Tag Archives: london

A WOMAN FROM GUJARAT AT AN INDUSTRIAL DISPUTE IN LONDON’S WILLESDEN

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WHAT IS YOUR EARLIEST memory of a news item? In my case, I remember my parents discussing something about Cuba. This was The Cuban Missile Crisis of October 1962. I had little or no idea about it, but later I learned that US President John F Kennedy was involved in its resolution. A year later, when we were staying in the USA, we were there when he was assassinated. I well recall that and my feelings about it at the time. That remains in the forefront of my memory, but far back in the fleshy recesses of my grey matter, the name Grunwick resides. While visiting an exhibition at the Tate Britain recently, I saw several photographs that brought this vague memory back into my consciousness.

Grunwick Film Processing Laboratories (‘Grunwick’), located at Willesden in northwest London, processed photographic films and produced finished prints from them. Photographers (mostly amateurs) put their undeveloped exposed films into an envelope along with payment, and sent them to Grunwick, who later returned the developed film and the prints made from it. In 1973, some workers at Grunwick joined a trade union and were subsequently laid-off by the company. The company employed many workers of Asian heritage – including a substantial number of ladies. As the then Labour politician Shirley Williams pointed out, the Asian ladies were being paid very much less than the average wage, and conditions were bad – hours were long, overtime was compulsory (and often required without the employer giving prior notice).

On the 20th of August 1976, Grunwick sacked Devshi Bhudia for working too slowly. That day, three other workers walked out in support of Devshi. Just before 7 pm that day, Jayaben Desai (1933-2010) began walking out of the factory. As she was doing so, she was called into the office and dismissed for leaving early. When she was in the office, Jayaben said (see guardian.com, 20th of January 2010):

“What you are running here is not a factory, it is a zoo. In a zoo, there are many types of animals. Some are monkeys who dance on your fingertips, others are lions who can bite your head off. We are those lions, Mr Manager.”

Thus began a two-year long strike, which was supported not only by the company’s workers but also by many politicians and trade unions, including, for a short time, the Union of Post Office Workers, who refused to cross the Grunswick picket lines.

Jayaben was born in Dharmaj, now in the Anand district of the Indian state of Gujarat. Soon after marrying, she and her husband migrated to what is now Tanzania. Just before the Commonwealth Immigrants Act (1968) made it difficult for Commonwealth citizens to settle in the UK, the couple moved to England. There, she was obliged to take up poorly paid work, first as a sewing machinist, and then as a worker at Grunwick.

Not only did Jayaben initiate the strike, but she helped keep it going until the dispute was resolved. In November 1976, when the Post Office workers stopped supporting the strike, she told an assembly of  Grunwick’s workers:

“We must not give up. Would Gandhi give up? Never!”

Later, like Gandhi, she employed his tactic – the hunger strike – outside the Trade Union Congress in November 1977. During the court of enquiry led by Lord Justice Scarman, she gave powerful evidence against her erstwhile employer. When the strike was over, she went back to sewing, and then later became a teacher of sewing at Harrow College. After passing her driving test at the age of 60, she encouraged other women to do so to increase their freedom.  After her death, some of her ashes were deposited in the Thames, and the rest in the Ganges.

The reason that Grunwick came to mind at Tate Britain was that its current exhibition “Women in Revolt! Art and Activism in the UK 1970-1990” (ends 7th of April 2024) includes several photographs taken at Grunwick during the strike. Three of them include portraits of Jayaben in action.

As I wrote earlier, I had heard of Grunwick, but I could not recall why until I saw the exhibition. As for the remarkable Jayaben Desai, I am happy that I have become aware of her and her amazing achievements.

A short piece about a tall Art Deco building in London’s Bloomsbury

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Senate House in London’s Bloomsbury was designed in the Art Deco style by Charles Holden (1875-1960), who also designed many buildings for the London Underground including quite a few stations on the Piccadilly Line. It was once, London’s tallest building.

Senate House was built between 1932 and 1937, and is the administrative centre of the University of London. Currently, there is a small exhibition about the planning of the building on the first floor.

