I STUDIED AT University College London (‘UCL’) between 1970 and 1982. I was not there for so long because I kept failing examinations. Instead, I was a student there while I completed three different degree courses. Today (and during the years I attended UCL), the Students Union building is still located in a not particularly attractive building on the southwest corner of Gower Place and Gordon Street. Whereas it was a popular haunt of many of my fellow students, I hardly ever entered it except for a very brief period in the mid-1970s, when I was a PhD student in the Physiology Department.
During that short period, an Italian man opened a small restaurant on one of the floors of the Union building. His menu was limited to beautifully prepared beefsteaks that were accompanied by salad. This wonderful steak was priced no more than the often mediocre (or sometimes even poor) food that was available in the various subsidised student canteens in UCL. The reason for the Italian’s low priced, superb fare became obvious when after a few weeks, his eatery closed – or was closed. It turned out (so I was led to believe) that he was using the Union’s premises, but not paying the rent that he owed.
Winding the clock forward to the 26th of June 2023, we walked past the Union building, and I noticed something that I had never seen before. The building has a commemorative plaque that reads:
“This building housed the London School of Tropical Medicine and the Hospital for Tropical Diseases. 1920-1939.”
The plaque was placed by the Seamen’s Hospital Society, based in Greenwich. I do not know when the memorial was affixed to the Union, but I feel sure that it was not there when I was a student. It is interesting that what was once a hospital has become a centre for hospitality.
THE ARCHITECT SIR John Soane (1753-1837) created what is my favourite museum in London – Sir John Soane’s Museum. Son of a builder, Soane became a successful architect in the reigns of Kings George III and George IV. In 1806, he was elected Professor of Architecture at the Royal Academy. Although he was able to undertake the Grand Tour in Italy and Malta during the period 1778 to 1779, many of his students were unable to do so because of the Napoleonic Wars raging in Europe between 1803 and 1815. This meant that they were deprived of the opportunity of viewing the great works of art and architecture, which was considered an important part of an architect’s training during the Regency Period. However, Soane got around this problem as I will explain.
Between 1792 and about 1812, Soane purchased and then demolished three neighbouring houses on the north side of Lincoln’s Inn Fields. He rebuilt them to his own designs. He continued remodelling their interiors to test out the efficacy of his novel architectural designs. One feature that stands out are his clever ways of getting natural light to reach parts of the buildings that were far from natural light sources. Often skylights are located above tall internal lightwells, which allows light to reach, for example the basement rooms. In addition, carefully placed mirrors assist the distribution of natural light. These clever methods of illumination were important innovations in the era before electricity or gas-lighting.
Soane lived in his houses, had his architectural workshops there, kept a picture gallery, and created a museum. The picture gallery is ingenious. A small square room, lit from above, has some of the pictures arranged in two layers, one covering the other. The wall carrying the outer layers of pictures is in fact a huge, hinged door, which can be opened to reveal the pictures on the layer it covers (see the photo above). By this method, Soane created much more hanging area within the room. The pictures and drawings include many by Hogarth and Piranesi, and at least one by Canaletto. There is also a pair depicting Soane and his wife. Other pictures depict buildings designed by Soane as well as projects that he planned but were never fulfilled. To squeeze so many large artworks into such a small room, where they can be viewed comfortably, is a work of genius.
Soane, who was a successful architect and married the daughter of a wealthy builder, was not short of cash. He spent some of it on purchasing a huge variety and a great number of antiques including the Sarcophagus of Seti (Egypt, c 900BC). The sarcophagus had lain in front of the British Museum for two years before he was able to purchase it from the man who owned it. It had been offered to the British Museum, which declined to purchase it for £2000. So, Soane bought it, and it is the most important exhibit in his museum. The other antiques include Ancient Greek and Roman as well as mediaeval and renaissance artefacts. Soane put much effort into arranging his collection and established it as a museum. In 1833, he managed to get a Private Act of Parliament passed. This enshrined in law that after his death, number 13 Lincoln’s Inn Fields (the museum) should be preserved in perpetuity in the state he left it. And this has been done faithfully, but with careful restoration when necessary.
One of the purposes of Soane’s Museum was to allow his architectural students to view and study the sort of things that would have been able to see had the Napoleonic Wars not prevented them from undertaking their own Grand Tour. A visit to the curiously cluttered museum is fascinating and wondrous. The staff and volunteers that keep an eye on the various rooms and chambers in the museum are well-informed and provide interesting information.
