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Overview
Poplar Memories is a vivid impression of Cockney London before and during the Second World War, set in a teeming, rundown docklands neighbourhood famous for being, well, one end of the Blackwall Tunnel. John Hector's spellbinding account of his early life in the 1920s and '30s conjures up a vanished era when simplicity and happiness went hand-in-hand. Halcyon days of 'talking pictures' and pavement buskers, Saturday night knees-ups round the piano, eel and pie stalls, chimneysweeps, 'boxers', Clarnico's toffees and Lloyd Loom furniture, and a little shop called Woolworth's selling 'nothing over sixpence' – unless it's a shilling. All this was to disappear forever in the horrors of the Blitz. The author was disabled by infantile paralysis – yet he became School Captain and embarked on a successful career at 14, surviving extreme poverty, panel doctors, dockers' riots and Hitler's Luftwaffe with an unshakeable belief in the ordinary people of Poplar.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780750953573 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | The History Press |
| Publication date: | 08/10/2010 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 128 |
| File size: | 17 MB |
| Note: | This product may take a few minutes to download. |
| Age Range: | 9 - 12 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Poplar Memories
Life in the East End
By John Hector
The History Press
Copyright © 2013 John HectorAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7509-5357-3
CHAPTER 1
An East End Upbringing
Contrary to evidence, the children of Poplar, where I was born, were not always playing in the streets. Most of the time they were helping in the home or running errands; if not for the parents, then for neighbours or the local shopkeepers, earning small sums of money to help the household purse. Regular errand-running was an accepted practice, and children grew up reliable and trustworthy in handling money and goods. Some shops employed older children of twelve to thirteen years old, after school, to collect orders from their wholesalers: an early operation of the 'Cash and Carry' principle. Children of this age, too, dashed out all over the East End from newsagents shops, burdened with the afternoon and City editions of the evening papers.
One job that was quite laborious was the collecting-up of bottles of Chloride of Lime from one of two depots that distributed this essential disinfectant in the neighbourhood. One, in Poplar High Street, was down a long, cobbled alley where dozens of children would form lines with bags of two or more bottles; the élite might have a two- or four-wheeled wooden cart with a number of bottles or flagons for various neighbours. It would take more than one child to pull the load up the alley to the top of the hill. The Lime water was free, and did in some small way help to keep the drains clean. Many families used it in the washtub too.
In my own family, the three younger brothers had a regular sponsor for our services, being passed on in turn as each of us left school and started 'real' work. The next brother would be inducted, and the routine carried on without interruption. Our client was the local dentist, a bachelor; apart from shopping for him, once or twice a week we journeyed to Manor Park with a small attaché case full of denture moulds made from plaster-of-paris – a two-hour journey of two buses and a half-mile walk. This earned us a shilling per trip on top of the half-crown he paid us each week for six days' worth of shopping.
Some of the girls were honoured to be chosen to take out a new baby from time to time, to wheel them up and down in prams; or perhaps an infant in a pushchair. You would see a congregation of these young nursemaids with their charges. A special girls' pastime in the spring and summer months, weather permitting, was to build grottoes from sheets of crêpe paper, fixed with bows to a wall, the pavement decorated with coloured paper, shells, postcards and any other oddments to brighten the effect, from where two or three girls would shake a tin at passers-by, calling out 'penny for the grotto, please'. Any receipts would be shared between them.
Other girls' games included pavement skipping, a long rope held at either end by the largest children so that several others could join in the middle. Sometimes, the young mums would come out of their houses to give the girls a hand with turning and to see that fair play was exercised. Hopscotch, and 'bonce and gobs' – played sitting on a door mat – could only be played when there was no further work to be done in the home. Cricket, which the boys enjoyed, was played with a 'wicket' chalked on someone's brick wall, and a bat made by a dad from a piece of wood. Test match rules applied, but with only three or four players; more, and some might not get an innings. Football was different, being played between goalposts made from boys' caps. These would have to be rescued when horsedrawn carts and occasionally cars came by and, when opposition teams became threatening, would be placed closer together with many protests. The smallest and weakest children were usually made to go in goal. The ball, meanwhile, was made from a large bundle of newspaper, compressed and tied with string.