Taking the plunge at the former YWCA in London’s Bloomsbury

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MY MOTHER WAS ANXIOUS about water. Because I do not think that she could swim, I believe that she considered it very important that I should learn how to propel myself through water. As a result, my parents paid for me to have many private swimming lessons (usually on Saturday mornings) – most of them were a waste of their hard-earned money. I was a slow learner because I was frightened by the thought that I might sink and drown.

Today (the 4th of March 2024), we were walking from Tottenham Court Road Underground station to the British Museum via Great Russell Street. Along that thoroughfare, we passed a pre-WW2 brick building, which now houses the luxurious Bloomsbury Hotel. If you look above its main entrance, you can see carved stone masonry that indicates that the building, completed in 1933, was once a branch of the YWCA – it was The YWCA Central Club. The architect was Sir Edwin Lutyens of Hampstead Garden Suburb and New Delhi fame. It remained a YWCA until the 1970s, then became a hostel, and now it has been converted into its present reincarnation. While the building served as the YWCA it had a swimming pool in its basement. It was in this pool that I finally learned to swim – I was about 12 years old.

The Saturday morning classes were conducted by a Mr Brickett. Each of his pupils began by buying a set of his inflatable arm bands, which were worn on the upper halves of the student’s arms. Each lesson, Mr Brickett inflated the arm bands, and using these, we swam (or made our way) across the width of the pool – without letting our feet touch the bottom. On each successive lesson, Mr Brickett inflated the armbands less than on the previous lesson. Eventually, we were making our way across the pool with uninflated armbands. When we could do this, we had to swim one width (about 10 yards) without the armbands, and then we were given a fancy certificate with a Union Jack printed on it.

I have only just learned that Mr Brickett, who taught me how to swim, was Reg Brickett, who, along with his brother Sidney, was a founder member and then President of the Swimming Teachers Association of Great Britain. Reg was the inventor of the arm bands, which were sold as ‘Brickett’s Swim Easy arm floats’ (www.playingpasts.co.uk/articles/swimming/the-valuable-and-unremitting-services-of-swimming-coach-walter-brickett/). Reg and his brother were sons of the famous British Olympic swimming coach Walter Septimus Brickett (1865-1933). He was responsible for training over 100 British swimming champions. Well, I did not know any of this when I was awarded my (now sadly lost) certificate.

We entered the attractive lobby of the Bloomsbury to ask about the pool. The pool is no longer in use, but still exists. It has been covered by a floor, and the room that housed it has been redecorated, and is now used to host functions and meetings. Although I swim extremely rarely, I do not think that I will ever forget my lessons with Mr Brickett at what was once the YWCA.

Some things never seem to change

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DURING THE 1970s and 1980s, we used to make visits to a restaurant in north London’s Willesden Lane. Founded in 1964 and specialising in South Indian cuisine, it was called Vijay. It still exists at the same address. Out of curiosity and ‘for old times’ sake’, we paid it a visit last night (the 29th of February 2024).

Entering Vijay was like stepping back in time. It was uncanny; nothing seemed to have changed. The walls are still lined with raffia work panelling, the wooden Kerala-style ceiling, and the pictures on the wall (mostly colourful depictions of Hindu deities) looked exactly as we remembered. Naturally, none of the staff were recognizable.

Back in the ‘70s and ‘80s, we used to eat at Vijay to enjoy South Indian dishes that were not easy to find elsewhere in London. If I remember correctly, in those days Vijay only had this kind of food on its menu. Today, the menu still has South Indian dishes, but also many offerings of food that is definitely not typical of South India. It offers a wide selection of North Indian dishes – such as most British people would hope to find in an ‘Indian restaurant’. One of the hors d’oeuvres, which you would never find on India, but is common in British Indian restaurants is fried pappads (poppadums) served with a  tray of chutneys and pickles to accompany them, Vijay now offers this. Probably, Vijay has added North Indian dishes to their menu because, for many potential customers, South Indian dishes are far less familiar.

