Monthly Archives: March 2025

Lift 109 and the Transformation of Battersea Power Station

A recent birthday present was some tickets to go up Lift 109, the lift that goes up one of the chimneys of Battersea Power Station to get a view from the top.

This blog is not usually about this type of place to visit, but I love a high view of London, and I have not been to Battersea Power Station since it opened following many years of reconstruction.

The blog is about how London changes and adapts, so that does give me an excuse to show the fantastic view from the top of the chimney, and to look at how the old power station has been transformed.

To start the sequence of change, here are a couple of photos taken by my father in the early 1950s showing the majority of the power station complete, with just the final south east chimney to be built (from this post back in 2015):

A 2014 image of the power station, from the same viewpoint as the above photo, with the gas holder still on the right, which would soon be demolished:

When the early 1950s photos was taken, the power station only had three chimneys. Power stations are frequently built using a modular approach so that the site can start generating electricity as soon as possible and capacity added when there is sufficient demand and an economic justification. This approach was used in the 1930’s and continues to this day.

Battersea “A”, the first phase of the power station consisted of the right hand side of the building as seen from the north bank. Construction of this part of the building started in 1929 and the station was operational soon after. The Sir Giles Gilbert Scott brick exterior work was finished in 1933.

Work on Battersea “B”, the left side of the building commenced in 1944 with the fourth chimney completed in 1955 when the power station reached the configuration that was to last until closure.

The same view in 2015:

In the above photo, the south west chimney has been demolished. The chimneys were considered unsafe and not easy to strengthen and repair, therefore all four chimneys would be demolished and rebuilt, using new materials, but to an identical design so the visual appearance of Battersea Power Station would be the same.

In 2016, the new south west chimney had been built, and the other three had been demolished:

In the above and below photos you can see the new apartment buildings under construction between the power station and the railway line to Victoria Station:

In the above and below photos, you can see through into the interior of the power station, which at the time was a hollow shell:

I have loads more photos showing Battersea Power Station as was, but cannot quickly find them. I have tens of thousands of photos, all stored in folders dated with when I copied or scanned the photos to the computer – not at all efficient for finding a specific place.

Fast forward though to March 2025, and this is Battersea Power Station today (taken from alongside the river at Battersea, the fourth chimney is there, just not from this perspective:

Time to head to the top of the chimney, and the viewing platform can just be seen at the very top of the chimney on the right of the front of the power station in the photo above.

The lift is branded as Lift 109 as it takes you 109 metres up. Passing through the ticketing area, there are several displays about the history of the power station along with a few relics from the control room where you can pretend to switch electricity to parts of London once served by the station.

Then up a lift and 39 steps to the base of the chimney, where you get in the glass circular lift that takes you to the top and just above the chimney:

At the top:

I had been waiting to book the visit for some guaranteed sunny weather, and when the sun was in the south and highest in the sky, and on reaching the top, the view really did not disappoint. Looking east along the Thames, with the edge of the chimney at the bottom of the photo:

I find high view points fascinating for a number of reasons:

  • They provide a view of the layout of the wider city that you cannot get a street level. The way the Thames curves on its route through the city and the way the Thames has created low ground occupied by the city, surrounded by high ground to the north and south.
  • The distance and relationship between landmarks looks very different when viewed from a height rather than at street level.
  • How the height of the city is changing. From ground level it is often hard to appreciate the number, clustering and relative height of the buildings that are springing up all the time – for example in the above photo the new apartment towers in Vauxhall can be seen along the Thames on the right.
  • Despite the height, small details can be seen, including their relationship with the surrounding landscape – there are some examples of this in the photos below

In the following photo, the eastern end of the Churchill Gardens estate is in the lower left corner, and up a bit on the left is the red brick Dolphin Square estate. The tower on the right of the photo is the St George Wharf Tower, the first apartment tower built in Vauxhall. This tower blocks the view of the towers on the Isle of Dogs around Canary Wharf, a few can just be seen to the left of the tower. On the left is the Walkie Talkie building, then the Shard and in the semi-foreground directly below the Shard is Millbank Tower:

A bit to the right, and more of the Vauxhall towers appear:

Then with more of the Vauxhall towers, we get the south west chimney. The American Embassy is in the left-middle of the photo, the building with the ornate decoration across the whole of the façade:

View to the west – a very different low-rise view. Chelsea Bridge crosses the Thames and Battersea Park is the open space on the left:

Royal Hospital Chelsea:

In the river in the above photo, just to the right of the barge with the crane, is one of the Thames Tideway (super-sewer) work spaces, built into the river. Work is now complete, and the work space has been transformed into an open space accessible from the path along the embankment.

The workspace covers the deep shaft that is below the surface down to the sewer, and it was one of the drive locations for tunnelling, and is now one of the combined sewer outflow interceptor points, where sewer flows will be diverted into the new tunnel.

The view from above shows an interesting relationship between this new space and the Royal Hospital, as it appears to be at the end of the wide drive up to the centre of the Royal Hospital, and terminates this drive, in the river (although the busy embankment roads are between).

This new space is now open, and according to the project’s website “Parts of the new space here will be ‘floodable’ at high tides, giving Londoners the first opportunity of its kind to dip their toe in a cleaner River Thames.” I think I will wait a while before dipping my toes in the river.

View to the south, with the southern two chimneys of the power station:

In the above photo, there is a glass roof in the middle of the core part of the power station. This is above an atrium which is part of the 500,000 sq. ft. of Apple’s London offices. Along with Apple, there is other office space, including flexible rent space. Surrounding the top are apartments.

There is currently a two bedroom apartment in the power station for rent at £7,000 per month.

To the south east of the power station, there is still open space, which will presumably be home to new apartment buildings in the coming years:

Views to the south were challenging for the camera, as the sun was very bright. I was looking for the 719 feet Crystal Palace transmitter tower, and by chance it appeared in the left of one photo. If you watch free to air TV or listen to VHF FM or DAB radio in London, your signal is almost certainly coming from this tower:

Looking back to the east in the following photo, the Barbican towers can be seen in the background on the left, in front of which is the Shell Centre tower on the Southbank, and just below the Shell tower is County Hall. In the middle is the Southbank Tower at 55 Upper Ground, and to the right of this is One Blackfriars, with its distinctive bulge half way up the tower:

Moving slightly to the right, and the old NatWest tower in the City appears to the right of the following photo. Slightly to the left of this tower, and between two smaller towers is the brick tower of Tate Modern, the old Bankside Power Station by Sir Giles Gilbert Scott, who was also the Consultant on the exterior design of Battersea Power Station – London’s two great brick cathedrals of power:

The London Eye and Palace of Westminster, with the Victoria Tower on the right and Elizabeth Tower on the left. Further to the left, part of Westminster Abbey can be seen, with the octagonal Chapter House:

New buildings at Victoria in the foreground, with the BT Tower in the background. To the left of the BT Tower is the 1970 Euston Tower, at the time London’s tallest office block, and from 1973 it was the home of Capital Radio:

Camden Council have just approved the plans for a £600 million redevelopment of Euston Tower, so this building will look very different in coming years.

