I LEAVE SOME EXHIBITIONS feeling both inspired and exhilarated. Some other displays of art neither thrill nor depress me. However, the current show at the Royal Academy of Art (‘RA’) in London’s Piccadilly – “Entangled Pasts 1768 – now” – left me feeling both disappointed and a little irritated. Before proceeding further, I should explain that 1768 was the year in which the RA was founded. The exhibition is, to quote its associated handout, to explore:
“… connections between art associated with the Royal Academy and Britain’s colonial histories.”
It does this by mixing artworks by academicians with those by other artists in a series of mostly poorly lit, gloomy galleries. Each of the rooms is supposed to contain works that are connected with a particular theme, although I found that the linkage between the artworks and the theme within each gallery was weak to say the least.
The sad thing is that many of the exhibits on display are interesting works of art, but seeing them altogether reminded me of visiting a poorly organised jumble sale. Although the works in each room were supposed to be thematically linked, that was hard to realise by looking at them as a group. The overarching concept of the exhibition was to, yet again, remind us of Britain’s unsavoury history of relations with ‘people of colour’. Consequently, many exhibits were ones that had been exhibited before in shows with similar messaging. One gallery managed to combine the unpleasant history of Britain’s involvement with the slave trade with another topical subject – climate change. This is probably because there are many who link colonialisation with industrialisation and its effects on climate.
Although I am presenting you with a negative view of the exhibition, I should in all fairness point out a couple of things I loved. One was an installation consisting of models of ships suspended from the ceiling by fine threads. This visually exciting work was created by Hew Locke, and was in one of the few rooms that was brightly lit. The other exhibit, which occupied two galleries was a collection of painted wooden cut-outs depicting people at a carnival. This work, which was accompanied by a soundtrack with voice and music, was created by Lubaina Hamid – like Locke a Royal Academician – in 2004. I was also interested to see the original painting of Dido Elizabeth Belle and her cousin Lady Elizabeth Murray by David Martin (1737-1797), who was a Royal Academician. These two ladies were associated with Kenwood House in north London, where a photograph of the painting is on display. It was nice to see the original. There were other artworks I liked in the exhibition, but felt that their impact was spoiled by being displayed alongside other works without much evidence of thoughtful curating.
I felt that “Entangled Pasts” was yet another ‘blockbuster’ show designed to earn income, which is greatly needed in the present difficult economic climate. This exhibition exploits the race card to attract visitors, which it appears to be doing. Just in case I have not discouraged you from seeing the show, you should know that it ends on the 28th of April 2024.
PEOPLE WHO HAVE met me often remark on my bushy eyebrows. Barbers are always keen to trim them, but I will not let them do that.
Many years ago, sometime in the 1980s if I remember correctly, my father and I were invited to a birthday party to celebrate the 70th birthday of my Dad’s step-brother Frank Walt. It was a large gathering held in a house in London’s St Johns Wood. Apart from my father, there was nobody at the occasion, whom I had met before. While I was wandering about rather aimlessly, a small lady came up to me, and declared in a North American accent:
“You must be a Halperin. You have the Halperin look.”
At that time, I had no idea what she meant by this. Even though I had no clue about what she was talking about, what she said made me feel good – I felt it was special to be recognised as part of a ‘clan’ by someone who did not know me ‘from Adam’, as the saying goes.
I now know about the Halperin family. Put simply, my father’s mother was Leah (née Halperin). She was one of the six children of Joseph and Deborah Halperin. A few days ago (in February 2024), a cousin sent me a photograph of Leah’s brother Wolf Halperin. I looked at it, and immediately realised what my fellow guest at Frank’s party had meant by the ‘Halperin look’. Wearing a Fedora hat, Wolf’s eyebrows immediately reminded me of mine and those of other members of the Yamey family. Seeing this was uncanny.
Wolf Halperin died many years ago, long before I began visiting India. Last November (i.e., 2023), we visited a small shop in Baroda (Gujarat). It was not our first visit. We had been there once about 5 years earlier. The shopkeeper recognised us immediately. As he said (in Gujarati) “I remember you”, he pointed at my eyebrows.
WE USUALLY PASS this place early on Sunday mornings. As it opens at 12 noon, we had never been able to enter it until a few days ago. Situated on the riverside in Hammersmith with its entrance in a narrow passage that is the east end of Upper Mall, it is The Dove pub. As it looks so quaint and ‘olde worlde’, we have long planned to visit it during its opening hours.