Yesterday, we ordered a few dishes. They were enjoyable enough but not outstanding, However, it was great fun sitting in a place that had hardly changed since we last visited it at least 30 years ago.

A statue, a reformer, and a crescent in London

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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.

An exhibition in London at a gallery called Parafin

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ONE OF THE MANY advantages of living close to central London is that it does not take long for us to reach the numerous commercial art galleries in Mayfair and Marylebone. Many of these hold exhibitions of modern and contemporary art, which is often fascinating to see. My mother was a sculptor, many of whose works were abstract rather than figurative. Being brought up in close proximity to someone so interested in the contemporary art world (of the 1960s and 1970s) might well have been a source of my lifelong interest in seeing works of contemporary artists (as well as modern artists who no longer live). My enthusiasm for viewing art has been enhanced by two people close to me. My wife has always had an interest in art in general and ‘modern art’ in particular. Our daughter, who works in the world of art and its propagation, has added to our enjoyment of experiencing artistic creations by recommending galleries with exhibitions that often prove to be most fascinating.

Recently, our daughter suggested that we see an exhibition, “As Above So Below”, by an artist with whom she is working. Creations of British born Tania Kovats (born 1966) are being displayed at an exhibition in a small Gallery, Parafin, in Woodstock Street (close to Bond Street Underground station) until the 24th of February 2024. Although she is known for her work in a wide range of artistic activities, she best known for her drawings and sculptures. The present exhibition includes many drawings and a few sculptural creations. The gallery’s ‘flyer’ (or handout) explained that:

“… Kovats’ enduring themes are the experience and understanding of landscape, geological processes, patterns of growth and the intersection of landscape, nature and culture and how art can speak to our critical climate crisis.”

This summarises what the artist is trying to convey with her artworks. Everything on display at the exhibition was pleasing visually and meticulously executed, but just by looking at the works I was unable to grasp anything about them but their beauty. Fortunately, the gallery’s flyer helps to explain the artist’s intentions.

Many of the works on display relate to the sea and evoke it beautifully. One exhibit, also connected with the sea, was a series of images of numbered, but un-named, graves of 20 migrants who lost their lives crossing the sea from Africa to the Italian island of Lampedusa. Near this artwork, there was another work – a line of used school shoes. This is Tania’s memorial to her son’s childhood, and (to quote the flyer):

“… explores how growth houses loss, and is built into the child’s progress towards individualisation.”

The passage of time is depicted in another work in the exhibition, “Luna”, in which a series of pictures depicting the phases of the moon as they change during a lunar month.

I am very pleased that our daughter recommended this exhibition by an artist, who we had not encountered before. Although I greatly enjoyed the exhibition, now that I write about it and reflect on what I saw and read, I feel that I would like to see the show once again because at a second viewing I will gain much more from it than during my first visit.

Shops and shrines on a busy road in old Bangalore

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I KNOW OF TWO Avenue Roads. One is in London. Lined with the homes of the wealthy, it runs between Swiss Cottage and Regents Park. The other one is in Bangalore. It runs between KR Market (aka City Market) and a large Hindu temple (mandir) where Kempe Gowda Road becomes District Office Road. Both the road in London and its namesake in Bangalore carry much traffic, but there the similarity ends.

Avenue Road in Bangalore (‘AR’) is mainly lined with all kinds of shops, especially those dealing in paper goods (stationery as well as printed books). It runs through one of the oldest parts of the city: Chickpet. The lines of shops are punctuated by small lanes and alleys that lead away from AR.

Old pillars in a mandir on Avenue Road in Bangalore

As you stroll along the thoroughfare, you will pass mandirs and one church. And near the KR Market end of the road, a short lane leads to a Muslim shrine, the Dargah-e-Hazrath Manik Mastan Sha Saherwadi. It is well worth removing your footwear to enter this peaceful place. The grave it contains is in a small room with a mirrored, domed ceiling.

