kitchen at this place, where we have eaten often, always ordering freshly cooked dishes, is not visible to customers. As I was ordering the bhel, I began to wonder whether I had made a mistake. Nevertheless, I did not change my mind. I felt like a driver in a car without brakes heading towards the edge of a cliff at high speed. I imagined that it had been a mistake to order bhel in this restaurant, but when it came, I could not resist eating it. It was a very poor tasting version of this dish that I usually enjoy, and I should not have finished it. I spent the next couple of days consuming pills to treat diarrhoea.

Two drivers from Afghanistan

 

Before relating this true story, the reader needs to know what I mean by a ‘minicab’. Long before Uber and similar companies began operating in London, minicabs came into existence. Despite their name, these cars are not usually small. They are, in effect, taxis that can be hired in advance by telephone, or, now, via the Internet, but not hailed on the street. Unlike regular taxis, whose fares are determined by a meter, minicab fares are usually agreed before the ride. Now for my story …

One evening some years ago, we wanted to travel from our home in Kensington to an address in northwest London. We hired a minicab from an office that used to exist near our home, but unusually we did not check the price before the journey.

The car had a radio/cassette player. I noticed that the music playing sounded as if it was popular music from Eastern Europe. I asked the driver about what was playing. He told me that it was music from Russia. I told him that I liked it.

After a few minutes, I asked him where he was from originally. He answered “Afghanistan”, but he said that he had lived in Russia for a few years before coming to London. He mentioned that he drove his minicab most evenings, and in the day time he ran his own shoe shop.

After about half an hour, we arrived at our destination, and parked outside their home. I said to the driver:

“How much do we owe you?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “You are my friend.”

“But, we must pay for the ride,” I said.

“No, nothing, my friend.”

Both my wife and I wondered what to do. We knew that the fare was usually £10. After about a minute, I had an idea. I turned to the drive, next to whom I was sitting, and, holding a £10 note, I said:

“Take this for your family. Buy your children a treat.”

He accepted the cash, and we bid him farewell.

After dinner, we rang the same minicab company, and ordered a cab to take us home. Once again, no fare was quoted. The driver of the cab who came to fetch us was also from Afghanistan. He was not as chatty as the first driver. When we reached our home, I asked him:

“What do we owe you?”

He answered:

“The same as you paid earlier.”

Now, as far as I am aware, he had no idea what we had paid earlier, but he was happy with the £10 I gave him.

These minicab trips occurred soon after I had finished reading an excellent book about Afghanistan, “An Unexpected Light” by Jason Elliot (published in 2007). In it, he described making purchases in rural Afghanistan. He wrote that prices are not displayed, and the purchaser must make an offer. If the offer is too low or to high, the customer gets laughed or otherwise subtly criticised. Remembering this, I felt that what both of our Afghan drivers were doing about the fare is what they would have done back in their country of origin, Afghanistan.