LONDON’S HOLLAND PARK contains a lovely area – the Kyoto Garden. It is a well-maintained Japanese-style garden. I visit it frequently. Each time, I see something different there.
The garden is planted around a small pond in which there are several rocks, which look like miniature islands. Today, I saw a heron perched on the summit of one of these rocks. It stood still, moving its head slowly every now and then. It showed little interest in the many fish that swim in the pond. My wife noticed that there was a nest containing eggs just below the bird’s feet. The creature stood like a sentinel, guarding its future offspring.
I could see four eggs in the nest – there might have been more. In general, so I learned from Wikipedia, the various species of heron are monogamous and lay between three and five eggs. I have no idea what species I saw in the Kyoto Garden, but it is the first time I have seen a heron’s nest with eggs anywhere in Holland Park.
IT ALMOST GOES WITHOUT saying that wherever you are in central London, you are never more than a few footsteps away from a spot that has played a role in significant historical events. Most of these historical spots have been recorded, and therefore are not unknown to at least a few people. However, when walking around London, I often come across a memorial which I had not noticed before despite having passed it several times. Such is the case with number 51 New Cavendish Street – a brick building in Marylebone, which we have walked past several times recently.
Number 51 bears a commemorative plaque which has the following information:
“This building housed the headquarters of the Polish navy during 1939-1945”.
Poland became an independent country at the end of WW1. By 1920, then with only 90 miles of coastline, Poland began to construct a navy. This was based in Gdynia, near to the ‘free port’ of Gdansk (Danzig), which was not under Polish control. In 1939, with little chance of withstanding attack by the Germans, Polish naval vessels began leaving the Baltic, and heading for British waters. In late 1939, Polish Naval Headquarters were established at 51 New Cavendish Street. Although the Poles had administrative control over their vessels, operational control was dictated by British military requirements. Between 1939 and 1945, the number of men working in the exiled Polish Navy increased from 1000 to 4000.
After the end of WW2, in September 1946, the Polish Naval Detachment in the UK was disbanded. One of its warships was handed back to the new Communist government of Poland. Only a few of the naval personnel felt able to return to their native land now that it was under Communist rule.
Well, I knew a little about the exiled Polish Air Force and have visited Audley End House, where Polish Special Operations Executive personnel trained before being dropped behind the lines in German-occupied Poland. I have even eaten dinner at a Polish Airman’s Club in South Kensington, but this place’s restaurant might well have closed since then. However, until my most recent visit to New Cavendish, I did not know anything about Poland’s navy and its role in WW2.
THE ARCHITECT EDWIN LUTYENS, who designed a set of important government buildings in India’s New Delhi, was also one of the principal planners of Central Square and its surroundings in London’s Hampstead Garden Suburb (‘HGS’). Here is a little bit about this that I have published about this in my book “Golders Green & Hampstead Garden Suburb: Visions of Arcadia”:
“Designed to be the throbbing communal heart of HGS, Central Square is a failure. Pevsner and Cherry noted in their “Buildings of England: London 4: North”:
“Unwin’s first plans had included shops along the approaches, but as built by Sir Edwin Lutyens, appointed consultant architect in 1906, the shops were omitted and the square became a high-minded enclave of churches and public buildings with a fringe of smart houses.”
The writers pointed out that without shops, the square never became a true social centre. In fact, most of the time it is an almost deserted open space. Lutyens (1869-1944) did not get on well with Henrietta Barnett. In her book “The architect and his wife: a life of Edwin Lutyens” (published in 2002), Jane Ridley wrote:
“Lutyens was no progressive. He had no interest in using architecture to change the way people lived, to eliminate servants or smooth social divisions … He disliked the bossiness of social reformers such as Mrs Barnett. Ugly, squalid towns such as Manchester depressed him, but he didn’t see town planning as a motor for change. All he wanted was to build beautiful buildings: ‘Loveliness alone is akin to godliness and whilst ugliness is countenanced and excused Hell is possible.’”
Later in her book Ridley recorded that Lutyen’s wife Emily had written to him after he had fled abroad in 1908 (having had disagreements with Henrietta):
“‘I am glad you went,’ she wrote, ‘as you needed rest and change, only you must work up the Hampstead affair and not let grass grow under your feet, or Mrs Barnett will put you in the wrong again.’”
