Tag Archives: hampstead

Once there were two in Hampstead; now there is only one

Posted on by
Reply

YESTERDAY (16th SEPTEMBER 2023), we met one of my cousins in Hampstead village.  We ate a very satisfactory lunch at The Flask pub in Flask Walk. We chose items from the ‘brunch menu’. Each of the three dishes we ordered was tasty and generous in portion size. The dish with wild mushrooms was exceptionally good.

Long ago, there were two pubs with the word Flask in their names in Hampstead: The Upper Flask and the Lower Flask. The Upper Flask was located close to where East Heath Road meets the top (northernmost) end of Heath Street, close to Whitestone Pond. It was a meeting place for noteworthy cultural figures, but it was closed in 1750. The pub in Flask Walk, where we ate lunch, was known as The Lower Flask. Here is something about it from my book “Beneath a Wide Sky: Hampstead and its Environs”:

“Once upon a time, Hampstead had two pubs or taverns whose names contained the word ‘Flask’. This is not surprising because the word ‘flask’ used to be common in the naming of pubs. One of them, the erstwhile Upper Flask, has already been described. The other, the once named ‘Lower Flask’, now renamed, is on Flask Walk, not far from Hampstead high Street. The Upper Flask was a remarkable establishment, as already described. It figures several times in ‘Clarissa’, a lengthy novel by Samuel Richardson (1689-1761), first published in 1747. The Lower Flask pub (in Flask Walk) is also mentioned in the novel, but unflatteringly, as:

“… a place where second-rate persons are to be found often in a swinish condition …”

Unlike the Upper Flask, the Lower Flask is still in business, but much, including its name and clientele, has changed since Richardson published his novel. Located at the eastern end of the pedestrianised stretch of Flask Walk, the Lower Flask, now The Flask, was rebuilt in 1874. Formerly, it had been a thatched building and was a place where mineral water from Hampstead’s chalybeate springs was sold. Oddly, despite visiting Hampstead literally innumerable times during the last more than 65 years, it was only on Halloween 2021 that I first set foot in the Flask pub, and I am pleased that I did. The front rooms of the pub retain much of their Victorian charm and the rear rooms, one of them with a glass roof, are spacious.”

Although the Flask Pub is interesting enough, there are plenty more interesting places to see along Flask Walk and in other parts of Hampstead. You can discover these by reading my book, which is available from Amazon websites such as:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/BENEATH-WIDE-SKY-HAMPSTEAD-ENVIRONS/dp/B09R2WRK92/

Why are Hunt and Keene together in Shepherds Bush?

Posted on by
Reply

I FIRST CAME ACROSS the critic, writer, and poet Leigh Hunt (1784-1859) when I was collecting information for my book about Hampstead. For some years, Hunt lived in a house in Hampstead’s Vale of Health. Amongst the many noteworthy people who visited him there regularly were the poets Shelley and Keats. Later, when I was writing my book about west London, I found out that Hunt had resided in Edward’s Square, Kensington. He had also lived in Chelsea. Until today (the 7th of August 2023), I had never seen a memorial to Hunt.  Today, I spotted one, a carved stone plaque, high up on the wall of the Bush Theatre that faces Pennard Road (in Shepherds Bush).

The theatre is housed in what was formerly one of several libraries established by the newspaper entrepreneur and philanthropist John Passmore-Edwards (1823-1911). The library building was built in 1895 and its external features are well-preserved. The theatre moved into it in 2011.

Hunt is not the only person commemorated on the plaque. Below his name is that of the artist Charles Keene (1823-1891).  In his book “A Few Footprints”, Passmore-Edwards wrote (in 1906) that he placed memorials of illustrious people in places near where they died:

“I have placed medallions of Charles Lamb and John Keats in the Public Library, Edmonton; of Sir Henry Austin Layard and Sir William Molesworth in the Public Library, Borough Road ; and of Leigh Hunt in the Public Library, Shepherd’s Bush…

… Mr. A. E. Fletcher, who unveiled the memorial medallion of Leigh Hunt at the Shepherd’s Bush Public Library, said: ” Let us remember Shelley’s fine description of Leigh Hunt as one of the happy souls who are the salt of the earth.’ We have learnt enough to admire him for his genius and his marvellous industry, to honour him for his fearless outspokenness and courageous sacrifice for principle, and to love him for his splendid faith in humanity and his buoyant optimism””

However, Passmore-Edwards makes no mention of Keene.