The Dove pub has been in existence since the early 18th century, or maybe the century before. Its north facing façade was created in the early 19th century. It is said that King Charles II (reigned 1660-1685) might have entertained his mistress Nell Gwynne here. Although there is no certainty about that, there is evidence that the Scottish poet James Thomson (1700-1748) spent time in The Dove. In 1740, he composed the poem “Rule, Britannia!”, which was later set to music by the composer Thomas Arne (1710-1778). He is said to have written the poem in The Dove, where there is a memorial commemorating the birth of this famous British patriotic song. Later regular visitors to the pub included Ernest Hemingway, Dylan Thomas, and William Morris (who lived a few yards away).
We decided to visit the pub after a late afternoon performance of an enjoyable film, “Taste of Things”, at the nearby Riverside Studios. On entering The Dove, there is a bar to the right and a small seating area to the left. The bar is one of the shortest in the UK – it is only 7 feet long. To comply with legal requirements, a second bar had to be built. This is reached by climbing a few steps into a larger middle room, which was heated by a real coal fire and lined with pictures. We took a table in this cosy dining area, and enjoyed acceptably good food. Another flight of steps leads down into a third seating area with windows overlooking the Thames. Beyond this, there is an open terrace with views of the river.
The Dove is wonderfully old-fashioned. Even though it is in the heart of west London, it feels just like a traditional country pub in the middle of nowhere. Most of the clientele in the pub on the Monday evening we visited it were local people. I suspect that during weekends and public holidays, the locals become outnumbered by visitors who are not local.
Having ‘broken the ice’ and entered the pub, I am sure that we will become regular visitors there, but it is unlikely that we will compose a song that can rival “Rule, Britannia!”- however much we drink.
TWO TEMPLE PLACE was built for the American businessman William Waldorf Astor (1848-1919) in 1895. Located close to Temple Underground Station and Middle Temple, this distinctive edifice is said to be designed in the ‘neo-Gothic’ style, although I would prefer to describe it, and especially its interior, as ‘Tudor Revival’. Every year, between late January and late April, the building, which is now owned and maintained by the Bulldog Trust charity, houses an exhibition, which is always worth viewing. This year’s exhibition, which continues until the 21st of April 2024, is called “The Glass Heart”.
“It will explore the narratives central to glass art and manufacturing, and celebrate the timeless skills, artistry and innovation required to work with this challenging material.”
And it does that very successfully by exhibiting a superb collection of glass creations ranging from industrial products, such as Pyrex, through stained glass, to intriguing artistic creations that defy the imagination. I will not attempt to describe all of these exhibits – each one of them both fascinating and beautiful – but I will concentrate on one small collection of items relating to the Red Lion – a pub in West Bromwich (West Midlands).
The Red Lion is a ‘desi’ pub owned by Indians, whose families originated in the Punjab, and came to work in the factories of Britain’s Black Country. Although all are welcome, the pub is mainly a socialising place for local people whose families came from the Subcontinent. It is one of several desi pubs in the former industrial heartland. In 2016, Steven Cartwright, who runs a studio that produces creative and decorative glassworks, was commissioned to create some stained-glass windows to decorate the Red Bull. His mission was to create traditional pub style stained-glass, but with an interesting slant – it was to celebrate the rich culture of the desi pub in the West Midlands. To do this, as Steven explained on his website (www.cartwrightglassdesigns.co.uk/projects/red-lion):
“I designed the window to give the appearance of a traditional pub but with a twist. The window utilises some of the colours and elements of the sub continent and tells the story of the punjabi community who migrated to the area in the 50’s. It also celebrates the establishment of the Indian workers association by Avtar Singh Jouhl and the visit of Malcolm X at their invitation.”
At the exhibition in Two Temple Place, there is a small piece of this pub’s stained-glass and some photographs of the rest of it.
What particularly intrigued me was the mention of The Indian Workers Association (‘IWA’) of Birmingham. The IWA was founded in the 1930s by Indian workers from Coventry to combat racist objections to them both by the British trade unions and the British people in general. The quote mentioned Avtar Singh Jouhl. He was born in the Punjab (British India) in 1937, and after the 1947 Partition, he came to London to study at the London School of Economics, arriving in 1958. Three years later, he moved to Smethwick in the Midlands, where he became an industrial worker. There, he saw and experienced racist anti-Indian conditions that prevailed at the time, He joined the IWA, and soon, along with others, he founded its Birmingham branch.
