Tag Archives: industry

A boy from Germany: from photographer to factory owner

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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.

This is an abbreviated excerpt from my detailed biography of Franz Ginsberg, “SOAP TO SENATE: A GERMAN JEW AT THE DAWN OF APARTHEID”. The book/kindle is availabl from Amazon.

[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

A company that is more than just shoes

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SEVERAL INDUSTRIAL CONCERNS have built towns or settlements to ensure that their employees have somewhere comfortable to live near to the factories where they work. An early example of this is Saltaire, which was constructed between 1851 and 1871 near Bradford for the workers in the mills of Titus Salt. In 1888, the Lever Brothers, who made a variety of products including soap, built Port Sunlight (in Cheshire), a model village for their workers. And in South Africa, my great-grandfather Franz Ginsberg was a founding father of Ginsberg Township, established near his factory in King Williams Town in 1901. I have visited these three places, but not Bournville, the Cadbury chocolate company’s workers’ village that was started in 1893. Outstanding as these examples are, nothing can compete with the workers’ facilities established in several countries all over the world by the Czechs Tomáš Baťa (1876-1932) and his son Thomas J Bata (1914-2008).

The Bata factory at East Tilbury in 2017

The Bata company was formed in Zlin (Moravia, Czechoslovakia) in 1894. It was concerned with manufacturing shoes, and continues to exist today. Soon, the business grew, and large factories were built. Accompanying these factories, and close to them, At Zlin, Bata built not a simple workers’ village, bu at large workers’ town. The company employed architects to design modernist buildings, including dwellings, shops, a cinema, a hospital, a hotel, restaurants, and other practical amenities. Not only did the company build these structures, but it also modernised industrial working conditions to make life more pleasant for their workers. In time, after WW2, Bata began expanding overseas. In the 1930s and 1940s, they established factories, each with their own workers’ model towns, in Poland, Yugoslavia, Hungary, Switzerland, Holland, England, India, USA, Canada, Chile, Kenya, Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), and Brazil. In all their factories, Bata practised their advanced benevolent treatment of the workers. Apart from, improving working conditions, Bata made innovative developments in design and marketing.

To mark the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the birth of Tomáš Baťa, the Czech Centre in London is holding an exhibition, “Desire to Create: Baťa’s Architecture of Belonging”, until 12 June 2026. The small exhibition is filled with informative placards and historic photographs. Much of the show concentrates on the Bata town built around its factories at East Tilbury, on the Thames east of London. Although Bata closed operations there in 2005, many of the company’s buildings still survive (see https://londonadam.travellerspoint.com/43/, which describes my visit to East Tilbury in 2017). The exhibition at the Czech Centre is a collaboration with Bata Heritage Centre in East Tilbury. Although the exhibition is not large, it is fascinating and I am pleased I have viewed it because not only have I visited Zlin and East Tilbury, but also, I have bought pairs of comfortable shoes and sandals made and sold in India by the Bata company.

Finally, at the exhibition I learned two well-known personalities have had connections with Bata. The broadcaster John Tusa was the son of Jan Tusa, one of the first managers of Bata in Czechoslovakia, and the father of the playwright Tom Stoppard was a medical doctor in the Bata town in Zlin. When his parents fled the Nazis, the Bata family assisted them.

Constable, Turner, and a soap maker

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MY GREAT GRANDFATHER Franz Ginsberg (1862-1936) was an industrialist and a politician in South Africa. One of his main industries was soapmaking. Many of his workers would have been black Africans, mostly living in poor conditions around his factory in King Williams Town (‘KWT’). While serving on the town council of KWT, he played an active role in establishing what he hoped would be a township with improved living conditions for some of the town’s black people (including his workers). Named after him, Ginsberg township, founded at the beginning of the 20th century, still exists.

A few years before my great grandfather established the township named after him, another soap maker, William Hesketh Lever (1851-1925) who was based in England, created what he hoped would be better living conditions for his workers. Far more grandiose and much more attractive than Ginsberg Township, Lever began building Port Sunlight (south of Birkenhead) in about 1887 (a year or two after Ginsberg began making soap). Lever’s model town provided his employees with salubrious dwellings in a well landscaped environment. However, they were subject to strict rules; Lever, who believed that discouraging immorality (e.g., gambling) led to a good workforce, was a benevolent paternalist.