The engine shed over Victoria Station, with one of the angular buildings which seem to be a design feature of recent Victoria developments:

The rail bridge over the river, tracks leading up to Victoria Station, and train depot / parking area:

Look to the right of the train depot area, and the benefit of a high view can be seen, with the view of the two parallel housing blocks of the Peabody Avenue estate – the 1870s estate with a length of 300 metres. The two long, parallel rows of this development are really clear from this perspective.

The Natural History Museum is in the centre, slightly to the right, of the following photo:

And moving slightly to the right, along the centre is the Victoria and Albert Museum, and just behind, covered in scaffolding, is the Queen’s Tower of Imperial College:

In the above photo, the Wembley Arch can be seen in the distance, the photo below shows a close up of Wembley, with the dome of the Royal Albert Hall to the lower right:

Across the Thames is an estate that had a key relationship with Battersea Power Station. In the lower part of the following photo are the light brown buildings of the Churchill Gardens Estate:

In the centre of the estate is a fascinating industrial relic of the link between Battersea Power Station, and the Churchill Gardens Estate:

The tower is the most visible part of a highly complex system, that took hot water from Battersea Power Station, pumped it under the Thames through specially constructed pipes, stored water in the tower, then distributed it across both the Churchill Gardens and Dolphin Square estates for heating and hot water.

The system is described in considerable detail in a book published in 1951 for the Festival of Britain by the Association of Consulting Engineers. A large book that celebrates the work of civil engineering and construction across a wide range of projects.

The introductory paragraph to the section on the Churchill Gardens project provides an excellent description:

“In the ancient City of Westminster, almost within the shadow of the Houses of Parliament, so severely damaged by German bombers in 1942, great blocks of new flats are rising to meet the needs of London’s teeming millions, thousands of whom are still living in bomb-shattered houses built a century ago.

It is perhaps indicative of Britain’s will to survive and to surmount her economic troubles, that this great new housing estate, together with, it is expected an existing group of flats – probably the largest in Europe – is to have complete space heating and water heating by means of a district heating plan, thus banishing the dust and drudgery of the open coal fire, and the nuisance caused by the delivery and removal of fuel and ash for each block of flats. This plant is unique in two respects: it’s the first public heat supply in London, and it is also London’s first district heating plant wherein the heat is the by product of electricity generation. By this means the thermal efficiency of electric generating stations may be raised from its present figure of 25 per cent, to a figure approaching 75 per cent, for stations generating both electricity and heat.”

The section in the book is titled “District Heating Scheme, Pimlico Housing Estate and Dolphin Square”, as at the time the book was put together, the estate had not yet been given the name of Churchill Gardens.

The water sent from Battersea Power Station was up to a maximum of 200 degrees Fahrenheit (93 degrees Celsius) and was stored in the tower, or to use its correct name, the “Hot Water Accumulator” before being distributed across the estate.

The following diagram shows the concept from power station on the left to estate on the right via the Thames, which from the diagram, looks a very trivial barrier to cross with pipes:

The accumulator tower and estate under construction (from a post dedicated to the system and the estate, which can be found here):

I did not measure the amount of time, but you get around 10 to 12 minutes at the top of the chimney – plenty of time to take a good look at the view, but at the end it was time to take a look inside the power station building:

The public areas are within the old turbine halls of the two halves of the station, with the central boiler house (again in two parts as the station was built in two halves at two different times) now office space with apartments at the top.

The space is basically a Westfield or Airport shopping centre, with the only industrial relics of the buildings’ purpose being found in the roof space:

As the power station was built in two different halves, there were also two separate Control Rooms – A and B.

Control Room B sort of remains, but is now a bar:

To get an impression of what the Control Room looked like, you need to walk to the back of the bar, and providing the tables lining the viewing space at the end are free, you can see some of the original equipment:

The “B” side of the station was built after the war, a time when money and materials were in short supply, so the decoration of Control Room B was very basic.

The pre-war Control Room A was much more ornate, but is now (inevitably) a private event space. You can see some photos of the space here.

I guess there is a certain industrial feel to the design, but this is really brand driven retail space:

And you need to look up to see any relics from the buildings past:

The view from the waiting area for Lift 109, which is in the pre-war “A” side of the power station, so the stone work along the walls is more ornate:

Looking down into the entrance of the building from the river side of the power station:

The large, green equipment in the centre of the floor is a 66 kilo volt circuit breaker dating from around 1955, which was part of the station switchgear – one of the very few items of equipment from the operational station left on display:

The purpose of the circuit breaker was to automatically cut of electricity if a fault in the circuit was detected, to prevent further damage to the electricity distribution network.

There were a number of these circuit breakers at Battersea, each built within a brick compartment with steel doors, so that if a circuit breaker caught fire, the fire would be prevented from spreading.

As we have seen at Heathrow in the last few days, electrical distribution equipment can at times catastrophically catch fire.

Outside the power station, there is a long walking / viewing , seating area on the top of the pier that coal barges once moored up against:

It was here that the distinctive cranes that once transferred coal between river and power station were located. These were removed when development work started, with the intention that they would be restored and replaced, however I believe they are currently in bits in an outside storage area – not in Battersea:

Reflection of the power station in an adjacent apartment block, with a randomly placed bit of equipment from the old power station:

My photos earlier in the post showed all the chimneys being replaced, and in the garden at the front of the power station is a small part of one of the original chimneys – a segment from the 1933 north west chimney:

Along the western side of the building, with on the right apartment blocks with shops and restaurants along ground level:

Towards the rear of the power station is Prospect Place, designed by the California based architectural practice of Gehry Partners, founded by Frank Gehry:

South east brick work and chimney:

It was interesting to see the transformation of Battersea Power Station. My preference would have been for alternative uses than just retail in the public space, however in reality there was no other option than funding the considerable reconstruction of the building – which had been out of use for decades – than by building apartments, offices and retail.

There had been many schemes before the current development, none of which had resulted in any work in restoring the building, and no public or private money was being made available to create a transformation such as has resulted at Bankside Tate Modern.

Whilst the chimneys are new, they are to the original design, and the good thing is that the shell of the building is fundamentally as it was – a temple to 20th century electricity generation – I just wish that there was more about this in the building, in addition to the small display at the start of Lift 109, and a couple of bits of switchgear. Control Room A should have public access rather than being a private event space, and the cranes should be restored and installed alongside the river as a starter.

Giving more prominence to the heritage of the building would help increase footfall across the site, which is probably part of the thinking behind Lift 109, as visitors to this will probably also use the restaurants and shops.

Lift 109 though is brilliant, the view from the top provides a very different perspective of London. Unless you can get to the top of one of the new apartment buildings around Vauxhall, there are no other high places to view the city from this part of London, and on a sunny day, London looks glorious – as does the brickwork of this temple to power:

alondoninheritance.com

Late 20th Century Sculpture in the City of London

In 1994, the Department of Planning of the Corporation of London published a small booklet with the title of “Late 20th Century Sculpture in the City of London”:

Whilst there has long been sculpture across the City, it was mainly statues, building decoration, and a number of drinking and decorative fountains, the late 20th century saw a significant increase in the number and diversity of sculpture, with many new works being abstract, rather than the typical “man on a plinth”.

