Gunpowder, an upscale modern Indian eatery in Spitalfields, emphatically does not take reservations, and even at 6.30 pm on a Wednesday, the small restaurant has a queue forming outside.
Thankfully, we miss the rush, and the real challenge now is making space for our glasses and plates, elbow-to-elbow with City folk fresh from work, tearing into lamb chops they’re eating with their shirtsleeves rolled up.
Given its proximity to Whitechapel, famed for authentic curries and home to the legendary Tayyabs and Needoo, I would normally opt for the neighbourhood joints over expensive, trendy small plates at a self-described ‘home style Indian Kitchen’.
Only, Gunpowder’s food is inventive, funny, and mostly excellent, and beats its peers like Dishoom when it comes to serving up posh Indian street food.
We start with the Rasam ke bomb, an amuse-bouche meant to resemble a deconstructed masala dosa – a sphere of fried dough resting atop a shot glass of classic dosa dipping sauce. In other hands, this would seem gimmicky and twee, but here it is a delight. Following that, we devour the outstanding okra fries. Dusted in a tangy powder, they are a crispy triumph, bereft of the characteristic sliminess of bhindi.
Unfortunately the chutney grilled cheese sandwich that follows doesn’t meet the standard set by its predecessors: it’s wan, on floppy white bread, and the cheese inhabits an unhappy limbo between melted and solid.
Thankfully the dishes that follow perk us up again: I have a spicy venison and vermicelli donut, an indulgent mess of carbs and meat, then flavourful whole grilled prawns in a spicy sauce.
Appetite fully sated, I struggle with my Kashmiri lamb chop, which is good but does not rival those of the aforementioned curry houses.
My vegetarian companion praises the saag with tandoori paneer and grilled mustard broccoli. We finish with a molten chocolate cake and masala chai custard, dense in chocolate but not in sugar, striking the perfect note on which to end our rich meal.
In retrospect, much of this meal is eaten with our hands – from the fries, donut and chop to the prawns, that come heads and shells on and that I have to pull apart myself, a messy and ungenteel undertaking but viscerally satisfying.
This feels intrinsic to the mood at Gunpowder – it may be upscale, but it’s fun and unpretentious, and the menu is an open invitation for diners to get thoroughly involved. Recommended.
Selection of works by Giulia Marras including ‘The lines of my garden’ (top left)
An emerging artist from Limehouse has won international recognition, with her work being displayed in New York City.
Giulia Marras, who combines her art with a part-time job and an English-language course at Tower Hamlets College, is formally trained in ceramic art, and painting is for her a sideline.
Yet it was her painting ‘The Lines of My Garden’ that was selected for display in #twitterartexhibit 2016 NYC at the Trygve Lie Gallery on East 52nd Street in Manhattan. She has also recently been approached by a gallery in Chicago which is interested in her work.
Marras is originally from Sardinia and has had her work exhibited in a number of galleries in Italy. Paintings in one of these shows caught the attention of the international art world and led to the connection with the New York gallery.
Living and working in London has been challenging for Giulia Marras, but this experience has also provided a source of artistic inspiration that spawned her recent collection of paintings: “When I arrived in London I felt like a fish out of water as I could not speak any English, which made things harder for me. These feelings gave me an idea about a new range of paintings I could work on”.
Following her success in Italy and the US, Marras is hoping to show her work here, and ultimately to open her own art space.
“I would love to see my work exhibited in the galleries around London, but the cost to exhibit is very expensive. Ideally I would love to have my own gallery one day with my own ceramics laboratory”.
In the meantime, Marras’s focus is on perfecting her English and further developing her art.
The Road Not Taken is the fourth studio album from Shoreditch-based Scotsman Adam Beattie whose eclectic take on contemporary folk has earned impressed nods from the barometer of great taste that is Mary Anne Hobbs, as well as considerable backing from BBC Radio Scotland DJs Roddy Hart and Bruce MacGregor.