The plaque was probably affixed to the library when it was built. But why the two names are on the same plaque is a bit of a mystery to me. The only possible connection, which makes sense in the light of what Passmore-Edwards wrote, is that both men died reasonably close to Shepherds Bush.

A not so peaceful garden of peace

Posted on by
Reply

TODAY, OUR FRIEND took us to see a part of Hampstead, which I never knew existed. Called The World Peace Garden, it is located on a sliver of sloping ground bounded to the south by Hampstead Heath Overground station and to its north by a short stretch of the western end of the road called South Hill Park. Its dimensions are approximately 95 feet in length with a maximum width of about 29 feet. It is entered by a discrete opening on South Hill Park. Some steps lead downward to a couple of paths that wind their way through the dense vegetation and past small ponds to a tiny seating area at the garden’s eastern end. The miniscule park is rich in flowers, bushes, and trees. It is a lovely place.

The World Peace Garden began to be created in about 2014 on waste land between South Hill Park and the railway station. Inspired by a local estate agent, Jonathan Bergman, the garden was designed by  Tony Panayiotou and Michael Wardle, and created by gardeners Keiko, Hugh, Laurence, Miki, and Mer. In 2016, it was awarded the ‘Time Out Love London Award for Local Culture in Hampstead’. Today, it is still delightful, although slightly overgrown. During our midday visit, we saw several people enjoying lunch in shady nooks.

Although the garden is to celebrate the idea of world peace, it is not exactly a peaceful place. Every few minutes, the peace of the garden is disturbed by noises coming from trains passing through the station beneath it. Despite speaking to many people about Hampstead, until today nobody has mentioned the Peace Garden to me.

A painting of Hampstead at Sotheby’s auction house

Posted on by
Reply

THE ARTIST JOHN Constable (1776-1837) lived at various addresses in London’s Hampstead. There, he created many sketches and paintings. He was extremely interested in depicting clouds – difficult subjects for an artist to portray convincingly, but Constable was able to do it well. Hampstead, high above most of the rest of London, provided a good spot for an artist interested in creating pictures of meteorological phenomena. High above the built-up parts of the city with no obstructions in his field of vision, Constable was able to set up his easel under a vast sky.

Recently (5th of June 2023), we visited the pre-auction viewing rooms at Sotheby’s in New Bond Street. In one of the galleries, paintings by ‘Old Masters’ were on display. One of them, which caught my eye, was by Constable, and labelled “Study for Hampstead Heath with a rainbow”. Valued at between £300,000 and £400,000, this picture includes a pond in the foreground; two people on the edge of the pond; some trees; a windmill with some small buildings near it; and a flock of birds flying above a small hill. This rustic scene is lovely, but what really catches the viewer’s attention is the sky. Constable has painted billowing clouds, which almost completely hide the clear sky behind them. Some of the clouds are white and others are ominously grey. Almost as accurate as a photograph, this cloudscape does more than slavishly reproduce what the artist saw – it manages to evoke what he must have felt seeing these clouds. And given the fleeting, ever-changing appearances of clouds, the artist must have worked swiftly to capture the celestial scene he saw.

Although I know that Hampstead once had a windmill near Whitestone Pond (now remembered by a lane called Windmill Hill), judging by its surroundings, the pond in the picture was not Whitestone. It might have been one that local enthusiasts he reconstructed recently – located beside Branch Hill. There is a painting in the Tate Gallery’s collections called “Branch Hill Pond, Hampstead Heath, with a Boy Sitting on a Bank”, which has a similar appearance to that which I saw in Sotheby’s, except that there is no windmill. Constable made many paintings and sketches that included the Branch Hill Pond, but apart from the picture I saw in Sotheby’s, which is a study rather than a finished work, they do not include a windmill.

A few months ago, I published a book about Hampstead and some of its interesting neighbours (including Highgate, West Hampstead, and Primrose Hill). Some people have wondered about the title I chose. It was because of Constable’s fascination with sky and clouds and his years of residence in Hampstead that I chose to give my book about the area the title “Beneath a Wide Sky: Hampstead and its Environs”.