It was the aim of the booklet to highlight this increase in number and diversity of type, and how public sculpture added to the interest and enjoyment of public spaces.

The late 20th century was also a time when large scale development became the norm with City transformation, and the use of sculpture across a development (such as at, in 1994, the recent Broadgate office complex), was part of a developers approach to selling a new development as an attractive place to work.

The City of London, as with much of the rest of London, has long been a rapidly changing and very transitory place. Buildings disappear to be replaced by new, shops, cafes and restaurants open and close, businesses move in then relocate, the 19th century building that was a bank is now a luxury hotel etc.

A work of sculpture has a visual as well as a financial value. Types of sculpture are fashionable when installed, and seem unfashionable just a few decades later. Some sculpture, such as that of Mary Wollstonecraft in Newington Green attract polar opposite views from the day they are unveiled.

Statues of (almost always) men, who were considered heroes at the time, are, many years later, considered either tainted or as villains.

I wondered whether any of these issues applied to the sculpture featured in the booklet, just 31 years later, so decided to trace all the works recorded in the booklet to see if they are still in place, or whether they have been moved, or lost.

Fortunately, to help with tracking them down, the booklet includes a list:

As well as a map:

Split between the two halves of the City. The maps shows that some areas are a desert for late 20th century sculpture, whilst in other areas, such as the new Broadgate development at the top of the following map, there is a large number of works, illustrating the relationship between new development and the installation of new sculpture:

So I set out to find them all, and today’s post is the first in a series over the coming months to locate all 38 works of late 20th century sculpture in the City of London, starting with:

1. Temple Gardens, Lamb Statue, Margaret Wrighton, 1971

The Lamb Statue is of a boy holding a book, and is to commemorate Charles Lamb.

Charles Lamb was a poet and essayist. Born in the Temple at 2 Crown Office Row in 1775 where his father worked in the legal profession. On the death of his father’s employer, the family consisting of Charles, his sister Mary and their mother and father had to leave the house tied with his father’s job and move into cramped lodgings nearby.

After a short spell at the South Sea Company, he moved to the East India Company in 1792, where he would spend the rest of his working life. He was employed as a clerk, a job he did not enjoy.

His first published work was a small collection of sonnets that he provided for a book of poems published by Coleridge in 1796.

But it was not until the 1820s that he achieved a degree of fame when he published a series of essays in the London Magazine under the name of Elia (a name he adopted, allegedly the last name of an Italian man that had also worked at the South Sea Company)

However in many ways he had quite a tragic life which probably influenced his writing.

After the death of his father’s employer, the family were forced to move to cramped lodgings, and Charles and his sister Mary seem to have been responsible for supporting the family, and it was the resulting pressure which probably led to his sister Mary, in a fit of insanity to kill their mother and badly wound their father.

Charles took Mary to an asylum, and to avoid her imprisonment, he agreed to look after her at home, which he did for the rest of his life.

Mary did suffer mental health problems for the rest of her life, but she also published works with Charles, including a retelling of Shakespeare for children, a book which is still published today.

He did not marry. His first proposal of marriage to one Ann Simmons was rejected which led to a short period of what at the time was called insanity, probably what we would now call depression.

His second attempt at marriage, with a proposal to an actress Fanny Kelly was rejected, probably because she could not contemplate a life which involved looking after Mary.

The boy is holding a book, with the quotation “Lawyers, I suppose, were children once”, taken from Lamb’s essay on the “Old Benchers of the Inner Temple”.

The statue was the work of Margaret Wrightson, who was born in Stockton-on-Tees in 1877. She studied at the Royal College of Art, and the majority of her work was figurative sculpture, with works consisting of portrait busts and heads.

The statue was created and installed at the Temple in 1928, however it was stolen in 1970, perhaps because of the value of the lead of which the work was made. A fibreglass copy was made and placed in the gardens in 1971.

Given that the work dates from 1928, it seems strange that it is included in a listing of late 20th sculpture in the City of London, however the fibreglass replacement does fall within the late 20th century timings, although rather strange given that it is a copy.

It did though provide an excuse to visit Inner Temple Gardens on a lovely spring day.

The statue is within the hedged ring in the photo below, on the right hand side of the circle:

The long path running along the south of the gardens, between the gardens and the Embankment on the right:

At the eastern end of this long path is another work, which is not included in the listing, probably because this is a lead replica of the “Wrestlers”, with the first century original being found in the Uffizi in Florence:

Inner Temple Gardens are well worth a visit, and are usually open Monday to Friday, between 12:30 and 3 p.m.:

My next stop was at:

2. Fetter Lane / New Fetter Lane, John Wilkes, James Butler, 1988

John Wilkes was one of the major figures in 18th century political life, and he was also a Lord Mayor of the City of London.

He was active in so many ways that a book is needed to cover the breadth and depth of his life, and one was indeed published in June of last year: Champion of English Freedom: The Life of John Wilkes, MP and Lord Mayor of London.

A well as a Lord Mayor of the City where his statue now stands, he was also an MP, magistrate, author and soldier. He was a prisoner in the Kings Bench Prison after being found guilty on charges of libel.

Born in Clerkenwell in 1725, he died in 1797 in his house at Grovesnor Square. His reputation in later life had suffered due to his involvement in the Gordon Riots, where Wilkes was in charge of soldiers who were defending the Bank of England from the rioters, and as part of his defence of the Bank, he ordered the defending soldiers to fire into the crowd.

This action was seen as an act in support of the Government rather than the common people.

On the rear of the plinth are the following words: “This Memorial Statue Was Erected By Admirers And Unveiled in October 1988 by Dr James Cope”.

Dr James Cope commissioned the statue, and money for the statue was raised from present day supporters of Wilkes.

It was created by London born sculptor, James Butler, who died in 2022 at the age of 90., and there is a comprehensive website covering his life and work to be found, here.

3. 2 Dorset Rise, George and the serpent, Michael Sandle

The order in which the sculptures are numbered in the list is not always the best order to walk, and I found number 3 – George and the serpent – after leaving site number 1 – Temple Gardens.

Walking along Tudor Street, I caught a glimpse of the next work, a short distance up Dorset Rise:

This is George and the serpent, a rather stylised version of St. George, on a horse, about to strike a dragon which spirals around a vertical plinth of metal rods:

There is no date for this work in the City of London booklet, however it seems to date from 1988, and was commissioned by Mountleigh Group as part of the surrounding office development. It was the winning entry in a competition held by Unilever who at the time occupied the offices.

Unilever have long left these offices, and George and the serpent now sits in the courtyard of a Premier Inn:

George and the serpent is the work of Michael Sandle, who was born in Weymouth, Dorset in 1936.

Another of his London works is the Seafarers’ Memorial outside the offices of the International Maritime Organization on the Albert Embankment. This work has a similar bold style as George and the serpent:

International Seafarers Memorial, Albert Embankment, taken Friday, 6 March, 2020
cc-by-sa/2.0 – © Robin Sones – geograph.org.uk/p/6577613

The plinth sites within a circular well, and I beleive the George and the serpent operated as a water feature as well as a sculpture.