Beattie approaches his songs with real care and delicacy. The instrumentals on tracks as ‘The Family Tree’ and title track, ‘The Road Not Taken’, comprise a warmth and sincerity that rides on plucked strings and the frayed silkiness of Beattie’s vocals.
Where The Road Not Taken really shines though is in its darkest moments. ‘I’m On Your Side’ introduces the delicious wickedness that lurks in the corners of this record through its fairground waltz of stammering guitars. Similarly, ‘You Only Kill The One You Love’ creeps along with an unnerving melancholy and far-off screeches of feedback, as Beattie sings: “Of all the girls I’ve ever met/ Not a single one remains…”
Throughout the record Beattie remains inventive with his lyricism. For instance, ‘Catch The Biggest Fish And Let It Go’ is a love song revolving around a girl who “went to the pub in her dressing gown/ To steal me toilet roll”, a rewrite of ‘She’s Always A Woman’ told through the simple balladry of Leonard Cohen or the Walker Brothers, but touched by elements of Ian Campbell and Pete Seeger.
Final track ‘Welcome Home’, written in collaboration with fellow Scot Mairearad Green, rocks the album to sleep. A wistful tune, cut through with Piotr Jordan’s melancholy strings marks a return to Beattie’s Celtic roots and evokes calm and comfort that comes with returning home.
The Road Not Taken is an album saturated in melody and a remarkably deft example of where contemporary folk music resides in 2016. Whilst it doesn’t necessarily make any great leaps forward in regards to novelty, its mix of country, blues and conventional folk tropes form themselves neatly into a slice of the old country that offers welcome respite from the interminable bustle of the capital.
Ralph Fiennes as Richard III. Photograph: Marc Brenner
It is very hard to know exactly how to perform Richard III: each way has its dangers. Making Richard the complete villain panders too much to Shakespeare the propagandist. Many of us have read Josephine Tey’s The Daughter of Time and believe that most of the charges against him were trumped up by the Tudors; but there is not enough in the play itself to portray a more human and considerate person, no speeches like in The Merchant of Venice that say ‘If you prick us, do we not bleed?’.
So how does the Almeida solve the staging problem with its superb catch of Ralph Fiennes in the starring role? Well, turn Richard into a buffoon and play it for laughs. And Fiennes does gets titters from the endless irony, slapstick and joking asides that pervade throughout. Certainly the show is lighter. But maybe he goes too far? There are even echoes of Rigsby (Leonard Rossiter) from the 70s sitcom Rising Damp in the way Fiennes turns the dialogue into a series of japes.
It is not clear that this portrayal gets to the essence of the play when real darkness enfolds: the politician-turned serial killer gets to the throne but throws away all advantage in the process. Especially as the staging convincingly conveys the sinister purpose: the stark stage, the large crown overhead, the crashing and horror-inspiring chords that mark the scene changes and the sparse but piercing lighting. The supporting cast is superb, in particularVanessa Redgrave as Queen Margaret, Aislín McGuckin as Elizabeth and Finbar Lynch as Buckingham.
After the interval, the show settles down as Ralph hams it less, and we see more into Richard’s tortured soul. That is how it should be played and the hope is that Fiennes will have honed his performance during the run.
Jubilant: Passing Clouds supporters outside the Dalston venue
Dalston venue Passing Clouds has been ‘reclaimed’ by protestors after the landlord changed the locks, shutting venue staff out.
The venue was able to open later to host its scheduled event.
The premises, which first flung open its doors ten years ago, was sold by the previous owner in September last year to a new landlord, Landhold Developments.
The lease expired last month, and so Passing Clouds were legally bound to vacate the premises.
Eleanor Wilson, the founder of Passing Clouds, last month told <em>Hackney Today</em>, the council’s fortnightly freesheet, how she she first began back in June 2006: “Our vision was unique and there was no model for what we were doing. On a business level,though, we were stepping into the unknown.”