My book is available from Amazon as a paperback or an e-book:https://www.amazon.co.uk/BENEATH-WIDE-SKY-HAMPSTEAD-ENVIRONS/dp/B09R2WRK92/

From Bombay to Belsize Park

Posted on by
Reply

SEVERAL OF OUR FRIENDS born in India came to study accountancy in the UK during the late 1960s and early ‘70s. In those days, studying accountancy had two benefits apart from giving our friends the opportunity to have careers in commerce and finance. First, coming to the UK was an opportunity to live abroad, and, more importantly, because they had to study whilst employed by an accountancy firm, they got income to cover their living expenses. All of them have had successful careers in business and/or banking. Some years earlier (in 1950), Lancelot Ribeiro (1933-2010), born in Bombay, came to the UK to study accountancy. However, he did not complete the course. Instead, he began studying art at London’s St Martins School of Art between 1951 and 1953. At that time, he lived in London’s Chalk Farm with his half-brother, the artist Francis Newton Souza (1924-2002), who was born in Goa. In August 1954, Lancelot was conscripted into the RAF. He was released from this in January 1955. Then, he returned to Bombay.

In Bombay, Lancelot was employed by the Life Insurance Corporation. He remained in this company for four years, by which time his poetry and painting were becoming recognised by Bombay’s artistic community, notably by the poet Nissim Ezekiel, the critic and poet Rajagopal Parthasarathy, the critic Rudolf von Leyden (German born, but lived most of his life in Bombay), and the Tata industrial group (who commissioned some of his works). By 1959, he had decided to make painting his profession. By the early 1960s, he was exhibiting in both group shows and solo exhibitions and was gaining wider, and influential recognition. Lancelot and his wife returned to London at the end of 1962/early 1963.

After living in various parts of London, the Ribeiro’s settled in the Belsize Park area of Hampstead – at Belsize Park Gardens – for a few years. By now, Lancelot’s works, and those of other Indian artists living in England, were being exhibited both in the UK and India. Life in London was not easy even in the late 1970s for people with ‘brown’ skins as Lancelot found out the hard way. Several times, he was attacked in the streets near Swiss Cottage, and once badly injured when attacked outside Hampstead Police Station. In addition, some of his pictures were vandalised when on display at the Swiss Cottage Library in 1986-87. However, none of this subdued his irrepressible creativeness.

Some of his prolific and highly inventive artworks were exhibited in Hampstead’s Burgh House when it held an “Indian Month” in 1980. Although he did not enjoy as much fame as his better-known half-brother, Ribeiro’s work is well worth seeing. An opportunity to do so is currently available at Burgh House until the 17th of December 2023. The well-displayed exhibition, “Lancelot Ribeiro: Finding Joy in a Landscape” can be seen free of charge. The Burgh House website describes it as follows:

“A journey through the changing landscapes of Hampstead-based expressionist poet and painter Lancelot Ribeiro, from his roots in pre-Independence 1930s India to life in mid-20th century Britain.

Ribeiro experimented with form and materials, moving from conventional depictions of the Lake District to otherworldly townscapes and sharp, bright abstracts inspired by geology. Each work encourages us to look anew, reconsider the form and substance of our environment, and how we might depict and share those landscapes with others.”

I can strongly recommend that you pay a visit to this show to see the works of an artist, who should be more widely known.

Finally, I wonder what would have become of our few dear friends had they abandoned accountancy prematurely. One of them, in his retirement from many years in banking, has become written a highly acclaimed novel. Another, who retired from a career in an international corporation, is now highly developing his skills as a cook. A third, who dropped out of accountancy, has become a successful translator.