Leapfrog was a game for the taller boys, who could jump. The smaller boys would act as 'pillows' when the frog jump took place and anyone collapsing underneath would be called up as 'weak horses' and their team would lose. 'German cricket' was an all-year game consisting of four wooden staves, placed against a wall to form a wicket. A ball would be thrown and, if the wicket was knocked down, the thrower and his team would run away while the opposition chased them with the ball, aiming at a boy. If he was hit, they tried to eliminate the rest of the team. Meanwhile, the survivors would double back and re-erect the wicket – the 'score' was the number of wickets erected. 'Tin Can Copper' was a game enjoyed best of all when it was getting dark. An empty condensed milk tin would be thrown from a starting point such as a manhole cover, the thrower and his team would hide until one was discovered by the searchers, who would then station themselves at the manhole and declare, 'Tin Copper Charlie' or whatever the name was of the discovered child.
Whips and tops were plentiful at certain times of the year, as were peg tops, deftly wound with a cord and pulled sharply to get a good spin. Small ones made out of boxwood – 'boxers' – could be spun on the palm of your hand. Wooden hoops hit with a small stick would accompany children on errands, heavy steel hoops would be propelled with a 'skimmer', a short piece of strong wire with a hook at the end, in which the hoop would be kept spinning after a short run. These hoops could cause havoc when they caught in the live rail of the tramlines. Broken ones were mended by the blacksmith in his forge.
'Tibby cat' was a dangerous, if enjoyable game for older boys. A small oblong of wood with tapered ends was placed on the pavement and struck with some force to make it rise in the air, then dispatched with a bat along the street, the distance of the hit being paced out. Taller boys with longer strides had the advantage.
As soon as they arrived from school, however, most older boys and girls would have to light or brighten up the fire for the evening meal before their parents came home, if they both worked. Sometimes a chimney would catch fire, blanketing the neighbourhood with thick black smoke. They were rarely swept and some folk deliberately set them alight just to clear the soot and save the cost of a sweep.
Collecting cigarette cards by standing outside tobacco shops and badgering smokers was a regular pastime for the younger boys. The cards were swapped or exchanged for various offers, or used in card games – flicking or 'skating' nearest the wall, wins all. Army cap badges and regimental buttons were in good supply after the First World War, and collectable; as were foreign stamps, from which older children learned much of their geography. Fishing for sticklebacks and frogs was possible, if you were prepared to journey outside the area; Victoria Park or Beckton Road Tollgate ditch involved a long walk. You sometimes caught a fish in a net made from an old curtain, by dragging it along the stream. Barrel-organ buskers were popular, touring the pubs. One would dress as a woman and sing in a high voice, much to the amusement of the children sitting next to him on the kerb.
Children also had some devilish adventures. 'Knock-down Ginger' involved tying two neighbouring door knobs together and watching the results from hiding. Tying a piece of black thread to an empty cigarette packet or a coin, and placing the object in the path of a suspect, only to snatch it away as they bent down, was usually performed from basement steps in fading light. Police on the afternoon shift at Poplar station would march out with the sergeants in the lead; woe betide any children found up to pranks. Look-outs were posted, ready to call out when the enemy was sighted.
They were all little workers, friendly, gentle children in those days. Most had to grow up too quickly, adult heads on young shoulders. They were the salt of the earth in the next generation.
SCHOOLS
The good folk of Poplar owed a great deal to the London County Council, which controlled the running of about eighteen schools within a few square miles and ensured the education of children between the ages of five and fourteen – only a few went on to fifteen years at a couple of central grammar schools. The education was sound, and passed on by first-class teachers who accepted the production of bright pupils as a pleasure and reward for the hours of patience and devotion. Some of us must have been quite difficult to teach.
