Chapter 10.
My London Years.
I must have sat down to start writing this segment several times now, I just do not feel comfortable writing about myself, but for the sake of prosperity I will try again.
I am not a Bermondsey born Pettard, and whilst I know much about my father’s side of the family, I have thought little about my mother’s side which was Kellys. My area of London was Clerkenwell and Finsbury EC1 and although I well remember weekly trips across the river to visit both Pettard and Leach families in Bermondsey, I never lived in Southwark. I was born 28th October 1941 Clerkenwell Buildings, Farringdon Road, it appears it was traditional for the first child to born at the home of the mother’s mother, and such it was with me born my Nan’s flat Clerkenwell Buildings, Clerkenwell Road.
The Clerkenwell buildings were just down from Farringdon Station and for years it would please me to inform people that this was the first underground Station and line to be built in the World. The station was built in 1863 as the terminus of the Metropolitan Railway, from which I assume the term metro for city underground system comes from.
Farringdon Station.
The original line runs 4 miles to Paddington, with the Farringdon Station section starting above ground.
From a very young age I would either go with my mum or on my own to see my Nan at least once a week while she, my Nan, was still alive. She was riddled with arthritis’s and I only knew her as a poor frail figure sitting in an arm chair prop-up with pillows, can’t ever remembering hearing her talk, she was so frail that she could only whisper in ones ear, I do remember her smiling when ever she saw me. The story goes that with such a big family to support, she worked long and hard hours cleaning floors, I believe in Smithfield Meat Market which was not far away, and her arthritis was attributed to her cleaning work, which would have been called scribing in those days, looked down upon by most has a very low and common form of work, but to me it typified my family and makes one feel pride of a Nan that got on her hands and knees to bring her family up.
Smithfield and its meat market is an area of the City of London, in the ward of Farringdon. It is located in the north-west part of the City, and is mostly known for its centuries-old meat market, today the last surviving historical wholesale market in Central London. The area of Smithfield has a bloody history of executions of heretics and political opponents, including major historical figures such as Scottish patriot William Wallace, Wat Tyler, the leader of the Peasants Revolt, and a long series of religious reformers and dissenters. Today, the Smithfield area is dominated by the imposing, Grade II Listed covered market designed by Victorian architect Sir Horace Jones in the second half of the 19th century.
Another place of interest within the area was Fleet Street the heart of the news paper and publishing world then. My uncle Patsy, my mum’s brother, worked the newspapers of Fleet Street, a very desirable job in those days, such that working just a couple of shifts a week he could make enough money to live on. As kids we would play in the dispatch yards of the newspaper buildings, where a series of metal shoots with rollers were installed to get the newspapers from the print room to the waiting newspaper delivery vans below, we would spend hours climbing up then sliding down the shoots until we finally got chased-off.
Fleet Street, probably 1890’s.
Fleet Street is a street named after the River Fleet, a stream that now flows underground. It was the home of the British press until the 1980s. Even though the last major British news office, Reuters, left in 2005, Fleet Street continues to be used as a byword for the British national press.
Gamages is my favorite departmental store ever, anywhere; no matter where, being situated not far from my Nan’s, between Leather Lane and Hatton Garden I would always be trying to pursued mum to take me. How could you forget such a magical place, where you saw Father Christmas for the first time, eye’s of wonder at seeing a train set with an engine pulling all those carriages, my first Rupert the Bear book, truly a place of wonder for a small child among the after myth of world war and empty shops. It finally closed in 1972 after almost 100 years of trading, having grown from a mere shop of five feet frontage it finally occupied 116 to 128 Holborn. Like the rest of my London, redevelopment had caught up with the shop that once sold every thing from tin solders to motor cars; I had forgotten the tin solders, once as a boy I had some brought from Gamagers.
Gamages Department Store,
Top Left 1897, Top Right Christmas 1947. Lower the wonder of Gamages in the 50’s.
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Gamages department store began in 1878 in a rented watch repair shop and, after quickly becoming a success amongst its customers, was established as a London institution. In time it was to grow large enough to take up most of the block on which it was situated. The store finally closed in the 1972, but prior to that had been the dream shop of every boy, and his dad.
Also just up from my Nan’s place was St Peters Church and school that my mum attended has a girl. She was always keen on me attending Sunday mass at St Peter’s even though it was a much longer walk for me then our local church not far from Northampton Buildings. She never attended herself but always made sure I went, it was her way of doing her bit to God and Church while at the same time getting me to see my Nan to insure all was well.