Despite his differences with Mrs Barnett, Lutyens left his architectural mark on the square. These are his buildings built before he drew up plans for most of his buildings in British India, notably in New Delhi. As Mary Lutyens described in her book “Edwin Lutyens” (published in 1991), his work in the suburb was of importance for his future career:
“At the beginning of 1912 Lord Crewe, Secretary of State for India, approached Reginald Blomfield, President of the Royal Institute of British Architects, to recommend an architect to serve on a commission of three experts to advise the Government of India on the siting and laying out of the new capital. Blomfield recommended Lutyens on the strength of his country houses …his work in Johannesburg … and for Hampstead Garden Suburb. Sir Richmond Ritchie, Permanent Secretary for India, then sent for Lutyens and asked him if he would be willing to serve on the Commission. Incidentally, in connection with the above, Lutyens was already married to the daughter of a Viceroy of India…”
Central Square and its surroundings remain a rather sterile centre of what its founders hoped would be a garden suburb with a vibrant community spirit. If you are lucky, you can spot someone walking a dog or a few children playing on the lawns. Otherwise, this part of London is peaceful and, dare I say it, rather dull.
You can read more about Hampstead Garden Suburb in my book, which is easily available from Amazon:
“In the early 1960s, my parents installed a Permutit water softening unit in our family home. I have no idea why they did this. Maybe it was to save soap and the furring up of pipework. I am not sure that they would have done it had they known of the research that shows that heart disease is reduced as the hardness of drinking water increases.
The apparatus consisted of two cream-coloured cylinders, each about five feet high, which stood next to each other in our garage by the side of the house. One of the cylinders was sealed shut and surmounted by a circular metal control wheel. Its neighbour could be opened by lifting a lid. Once a week, my father had to refresh the ion-exchange resin in the sealed container. This was done by adding salt in large quantities to the other cylinder …
… A special salt, called dendritic salt, was required for the weekly process … There was only one store that would both supply sacks of dendritic salt and, also, deliver it to our home. That store was the world-renowned Harrod’s in Knightsbridge, which brought us the salt in their silent, electrically powered delivery vehicles. In order to get these regular deliveries, my parents had to open a Harrod’s account...”
Today, at the end of May 2023, I paid a visit to Harrod’s – a department store, which I last entered about 15 years ago. Since then, its interior has been modified considerably. The Ancient Egyptian themed central escalator hall is as it was when I last saw it, as is the superb, tiled food hall. Otherwise, it seemed unrecognisable to me.
Rather than being what I have always believed a a department store should be – a large shop in which its various sections display different kinds of goods (for example, men’s clothing, kitchen appliances, toys, etc), todays Harrod’s is a collection of departments, each one dedicated to a brand rather than a type of product. Wandering through the store, trying to find our way out, it occurred to me that Harrod’s has become more like a shopping area in a large international airport than an ‘old-fashioned’ department store. Is this, I wonder, because today’s customers are more interested in brand names than the products to which they are attached? Also, I am curious to know whether Harrod’s still deliver sacks of dendritic salt to addresses in the Hampstead Garden Suburb, where we used to live.
GEORGE FREDERIC WATTS (1817-1904) was a sculptor and a painter. I first became acquainted with him and his work when I was writing my book about west London (“Beyond Marylebone and Mayfair: Exploring West London”). My interest in him increased when I was writing a book about the Victorian photographer Julia Margaret Cameron (1815-1879). Between about 1850 and 1870, he lived with Thoby and Sara Prinsep’s family, about whom I have written in another book, in the now-demolished Little Holland House in Kensington. Not far from where he lived, there are two bronze statues by Watts: a portrait of Lord Holland in Holland Park, and the equestrian sculpture “Physical Energy” in Kensington Gardens. While living with the Prinseps, Watts met Julia Cameron, who was Sara’s sister. Cameron lived at Freshwater on the Isle of Wight in a house that neighboured the property where the poet Alfred Lord Tennyson lived. Watts, who had helped the Prinseps rent Little Holland House, was a frequent visitor to Freshwater, where he met and socialised with both Tennyson and Cameron. Watts, who was briefly married to the actress Ellen Terry, painted Tennyson several times and was himself photographed by Cameron. And Watts painted at least one portrait of Cameron – now in the National Portrait Gallery.