“It all happened so fast. Suddenly, I had signed the lease and had the keys. It was the beginning of an incredibly steep learning curve.”
A spokesperson for the landlord, Landhold Developments, said: “Passing Clouds have been aware for many months that her lease was due to expire in May of this year.
“They have continued to occupy the premises without the landlord’s consent.
“Whilst there is no obligation on the landlord to serve notice in such situations, our solicitors wrote to Ms Wilson on two occasions to inform her that she was occupying as a trespasser and if she did not leave the premises immediately, the landlord would take back possession.
“Passing Clouds failed to respond to either of these letters and so bailiffs were instructed accordingly.
“Possession of the premises was lawfully taken back by the landlord on 16 June 2016, with two security guards remaining on site to protect the property
“Later that day, a mob of 30-40 people, forced their way into the property, damaging the new locks that had been installed and ejecting the security guards.
“Any occupiers who remain on the premises are occupying unlawfully which constitutes a trespass.”
A thriller on bicycles, other worldly visitations and the iconic Two Puddings pub are in the offing at the East End Film Festival, which gets underway this week.
The 11-day festival starts on 23 June – the day of the EU referendum. But whatever the outcome of that, the festival atmosphere is set to be one of celebration.
Alongside some of the best independent British films there is a focus on Turkish cinema, as well as a day dedicated to films and debate on the refugee crisis. There are also several new films either inspired by or set in East London.
Cycling thiller: Alleycats. Photograph: Christina Solomons
Alleycats
London filmmaker Ian Bonhote’s debut feature Alleycats premieres at the festival’s opening gala on Thursday. Featuring a flock of British talent, it is a high-energy thriller that romps through the streets of East London on the seat of a bicycle. When bike courier Chris witnesses what looks like a murder, his first instinct is to flee. But as his curiosity draws him back in, he is soon embroiled in a world of corruption, political power and and illegal bike racing.
7pm, 23 June, Genesis
Crisis point: scene from Mile End. Photograph: Jon-Paul Washington
Mile End
Mile End is the debut feature from local director Graham Higgins, which recently won Best Feature at the New York City Independent Film Festival. Set against the backdrop of Canary Wharf during the financial crisis, it centres on two unemployed runners who meet by chance. Paul has just left his job and is experiencing trouble at home, so welcomes the experience and guidance of John. But his new friend’s ubiquitous presence soon becomes unnerving.
9pm, 28 June, Genesis
Existential: Native
Native
Science fiction is not usually a genre associated with East London, but Native, a slick looking feature starring Rupert Graves, may change that. When a signal is received from the other side of the universe, Cane and Eva are sent out to colonise a distant world. Shot predominantly in East London, this feature by Daniel Fitzsimmons raises questions about what it is to be human and whether masters should be obeyed.
7pm, 1 July, Genesis
Seeking justice: Marcus and Kurtis seek justice for Mark Duggan in The Hard Stop
The Hard Stop
The riots sparked by the shooting of Mark Duggan in 2011 were unlike anything seen in the UK since the early 1980s. But the true circumstances of Duggan’s death remained mysterious. This documentary, directed by George Amponsah, follows friends of Mark Duggan as they seek justice for him, exploding historical tensions between law enforcement and London’s black community in the process.
7pm, 30 June, Genesis
Iconic pub: Tales from the Two Puddings
Tales from the Two Puddings
This documentary by Rob West focuses on the Two Puddings pub on Stratford Broadway. The iconic venue was a cultural touchstone for 1960s East London, so notorious that it was nicknamed The Butcher’s Shop. But it was also known for its great live music and dancing. The pub served as inspiration for the Long Good Friday, and has links to an eclectic cast of characters including David Essex, Harry Redknapp and Matt Johnson of band TheThe.