In February 1965, Jouhi invited the civil rights campaigner Malcolm X to visit Smethwick. A few days before his assassination, Malcolm X said of Smethwick:
“This is worse than America. This is worse than Harlem.”
In Jouhi’s obituary (The Guardian, 4th of November 2022), the following was written:
“The anti-racism campaign that attracted Malcolm X to Smethwick was spearheaded by Avtar Singh Jouhl, who has died aged 84 … Jouhl, as general secretary (1961-64; 1979-2015) and national organiser (1964-79) of the Indian Workers’ Association (IWA), challenged trade union members, factory owners and publicans to end this racism … When it came to breaking the colour bar in the town’s pubs, the IWA’s tactics were similar to those used by the Freedom Riders in the US in the previous decade. White university students were enlisted to order drinks, then hand them to British Indians, such as Jouhl. The landlord would invariably eject them, while the students challenged the eviction. The IWA then used evidence of these actions to successfully oppose the publican’s licence when it came up for renewal … This targeted campaign led to discrimination in pubs being outlawed in the Race Relations Act (1965) and paved the way for Britons of Indian heritage to become publicans themselves and set up what are commonly now known as “desi pubs”.
It was his actions described above and many others that helped to suppress racism in the Midlands and elsewhere in Britain. And it is very pleasing to see that what he achieved is being celebrated in glass in a pub owned and frequented by the people whom he helped. I visited the exhibition at Two Temple Place because I enjoy viewing glass artefacts. Little did I know that I would leave the exhibition having been introduced to an important political movement, about which I had known nothing.
LONDON IS FULL of reminders of the past. Almost wherever you go, you will come across a memorial (be it a plaque on a wall, or a monument, or a statue, or even a street name) to someone or something of historical interest. Today, the 20th of February 2024, after spending a pleasant hour with my friend Royden Clogstoun (related to the Victorian photographer Julia Margaret Cameron) at the British Library, I walked to Twinings tea shop, which is on the Strand (opposite the Royal Courts of Justice). I began heading south along Mabledon Place, which soon becomes named as Cartwright Gardens. This road runs along the straight edge of a green space shaped like a segment of a circle. The green space is bounded by a road that forms part of a circle – this is also called Cartwright Gardens. Until 1908, this crescent-shaped road was called Burton Crescent in honour of its developer James Burton (1761-1837).
Many of the buildings on the crescent are now hotels. The green space contains tennis courts and a bronze statue. This monument was added to the open space – the garden of Cartwright Gardens – in 1831, that is about 20 years after the area was developed. The statue depicts Major John Cartwright (1740-1824), who lived for a time in what was then Burton Crescent. Born in Marnham (Nottinghamshire), he served in the Royal Navy from the age of 18. In 1771, he retired from the navy for a time for health reasons.
When the colonists in the North American colonies began to rebel against their British rulers, Cartwright refused an appointment in the armed forces because he believed that the colonists had just reasons for their cause. In 1774, he wrote “”American Independence the Glory and Interest of Great Britain.”, which was a plea in favour of the colonists. According to the plaque beneath his statue, he was:
“…the first English writer, who openly maintained the Independence of the United States of America …”
And, furthermore, he:
“… he nobly refused to draw his Sword against the Rising Liberties of an oppressed and struggling People …”
Yet, this is not all he did in the face of existing conventions of his time. He was an active campaigner for parliamentary reform. His goal was to introduce secret ballots and universal suffrage (for men) – to give all men the right to vote in parliamentary elections. He did not live long enough to see his goal attained. For, it was only in 1918 that the Representation of the People Act was passed in Parliament. This allowed all men aged over 21 to vote regardless of the value of their property, and women aged over 30 provided their residence had a rateable value of over £5.
I knew nothing about John Cartwright and his remarkable outlook on life until I stopped to look at his statue today. However, I knew about his younger brother Edmund Cartwright (1743-1823). He invented the power loom, one of the machines that paved the way for the industrialisation of textile production and helped the birth of Britain’s so-called Industrial Revolution.
Had I taken a bus from the British Library to the Strand, instead of walking leisurely, I would not have passed through Cartwright Gardens, and it might have been a long time before I became aware of John Cartwright and his revolutionary ideas.
FURNIVALL GARDENS IS a pleasant grassy open space that lies between the busy Great West Road (part of the A4) and Hammersmith’s riverside at Lower Mall. The park was created as part of the Festival of Britain (1951). Prior to WW2, the area upon which the garden now stands was mostly occupied by industrial premises and slums. Part of this area was occupied by the Quakers (of Hammersmith) Friends’ Meeting House and its adjoining Friends’ burial ground. A little bit of the land owned by the Quakers is now covered by the carriageways of the A4. The Quakers gave up their land to Hammersmith Borough Council when they were planning Furnivall Gardens.