Some of the mandirs on or near AR are also worth looking into. Although some of their facades look fairly recent, the carved stone columns within the buildings look quite old. Near the street entrance of one of the mandirs on AR, I saw two intricate stone carvings of Hindu subjects. Both looked as if they might have been carved several centuries ago.

The Rice Memorial Church stands in its own small grounds, separated more from its neighbours than the mandirs on AR. Named after the British missionary, the Rev Benjamin Holt Rice, this Church of South India place of worship was built between 1913 and 1916 on the site of an earlier chapel first constructed in 1834, and then later rebuilt before being demolished. Although I have passed it often, I have not yet been able to enter it.

Not far from the church and a couple of picturesque mandirs, there is a branch of the Kamat chain of eateries. You can stop there for snacks and a variety of beverages. This place is in the midst of the numerous bookshops on AR. Proclaiming discounted books, these stores mainly stock textbooks and computer programming instruction manuals. Incidentally, AR is a good place to find a wide variety of diaries and calendars.

Bustling Avenue Road in Bangalore is a far more colourful and interesting thoroughfare than its rather elegant but staid namesake more than 5000 miles away in London. The street in Bangalore and the lanes leading off it give one a good idea of the ‘flavour’ of the parts of the city which existed before the arrival of the British imperialists. It makes a fascinating contrast to the newer Cantonment areas that became established after the British began settling in Bangalore.

She wore it a Diwali party in London

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AN ARTICLE IN “The Ahmedabad Times” newspaper, dated 18th of November 2023, discussed what the British Prime Minister’s wife, Mrs Sunak, was wearing at a recent Diwali party in London. Over her tasteful blue sari she was wearing a pearl necklace, which was attached to a golden pendant.

The pendant is a Hindu mythological creature, a ganderberunda. This is a bird with two heads – a double-headed eagle. It is the symbol of the Indian State of Karnataka. It is also a national symbol of places including Albania, Serbia, and Montenegro. It was also a symbol used by the Holy Roman Empire.

I wonder if Mrs Sunak was aware that the double-headed eagle is also a national emblem of Russia, against whom Rishi Sunak and his government are providing much military assistance.

The artists John Mallord Turner and Mark Rothko and abolition of slavery

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AFTER BEING DISAPPOINTED by the large temporary exhibition of playful but repetitive works by the artist Sarah Lucas (born 1962) at Tate Britain, we had a coffee and then revisited the rooms containing paintings and sketches by John Mallord Turner (1775-1851). It has been many years since we last viewed these paintings, and seeing them revived our spirits after having had them somewhat lowered by the Lucas exhibition.

One of the Turner galleries contains a particularly fine painting by the American artist Mark Rothko (1903-1970). It hangs amongst a series of Turner’s often unfinished late experiments on canvas. They were mostly items found in Turner’s studio after his death. Without outlines, these almost ethereal paintings are examples of the artist’s experimentation in ways of depicting light and colour. If one did not know when these works were created, one might easily guess that they are the works of an artist working during the age of Impressionism. As an aside, many of Turner’s finished works are extremely impressionistic, and I consider him to be the pioneer of what later became Impressionism, and one of the best creators in this style. These experimental works were displayed at an exhibition in New York City at its Museum of Modern Art in 1966. That year, Rothko remarked:

“This man Turner, he learnt a lot from me”.

The Rothko painting hanging amongst the Turner experiments was created in 1950-52. Later, in 1969, Rothko donated a set of his paintings to the Tate, hoping that they would be hung close to those of Turner. They are not; they are hanging at the Tate Modern.

Moving away from the room in which the Rothko painting is hanging, I came across another Turner painting that interested me, “The Deluge”, which was first exhibited in about 1805. In the bottom right corner, Turner has painted a black-skinned man rescuing a naked white woman. On close examination, the man can be seen to have a chain around his waist. The Tate’s caption to this picture includes the following:

“Painted at a time when the cause for Britain to abolish its enslavement of people of African descent was gaining ground, this detail is significant.”

Some years after it was painted, Turner gave a print of this work to a pro-abolition Member of Parliament.