6pm, 25 June, Stratford Picturehouse
Disturbing tale: Gates of Vanity
The Gates of Vanity
This Hackney-based horror thriller by Suj Ahmed is about a man fighting to reclaim his life after a disturbing turn of events. Ben is newly unemployed and feeling lonely when his family go away. So he takes in a homeless man whilst he renovates his house. But a simple disagreement triggers a psychotic reaction in his house guest. Ben is held captive and physically abused. He must discover if he can fight back and reclaim his life.
Places to go: busy office workers make strides. Photograph: Nicholas Sack
Photographer Nicholas Sack’s Lost in the City is a collection of images exploring London’s financial district.
The series positions the people of this strange world – generally office workers, occasionally stray tourists – against the imposing architecture, creating a sub-reality that on first impression is alien and oppressive, but captivating, nonetheless.
When I reviewed the book back in January for the East End Review, I described the images as “cold and clinical” and commented on how the patterns and symmetries in the buildings mirror the repetitive routines of nine-to-five commerce.
I was impressed by the geometry, the meticulous and rigid order that Sack arranges within the viewfinder. But most of all, I found the volume detached, harsh and haunting.
But on meeting the photographer and discussing his work, I quickly realise that my initial perceptions only skimmed the surface of what is a complex and multilayered project.
Sack has been photographing the City of London for 30 years and there’s more to this latest assemblage, taken from the last decade, than first meets the eye.
Under construction: building site in financial district. Photograph: Nicholas Sack
Drinking beer in the Crosse Keys on Gracechurch Street, a striking old banking hall built on the site of an ancient coaching inn and since taken over by JD Wetherspoon, Sack runs me through a selection of his black and white prints; some are from the book and others are not, but the subject remains the same.
“I find some of these human gestures, these angles, the way people sit and stand, very interesting… there’s a sort of vulnerability or unwitting disclosure,” he says, describing what he likes most about a shot of three people eating lunch on a concrete bench.
“I’m not looking for car crashes or great dramatic events. It’s really just the tiniest gesture that can look most interesting.”
He points his pen at one lady’s foot, which has slipped out from her shoe and is caught in a surprisingly elegant pose. This tiny detail, which I miss at first but is clearly the main focus for Sack, warms the image significantly.
Whether it is through discomfort or ease, the subtlety makes the composition less symmetrical, more familiar and ultimately more human.
Many of the pictures in Lost in the City contain such minutiae: there’s a pointed finger, an open purse, a splayed hand resting against bare shin, for example – all of which show Sack to be a sympathetic photographer.
Amidst the stark, difficult landscape, he finds spontaneous moments of simple beauty that inject life into the icy scenes.
Of an image of five men in crisp white shirts marching past the Bank of England, he explains: “This is a feature of the camera catching things quickly; while these men are clearly affluent, working in high finance, they also reveal a physical delicacy.
“Those heels that are on the floor with the toes pointing upwards strike a balletic pose that doesn’t quite fit with the image of the thrusting alpha male.”
All of a sudden, the men are no longer marching; they are breezing through the City.
This new perception adds an ethereal quality that intensifies the juxtaposition between the looming buildings and the figures below. Whilst the contrast could suggest a political stance on Sack’s part – criticising the capitalist regime – he insists that despite his staunchly socialist upbringing this is not the case.
“I’m looking at things purely from a visual point of view,” he says. “My feelings about what these people are doing are quite separate – they really don’t intrude at all. In fact, I like to get to the stage where the real world becomes abstract – I’m a formalist in that way.
“People assume that I think the City and Canary Wharf are sterile and repetitive and monotonous, which is not true – that’s not the way I feel. I find the regularity and uniformity rather exciting.”
Harsh beauty: man on walkway in East London. Photograph: Nicholas Sack
Sack’s artistic education was diverse, but in its way perfect for his chosen topic. Born in Sussex and raised predominantly in Greenwich, he studied urban planning at Aston University, before returning to London to do a postgraduate degree in journalism.
At the same time as working an office job, he played the drums in rock bands, which he says contributed to his appreciation of rhythm and structure.