There have been Quakers living and worshipping in Hammersmith since 1658 (see: https://hammersmithquakers.org.uk/history/). In 1677, they built their first Meeting House at number 28 Lower Mall near Hammersmith Creek (now covered up), which used to run along the western edge of what is now Furnivall Gardens. This tributary of the Thames ran through a very poor area of Hammersmith. In 1765, the meeting House was rebuilt and remained in use until a few years after the Creek was covered over in 1936. On the 24th of July 1944, this venerable Meeting House was destroyed by a flying bomb.
I have walked through Furnivall Gardens many times, but it was only today (the 18th of February 2024) that we took time to look at a noticeboard with its history. My wife noticed that the former Quaker Meeting House and burial ground are mentioned on this informative board. It indicated an area of the Gardens, where a memorial stone can be found. The simple monument in an area walled off from the rest of the park is surmounted by a circular metal plate on which the following words are inscribed:
“This garden is on the site of the Friends’ Meeting House and burial ground 1765-1944”.
It is an unassuming little memorial, which you might not notice if you did not know it existed. It has taken me several decades to become aware of it. I have driven along the stretch of the A4 that runs alongside Furnivall Gardens many times. And until today, I had no idea that my car’s tyres were racing over land where once Quakers were buried.
BERMONDSEY STREET IS only about 500 yards in length, and about 200 yards of it runs under the railway tracks and has no shops, eateries, or any other outlet open to the public. The remaining 300 yards of this thoroughfare is a delight to visit. It is lined with numerous cafés, restaurants, and a couple of pubs. In addition, there is a good picture framer, several art galleries, some fashionable shops, a church, and a museum of fashion and textiles. There are also a couple of open spaces – small parks. Apart from the magnificent Caphe House – a superb Vietnamese restaurant, one of my favourite places on this street is London Glassblowing (see: https://londonglassblowing.co.uk/).
London Glassblowing is a gallery dedicated to the display and sales of artistic glasswork creations. It was founded by Peter Layton, who was born in 1937 in Prague (then in Czechoslovakia). Fleeing the Nazis, his family moved to Britain in 1939. They settled in Bradford near his grandfather, a pathologist who was a colleague of Sigmund Freud. Initially specialising in ceramics, Peter went to teach at the University of Iowa in the USA. While he was there, Peter soon became fascinated with glass and studied in the institution’s glass blowing programme. After his return to the UK, where artistic glass blowing was not yet highly developed or even highly regarded, he opened the London Glassblowing Workshop in Rotherhithe in 1976. After moving to several different locations, it arrived at its present home on Bermondsey Street.
In addition to displaying fine works of art made with glass, visitors to the gallery can watch the glass blowers at work. This is fascinating to see. When we visited yesterday, the 16th of February 2024, there was a group of young children watching the glass blowers at work. A gentleman was patiently explaining what the glass blowers were doing and how they were achieving the exquisite multicoloured vase they were making. It was only when I got home that I realised that the person explaining was none other than Peter Layton.
MR HUSSAIN WAS a charming old gentleman full of ‘joie de vivre’, even when infirmity confined him to his bed. A retired businessman, we knew him as ‘Mahomet Uncle’. He was a Kutchi Memon (a Muslim whose ancestors had migrated from Kutch – now a part of Gujarat – to Karnataka). He was immensely popular. His many friends and relatives used to visit him to enjoy his company and to share their news. Once, near the end of his life, we went to his house to wish him ‘Eid Mubarak’ at the end of Ramazan. While we were in his bedroom, where he used to ‘hold court’, a seemingly endless stream of people passed through his front door to celebrate the occasion with him. His death was a great loss not only to his family but also to a vast number of people in Bangalore, who knew and loved him.
We were introduced to Mahomet Uncle by one of his sons who was studying in London at the same time as my then future wife, Lopa, and I were undertaking post-graduate courses. Mahomet Uncle lived in a house on Aly Asker Road Cross, a quiet lane close to the busy Cunningham Road. The Cross road is an offshoot of the larger Aly Asker Road. We have often travelled along this thoroughfare, not only to visit Mahomet Uncle but also other friends who live close by. In addition, when returning from the excellent Shezan Restaurant (on Cunningham Road) to the Bangalore Club, where we often stay, the best route is along Aly Asker Road.