In the following photo you can see the circular well. Just visible is a pipe leading from below the interior of the plinth to one or more of the metal poles, some of which I believe are hollow to take water up into the sculpture. To the right in the photo are the brass tongues of the dragon, out of which poured water:

There cannot be that many Premier Inns with such an impressive work of art in the courtyard:

My next stop was in Fleet Place, where there were two sculptures in the listing and on the map. The first was:

4. Fleet Place, Man with pipe, Bruce McClean, 1993

However Man with pipe by Bruce McClean could not be found. Fleet Place has had some considerable redevelopment over the last few decades, so whether these changes resulted in the lost of the sculpture, I do not know?

I walked around the square and streets leading onto Fleet Place but could find no trace, and subsequently no record of where it could be, whether I missed the sculpture, or what may have happened to it.

Fleet Place on the day of my visit:

But I did have better luck with the second work listed as being in Fleet Place:

5. Fleet Place, Echo, Stephen Cox, 1993

Fleet Place consists of a central square and a pedestrianised route leading up to Holborn Viaduct, alongside the City Thameslink station. Along the route up to Holborn Viaduct, I found “Echo” by Stephen Cox:

Echo consists of two headless torsos facing each other, and the gender of each figure is rather vague.

As well as Great Britain, Stephen Cox works in India, Italy and Egypt, and the stone used for “Echo” was Indian Granite. A plaque set into the surround dates the work to 1993, and that it was commissioned by Broadgate Properties, if I remember correctly, this was soon after the City Thameslink station was completed, and as part of the redevelopment of the buildings surrounding the station.

6. Queen Victoria Street, Baynard House, Seven ages of man, Richard Kindersley, 1980

The “Seven Ages of Man” is a wonderful sculpture, but is now in a very dilapidated area, sitting within an open space, part of the public walkway between Blackfriars Station and Queen Victoria Street, above street level, and surrounded by British Telecom’s Baynard House:

The Seven Ages of Man is by Richard Kindersley, and as well as a sculptor of works such as that at Baynard House, he is also a typeface designer and stone letter carver, and if you have ever walked down the stairs at Canning Town Jubilee Line Station, you will see his lettering telling a local history story swirling along the concrete walls to the side of the stairs.

A plaque on the small brick wall opposite the sculpture tells us that the work was unveiled by Lord Miles of Blackfriars on the 23rd of April 1990. Lord Miles was the actor Bernard Miles, who. along with his wife Josephine Wilson, was the driving force behind the Mermaid Theatre which opened a short distance away alongside Puddle Dock (see this post for the story of the Mermaid).

The theme of the work, the Seven Ages of Man is taken from Shakespeare’s play “As You Like It” where the following extract tells the story of the seven ages:

Baynard House and the surrounding area, including the Mermaid Theatre are expected to be significantly redeveloped at some point in the coming years, so as well as the Seven Ages of Man, I think it would also be possible to put together the Seven Ages of City Sculpture (with apologies to Shakespeare):

  1. The planned new development, the concept for a work of art, the design competition and commission
  2. The design is complete and work starts
  3. The new sculpture is installed in its new location, and heralded as a focal point for this new place in the City
  4. The sculpture is now part of the day to day environment
  5. The sculpture becomes so familiar to those who live and work in the area that it becomes almost invisible as they pass
  6. The sculpture and / or the area in which it is located becomes dated, out of fashion, or lacks maintenance and falls into disrepair
  7. The area around the sculpture is redeveloped, the sculpture disappears

The Seven Ages of Man is certainly at stage 6 in my list above, hopefully after redevelopment, it will still be part of the new area between Queen Victoria Street and the Thames.

7. Paternoster Square, Paternoster, Elizabeth Frink, 1975

I usually try and avoid having people in photos published on the blog, however this photo, taken on a warm spring day, shows how the placement of a work can become part of the life of a place, with people clustering around to meet. Paternoster is somewhere between ages 4 and 5 in my list above:

With the colour of the stone used for the plinth, Paternoster looks as if it is part of the latest development of the area north of St. Paul’s Cathedral, however it dates from the previous 1960s office development on the same site.

Trafalgar House commissioned the work from Elisabeth Frink, and it was installed on the northern side of the original development in 1975, and unveiled by Yehudi Menhuin.

When the 1960s development was demolished, Paternoster was moved in 1997 to a position on London Wall, near the Museum of London, and restored to its current location in 2003, on a new plinth to match the surrounding buildings.

The name Paternoster is curious. The work is in Paternoster Square, and prior to wartime bombing and post war site clearance, Paternoster Row once ran through the square, east to west, and the statue is just a few feet north of the original router of the street.

Paternoster Row in the late 19th century – hard to believe that this street once ran through Paternoster Square:

Harben in a Dictionary of London gives the source of the name Paternoster Row as from “Paternosters were turners of beads and lived here, hence the name of the street”.

So why is the sculpture of a shepherd and sheep rather than the traditional paternosters that Harben describes as turners of beads?

The Paternoster Square website gives a couple of explanations, including that Elizabeth Frink was inspired by a stay in Cervennes, a mountainous region in France, populated with sheep and their shepherds, alternatively inspiration from Picasso’s 1944 bronze, Man with Sheep, or perhaps the nearby cathedral inspired a deliberate confusion between pater of Paternoster (Our Father) and pastor (shepherd).

The Paternoster Square website gives the name of the sculpture as “Sheep and Shepherd”, and does not mention the name Paternoster, with the word Paternoster only used in the context given in the paragraph above.

What ever the true source of Frink’s inspiration for the work, it blends in really well in Paternoster Square, and provides a focal point for those who use the square.

Although the focus of this post is late 20th century sculpture, I did pass some new works on my walk between those listed in the City of London booklet, one of these was in the overall Paternoster Square development, where Paternoster Lane meets Ave Maria Lane:

This is “Paternoster Vents” by Thomas Heatherwick.

It was the result of a requirement to provide cooling for an electricity substation in the ground below. Surrounding the work are air vents embedded in the pavement, these draw in cool air.

The two parts of the overall work then support two tall warm air vents. Each of the parts of the overall work consists of sixty three identical isosceles triangles of glass bead blasted stainless steel.

Paternoster Vents was installed in 2002. It is surprising how many recent statues, sculpture etc. across London are there to provide cooling to infrastructure, car parks, underground stations and tunnels etc. and to do so in a way that enhances the streets above.

8. St. Paul’s Churchyard, Becket, E. Bainbridge Copnall, 1973

Enter St. Paul’s Churchyard from the south east, look to your left, and you will see Becket:

Becket, by E Bainbridge Copnall is Grade II listed, and shows Thomas à Becket, who was murdered at Canterbury Cathedral on the 29th of December 1170.

In Copnall’s work, he has fallen to the ground, as the four knights surrounding him are about to strike their fatal blows:

The work is of fibreglass resin and was originally installed in 1973, in the south west of the churchyard, having been commissioned by the City of London Corporation. The sculpture was damaged during the storm of 1987, restored, but then was vandalised in 2001, when it was moved to its current location, which is within a quieter part of the churchyard.

Edward Bainbridge Copnall  was born in 1903 in South Africa and trained in London. More of his works can be seen in London where he was responsible for the relief sculptures on the Adelphi.