“I think that being a drummer relates to some of this love of order. There’s a metronomic steadiness to things that I appreciate visually, so there may well be a connection.”
He didn’t pick up a camera, however, until his mid-20s, when a fellow student introduced him to the darkroom.
He was instantly hooked. “I ended up photographing freelance for 30 years, mostly for business magazines and corporate clients. So it wasn’t pre-planned and I’ve had no formal training, which is to my detriment in many ways, because I’ve picked up bad habits and I’ve had to work pretty much intuitively.”
Though he’s photographed abroad and on regular long walks in the countryside, Sack hasn’t strayed too far from the capital.
As such, he’s become something of an authority on the territory; he’s also been influenced over the last decade by the roving methods of his literary hero, Iain Sinclair, who provided an insightful introduction to Lost in the City.
“The fact that I’ve lived in London all my life and I’ve done it on foot, because I’ve never had a car, means that I know all these cut throughs and alleys… I love that. It’s as though I’m a tourist but with privileged information, an inside knowledge.”
Nicholas Sack. Photograph: Timothy Cooke
Despite the technological advances of recent years, Sack has remained dedicated to film photography. He shoots in black and white, he doesn’t use a tripod and he refuses to crop any of his images, relying entirely on his skill to perfect the frame in the field. He describes himself as a dinosaur and explains that he loves the craft process.
“I enjoy the interregnum, if you like, the hiatus – the time between shooting the picture and knowing what’s there on the film. I enjoy the period of not knowing. It’s my stand against instant gratification. It might be months before I see what’s on the film, and then it may be years before I print what’s there. I enjoy that – it’s part of the mystery and beauty of photography.”
There’s a level of intensity to Sack and his approach that as we chat becomes more apparent. He seems to aspire to a state of heightened awareness, which, he says, allows him to almost anticipate what’s coming around the corner. Moreover, he doesn’t own a TV, is a serious collector of books and photographs, and he prints his images in month-long stints. There’s a discipline here, an august devotion that serves him well.
But it’s his enthusiasm for the medium that leaves the strongest impression: “This is what’s special to photography. In painting you could make all this up, couldn’t you, through your imagination. For me, the glory is in seeing it, actually being there and witnessing real life. And often not realising the significance until later, until I see the pictures in the darkroom.”
Lost in the City is published by Hoxton Mini Press. ISBN: 9781910566039. RRP: £12.95
Hackney Road is a far cry from the Mediterranean. Lined with electrical shops and building sites, it seems a world away from its nearby upmarket cousins, Columbia Road and Broadway Market, with their boutique eateries and fancy delicatessens.
But step inside Morito, which opened last month, and you are hit by the smell of za’atar wafting from the kitchen, sherry swilling in stout glasses, and bright lights beaming down on shell-shaped tiles.
Like its famous big brother on Exmouth Market, Morito on Hackney Road serves up tapas with a North African twist.
The menu is peppered with ingredients typical in Spain but hard to come by in London. For example the bonito – a meaty, dark, tuna-like fish, served with oloroso sherry and caramelised onion – which was rare, juicy and fell apart in the mouth in such a way that it had to be fresh.
Sherry, from the Jerez region of Spain, flows freely throughout the menu, cutting through the richness here or adding a sprinkling of sweetness there.
Grilled lamb chops were another standout dish – encased in a smoky anchovy and paprika marinade and succulent as you like.
Hunks of fatty rabbit – which is also common in Spain but has fallen out of fashion here – were served deep fried with an intense infusion of rosemary, and came with the welcome contrast of a vinegar dressing.
To accompany the meat we nibbled on delicate aubergine strips, fried and drizzled with feta and date molasses, the sweet, rich and tangy flavours working in harmony.
Slices of octopus burst with flavour, but were cooked a little long for our liking and served with a fava bean puree, which didn’t add much to the dish.
We regretted not ordering the dried fig, sesame brittle and bitter leaf salad, which looked vibrant and light and would have complemented the rich meat well (well done to the table next to us).