For many years, I have wondered about Aly Asker and why a road should have been given his name. The answer was provided only recently, at the end of January 2024 just before we flew from Bangalore back to London. My friend Subhash Agarwal, with whom I often enjoy an afternoon cup of tea on the lawn in front of the main building of the Bangalore Club, knowing of my interest in the history of Bangalore, kindly presented me with a book, which has the title “Agha Aly Asker”. Published in 2019, it was written by Syeda Mirza, the wife of Aly Asker’s great grandson. The book is well-researched and a pleasant, compelling read. Apart from detailing his life, the author gives many insights into the traditional Persian ways of life.
Aly Asker, a Persian, was born in Shiraz (Persia) in 1808. In 1824, along with his two brothers, he set off for India to sell horses to the British military. They travelled with 200 horses by sea to Mangalore, and then travelled overland to Bangalore. The brothers left him and the horses in Bangalore, where he began selling them to the army of the East India Company. The business was successful, and he imported more batches of horses to sell. Ali Asker became a successful businessman and was befriended by Sir Mark Cubbon (1775-1861), who was the Chief Commissioner of Mysore between 1834 and 1861. Amongst Cubbon’s many achievements were the introduction of Kannada and Marathi as the official state languages, instead of the formerly used Urdu, Hindi, and Persian.
Cubbon was very fond of horses, and is said to have had up to 60 in his stables. His equestrian interests helped develop his friendship with Aly Asker. As a result, Cubbon asked Aly Asker, who had already built himself a fine bungalow, to build 100 bungalows to accommodate the growing military establishment that was developing in Bangalore. Cubbon offered the land free of charge, but Aly Asker told him that he was happy to pay for it, which he did. The residences were constructed on land near today’s Palace Road, Sankey Road, Cunningham Road, and Richmond Road. Many of these houses no longer exist – Bangalorean property developers seem to value heritage far less than profit. One notable example that still stands is the Balabrooie State Guest House. Aly Asker also owned the land on which the luxurious Windsor Manor Hotel now stands.
Aly Asker’s interest in horses extended beyond trading, He was keen on horse-racing, and is said to have been important in putting Bangalore on the horse-racing map of India. His biographer, Syeda Mirza, includes an appendix in which the many victories of Aly Asker’s horses are listed. He was a frequent visitor to the racetrack in Bombay, and then later in Bangalore.
It was their interest in horses that drew together Aly Asker and another noteworthy person in Mysore State – Mummadi Krishnaraja Wodeyar III (1794-1868), the 22nd Maharajah of Mysore. It was through Aly Asker’s help that the British were encouraged to allow the Maharajah’s adopted son Chamarajendra Wadiyar X (1863 – 1894) to become his successor on the throne. Initially, the British, who effectively ruled the state, were reluctant to recognise him as the successor, and it was partly due to the gifts that Aly Asker chose for Queen Victoria that changed their mind in his favour.
Aly Asker died in Bangalore in 1891. He is buried in a cemetery near to the city’s Hosur Road. This is a Persian Cemetery that stands on land granted to Aly Asker and his heirs in 1865. His simple grave is beside that of his wife, and is shown in in a photograph in Mrs Mirza’s book. She noted that he established Bangalore’s first Shia Muslim community. It was when he married Sheher Bano that the first Muharram rituals were first observed in the city. In his will, Aly Asker left money to build the Masjid-e-Askari. It was built in 1909, and still remains as the city’s oldest Shia mosque.
So, having read Syeda Mirza’s book, I now know why there are roads in Bangalore named after Aly Asker. In addition to detailing his life in, and contributions to, the development of Bangalore, Mrs Mirza also described the exciting journey that Aly Asker made between his native land and India. Oddly, Aly Asker does not appear in the index of the authoritative history of Bangalore. “Bangalore Through The Centuries” by M Fazlul Hasan (publ. 1970). In a later (2014) comprehensive history of the city, Maya Jayapal makes one mention of Aly Asker Road, but gives no description of Aly Asker’s contribution to the story of Bangalore. It is therefore valuable that Syeda Mirza took the trouble to write about Aly Askar. As her book bears no ISBN number, and I could not find it either on Amazon or the much wider ranging bookfinder.com, it might well have been privately published, and is now probably quite a rare volume. I am very grateful to Subhash Agarwal for gifting me this informative book – a window on a hitherto poorly described aspect of Bangalore’s history.