“The Deluge” is not the only painting by Turner relating to his sympathy for the abolition of slavery. His “The Slave Ship”, first exhibited in 1840, is another powerful example. This painting, now in Boston (Massachusetts), is based on the dreadful incident when, in an attempt to cheat the insurers, the captain of a slave ship, the Zong’, caused 132 slaves to be thrown overboard (in 1781).  Turner had learned about this crime from the anti-slavery activists with whom he associated. Although Turner, a liberal, was sympathetic to the abolition of slavery, he was not totally divorced from the benefits that transatlantic slavery brought to Britain, as was pointed out by Chris Hastings in the “Mail Online” on the 28th of August 2021:

“One of Britain’s greatest painters has fallen victim to woke culture, as art-lovers are being warned not to ‘idolise’ J. M. W. Turner because he once held a single share in a Jamaican business that used slave labour.”

The website of London’s Royal Academy gives more detail:

“It would be fair to assume that Turner’s views were strongly pro-abolition at the time he painted this work. However, scholars have pointed out that earlier in his career he apparently had no qualms about investing in a company that ran a plantation … In 1805 Turner invested £100 to buy a share in a business called Dry Sugar Work. Despite the name, this enterprise was a cattle farm on a Jamaican plantation run on the labour of enslaved people. The business was owned by Stephen Drew, a barrister who bought the estate from William Beckford in 1802. The firm went bust in 1808.”

Some many months ago, we saw a play at the National Theatre, “Rockets and Blue Lights” (written by Winston Pinnock). It concerns an ageing Turner seeking inspiration from a remembered incident like the awful event that took place on the “Zong”. During the play, it was alleged that because of his disgust with the slave trade, Turner gave up using sugar. Whether or not this was the case, I cannot say.

Fascinating as are abolitionist and the Rothko ‘connections’ with JMW Turner, the well-displayed paintings in the Turner galleries are all superb and well worth visiting.

Creating art with wood and a chainsaw

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BORN IN WHAT BECAME EAST GERMANY in the town of Deutschbsaselitz, the artist christened as Hans-Georg Kern (b. 1938), is better known by the name of Georg Baselitz. His first education in art was at Hochschule für Bildende und Angewandte Kunst in East Berlin, commencing in 1955. After two semesters, he was expelled from this academy because of his lack of compliance with the socialist diktats of the German Democratic Republic. By 1957. he was a student at the Hochschule der Künste in West Berlin. In 1961, he changed his name to Georg Baselitz in honour of the town where he was born. In 1979, he began creating sculptural works, some of which are on display at London’s Serpentine South Gallery until the 7th of January 2024.

The works being shown at the Serpentine are all made of wood. They were created between 2011 and 2015 as models (maquettes) for finished works, and as such were not originally intended for public display. The wood has a rough finish and is pitted with many saw marks. After making preliminary drawings, some of which are displayed at the exhibition, Baselitz used axes, chisels, and chainsaws to fashion huge bits of timber into intriguing sculptural forms. These works are beautifully displayed in the various spaces of the gallery.

Although Baselitz’s timber sculptures are more figurative and much more complicated than those produced by my mother, seeing them reminded me of her. After leaving the sculpture workshops of St Martins School of Art, my mother hired a garage near Golders Hill Park, and used it as her studio. There, she worked on huge pieces of wood, creating abstract sculptures. Unlike Baselitz, she had no power saws, but only chisels and a power drill. I recall that when she wanted to create a ring-shaped piece of timber, she would first trace circles on the wood and then using a power drill she would drill holes around the circumference until the circle was complete. After that, she had to smooth the edges to produce a perfect circle. It was laborious, and lifting the heavy timber (without lifting gear) damaged her back.

The works on display in the Serpentine  (and one outside it) appear to be crudely finished when looked at closely, but as semi-abstract sculptures they seem to mock the grandeur of classical Greek or Roman sculptures. Born a rebel, the artist has produced attractive works that comfortably go against the grain of traditional sculpture.