This was until an incident in and on the front steps of the Church made front page news, well inside page Sunday newspaper. The area had long been an Italian strong hold of London and St Peters was their church, at least that’s what they assumed. Where the is a Catholic Church your will find the Irish and with names like Kelly and O’Brain that include my family, well to say the two don’t mix is somewhat of an under statement and so it was with the church of St Peters, either side considering it theirs.
There had been a long tradition of Italian priests at the church but this had given way to Irish Priests, and I can remember this particular Sunday that it was announced that a new priest would be joining the church by the name of father O’Conner, there were rumbles and loud disapproving voices all over the church. What followed was nothing sort of a free for all, as the parishioners left the church a serious of fights broke-out as good Irish and Italian Catholic fought it out descending the church steps. I relayed this all to my mum once I got home, and can’t remember whether it was then or the following week after reading the report of the fracas in the newspaper, that mum said I was not to attend St Peters any more.
St. Peter's Italian Church.
Is Basilica-style Church located in Clekenwell Road was built by request of Saint Vincent Pallotti, with the assistance of Giuseppe Mazzini, who was in London at the time, for the growing number of Italian immigrants in the mid 19th Century and modelled by Irish architect Sir John Miller-Bryson on the Basilica San Crisogono in Rome. It was consecrated on 16 April 1863 as The Church of St. Peter of all Nations. At the time of consecration, it was the only Basilica-style church in the UK. During World War II, whilst Italian Immigrants were interned, Irish Pallottines made use of the church until 1953 when it returned to Italian control, not without a certain amount of fraction.
St Pauls Cathedral and the City were in easy working distance and we often walked the deserted streets of the area, the City in those days closed down completely at the weekend and with out any tourist it was like a ghost town. The City also had its own police force separate from the rest of London, has kids we feared the City Coppers more then anyone, with the City closed down for the weekend they conceded no one had a right to be there, as such you were always stopped, and in the case of us kids, sent on your way with a clip around the ear hole. Dad was a great walker in these days, often will would walk to Blackfriars Bridge and beyond to get a bus or underground to Bermondsey, as such I always looked upon Blackfriars Bridge has our bridge and loved its design and views of the river and St Paul’s Cathedral. To me has a boy of nine or ten years old St Paul’s Cathedral was the dominate feature of my London sky line, I can remember how sad and anger I felt some years later, when returning to my local area of London EC1 to find the view blocked with endless towering office blocks.
Blackfriars Bridge with St Pauls in the background.
A crossing at Blackfriars Bridge has existed since 1769, when the first, a toll bridge, was built and was originally called the William Pitt Bridge after the then Prime Minister. The current iron bridge was built in 1869 and widened in 1910 as the volume of traffic grew. Blackfriars Bridge derives its name from the district immediately north of the bridge and river. This area in name dates back to 1317 when the Dominican Friars set up their Prior, the name Blackfriars originates from the black cappa worn by the Friars.
St Pauls Cathedral 1897.
The current cathedral, the fourth to occupy this site, was designed by the court architect Sir Christopher Wren, built between 1675 and 1710 after its predecessor was destroyed in the Great Fire of London.
Depicting the old Brick Built Bridge, The William Pitt Bridge, constructed 1769.
It seems strange to think now back before the days of supermarkets, when all the family food shopping took place in street markets. Such markets normally consisted of stalls either side of the road flanked by shops, which may of included butches, chemist, fish mongers and even Woolworths. My mum did most of her shopping in Exmouth Street Market just off Farringdon Road, this normally during school holidays included a visit to the pie and eel shop, let me say straight away, you won’t get me eating eels, but I was always fascinated with the live eels displayed in the troughs outside the shop.
Chapel Street Market Islington was always a favorite market of mine, often making a Sunday morning trip for apple fritters and a hot punch drink in winter was a treat. Chapel Street was a great place for street traders and I would watch them for hours drumming up trade, it was more like a stage show, it needed to be, most of what they were selling was cheap rubbish.
Leather Lane is off Clerkenwell Road a short distence from my
Nan’s flat, I visited a few times with my Mum, but can’t recall what we purchased.
Exmouth Street Market. Chapel Street Market. Leather Lane.
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