In my family we were five boys and two girls, all pupils of Culloden Street Elementary school. Each of us achieved a high standard, the youngest three following one another in becoming School Captain, under three different headmasters. Being the youngest, I can still hear the shrill whistle of the summons to the headmaster's office, wherever I was among the 220 or more pupils spread over seven classes. My eldest sister won a scholarship to the élite George Green Grammar school in the East India Dock Road.
Culloden Street had an infants' section for the five to seven-year-olds and a Senior Girls' school separate from the boys. There was a metal workshop and a woodworking section, and a fine housewifery section for the girls, all operated by first-class tutors who had a hard job to pass on to children who would be leaving at fourteen, all the knowledge they could in such a short time. However much or little, it was more than they would get at home. These facilities were shared by neighbouring schools, and a well-planned rota ensured that all worked smoothly across a wide range of abilities. Timewasters were given short shrift.
Hay Currie school in Bright Street was known for turning out very bright and well-behaved pupils. They were expected to shine under the public gaze, in the shared sections of Culloden Street, at the local swimming baths, and on Sports days. Oban Street and Bromley Hall Road pupils shared our facilities; Ricardo Street, near the Chrisp Street market, was a popular school, known for turning out good young boxers and blessed with several tough teachers of the no-nonsense type. St Leonard's Street school bordered on the Limehouse Canal; North Street and Woolmore Street schools were on the other side. No pupil in the area had a long walk from home to desk. St Paul's Road and Dingle Lane schools covered this area, while Millwall and the Isle of Dogs had East Ferry Road, Cahir Street, Glengall Road, Maria Street and Arcadia Street schools, all turning out very bright pupils.
The LCC were to be congratulated too, on their foresight in the 1920s and '30s in starting evening classes to encourage learning in leisure time. On weekdays, table tennis, dancing, art and drama could be enjoyed; above all, the children of poor families were off the streets and out of mischief.
Several scholarships were available – Christ's Hospital, Coopers' Company, Junior County and Trades Scholarship winners were awarded places at the grammar schools and higher schools until they were fifteen or older, if the families could afford it. Many bright pupils were deprived of these chances at fourteen, as their families needed the extra income to supplement the family budget. Irish Catholic families were catered for, with schools at Wade Street, St Paul's and the small church school of St Mathias in Grundy Street, which was mainly for very young children. Thomas Street Secondary school took boys and girls from other schools after they had won a scholarship place from the Trades scholarship. George Green Grammar school was the pinnacle for the district winners of the Junior County entrance exam, much to the annoyance of my mother and father, when my sister won it. They had counted on her bringing up the younger siblings, and to bring in some wages; the cost of the uniform put an additional strain on an already overstretched purse; but after a few years at George Green she rewarded them by becoming private secretary to the boss of a local engineering firm, earning a very good salary.
Discipline was tough. Memories of milk monitors shepherding us along the hall with the crates of third of a pint bottles and straws, urging the pupils to fall into line and drink up; inkwell monitors, taking the little china pots out of the desks on a Friday afternoon and down to the washroom, to dislodge the chewing gum and blotting paper that normally clogged up the little hole, and on Monday morning refilling and distributing them, ready for class. One of my Captain's chores was to assemble the boys who were on lists in the various classes as needing the cod liver oil and malt supplement to give them extra nutrition. It was a job to collect the large tins from the cookery department, each holding about 7 lb of sticky malt, to lift and twist it on the spoon and to get it in the open mouth, not down the neck; then to wash and dry the spoon, ready for the next boy. Helping the nurse to bring in lads she needed to check was another 'hurry up' job. Teeth, hands, necks, legs, eyes were quickly scanned, those wanting a second look were stood to one side, or given a note for a parent to take them along to the Medical Centre for whatever treatment the nurse felt was needed.