Turner on the left, and Constable on the right

Lever and his wife were avid collectors of artworks. These are housed in the purpose-built Lady Lever Art Gallery in the centre of Port Sunlight. This gallery, contained within an impressive French neo-classical style edifice, was designed by the Warrington based architects William Owen (1846-1910) and his son Seager Owen, and opened in 1922. It contains a fine range of artworks dating from early times (pre-Christian) to the early 20th century. It contains one of the largest and most important collections of Pre-Raphaelite artists’ works. With its spacious, airy galleries and well displayed exhibits, it is amongst my top ten British galleries and museums.

In one small gallery, which contains a sculpture of a reclining nude, two paintings hang close to each other but are separated by a neo-classical fireplace (an exhibit). One of them is by JMW Turner (1775-1851) and the other by his contemporary rival J Constable (1776-1837). It is interesting to see them almost side-by-side because it allows the viewer to compare their styles and what they try to convey  in their paintings. The Turner painting depicts “The Falls of the Clyde”, and the Constable depicts “Cottage at Bergholt”. Neither of the paintings, both created in the age before photography, achieves the accuracy of, say, a photograph; both seem impressionistic, but the effects that the artists were attempting to have on the viewer are entirely different.

Turner’s paintings are often far more impressionistic than Constable’s. Although his subject matter is always at least almost discernible, I feel that Turner’s works are created to evoke both the artist’s and the viewer’s psychological and/or emotional reaction(s) to what was being depicted. In contrast, Constable’s painting techniques seem to have been designed to emphasise aspects of the scene he was painting to give the viewer the impression that he or she is looking at the very same view as that which attracted the artist. Constable regarded painting as being a branch of science. In a lecture he gave in 1836, he said:

“Painting is a science and should be pursued as an inquiry into the laws of nature. Why, may not landscape painting be considered a branch of natural philosophy, of which pictures are but the experiments?”

Turner, in his almost abstract paintings such as the one at the Lady Lever, appeared to be wanting to stimulate the viewer’s emotions. In contrast, Constable tried to convey what he saw or felt was important in his subject matter. Without resorting to the almost photographic accuracy of, for example, both Canaletto and Vermeer, the two artist whose paintings hang almost next to each other in the Lady Lever successfully achieve their aims. For me, the avoidance of detailed accuracy of representation in both Turner’s and Constable’s paintings, enhances the impression of reality in my mind, something that photography cannot do to the same extent.

Even if you do not wish to compare Turner and Constable, I can strongly recommend a visit to the soap maker’s gallery in Port Sunlight. Finally, it is a pity that my great grandfather did not invest in great works of art!

The road to Wigan Pier and …

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WIGAN PIER WAS made famous by the author George Orwell, who published his “The Road to Wigan Pier” in 1936. Recently, we were staying in Widnes (Cheshire), which is not far from Wigan, a town that was in Lancashire when Orwell wrote his book. So, we decided to see Wigan Pier for ourselves.

A quick glance at a map reveals that Wigan is not on the sea, which is where most piers are to be found. The town is inland, and the so-called Wigan Pier is neither a pier nor on the seaside. It is on a part of the Leeds and Liverpool Canal in central Wigan. It was originally a landing stage where locally mined coal was loaded onto barges.

The name ‘Wigan Pier’ might have originated when a train carrying excursioners to the seaside was delayed at Wigan and they saw a structure that looked like a pier, as the following (from http://www.wiganarchsoc.co.uk/content/Projects/WiganPier.htm#Folklore )  described:

“…not long after leaving Wallgate Station, an excursion train from Wigan to Southport, was delayed on the outskirts of Wigan and passengers saw a long wooden structure that reminded them of Southport Pier. This structure would have been the 1,050 yard long wooden gantry … It was built in the late 1880s and carried a double line of rails from Lamb and Moore’s Newtown Colliery high across the River Douglas, the canal and the Wigan to Southport Railway line, to Meadows Colliery by Frog Lane … It certainly would have been easy to see this wooden gantry from a train heading towards Southport.”

I cannot say whether or not this is the true origin of the name, but it is a good story.

We took a road to Wigan Pier and after going around the town’s one-way system and several roundabouts, passing a huge Asda store a couple of times, we arrived at a series of old warehouses labelled Wigan Pier, and parked next to the canal. The Orwell visitor centre, which we were led to believe existed, is no more. A passer-by, with whom we chatted, told us that any memorials to Orwell and his book had disappeared a few years ago. Likewise, the collieries: these have been closed down long ago. Where they were there are housing estates, factories, and shops.