He died in 1973, so Becket was probably one of his last works, and he certainly captured the final moments of Thomas à Becket:

Not far from the Becket sculpture is another not listed in the City of London pamphlet, as it dates from 2012, a bust of John Donne:

John Donne was born in nearby Bread Street in around 1571and died in 1631.

He was a poet (and his works are still in print), an MP, Dean of St. Paul’s Cathedral, and many more roles in a complex life. It is from John Donne that we get the phrase “No Man is an Island”.

As with John Wilkes earlier in the post, John Donne requires a whole book to cover his life, and a couple of years ago Katherine Rundell published Super-Infinite: The Transformations of John Donne, and back in 2007 there was Donne: The Reformed Soul. Both excellent books that tell the story of a fascinating life that spanned the 16th and 17th centuries.

The work is by Nigel Boonham, and a clever part of the overall installation is within the stones surrounding the base of the plinth, which has been divided up into four segments for the four points of the compass, each highlighting a key part of John Donne’s life, for example to the east is his birth place in Bread Street, and to the west is Lincoln’s Inn where he was a Reader:

To the north of the cathedral, still in the churchyard is:

9. St. Paul’s Churchyard, John Wesley, J. Adams Acton, 1991

The statue of John Wesley dates from 1988 (although the City pamphlet gives a date of 1991 which may have been when it was unveiled), however in reality it is much older as it is a bronze cast from an early 19th century marble statue in Methodist Central Hall, Westminster.

John Wesley’s life spanned the whole of the 18th century, as he was born in 1703 and died in 1791. He was the main founder of the Methodist movement.

He also has a plaque in Aldersgate Street, recording a place and an event where he “Felt his heart strangely warmed”.

Apparently the statue is 5 foot 1 inches tall, mirroring Wesley’s real life height.

The statue is in St. Paul’s churchyard as, despite being at odds with the established Church of England, he did preach a few times in the cathedral.

As with a couple of others in this post, statues and sculptures do serve as a gateway into further research, by prompting more reading about the individual, and for Wesley, this book tells a good story.

10. Postman’s Park, Minotaur, Michael Ayrton, 1973

Michael Ayrton’s “Minotaur” was recorded in the City of London booklet as to be found in Postman’s Park, however despite a good walk around the park, I could not find the sculpture:

The reason being is that it is now just north of London Wall in the gardens between the ruins of the Elsyng Spital Church Tower and Salters’ Hall. I will cover the Minotaur when I walk through that area for the rest of the sculptures listed in the booklet.

11. Old Change Court, Fireman’s War Memorial, John W. Mills, 1991

The Fireman’s War Memorial was listed as being in Old Change Court, however today you will find it a very short distance to the west at the northern end of Sermon Lane:

The memorial was the work of the Firefighters Memorial Charitable Trust and was initially set up as a memorial to the firefighters who worked across the streets of London during the Blitz, and then extended nationally to cover the service of all firefighters during the Second World War.

It was unveiled by the Queen Mother on the 4th of May, 1991 at its original location at the northern end of Old Change Court.

The sculpture shows two firefighters working a hose, with their legs spread to the take the force of the water blasting from the hose, whilst a sub-officer is waving his arms, attracting others to assist.

The sub-officer is believed to be modelled on C.T. Demarne who was the Chief Fire Officer of West Ham Fire Station. Demarne had the original idea for a firefighters’ memorial, and this is located in the Hall of Remembrance at the Headquarters of the London Fire Brigade. Out of this memorial came the plan for the larger, public memorial to those who died in the Blitz.

It then become a memorial to all firefighters who died in the line of duty, the height of the plinth was increased, and the memorial was moved to its current location at the top of Sermon Lane and rededicated on the 16th of September 2003 by the Princess Royal.

There are currently a total of 1,192 names inscribed around the plinth of the memorial, which includes the a relief of two women firefighters (with the roles of Despatch Rider and Incident Recorder), and the names of 23 women who died:

The sculptor was John William Mills, who was also responsible for the Monument to the Women of World War II which can be found in Whitehall. The monument was originally commissioned by the Founder Master of the Guild of Firefighters and had the title “Blitz” and used a quote from Winston Churchill to describe firefighters of the war as “Heroes with grimy faces”:

The following photo is looking south along Old Change Court today. The most recent incarnation of the boarded up building was as the Old Change Bar and Restaurant, now closed, possibly as a result of the Covid period and post-covid working from home reducing the number of potential customers:

Old Change Court had a second entry in the City of London booklet, but there was no sign of the work, but I did find it close by.

12. Old Change Court, Icarus, Michael Ayrton, 1973

Walk down Old Change Court, turn left and you will find Distaff Lane Garden:

Distaff Lane Garden is a relatively new garden in the City, having opened in 2018. What I did find interesting is that it is the first time I have seen the use of What Three Words as a means of locating a City garden:

What Three Words in a really useful application for precisely specifying a location to within a few feet. What Three Words has divided the world into 3 metre squares, with each square being given a unique three word combination.

The idea being that it is easier to tell someone three simple words to tell them where you are, rather than trying to describe the location, remember street names, map references, longitude and latitude etc.

There is a mobile phone app and website, and it is also used by emergency and rescue services – it is a really useful service, and free to use.

Distaff Lane Gardens is at “memo.courier.showed”, and at this link is the What Three Words website showing the location based on these three words.

Michael Ayrton’s work Icarus can be seen through the gates into the garden, and this is the view of Icarus with the church of St. Nicholas Cole Abbey in the background:

As well as Icarus, Ayrton’s other work in the City was the Postman’s Park Minotaur, now relocated near London Wall.

He had a long running fascination with the story of Daedalus, Icarus, and the Minotaur, and these characters feature in a number of his works. Icarus was the son of Daedalus, and the myth of Icarus comes from his attempt to fly using wings made by his father out of bird’s feathers, leather straps and beeswax.

Before using the wings, Daedalus warned Icarus not to fly to close to the sea, otherwise the feathers would get wet, and not to fly to close to the sun, as the heat would melt the beeswax.

He ignored the warning flew too close to the sun, the beeswax melted and Icarus fell into the sea and drowned.

As well as a sculptor, Michael Ayrton was also an illustrator, painter and stage designer.

Born in London in 1921, he died relatively young in 1975 at the age of 54 – a year after Icarus was unveiled in Old Change Court.

There is another version of Icarus to be seen at the Royal Airforce Museum London at Colindale.

That is the first 12 out of the 38 listed in the City of London booklet on late 20th sculpture.

Out of these 12, it is only “Fleet Place, Man with pipe, Bruce McClean” that I could not find anything about. Whether it is hidden somewhere around Fleet Place that I missed, relocated, or lost, so a good survival record for the other 11, although the Seven Ages of Man is now in an unvisited, poorly maintained and dilapidated area, which if and when redeveloped, will hopefully be moved to a more prominent and long term location.

I will carry on working through the list in a future post.

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St. Olave and the Coopers Arms Pub, Falcon Square and Silver Street

One of the pleasures of researching posts for the blog is finding new stuff about places I have already written about. It gives me a chance to learn more, and to look at a place from a different perspective.