Where I watched my first ever movie

Posted on by
Reply

THE LAST TIME I watched a film at the Everyman cinema in London’s Hampstead was in the 1960s. In my book “Beneath a Wide Sky: Hampstead and its Environs”, which I published in 2022, I described the cinema and my recollections of it as follows:

“It was at the Everyman that I went to the cinema for the first time in my life. My parents, who were not regular cinemagoers, decided that the rather sad French film, “The Red Balloon” (first released in the UK in late 1956), was a suitable production to introduce me, a four-and-a-half-year-old, to the joys of cinema. My parents, who tended to avoid popular culture, probably selected the “Red Balloon”, an arty French film, because it was a little more recherché than the much more popular Disney films that appeared in the late 1950s. The cinema, which still exists, was, according to Christopher Wade, built in 1888 as a drill hall for The Hampstead Rifle Volunteers. Then, in 1919 its windows were bricked-in, and it became MacDermott’s Everyman Theatre. In 1933, it became a cinema. I saw many more films there in my childhood and adolescence. Every year, there used to be a festival of Marx Brothers films in the summer months. I loved these films and used to visit the Everyman on hot sunny afternoons when I was often the only person in the auditorium. In those days, the cinema’s auditorium had a strange smell that strongly resembled household gas. Indeed, there were gas lamps attached to the walls of the auditorium, but I am certain that I never saw them working. They might have there for use as emergency lighting in case there was an electricity supply failure. These were quite frequent during my childhood but never happened when I was at the Everyman.

The cinema is, I have been told, now a very luxurious place. The seats are comfortable and have tables beside them, at which waiting staff serve food and drinks. This is a far cry from what I can remember of the rather basic cinema in the 1960s. Back in those days, the Everyman, like the now long-gone Academy cinemas in Oxford Street, favoured screenings of ‘arty’ films rather than the more popular films that most cinemas showed. Now, the Everyman, formerly an art-house cinema, thrives by screening films that are most likely to attract full houses. That this is the case is yet more evidence to support the idea that Hampstead is not what it was. Many of the sort of people who might enjoy arty films that attract often small niche audiences, who used to live in Hampstead, can no longer afford to reside in the area.”

Today, the 16th of May 2023, my daughter took me to see a film at the Everyman (see picture). As already mentioned, the cinema is now quite ‘swish’. It had been re-designed late last year. Whereas once it had only one screen, now it has two. We saw our film, “The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry”, screened in what was the original auditorium – Screen 1. The ceiling supported by tapering metal struts is how I remember it from at least 50 years ago. Otherwise, all has been changed. The smell of gas has gone. The seating is curious to say the least. It consists of well-upholstered armchairs and couches, all well separated from each other. In between them, there are tables, and metal wine cooler buckets are attached beside each of them. The upholstery materials are colourful and differ from seat to seat. For my taste, the aesthetics are not too successful. The screen is placed high enough so that it does not matter how tall a person sits in the seat in front of you. The acoustics were good. All in all, it was a pleasure revisiting the cinema in which I saw my first ‘movie’ sixty-six years ago.

My book about Hampstead is available from Amazon:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/BENEATH-WIDE-SKY-HAMPSTEAD-ENVIRONS/dp/B09R2WRK92/

A penguin in the museum

Posted on by
Reply

HAMPSTEAD’S BURGH HOUSE was constructed in 1704 and retains many of its original architectural features. Several of its rooms house a fascinating museum with exhibits relating to the history of Hampstead. I have visited the museum many times, but it was only today (the 9th of March 2023) that I noticed a model penguin on display. This used to stand inside High Hill Bookshop, which was located on Hampstead High Street. Founded by Ian Norrie in 1956, it remained in business until 1988.

During my childhood, in the 1950s and 1960s, I used to visit Hampstead almost every Saturday morning with my parents and my sister. We used to park the family car near to Jack Straws Castle, which is close to Whitestone Pond – one of the highest spots in London. Then, we would walk down Heath Street and along the High Street until we reached High Hill Bookshop. My parents were keen to encourage my sister and I to read. Therefore, every time we visited the bookshop, we had to choose one book each, which they purchased for us. I cannot recall all of the books I chose, many of them Puffin paperbacks, but I do remember that during these visits I gradually built up my collection of the adventures of Tintin by Hergé.

According to an article (https://jessicanorrie.wordpress.com/2017/08/04/the-best-independent-bookshop-in-london/) by Norrie’s daughter, Jessica Norrie, there was a party for Penguin Books held in the shop in 1960. The model penguin, which I saw in Burgh House today, was in attendance at that party back in 1960. I was eight in 1960, but I am afraid that I cannot remember seeing the penguin. It must have been in the shop during some of my visits, but then my interest in choosing a book was greater than looking for model penguins.