The warehouses close to where the coal used to be loaded many years ago, were inaccessible. They are being redeveloped to create a leisure ‘hub’. This will include (according to hoardings surrounding the old buildings): a beer tap house; conferences; live music; canal tours; festivals; a food hall; and an ‘artisan deli’. I am not sure what is meant by an artisan deli, but whatever it is, I am sure that should George Orwell ever make his way back along the road to Wigan Pier, he would be truly astonished by it.

Put it in your pipe and …

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ONE OF MY COUSINS, who was on a trip around Europe during his high school years in the late 1960s, met me while he was in London. A keen collector of pipes, he wanted to visit the Dunhill shop in central London’s Piccadilly. We did this together, but I cannot recall whether he purchased a pipe. Since that day several decades ago, I have barely thought about Dunhill or even smokers’ pipes.

Today (8th of February 2022), I was strolling along Uxbridge Street near Notting Hill Gate when I looked at a building that looks as if it might have once been a factory or warehouse. I have often noticed it and wondered about its former purpose. However, it was only today that I noticed a commemorative plaque affixed to it. I am sure that I have never noticed it before; maybe, it was placed recently. The words on it read:

“This building was the Dunhill pipe & cigarette factory 1916-1946.”

Well, that got me interested.

Tim Rich published an article about Alfred Dunhill and his firm in an issue of “The Pipe” (number 2, 1995). Alfred Dunhill (1872-1959) opened his first tobacco shop on Duke Street in 1907. Three years earlier, he had invented a ‘windshield pipe’, which allowed motorists to smoke in draughty vehicles. In 1910, dissatisfied with the pipes he was selling in his shop, he decided to start his own pipe factory. At first, they were made in Mason’s Yard, where today a branch of the White Cube art gallery is located. As business grew, he moved his factory to Notting Hill Gate and later opened another in Plaistow in the East End. The Notting Hill factory “…turned out several thousand Dunhill pipes per week” (https://rebornpipes.com/tag/history-of-dunhill/).

According to Carolyn Hubbard-Ford, writing in a 2014 issue of “The Notting Hill & Holland Park Magazine”, Alfred Dunhill was a major employer in the area. The factory used to be linked by a bridge, now gone, to another building across the road. The bridge was made of metal and low enough for local children to throw balls over it. Alfred’s daughter Mary began working in the factory in the 1920s immediately after she left school. Dunhill’s also had a shop, no longer in existence, close to the factory at 137-143 Notting Hill Gate.

After Dunhill’s moved out of the factory in 1946, the building on which the plaque is attached was converted into offices. In about 2001, the building was again converted, this time to provide residential units.

Images of Africa in south London

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THE WHITE CUBE Gallery in London’s Bermondsey Street is overshadowed by the recently constructed (2013) glass-clad skyscraper, popularly known as ‘The Shard’. The gallery, a single-storeyed structure, contains a long wide corridor flanked by three vast exhibition spaces and a smaller bookshop.  The exhibition spaces are deliberately sparsely decorated so as not to distract viewers from the usually wonderful contemporary artwork on display. At the end of the corridor, there is an auditorium in which videos relating to the existing temporary exhibition are screened. The current exhibition, which fascinated me and closes on the 7th of November 2021, is dedicated to displaying works by Ibrahim Mahama.

Mahama was born in Tamale, Ghana in 1987. He lives and works in the country of his birth but has exhibited widely in Africa and Europe. Not only are the works, which we saw at White Cube, exciting and intriguing visually but they also provide an interesting insight into the artist’s perception of modern Ghana and its past, when it was known as The Gold Coast.

Many of the works on display are gigantic collages, which from afar look like interesting abstracts or even modern tapestries. Closer examination of these reveals that the artist has glued fragments of photographs onto a background of usually either old maps of his country and/or a latticework consisting of numerous production order dockets issued by The Ghana Industrial Holding Company. Photographs of fruit bats in various poses often run around the fringes of the collages or appear within their main body. Photographs of aspects of life in Ghana are glued onto the backgrounds. Often, they have been trimmed so that the backgrounds intrude, and the photographs appear to merge or mingle with them. I felt that this was particularly effective when the map backgrounds mingled with the trimmed photographs, making me think that the maps were being brought to life. Also, they give the impression of modern Ghana emerging from the out-of-date maps. I was also impressed by one collage showing images of flying bats glued onto a sea of old order dockets: wildlife contrasting with man’s industrial enterprise.