We rounded off with zamorano, a hard Spanish sheep’s cheese reminiscent of parmesan, with quince jelly – both delicious. But the deconstructed rhubarb tart left you wanting more of everything – the flakes of filo, the dollop of rhubarb puree and dusting of pistachio.
In true tapas style dishes are made for sharing and appear as they are ready. Although two plates promptly disappeared again before we’d had a chance to mop up the juices with the smoky, oily flatbread. But apart from feeling a little rushed – perhaps more a nod to authentic tapas style than a shortcoming – eating at Morito is a treat for all the tastes and senses.
Passing the baton (l-r): new artistic directors of Rosemary Branch Genevieve Taricco and Scarlett Plouviez Comnas, with founders Cecilia Darker and Cleo Sylvestre
Whether to see an uproarious pantomime or an adaptation of Jane Eyre, a trip to the Rosemary Branch has always been a byword for a good night out.
But this month the Rosie’s founders and artistic directors, Cecilia Darker and Cleo Sylvestre, have decided to call it a day after 20 years at the helm of the theatre pub.
“Someone called us an institution the other day, I quite liked that,” muses Cecilia Darker, who at 67 is looking forward to spending more time on the tennis court.
“When you run a theatre it’s so all-consuming, often 12 hour days and with certainly no distinction between week days and weekends.”
“I’ve always felt in all my careers that there comes a time that you start to plateau, and as soon as you start to plateau then it’s time to move on. And I’m just about to get to that plateau when I know that it’s time to move on.”
It was 1993 when Cecilia Darker decided to take a chance and blow her inheritance on a dilapidated pub on Shepperton Road.
The building was once a Victorian music hall, and after the squatters moved out, Darker and her business partners set about restoring the pub to its former glory.
She soon gave up her job at the Central School of Ballet and convinced her friend and neighbour Cleo Sylvestre to come on board and help run the theatre.
Sylvestre, for her part, had had a long career in theatre and screen. She had made a record with the Rolling Stones aged 17, appeared opposite Alec Guinness on the West End, and was the first black actress in a British soap, taking roles in Coronation Street and Crossroads.
“It was a veritable baptism of fire,” Darker recalls. “Together we learnt how to run a small theatre, making lots of mistakes along the way.”
Neither Darker nor Sylvestre thought they would still be at it 20 years later, but having helped launch the careers of actors, writers, directors and designers and picked up several awards along the way, the pair have decided to take pass the baton on to the next generation.
“It’s difficult to single things out in 20 years,” Darker says, when asked to name some of the highlights of her time at the Rosie.
“I was speaking to a theatre critic a couple of months ago, and he was saying ‘tell me about the Rosie and what things have hit the West End after they’ve gone to you.
“I was gobsmacked and I said it’s nothing to do with the West End what we do, it’s giving young people a chance to do something else.
“It’s a marvellous stepping stone from drama school to the next part of your career and Cleo and I are both incredibly proud of having supported so many people who have done that – those are the pleasures rather than the individual productions.”
To mark the 20-year anniversary, Sylvestre revived her one-woman show, The Marvellous Adventures of Mary Seacole, and 20 play readings of mostly new work have been presented throughout the year, with the Rosie’s patron Fay Weldon rumoured to be writing the final one.
Is this the end of theatre at the Rosemary Branch? I am assured not. Darker still owns part of the pub, and hopes she and Cleo can help out the new resident theatre company waiting in the wings.
An experimental performance company called Unattended Items, headed up by theatre-makers Genevieve Taricco and Scarlett Plouviez Comnas will be attempting to fill their shoes.
The new directors will curate a programme of new work for an initial period of two years from this month.
Working alongside artists from a variety of disciplines, the company will seek out innovative ways of engaging audiences.
Comnas used to intern at the Rosie, so whilst the programming will certainly change, the stage is set for a smooth transition.
We all know the benefit of ‘fresh air’, even those of us who spend the majority of our urban lives hunched over computer screens or sprawled across sofas.