Searching through the three volumes of Wonderful London for a photo of a location for a future post, I came across the following photo which I had not noticed before:

The photo dates from the 1920s, and the text below the photo reads:

“The Coopers’ Arms From The Churchyard of St. Olave’s, Silver Street – In 1604 Shakespeare moved from Southwark and lodged in Silver Street, Cheapside, with one Christopher Mountjoy, a Huguenot. On the same site now stands the Coopers’ Arms, Falcon Square: and though the original house has gone, at least the playwright must have contemplated the little churchyard opposite every time he looked out of the window. Now the churchyard has, as it were, become fossilised by the Great Fire, for the church, St. Olave’s was never rebuilt; hence this is a genuine piece of Shakespearean London.”

I have written about the Shakespeare connection in a previous post when I looked at the blue plaque recording Shakespeare’s short residence here. There is a link to that post, along with other posts about the area at the end of this post.

And in this post, I will first look at St. Olave and then at the Coopers’ Arms.

I could not get a photo from exactly the same viewpoint, as the above photo was taken from an upper floor of the building to the south of the churchyard, and today there are also bushes at the southern end of the garden. The following photo is as near as I can get:

In the original photo, there are steps with metal railings and a gate leading down to the street. The height of the street is different today, and the garden has been extended into what was Silver Street, but there are now small steps in the same position, and the grave in the above photo behind the steps must be the middle grave in the original photo.

St. Olave was an old church, but appears to have been rather plain, and I cannot find any prints of the church, which is not surprising given that they would have had to have been pre-1666.

I found the following description of the church in “London Churches before the Great Fire” by Wilberforce Jenkins (1917):

“With John Stow the monuments in a church were the chief feature of interest, and he is rather contemptuous of the little church of St. Olave in Silver Street: ‘A small thing and without any noteworthy monuments’. The date of the original church was earlier than 1291, the date of the ‘Taxatio’ of Pope Nicholas, in which the church is called ‘Olav de Mokewell’ (i.e. Monkwell). We are told of a certain priest or curate in charge, Roger de Shardelawe, in 1343. The church was rebuilt in 1609. The income was stated to be £83, including the vale of the parsonage. It was not rebuilt after the Fire, but the Parish was joined to that of St. Alban, Wood Street. A small piece of the churchyard may still be seen in Falcon Square, and is used as a public resting-place.”

The reference to “Olav de Mokewell” will become clear later in the post.

The loss of the church was the first of three waves of church losses, beginning with those not rebuilt after the Great Fire, then the demolitions of the late 19th century as the City’s population decreased, along with Victorian “improvements” to the City, and finally those not rebuilt after the Blitz.

When you consider how many churches remain in the City today, it is remarkable to think of how many more there were before 1666.

So where was St. Olave’s? I have circled the location of the remaining churchyard in the following map, showing that it is close to the old Museum of London roundabout, and to the south of London Wall, the post-war dual carriageway that was build over part of Silver Street, and Falcon Square (© OpenStreetMap contributors):

The following photo shows the overall churchyard today, with London Wall to the left. The 1920s photo was taken from one of the upper floors of the building that was on the site of the building to the right:

In “London Churches before the Fire”, the churchyard was described in 1917 as a “public resting-place”, and that is still the same today, and I had to wait for a while to get a photo without anyone sitting on the seats – phone call and smoking refugees from the nearby offices:

The view to the right of the above photo:

St. Olave’s was one of about three in the City along with one in Southwark that were dedicated to St. Olave.

In the City, only St. Olave’s, Hart Street survives.

There are some very different interpretations of the story of Olave. He seems to have been baptised in the year 1010, in the Norman city of Rouen. He then helped the Anglo-Saxon King Æthelred II (also known as Æthelred the Unready) to regain his throne after the death of Danish King Sweyn Forkbeard.

Sweyn’s son was King Cnut, who took the thrones of England and Denmark in 1016, and would take the throne of Norway from Olave in 1028.

Olave was killed at the Battle of Stiklestad, when he was trying to retake his Norwegian throne.

He was declared a saint in 1031 by the English Bishop Grimketel who was working as a missionary in Norway at the time of Olave’s death.

Nidaros Cathedral, a wonderful Gothic cathedral, in Trondheim, Norway, which claims to be the world’s most northern mediaeval cathedral, is built over the site of Olave’s tomb.

St. Olave’s feast day is the 29th of July, and if you work in the Faroe Islands, it is a public holiday.

Back in the garden, in front of where the steps and gate were in the 1920s photo there is today, the following stone:

No idea whether this is a remnant from St. Olave, or from some other local building. It does not appear in the 1920s photo and post-war there was plenty of architectural stone available for uses such as this, and the water does provide a good reflection of Bastion House.

The City of London Corporation have approved demolition and redevelopment of Bastion House and the old Museum of London buildings, however their is currently a legal challenge to stop these plans, which would result in the loss of one of the two remaining towers built along London Wall completed between 1961 and 1976 (the remaining tower is Britannic House completed in 1964, refurbished in 1990 when it was renamed as City Tower).

Bastion House above the old Museum of London building:

On either side of the steps leading down from the churchyard to the small garden area alongside London Wall are two stone plaques. The first records that this was the parish church of St. Olave, Silver Street, and it was destroyed by the fire in 1666:

London Wall was a post-war, major new road to the north of the churchyard, however road changes have always taken place as the second plaque records that “St. Olave, Silver Street. This churchyard was thrown back and the road widened by eight feet by the Commissioners of Sewers at the request of the Vestry. Anno Domini 1865” and I think records the names of the churchwardens as Harris and Wilson:

Another view of the churchyard with the steps just visible between the bushes on the left, the grave seen in the 1920s photo on the right, and on the left is what appears to be the base of the grave on the left of the 1920s photo:

Before a look at the Coopers’ Arms pub, a quick look at how the area has changed. The following map is an extract from Rocque’s map of 1746. I have marked the site of the Coopers’ Arms with a red circle, and just below this, very slightly to the left is St. Olave’s Churchyard:

We can see Silver Street, and running north from Silver Street is Monkwell Street. The origins of the name Monkwell Street are the same as the 1291 name of the church mentioned earlier of ‘Olav de Mokewell’ .

Monkwell Street is a very historic street, now completely lost. I wrote a detailed post about the street at the link at the end of thios post.

Moving forward to the late 19th century, and this is an extract from the OS map, with the Coopers’ Arms ringed in red, and the churchyard ringed in orange (Map ‘Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland“:

We can see that Silver Street runs into Falcon Square, which was a name mentioned earlier in the post in relation to the churchyard.

According to Henry Harben’s “A Dictionary of London”, the first mentions of Silver Street date from the start of the 14th century, when it was known as Selverstret (1306) and Silverstrete (1311). The source of the name is believed to come from silver smiths living and working around the street.

Harben does not give a source for the name Falcon Square, but gives an earliest reference as dating from 1799, which looks right, as the square does not appear in Rocque’s map of 1746.

Strangely, the Coopers’ Arms does not have the PH notation for a public house in the above map. The building I have ringed is definitely the pub, as the position on the map is the same as can be seen in the 1920s photo. There is though a pub to the left, on the corner of Castle Street and Falcon Square.