One half of the largest display space is dedicated to a fantastic art installation. About 100 old-fashioned wooden school desks are arranged in rows facing a line of black boards to create the illusion of an enormous classroom. On each desk, there is an old-fashioned electric sewing machine.  Every few minutes some of the sewing machines begin operating, creating a wonderful, loud noise, which varies as different groups of machines are activated and then silenced. Sewing machines, so the leaflet issued by the gallery inform us, were often used in Ghana by labourers wanting to learn a new trade. This exhibit aims, amongst other things, to resurrect the ghosts that Mahama feels reside within these discarded machines.

In the auditorium, a short video projected onto two neighbouring screens continues the artist’s interest in sewing machines. On one of the screens, the video shows in close-up the innards of sewing machines being cleaned and oiled. Simultaneously, the video on the neighbouring screen shows workmen doing messy maintenance work through a manhole cover and beneath the ground. The circular manhole cover is mirrored in the other video by the small circular orifice through which the innards of the sewing machine are maintained. Odd subjects, but well filmed and fascinating visually.

I am neither an art critic nor a sociologist, nor whatever it takes to ponder the deeper meaning and messages that the artist is trying to convey, but I enjoyed the exhibition greatly without having to worry about its deeper intellectual content. Visually, everything on display was exciting and often quite novel: a feast for the eyes and ears. If you can get to see this show, I am sure that you will not leave it unaffected by its impact. And, after feasting your ears and eyes at the gallery, I recommend a short walk down Bermondsey Street to treat your taste buds and olfactory sense to Vietnamese food, magnificently prepared, at Caphe House.

Stepping on history

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INDUSTRIAL ACTIVITY IS NOT what one would associate with present-day Notting Hill Gate in London’s Kensington district. About the only thing that is made on a large scale in the ‘Gate’ is food, which currently is only available on a take-away basis.  Yet, walking along the pavements in the area, you can see evidence that once upon a time the area was not devoid of industry. This is in the form of circular cast-iron coalhole covers. These metal discs that are almost flush with the pavement could be removed to provide an orifice through which coal could be supplied to the coal cellars beneath the pavement.  Using these holes, the coal deliverers, usually covered with coal dust, could avoid entering the house. Many stretches of pavement have been re-paved, omitting the covers, because many of the former coal cellars have been converted to usable living space. The covers that remain – and there are still plenty of them – are often covered with patterns in bas-relief and bear the names and locations of the companies that manufactured them.

I was intrigued by one company, which made many of the covers in Notting Hill Gate, ‘RH & J Pearsons’ whose covers bear the words “Automatic Action” and the information that company was in Notting Hill Gate. I wondered where their factory was in the area, which is no longer associated with trades such as casting iron coalhole covers. I thought that there would be little information about this, but I was wrong. I shall try to condense some of the sea of informative material about these metal discs, over which we walk often without noticing them.

The company Robert Henry and Jonathan Pearson, which operated between the 1840s and 1940, was located at the following places at various times:

“Nos. 141 and 143, High-street, Notting-hill, Middlesex (1871) …and 91, 95, and 97 Camden Hill Road; Iron, Steel & Metal Warehouses, 21, 22, & 23 Upper Uxbridge St.; Manufactory & Workshops, 14, Durham Place, Notting Hill Gate, W. (1879) 141, 143, 145, High Street, Notting Hill Gate, London, W. (1901)” (https://glassian.org/Prism/Pearson/index.html)

All of these places are in Notting hill Gate.

In addition to coalhole covers, the company, which described itself as ‘manufacturing and retail ironmongers’, manufactured a wide range of ironmongery for domestic use including, for example, kitchen ranges, grates, fireplaces, railings, gates. They also produced electrical fittings (for lighting and cooking) and gas fittings. In addition, they supplied a wide selection of plumbing material and sanitary appliances.