Apart from the numerous paintings and sculptures created by Watts, one of his most unusual works is neither a sculpture nor a painting – it is what one might describe as a precursor of Conceptual Art. Although attractive, the concept that it conveys – self-sacrifice – is more important than its appearance. Located in Postman’s Park, which extends from Aldersgate Street to King Edward Street, it is a memorial to ordinary people who lost their lives during peacetime whilst trying to save those of others. Created in 1898 but conceived by Watts in 1887, the work of art is called “Memorial to Heroic Self-Sacrifice”. It consists of a stretch of wall protected from the elements by a wooden loggia, which was designed by Ernest George who helped design the buildings at the Golders Green Crematorium. On the wall there are memorials to those who sacrificed their lives whilst rescuing others. Each memorial is made of ceramic tiles and records the name of the hero and a brief account of how he or she met their deaths. The first four memorials were designed and made by William de Morgan. Later, others were made by the Royal Doulton pottery. There is room for 120 memorials but by 1931, only 53 had been placed. In 2009, the Diocese of London permitted another memorial to be added.
Watts supervised this project. When he died, his widow, his second wife Mary, took over its supervision, but after a while she lost interest in it as she began concentrating on the management of the Watts Mortuary Chapel and the Watts Gallery – both near Compton in Surrey. The memorial is in Postman’s Park, which was formerly the graveyard of the nearby St Botolphs Aldersgate Church and is, I am guessing, maintained by the Church of England or a local authority.
The memorials are both fascinating and moving. Here are a few examples:
“Mary Rogers. Stewardess of the Stella. Mar 30 1899.Self sacrificed by giving up her life belt and voluntarily going down in the sinking ship.”
“Herbert Peter Cazaly. Stationer’s clerk. Who was drowned at Kew in endeavouring to save a man from drowning. April 21, 1889”
“Herbert Maconoghu. School boy from Wimbledon aged 13. His parents absent in India, lost his life in vainly trying to rescue his two school fellows who were drowned at Glovers Pool, Croyde, North Devon. August 28, 1882”
According to Wikipedia:
“Maconoghu was actually Herbert Moore McConaghey, the son of Matthew and Martha McConaghey, and he was born in Mynpoorie in India where Matthew was working as a settlement officer for the Imperial Civil Service,”
Standing amidst these memorials is a small sculpture depicting Watts. Its inscription reads:
“The Utmost for the Highest. In memoriam George Frederic Watts, who desiring to honour heroic self-sacrifice placed these records here.”
Luckily for us, Watts’s unusual creation has been kept in good condition. Since 1972, it has been a protected structure. Unlike most of the art made by Watts, the memorial in Postman’s Park was an idea created by him, rather than something he made with his own hands. I had seen the memorial several times in the past, but today, the 17th of May 2023, I took my wife to see it for the first time. A few weeks earlier, while visiting the Tate Britain, we had seen an art installation by Susan Hiller. It incorporated photographs of 41 of the memorials on Watts’s wall of memory in Postman’s Park. Having seen this, we wanted to see the original, and were not disappointed.
You can discover more about Julia Margaret Cameron, Tennyson, the Prinsep family, and Watts in my book “Between Two Islands: Julia Margaret Cameron and her Circle”, which is available from Amazon:
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.
MANY YEARS AGO, I used to visit Yugoslavia frequently. I stayed with friends in both Sarajevo and Belgrade. During almost every stay in Belgrade, several friends and I used to travel to the town of Novi Sad to eat good Chinese food in a restaurant called Szećuan. We used to order, and consume everything on its menu. This food was washed down with copious amounts of alcohol.
After one if these boozy lunches, we began walking to the railway station and as we passed a pub called Bar London, my friend Miša said to me: “It would be surrealist if you take us for a drink in this bar”. We had one or more ‘for the road’, and then staggered towards the station.
This memory was aroused by coming across the Restaurante Londres in central Funchal (Madeira). We ate dinner there. The food was excellent. For the first time in my life, I ate limpets. These aquatic snails were grilled in their shells with butter and garlic – they tasted wonderful. The other dishes we tried were so good that we have booked there again.
Returning to the past, if I recall correctly, there was also a restaurant or bar called London in central Belgrade, but oddly I never entered it.
yamey 