Now move forward to the post-war period, and we see the impact of bombing during the Blitz (Map ‘Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland“:

The Coopers’ Arms has gone, the outline of the churchyard is still there, but so much of the buildings and streets shown only 50 years earlier in the previous map have been destroyed, and the area is now ready for redevelopment, with the dual carriageway of London Wall carving through Silver Street and Falcon Square, and the whole area being redeveloped with new office blocks, and to the north of the map would come the Barbican estate.

The outline of Monkwell Street can still be seen, but this street will also soon be gone.

I will now have a look at the Coopers’ Arms, and this is a photo of the pub I found a few years ago and used in the post on the link with Shakespeare:

The pub was destroyed during the Second World War, and not rebuilt as part of the post-war reconstruction of the area.

I cannot find when the pub was opened, the earliest references I can find to the pub date from the early 19th century. What I can be confident about is that the Coopers’ Arms shown in the above photo was the result of a rebuild after an 1828 fire destroyed the earlier pub building.

There is a very graphic account of the fire in the London Evening Standard on the 20th of September, 1828. The account is very graphic regarding the death of an occupant, and shows the almost casual approach to, and reporting of deaths, including violent death in London in the first part of the 19th century, when accidental and violent death was relatively common:

“LATE FIRE IN SILVER STREET – Yesterday an inquest was held in the vestry room of St. Alban’s Church, Wood-street, Cheapside on the body of Nathaniel Smith, aged 56 who perished in the above conflagration.

The jury first viewed the remains of the unfortunate deceased, which lay in one of the vaults under the church. The body was scorched to a cinder, and the whole of the limbs were burnt off. The following evidence was taken:

William Dix, landlord of the Coopers’ Arms, Silver Street, Falcon Square, deposed that the deceased, who had been a town traveller for many years, was a lodger in his house at the time of his death. On Wednesday night last, a little before twelve o’clock, witness locked up the house, and at that time considered everything safe.; before he and his wife left the bar to go upstairs to their bedroom, witness took off nearly all the coals in the grate, and only left a very small glimmer, which he had repeatedly done before; about 2 o’clock he was alarmed out of his sleep by cries of ‘fire’ which proceeded from the street.

He instantly got up, and could discern that the house was full of smoke, on looking out of the window, he saw a flare in the street, which seemed to be occasioned by the lower part of the house being in flames; witness, his wife, and two little girls made their escape up to the front garret, and got out of the window on the parapet of the house, before witness got on the house he ran to the whole of the lodgers rooms, and alarmed them. The deceased door was fastened, and he burst it open, and laid hold of him by the shoulder, and said ‘For God’s sake, get up, Mr. Smith, or else you will be burnt in your bed’.

The deceased, who seemed very drowsy, replied that he would put part of his cloths on and follow him to the garret window. Witness, in making his escape down the ladder, saw the deceased at a window on the second floor – he did not see him afterwards; the whole of the house was burnt down, with the exception of the outer walls.

The jury returned a verdict – That the deceased was accidentally burned to death.”

A horrific story, but so very common in London when almost every building in the city had a fire for either cooking, heating, or as part of an industrial process, when small businesses and factories sat within residential streets.

The Coopers’ Arms was back in business by 1833, as the pub was used as a mailing address for any business looking for men trained in paper-staining.

As with so many London pub’s, the Coopers’ Arms was also used as a meeting place for businesses, clubs and societies. One example was from 1857, when the City Coal Society held a meeting at the Coopers; Arms and advised that they would receive tenders at the pub for their quarterly supply of upwards of 160 tons of coal.

The following photo is looking east along London Wall. St. Olave’s churchyard is behind the greenery to the right, and Silver Street once ran into London Wall at this point, emerging from under the building to the right of the arch seen in the photo:

With a bit of changing the perspective of the photo of the Coopers’ Arms, I think I can get the positioning right, superimposed on the photo of the area today:

Not sure whether this will work, or appear in emails, but an animated GIF of the above photo:

Monkwell Street is the street running off to the left of the Coopers’ Arms, which is on the corner with Silver Street running off to the right. It does not follow the route of today’s London Wall, but heads to the right / south of the street, and disappears under the building on the right of the arch over London Wall.

St. Olave’s churchyard is the only part of an old streetscape that dates back to at least the 13th century, to remain. Silver Street and Monkwell Street were lost during redevelopment, and I doubt those who lived, worked, or simply walked along Silver Street could have imagined what the area would look like in the future – a recurring theme across the ever changing city.

I have written a number of posts about this area, and I find it fascinating to continue exploring to gain a fuller understanding of the place.

You may be interested in the following posts which also cover the area:

Monkwell Street, Barbican – Discovering A Lost Street

William Shakespeare and the Mountjoy Family, one of the plaques looked at in this post

London Wall – A Location Shifting Historic Street

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Covent Garden, Sunday Afternoon, 9th of August 1953

The majority of my father’s photos were not dated. It is possible to work out the year that the photo was taken by looking at the notes that went with the negatives, and where an individual photo has been printed and dated from a film of 36 photos. Three photos I can date accurately are of Covent Garden, on Sunday the 9th of August, 1953:

I suspect these photos were possibly taken as competition entries at the St. Brides Institute Photographic Society, as my father was a member and did win a couple of their competitions. They seem to be more composed, and to focus on specific details rather than general photos of places.

The photos were taken around the northern side of the market building, and show piles of produce in sacks and boxes:

Along with the barrows used by market workers to move stock around:

Although my father had recorded that these photos were of Covent Garden market, I was rather unsure of the location.

In the background of the first photo the corner of a building with two street name signs can be seen.

The following extract shows the two street signs as a clip from the TIF 55MB image straight out of the scanner, so about the best I can get, given that this is from 72 year old film:

Even with the grainy image, it is possible to see the names James Street on the left and Covent Garden on the right, so I can locate the photo as being on the northern side of the market building.

In the following map, the building corner with the two street name signs is at the end of the red arrow, and the approximate location from where the photo was taken, is shown by the red circle (© OpenStreetMap contributors):

The street names seemed to provide firm proof of the location of the photo, however one aspect of the 1953 photo still concerned me. Return to the photo at the top of the post, and the pillar is in sunlight, with the shade of a lamp being cast on the pillar. If the pillar was on the north-western side of the market (you can see the orientation of the market building in the above map), could it really have been in direct sunlight, sufficient for a distinct shadow to form on the pillar?

To resolve this, I used the Shademap App.

This application displays a street map, and allows you to adjust the date and time, and the map displays how the area in shadow changes.

Using Shademap, it looked as is the photo was taken just after 4pm. At this time, the angle of the shadow cast by the sun looks as if it would cast a shadow of an overhead lamp on the pillar, with the pillar and area where the boxes and sacks are located, in sunlight.

Shademap also shows that the corner building with the street name signs would be in slight shade, which seems to agree with the photo.

So if the photo was taken just after 4pm on Sunday the 9th of August, 1953, you may well be wondering why I am featuring it for the post on the 2nd of March. It is down to my lack of organisation with posts, and featuring posts in the order of scanning the photos and an opportunity to visit the site.

