Passmore Edwards Sailors Palace


At a time when government seems to be relying more on old-fashioned philanthropy to keep services running, rather exert itself to help, I was intrigued to see this building in East London recently.


Passmore Edwards was a philanthropist of the 1890s and 1900s whose other endowments include the library that is now part of the Bush Theatre in West London. In the new century, he endowed this mock Tudor gatehouse to be a place of rest for international sailors staying in London on leave.


Poignantly the project, opened by the Kaiser and Edward VII, fell through when WW1 broke out. But the building remains, and more can be read about it here and here.


Beekeepers and Dostoevsky


A party of six settled at the next table, all countrymen in homespun, rawhide footgear and sashes, but two in broad-brimmed hats of plaited osier, the others in cloth caps…untroubled smiles and good-humoured wrinkles round their eyes and the corners of their mouths. Anyone would have felt calm and happy in their neighbourhood. Appropriately, as I divined…they were itinerant beekeepers travelling up and down the region and tidying up the hives for the winter.


One of many gentle passages in Patrick Leigh Fermor’s conclusion to his trilogy of his walk from Holland to Turkey in the mid-1930s, The Broken Road. I also liked his description of reading in bed in a loft above a wheelwright’s shop on a rainy day (“Dostoevsky ever since, and even the mention of his name, evokes a momentary impression of rain and fresh-sawed wood.”), or meeting the hotel-maid Rosa, who treated him to a nannyish scolding for wet shirts and lost belongings, and whom he treated in return by taking her to a showing of The Blue Angel, which evokes memories of her time in Vienna as lady’s maid to a grand hostess.


Heavens to Betsy



Reminded by Beth Bonini’s cheerful Instagram feed of these delightful books (I’ve posted about their companion volumes here and here before), I think I’m getting ready for a re-read.


Lots of commentators compare these books to Meet Me in St Louis, and as well as the period details (the hairstyles! the dresses! the slang! the excitement over a telephone!), what I love most is the inherent optimism – progress is always good, and friends and family remain stable whilst welcoming new developments – but also the complete acceptance that a job, writing, singing, making your own mind up, are all important to a girl and in no way conflicted with the rest of her being.


I find it depressing that a modern book wouldn’t show this, or would have to make a big point about it. Written in the 50s about the 1900-1910s, Betsy, Emily and Carney are in fact far more progressive than any characters today.



Hard to believe that this is in Zone 5 London, not a country village,


the outline of the estate grounds of Cannons is still clear,


and inside here is the painted glory of the chapel of the Dukes of Chandos, paymasters to Queen Anne in her Dutch wars, who made their money by gambling with the public purse at high interest rates and used their wealth to employ the finest talents such as Handel.

I was here to here some of the music that Handel wrote for this very venue, a time-machine if ever there was one.

Last night


Coming to a venue near you…the London Handel Festival at the Foundling Museum. A good match, as Handel left a score of his Messiah to the Coram foundation and gave charity performances of it in this building.


One of the many artists I discovered at the Revolution! exhibition currently on at the RA.


Deineka produced art that lauded the new, mechanised age, whilst also critiquing it. One cotton factory is shown as a pure white paradise of calm and efficiency, staffed by blonde women and scarily gaunt, robotic young boys, whilst a cow wanders by on the dirt track outside.


This image from the civil war, showing workers replacing soldiers, is similarly bleak, but later works were more carefully triumphalist and anodyne.