Robert Pearson lived between about 1821 and 1893. His brother Jonathan lived between about 1831 and 1898. Both died in Newcastle-on-Tyne, where they were born (https://glassian.org/Prism/Pearson/index.html). Their father, William, was a hardware manufacturer. According to the 1861 England Census, both brothers were living in Kensington. The 1871 Census entry for Robert reveals a little about the size of the firm:
“Ironmonger, Senior Partner in the firm of R. H. & J. Pearson … employing 66 men”

So, Pearson’s was a large local business.

A document published by the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea gives an insight to the manufacturing of coalhole covers (‘plates’):

“Skilled artisans were employed to design and carve wooden patterns of the required shape and size. From these an endless number of moulds were produced by ramming sand around them in a box called a flask. The pattern was then removed and molten metal was poured into the cavity. Sadly many examples of Victorian cast iron work has disappeared with the exception of street furniture, in particular coal plates.”

(file:///C:/Users/adama/Downloads/07%20-%20Grouped%20Pieces%20and%20Miscellaneous.pdf).

Of Pearson’s, the document adds:

“R H & J Pearson and Sons in Notting Hill Gate was one of the largest wholesale and retail ironmongers in the area and their name appears on countless plates. Robert Henry Pearson established his business in the 1840s and by the year of his death in 1893, 200 people were employed by the firm.”

One other bit of information about Pearson’s relates to one of its employees, John Henry Mills (1880-1942), who was born in Notting Hill Gate. On the 11th of November 1895, he was ‘bound’ to Pearson’s to serve an apprenticeship for five years. By late January1899, he had already run away and enrolled with 5th Rifle Brigade (London). For committing some now unknown felony, John was discharged on the 21st of March 1899. Soon after this the Second Anglo-Boer War broke out in South Africa. John served with the Imperial Yeomanry during this conflict. After the war, his movements are unknown, but he is known to have served in WW1. After marrying in 1918, he and his wife lived in London, where by 1939, he was recorded on an official register as a “housekeeper”.  (www.bansteadhistory.com/BEECHHOLME/Beechholme%20Boer%20War/Boer_War_M.html)

Clearly, ironmongery had little appeal for young Mills.

Pearson’s made many of the coalhole covers in Notting Hill Gate, but by no means all of them. It is worth glancing occasionally at the pavement to see the variety of coalhole covers still in existence. It appears that some of these once mundane items are stolen, to be sold to collectors. Some of the stolen covers have been replaced by artistic modern covers. A good example is one with poetry on it near The Gate Cinema. Now redundant because coal is hardly used for domestic purposes in London, these metal discs are remnants of an era now fading ever further into history.

City of relief

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THERE WAS ALWAYS a tin of pink coloured Isogel granules in the bathroom of my childhood home. One of my parents took a teaspoon of this daily to ensure regularity of bowel movements. An important ingredient in Isogel is psyllium husk, which is extracted from the plants Plantago ovata and Plantago psyllium. Basically, the husk is a polysaccharide gelling agent which, believe it or not, can be used to ameliorate both constipation and diarrhoea. It might also have other health promoting properties, including possible mitigation of Type 2 diabetes, and reducing cholesterol levels in the blood.

Recently, for reasons that need not be detailed here, we have taken to using psyllium husk. We did not buy Isogel, as my parents did, but a product from India called ‘Sat-Isabgol’, which my wife’s parents used in that country. This product is packed in a picturesque box that includes the company’s trademark: an old-fashioned telephone (B.G. Telephone Brand Regd.).  The box we bought recently proudly proclaims that the company is in its 80th year. According to the box, Sat-Isabgol is:

“… the upper coating of Plantago Ovata (Ispagul) which is highly purified by sieving and winnowing.”

Interesting as this is, what attracted me to the box was the fact that the Sat-Isabgol factory is in Sidhur, a place we visited in Gujarat (western India).

Sidhpur is far from being a major tourist attraction, but it is not far from the ruins of the magnificent Sun Temple at Modera, which does attract many sightseers. The main attraction in Sidhpur is a couple of streets lined with mansions decorated with ornate facades and other decorative features. These were built between the 1820s and the 1930s by a successful group of Muslim traders, members of the Dawoodi Bohra sect. The buildings incorporate many features of European neo-classical styles. Many of the houses bear their owners’ monograms in Latin lettering. The streets in this rural provincial town have a surprisingly un-Indian look about them and if it were not for cows and other animals roaming about them, it might be easy to imagine that one was not in India. While I was roaming around taking pictures, local people were extremely friendly to me. I got the impression that few Europeans visit Sidhpur. One exception was at the sad ruins of a Hindu temple, the Rudra Mahalaya, where the security guards were most unenthusiastic about seeing me with a camera. I was unable to photograph it. Constructed between 943 AD and 1140 AD, this temple is was in extremely poor condition when we saw it about two years ago. If it should ever be restored, it would make Sidhpur a fine excursion for tourists staying in Ahmedabad. I liked what I saw during our brief visit to Sidhpur, but was completely unaware that the town is home to the factory which has been producing something that has brought so much relief to people all over the world, since 1940.