To find the location of the photo, I walked to the north-western side of the Covent Garden market building. This is the view along the open space between the market on the right and the surrounding buildings on the left. You can see the pillars which line the edge of the market, one of which featured in my father’s photo:

It is difficult to be sure exactly which pillar was in the photo. The first possibility is shown in the following photo:

Two street name signs can still be seen on the corner of the building opposite, however the building is not the same as the one in the 1953 photo. The building we see today is part of the late 1990s redevelopment of the large plot, part occupied by the Royal Opera House. The street running off to the left is James Street.

I moved to the next gap between two pillars to take the following photo, which could also include the pillar in the original photo. This photo shows one of the ornamental barrows around the market which are reproductions for decoration, rather than the original barrows shown in my father’s photo:

The shadow on the pillar in the 1953 photo was presumably a lamp, and today there are still lamps lining the edge of the building above the pillars, although comparing with the 1953 shadow, they do not appear to be the same:

I find it fascinating to explore some of the details within these old photos. The following is an extract from the second of the 1953 photos:

Firstly, the sacks have the numbers 1952 on them, which I assume is a year, which would have been the year before the photo was taken. Possibly the year that the sacks were made?

Both the sacks and the boxes to the right have the name W. Medlock, which seems to have been a company that operated at Covent Garden for many years.

The first reference I found to W. Medlock was in the Bedfordshire Times and Independent on the 5th of September, 1871, in an article about the Sandy Flower and Horticultural Show.

In the list of those who were judges of flower and agricultural exhibits, Mr. W. Medlock is a judge for the Market Garden produce, and he is listed as Mr. W. Medlock, Covent Garden.

As well as being a judge, W. Medlock also exhibited produce at the Sandy show. In the 1903 show, within the category for Market Gardeners, Medlock won a special prize for a “bushel of white or red Hebron potatoes”.

W. Medlock Ltd, were a firm of potato merchants, which explains the shape of the contents of the sacks in the above photo. There are many references to them in and around Sandy, Bedfordshire, which has long been an agricultural area, and there are still growers and merchants of potatoes listed in the area.

In the 19th century, Sandy was a small market town and in the 1924 revision of the Ordnance Survey map, much of the land surrounding the town is marked as being allotments, so this was an area of market gardens.

What must have helped with linking Sandy with Covent Garden was that the town was not far from the original A1 north road, and in 1850 Sandy railway station was built, providing a rail route to London, which must have been the main method for transporting W. Medlock’s potatoes from the town to Covent Garden.

Further confirmation that W. Medlock was a potato merchant was from a very condescending article in the Daily Herald on the 16th of June, 1931:

“POTATOES GET THE SACK – CROSSED OFF MENU BY SLIMMING GIRLS. Potato sales are dropping alarmingly. The homely ‘spud’ is being despised and rejected, and women are responsible.

Through the eyes of the potato, women see the great modern bogey, Fat, and they are as much afraid of the potato as they would have once have been of a mouse.

‘Our sales have dropped by a third in the past three years’ said the manager of Messrs. W. Medlock Ltd. wholesale potato merchants of Covent Garden, to a Daily Herald representative yesterday.

Restaurants are serving far fewer potatoes than they used to because women will not eat them. Even the women who are not definitely on a slimming diet have certain taboos, and the first of them is potatoes.

‘Women are behaving very foolishly about dieting, and this potato ban is one example of their folly’ a doctor said. They are doing harm by cutting out potatoes unless they substitute something equally starchy – which they don’t.

Potatoes are good food, and it is time women learned sense about them.”

However, the only person acting foolishly was the Daily Herald reporter, as soon after the above article, the paper had to print the following apology:

“POTATO FIRM’S SALES – In our issue of June 16 we stated that the sales of Messrs. W. Medlock Ltd. wholesale potato merchants of Covent Garden ‘have dropped by a third in the past three year’.

Messrs. Medlock inform us that this is not correct. Their sales have not diminished in any way, but on the contrary, are regularly and steadily increasing.

We gladly give publicity to this fact and offer our apologies to Messrs. W. Medlock Ltd. for any annoyance the misstatement may have caused them.”

Which just goes to show that back in 1931, stories in papers about diets were just as reliable as they are today.

The name of another Covent Garden merchant, and which also demonstrates a link with the agricultural areas surrounding London, can be found by looking at one of the other 1953 photos, where boxes with the name W.J. Soper can be seen:

W.J. Soper were agricultural merchants who seem to have brought in produce from Norfolk. They were regularly mentioned in lists of merchants in Norfolk newspapers, such as the Lynn News and Advertiser, based in King’s Lynn, to the north-west of Norfolk, just south of the Wash.

A typical mention from the 14th of March, 1958 reads:

“Large quantities of King Edward and Majestic Ware potatoes, Parsnips, Red Beet, and Cabbage – W.J. Soper, Ltd. Covent Garden, Spitalfields, Borough Market, Harlow. Cheques daily or weekly as required – Local rep. W. Edwards, Tel Wisbech 1769.”

Soper’s representative was based in Wiusbech, which is a short distance to the south-west of King’s Lynn. The advert tells us a bit about how Covent Garden market operated.

Firstly, along with W. Medlock, companies such as W.J. Soper, trading at Covent Garden were buying in produce from across the agricultural lands of Bedfordshire, Cambridgeshire and Norfolk, and with the location of towns such as Wisbech, this probably included Lincolnshire.

The expansion of the rail network across these counties from the 1850s must have helped considerably with the transport of agricultural produce to help feed the ever growing population of London.

W.J. Soper’s newspaper listing also mentions other London markets at Spitalfields, and Borough Market, so many companies were probably not just operating at Covent Garden, but were bringing in produce to be sold across London. The mention of Harlow is rather strange, unless they also served a market in one of the first post-war new towns being built in London’s orbit.

One other point about the photos – they were taken on a Sunday afternoon, and there is lots of agricultral produce piled up outside the main market buildings.

The market must have been closed at that time, and unfortunately the photos do not show if there was anyone who worked at the market in the surrounding area. Was there any form of security to protect these sacks and boxes from theft? If not it seems remarkable that so much could be left around the market until it opened early on Monday morning.

There is a fascinating film of Covent Garden fruit, flower and vegetable markets in operation from 1957, just four years after my father’s photo. The film starts at a farm in Sussex where produce is being loaded onto a lorry for a late night drive into London so the produce can be sold at Covent Garden. The film can be watched here:

The film mentions potatoes from Norfolk, but also demonstrates the wide geographic area that supplied produce to be sold in the market, as well as the considerable distances that produce sold at the market were transported to, so as well as being a market to supply London, Covent Garden was also supplying many businesses across the country.

The film also implies that the market was almost a 24 hour operation, with produce arriving at all times, and being sold during a set number of hours. Perhaps this explains why the sacks and boxes in my father’s photo appear to have been left unattended on a Sunday afternoon. They may have just arrived, or were waiting to be moved.

I always find it rather poignant watching these old films, as those shown working across the market had no idea of just how much the market would change in the coming decades, with Covent Garden closing as a market and relocating to Nine Elms less than twenty years after the above film.

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