The penguin in the museum is black and white. On the white section of the bird’s belly, there are words, including “October 12th, 1960. High Hill Bookshop Silver Jubilee Party” and, also, some signatures. One of the signatures is that of Allen Lane, founder of Penguin Books. He died 10 years after the party. Another signature is that of the novelist Olivia Manning, There are several other signatures, but I found them too difficult to decipher.

Seeing the penguin at Burgh House brought back happy memories of my childhood and, at the same time, made me sad because High Hill Bookshop was irreplaceable. Waterstone’s, which followed in its wake, although well-stocked, lacks the charm of Ian Norrie’s wonderful creation.

You can read more about Hampstead past and present in my recently published book “Beneath a Wide Sky: Hampstead and its Environs”, which is available from Amazon: https://www.amazon.co.uk/BENEATH-WIDE-SKY-HAMPSTEAD-ENVIRONS/dp/B09R2WRK92/

The artist’s son in her Majesty’s Indian Navy

Posted on by
Reply

ENCLOSED BY IRON railings, the grave of the artist John Constable (1776-1837) stands at the southern edge of the old part of the churchyard of St John’s Church in Hampstead. The famous painter does not lie alone. He is buried with some other members of his family. One of these people is his second son Charles Golding Constable (1821-1879). I became interested in him when I noticed the words “Captain in her Majesty’s (late) Indian Navy”. The inclusion of the word ‘late’ and its position in the inscription puzzles me.

Charles went to sea as a midshipman in the British East India Company’s navy when he was about 14 years old. According to a genealogical website (www.bomford.net/IrishBomfords/Chapters/Chapter33/chapter33.htm/), he:
“…took to the sea, joined the Indian Marine and eventually became a Captain. Around 1836 he left on his first voyage to China and did not return until after his father’s death so missed his large funeral in London. During the 1850s he gained a place in the reference books for having conducted the first survey of the Persian Gulf. He had to struggle with navigation as a youth so he must have shown considerable determination to be entrusted with this survey. Shortly before his survey the Arab sheikhs bordering the southern end of the Gulf gained their income largely by piracy; this was ended by a treaty or truce arranged by the British, and the Sheikhdoms that signed the truce have been called ever since the Trucial States.” A paragraph in the book “Journey to the East” (published by Daniel Crouch Rare Books Ltd.) related this in some detail:
“Commander Charles Constable, son of the painter John Constable, was attached to the Persian Expeditionary Force, as a surveyor aboard the ship Euphrates. On the conclusion of the war [the First Anglo-Persian War: 1856/57], Constable was ordered to survey the Arabian Gulf, which occupied him from April 1857 to March 1860, with Lieutenant Stiffe as assistant surveyor. The survey (Nos. 2837a and 2837b) which contains the first detailed survey of Abu Dhabi, would become the standard work well into the twentieth century. During the time that Constable was surveying the Gulf, the Suez Canal, one of the greatest civil engineering feats of the nineteenth century was under construction.”
Charles was made a Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society.

While ‘surfing the net’, I found out that sketches made by Charles during his travels have been on sale from time to time in auction houses. His drawings were competent but no match for those executed elsewhere by his famous father.

When John Constable died, his eldest son John Charles Constable became responsible for dealing with his father’s estate. He was then a medical student as well as having studied under the scientist Michael Faraday. According to a website concerning his college in Cambridge (Jesus), John Charles, died suddenly in 1839 after contracting scarlet fever at a lecture in Cambridge’s Addenbrooke’s Hospital, at which a patient suffering this disease was being examined. After his father died, he was left “… numerous paintings and works of art, some of which were known to have adorned his rooms in College.” (www.jesus.cam.ac.uk/articles/archive-month-constable-chapel).
In his will, John Charles left his collection of drawings, paintings, and prints to his younger brother Charles Golding Constable. In 1847/48, Charles was responsible for supervising the dispersal of his father’s studio collection of artworks.

Like the rest of his family, parents and siblings, Charles had lived at several different addresses in Hampstead. Although he was buried with other members of the family in Hampstead, I have not yet found out where he resided at the end of his life.