Beer and biryani in Hampstead High Street

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MANY PEOPLE HAVE FAVOURITE restaurants. My parents were no exceptions. Amongst the restaurants they frequented often in London during the early 1960s were Mon Plaisir in Monmouth Street; Otello in Soho; Cellier du Midi in Hampstead; and the Tung Hsing in Golders Green, one of the first restaurants in London to serve ‘Pekinese’ cuisine. For Indian food, they patronised the Shahbhag in Hampstead High Street. 135 feet west of that still extant restaurant there is an archway decorated with sculptures depicting sheaves of barley and an inscription that reads:

“Established 1720. BREWERY. Rebuilt 1869”

The archway is at the street entrance of a covered cobbled lane that leads to a converted Victorian industrial building, now named ‘Clive House’, within a yard of varying width. The yard contains a well-head covering a well that looks quite old, and certainly not of recent construction.

The brewery was that of the ‘Hampstead Brewery Co. Ltd’ founded in 1720 by John Vincent (died 1755).  In about 1713, Vincent, already a landowner, acquired the Jack Straws Castle pub near Hampstead’s Whitestone Pond (www.british-history.ac.uk/vch/middx/vol9/pp66-71). He founded the brewery behind a pub called the “King of Bohemia’s Head” in 1720. In 1733, he was granted a 33-year lease of a spring by the trustees of an estate in Hampstead, which contained it and other wells including those with curative mineral waters. It was:

“…used only to supply the Vincents’ brewery in High Street and a few adjoining houses, was of little value to anyone other than the brewer.” (www.british-history.ac.uk/vch/middx/vol9/pp169-172).

Thomas J Barratt, a historian of Hampstead, wrote (in 1912) that Vincent selfishly believed that:

“… he could utilise the water to his own profit and the benefit of some of his neighbours; therefore, with the leave of the trustees, he laid down pipes and conveyed water from the pond not only to his brewery but also to a number of better-class houses in the town. He charged the householders for the water, and no doubt did well out of the transaction; but when, after many years, the Chancery decree brought about a day of reckoning he was ordered to pay £322 for arrears of rent, and the water was advertised to be let to the highest bidder. When Gayton Road, a thoroughfare now connecting Well Walk with High Street, was being formed, remains of the pipes conveying this water to the brewery were discovered a few feet below the surface.”

In addition to the brewery, Vincent acquired much other property in Hampstead including several pubs. On his death in 1755, Vincent’s brewery and other properties passed to his younger son Robert, who is thought to have continued running the brewery with his elder brother Richard (www.british-history.ac.uk/vch/middx/vol9/pp111-130). Richard entered Wadham College, Oxford, in April 1736 and became a barrister (Inner Temple) in 1743 (https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Page:Alumni_Oxoniensis_(1715-1886)_volume_4.djvu/270).

In 1787, Robert’s widow Elizabeth became involved in running the business and some of the Vincents’ pubs in Hampstead including the ‘George’, the ‘Black Boy’, and the ‘Coach and Horses’. She retained an interest in the brewery until 1812, which is well after it was taken over by Messrs Shepheard and Buckland in 1797. The brewery was rebuilt in 1869 with two shopfronts on the High Street, and by the 1880s, it was owned by Mure & Co. In 1928, the company had 184 employees, but it closed in about 1931. Reffell’s Bexley Brewery acquired it in 1931 (https://builtforbrewing.wordpress.com/2012/08/06/on-hampstead-high-street/).  

The brewery buildings had become quite dilapidated by 1959 when they were being used for motor repairs. Later, the structure was converted for use as office space and an attractive group of residences were built within its compound.  The main brewery building is now named Clive House. It is currently the offices of the Pears Foundation, which is:

“…an independent, British family foundation, rooted in Jewish values, that takes £15 ‐ 20 million of private money every year and invests it in good causes.” (https://pearsfoundation.org.uk/who-we-are/).