This common sense approach to the great outdoors is backed up by recent scientific research showing that exposure to green spaces reduces cardiovascular disease, mental health problems and overall mortality. What most of us don’t know is how our greens came to be what they are today.
Living in the city, you probably inhale most of your fresh air in a park, but in this you are lucky, for it is only relatively recently that urban greenery has been freely available for all to use.
In A Walk in the Park: The Life and Times of a People’s Institution, Hackney writer Travis Elborough charts the fascinating history of the little pockets of nature that most of us now take for granted.
We discover that the parks have their origins in blood sports, as the forebear of the curated modern green space was the medieval private game park. Virtually all early urban parks – or ‘pleasure gardens’ – were also private places, to which the masses were admitted only on payment of a fee.
Though that fee typically entitled park-goers access to a smorgasbord of lavish amusements and decorations; in 1742 even Mozart performed at one such venue, Ranelagh gardens in Chelsea.
It was only in the Victorian era that the notion of the open access park took hold, with the young princess Victoria herself opening the first free park in Bath in 1830. The latter 19th century was the heyday of the urban park, as the recreational and ‘improvement’ needs of the industrial proletariat began to be recognised.
More parks were built between 1885 and 1914 than during any period before or since, and they benefitted from the period’s Arts-and-Craft style.
With its lake and pagoda, Victoria Park in Tower Hamlets was one of the most lavish of the royal parks laid out in London at that time. And famous 19th century arboretums at Loddiges and Abney Park in contemporary Hackney were widely-emulated models.
The nadir of the modern park was undoubtedly the period stretching from the post-war housing boom of the 1950s to the 1980s, when public places was gobbled up for redevelopment at an alarming rate.
Investment in open space also fell, and by the early 1990s many urban parks were dangerous, decaying relics.
A major 1994 report co-authored by Hackney historian Ken Worpole marked a turnaround in this trend, and parks enjoyed somewhat of a renaissance during the subsequent two decades on the back of National Lottery funding, only to fall victim to the austerity politics of the contemporary era.
With council spending on parks plummeting, land being sold for redevelopment and local authority grass increasingly being leased for paid events, parks are again facing a crisis that has prompted one call for all of London – 47 per cent of which is made up of green space – to be declared a national park.
In some senses this struggle is not new. One of the perennial moral and logistical challenges for park-keepers has been the surveillance of park use: who was to be allowed in, with what attire, and for what purpose.
The size and shape of men’s swimming shorts was a subject of regulation well into the 1930s, and the curtailment of sex in parks has been a losing battle from furtive couplings in Victorian pleasure gardens to wartime frolics in blacked out shrubbery to the hippy orgies of the 1960s.
Together with sex, politics has been one of the most consistent uses to which parks have been put down the centuries. From the 19th century open green space hosted electoral hustings, demonstrations and political gatherings of all sorts.
In 1948, Victoria Park proved a convenient place for Chartist meetings; on the eve of the First World War, Sylvia Pankhurst addressed anti-conscription gatherings there, and Oswald Mosley’s Black Shirts held rallies on the same grass in the 1930s.
Author Travis Elborough
Travis Elborough is known for his deft and quirky explorations of social history, including the Routemaster bus, vinyl records and the British seaside. This volume excels in this particular sub-genre; the prose is generally smooth, and often deliciously witty.
The book is also stuffed with fascinating titbits, such as the fact that Birkenhead Park near Liverpool was the inspiration for the design of New York’s Central Park, or that Alexandra Palace was used as an internment camp during the First World War, or that Victoria Park hosts the UK’s oldest continuous model boat club, dating from 1904.
So next time you wander over to your local park to soak in the summer sun, take along a copy of A Walk in the Park to show you how you got there.
A Walk in the Park: The Life and Times of a People’s Institution by Travis Elborough is published by Jonathan Cape RRP: £18.99 ISBN: 9780224099820