An artist and teacher in West Hampstead

Posted on by
Reply

WHILE I WAS STUDYING to become a dentist (in the late 1970s), I used to attend an etching and engraving class in a studio in West Hampstead’s Sumatra Road. The class was supervised by the owner of the studio, my mother’s cousin Dolf Rieser (1898-1983). Like my mother, he was born in South Africa. They were both born in King Williams Town, but he was 23 years older than her.

An engraving by Dolf Rieser

Dolf ‘s childhood memories evoke South Africa as it was at the turn of the century (19th/20th) and are recorded in his unfinished autobiography (dolfrieser.com). Here is an extract that gives a flavour of them:


“The climate of King William’s Town was particularly difficult to bear and my mother suffered greatly especially where her nerves were concerned. I vividly remember her awful attacks of migraine when she had to stay in a darkened room. In the end we decided to leave South Africa, as I shall relate later on . My uncle, my mother’s brother, was at that time living on the border of Basutoland. He was running a small trading post and also kept some horses and sheep. This place was right up on the high plateau and was called Moshes-Ford after the famous Basuto chief, Moshes. My uncle invited us up to him for a holiday and I think we first took a train and then had to continue by horse and carriage, which presumably was also the postal service at the time. I remember well an “ooutspan” for lunch near an immense field full of dried bones and skeletons. These were the remains of the “Rinderpest” which shortly before had nearly wiped out the cattle of South Africa. I played football with a cow or ox skull, very much to the annoyance of the grown-ups. The following night we had to spend at the German Pastor’s home and I remember how impressed I was with the enormous bed and unknown eiderdowns.”


The ’Rinderpest’ was a disease that afflicted cattle.

During his classes at Sumatra Road, he would regale us with stories of Paris in the 1920’s and 1930s, when he was there learning etching an engraving in the studios of both Stanley Hayter and Joseph Hecht. One story that sticks in my mind is how he used to attend the same Parisian café as Pablo Picasso. The great master sat at one table alongside the the other leading artists in Paris, and junior artists like Dolf sat close by at another table.

Dolf was an excellent teacher. He showed us how to etch and engrave. However, what impressed me most is that he had the ability to look at his students’ works in progress, understand what we were trying to achieve, and then provide constructive (rather than prescriptive) advice.

I really miss Dolf, even though it is so many years since he died. He had a wonderful sense of humour, was a wonderful raconteur, and, having once trained as a biologist (before becoming an artist), a wonderfully adventurous approach to his métier.

Celebrities and criminals in Hampstead

Posted on by
Reply

THE ACTOR AND STAGE impresario Gerald Du Maurier (1873-1934) lived in Cannon Hall (14 Cannon Place in Hampstead) from 1916 until his death. His children, who lived there, included the novelist Daphne Du Maurier (1907-1989). The house was built in about 1720 and altered in the 19th and 20th centuries. Despite these changes, it remains an elegant residence in the heart of Hampstead.

The former lock-up

Steeply sloping, narrow Cannon Lane runs alongside the eastern wall of the grounds of Cannon Hall. About halfway down it (between Squires Mount and Well Road), there is a doorway in the wall. There is one semi-circular window on each side of it. Each of the windows is behind a lattice of metal bars. A plaque nearby informs the viewer that this was once a parish lock-up in which prisoners were held temporarily in a dark cell. The lock-up was established in about 1730. In that era, magistrates held court proceedings in Cannon Hall. In 1829, when a police force was set up in Hampstead, court business and prisoners were held in the Watch House on Holly Walk.

At the bottom of the grounds of Cannon Hall, stands Cannon Cottage, which faces Well Road. This was constructed in the early 18th century. Between 1932 and 1934, Gerald du Maurier’s daughter Daphne lived in this substantial residence with her husband Frederick Browning, whom she had just married.

Further west along Well Road, there is what looks like a small factory with skylights. This was built as artists’ studios in the late 19th century. Known as Well Mount Studios, the artist Mark Gertler (1891-1939) moved into number 1 in 1915, and worked there. I am uncertain how long he remained at this address, but I know he had moved from it before he committed suicide.

The places described above can be seen by walking only about 335 yards. This is typical of Hampstead Village (or Town, according to some), which is literally packed with interesting sites, both historical and contemporary. If you wish to discover much more about this fascinating part of north London, you can buy a copy of my informative book “Beneath a Wide Sky: Hampstead and its Environs” (from https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09R2WRK92).