Monday mornings were Country Holiday Fund collection times. This was a club founded by a charity which provided a fortnight's holiday in the country once a year for children willing or able to save money towards it, the usual cost being ten shillings, payable between January and June. Some of the homes they were sent to left a lot to be desired, but it was a chance to get out of London. Memories of such holidays are fresh in my mind, I went on three – to Malvern, Maldon and Sudbury, Suffolk.
Crocodiles of children were a familiar sight, being herded along by teachers at front and rear between their schools and the swimming baths in Poplar, or the open-air baths at Violet Road, or Millwall Park in the summertime. Cricket practice was held on an asphalt area on Glaucus Street, surrounded by a high wire fence. It was a facility shared by all the local schools; Essex county cricket festivals were then a popular summer attraction. Borough track events were held at Victoria Park: teachers would implore the non-contestants to go along and cheer on Sports Day; a plea that fell on deaf ears, as it was officially a day off from school and many could not afford the train fare, which was free only to those taking part.
Being disabled, when I was very young the school board arranged for me to be transported daily to a small school with about 50 pupils, many much worse afflicted than myself, in Bromley-by-Bow, about four miles away. At the age of seven, I was assessed as being strong enough to join my brothers and one remaining sister at Culloden Street. Although unable to take part in sports, with endeavour I became Captain of the school and left at thirteen years, eleven months to enlist in the regular army of workers and wage earners, of which more later.
EAST INDIA DOCK ROAD
The East India Dock Road was one of the best-lit and most frequented walks for Poplar people. Overhead lighting and the blazing shop fronts made it a must for young and old to promenade, window-gaze, meet friends and do their courting – a great improvement on the dingy streets behind the main road. From the post office to Brunswick Road there were a great variety of shops, starting off with the jewellers and pawnbrokers, H. Neave; with the wool shop on the next corner adjacent to the Victoria Wine Company, alongside the Midland Bank at the corner of Chrisp Street market. The Poplar North London Railway ran under the road at this point, Poplar station also being the main stop for trams and buses. Next to the police station, a builders' merchant supplied most of the landlords and the tradesmen they employed to patch up the thousands of terraced houses, many of them already a century old. The tenants were hard-pressed to get any but the most serious repairs done. Two sets of wallpaper books were displayed in the store; tenants were allowed to select up to half-a-dozen rolls, at 6d per roll – the cheapest quality – and put it up themselves, or pay someone to do it, if they could.
The police station was a majestic building. The entrance was up six stone steps and a constable stood on duty outside, keeping an eye on the passers-by and on the traffic. People would stop to read the notices and stare at the photographs of missing persons or people found drowned in the docks nearby, with requests for information. This was seldom forthcoming: anyone foolhardy enough to identify a body at the mortuary in the High Street, if there was no next-of-kin, would be charged with the burial expenses.
A lovely bookshop, John Seager's, was next, and supplied the needs of the schools and shops with birthday cards and stationery of every type. Next door to that was the best tobacconist in the area, smelling richly of the cigarettes, cigars, and snuff, which was weighed and sold loose. Cigarettes, too, could be bought singly. A men's outfitters next door always had the latest collar styles on display. Detachable collars and cuffs meant that shirts stained with the city grime could be washed less frequently, lasting longer, and the styles were forever changing. Then came Waters's restaurant, a small eating-house with bench seats at tables, crisp, white cloths set in long rows with a gangway between for the two waitresses, who collected the orders from a hatch at the end. The local schoolteachers came here at lunchtime, as there were no canteens in the schools.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Poplar Memories by John Hector. Copyright © 2013 John Hector. Excerpted by permission of The History Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Table of Contents
Contents
Memories of a Popular Man,Foreword & Acknowledgements,
1. An East End Upbringing,
2. Hospitals, Trams, Shops & Streets,
3. May, my New Career & a Tour of the Market,
4. The General Strike, Pubs & Street Traders,
5. The Blitz,
6. Friends & Neighbours,