The Brewery’s grounds were adjacent to the grounds of a church, which has been converted into residential dwellings, which retain some of the original windows topped with ogival arches. This building is labelled as ‘Trinity Presbyterian Church’ on a map surveyed in 1866. It was founded in 1844 and had its roots in Calvinist theology. The church’s story is as follows (https://search.lma.gov.uk/scripts/mwimain.dll/144/LMA_OPAC/web_detail/REFD+LMA~2F4352?SESSIONSEARCH):

“Trinity Presbyterian Church began after a report by the Presbyterian district visitor for Hampstead that Scottish inhabitants needed a preaching station … By the end of 1845 the average attendance was 130 in the morning and 80 in the evening … The congregation moved to Well Walk Chapel in 1853, however, the building was dilapidated, so a site at 2 High Street, on the corner of Willoughby Road, was bought in 1861. The new church opened in 1862. It was demolished in 1962 … Shops were built on the site and the hall was converted into Trinity Close.”

So, what can be seen today was the church hall.

All this history is making me hungry. So, let us return to the Shahbhag, which my parents enjoyed back when I was a youngster. I went there once in the early 1970s and had a pleasant meal. Then, I did not return to it until the mid- to late 1990s.  It looked different to what I remembered of it, but its location was the same as of old. I sat down and ordered a meal. While I was waiting for it to arrive, I looked around at what was arriving on the plates being served to other diners and I did not like what I saw. It looked and smelled far less attractive than the food that I was used to having in other Indian restaurants at the time. I was beginning to regret having entered this restaurant, mainly for nostalgic reasons. I waited and waited for an extremely long time, but my food did not arrive. I looked at the time, almost 45 minutes had elapsed since giving my order, and realised that soon I had to meet my wife and some friends. I called the waiter and told him that I could wait no longer and that I would be cancelling my order. He seemed undismayed as I walked out of the restaurant.

Recently (January 2020) when I explored the grounds of the former Hampstead Brewery, I noticed that the Shahbhag was still in existence but closed for the time being because of the current viral pandemic. I am glad it still exists as it is something that reminds me of my parents, but I doubt I will be entering it again when it reopens. When restrictions relating to covid19 ease up, I would rather have a beer than a biryani in Hampstead.

A quartet of heroes

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MADAM CAMA ROAD IN BOMBAY is so named to commemorate the Indian pro-independence Mme Bikhaiji Cama, a Parsi who was born in Navsari in 1861 and died in 1936 in Bombay. Some of her bold exploits are described in my book “Ideas, Bombs, and Bullets”.

It is appropriate that in the street named after her, there are statues of two men who played significant roles in India’s fight for independence: Mahatma Gandhi and Jawarharlal Nehru.

A third statue in the street depicts another eminent Parsi born in Navsari: Jamsetji N Tata (1839-1904). Though not a freedom fighter, he did much to revolutionise industry in India. Starting with the cotton business, he soon became known as “the father of Indian Industry”.

In 1903, Tata opened the now famous Taj Mahal Hotel in Bombay. His successors, members of his family, established the variety of industries now known as the Tata Group. His family also fulfilled his ambition of creating educational institutions in his name with Tata money, for example The Indian Institute of Science in Bangalore.

It is appropriate that the statue of Jamsetji Tata is close to that of other important players in India’s independence movement, Gandhi and Nehru, because Tata was a keen supporter of the Swadeshi movement. That is to say, he encouraged the production of products made in India to reduce or prevent the need to import these same products. In Tata’s case, he set up cotton mills to produce cotton fabrics in India, reducing the need to import them from Manchester.

A plaque at the base of Jamsetji’s statue records that it was unveiled in 1912 by George Clarke (1848-1933), Governor of Bombay between 1907 and 1913. Incidentally, in 1907 he considered Vinayak Savarkar, future Hindu nationalist and father of Hindutva, to have been “one of the most dangerous men that India had ever produced” Clarke was a liberal, but became a supporter of fascism later in life (in the 1930s). I wonder what he thought about the Swadeshi movement as he unveiled the statue.

Madam Cama Road is not very long, yet it commemorates four people who in different ways helped India throw off the yoke of the British Empire.